FOR LATEST INVESTIGATION FINDINGS: GO HERE.

My Precious Little Boy Died Needlessly, In Intense Physical, Mental & Emotional Agony . . . After Massive Overdosing, Intense Cruelty & Intentionally False Diagnosis by Massey 'Vet' (So Called) to Enable His 'Disposal' After Lab Rat-Style Experimentation

Why Did My Precious Little Boy Die . . . Die Needlessly . . . And In Physical, Mental & Emotional Agony?

When all I had taken him into Massey University's Companion Animal 'Hospital' for, that fateful night, was a straightforward rehydration procedure? That, arguably, I could have taken him to any vet clinic for, had it not been a Sunday evening?

To Pet Parents Everywhere: If there is one article you need to read, it's this one . . . if you never want to find yourself duped into becoming an active participant in your own pet’s unnecessary and pre-meditated clinical execution.

The Massey University Companion Animal Hospital House of Horrors, Malpractice & Lethal Deception

Two months ago, I learned what it’s like – exactly how it feels – to take part in a cold-blooded, pre-planned, orchestrated-in-detail clinical killing.

I hope you never have to learn exactly what that’s like . . . especially if it relates to your own deeply beloved pet.

Sweet, Innocent, Loving . . . & Totally Expendable

If any of readers of this article know me, you’ll know that I am rarely ever seen – anywhere, for any reason – without my precious little papillon, Harry. Harry is adored by everyone who comes into contact with him. You don’t have to even go past his photo to see why. And his sweet, loving, intelligent personality matches that sweet, innocent and characterful exterior.

On November 30^th, after having been relegated to my small camper van for several weeks due to an ongoing debacle involving insurance-related repair work to my property and some rogue contractors who had left it in an uninhabitable state, Harry had started to become badly affected by the hot temperatures of that week. He’d gotten what I would describe as “weak and wilty” and had lost his appetite over the previous 24 hours when the temperatures down in Wellington had seen the mercury spike relentlessly for over a week. Since it was a Sunday night, I made the decision to head for Massey University’s Companion Animal Hospital. We were already living mobile, so it was a decision that was immediately actionable.

By the time we reached Otaki, the skies had suddenly opened up and were pouring down a torrential rain. Harry had perked up, so I stopped at the New World supermarket and decided to try my luck with getting him to eat. He devoured a huge bowl of roast lamb slices – and I debated whether or not I’d keep on to Massey, or consider the emergency over. Dear God, how I wish I’d taken the latter option. But I didn’t. I thought I’d “play it safe” and take him in anyway.
 
When I arrived, an alarmingly young vet (looking nervous and completely lacking any degree of confidence) came out to let us in. We went through a “consult” and she advised that he was “dehydrated” and needed rehydration . . . which made perfect sense. She wanted to take Harry through and get him started on a rehydration IV process. With my worry about Harry, I hadn’t eaten myself and could feel a likely blood sugar crash coming on, so I told her she could do that and I’d be back in 30 minutes (there’s a Burger King 10 minutes down the road from Massey).

The Last Time I Would Ever Recognise My Beloved Dog

When I returned, I insisted that – if I was going to leave him in ICU overnight, given the hour and the rehydration process required – I wanted to see where he was caged and take his toys and bedding to him.

'That would be the last time I ever recognised my beloved dog. Although it shouldn’t have been. But I’ll get to that in a minute.
 
When I walked through the ICU ward doors, I heard him screaming. He was terrified, wrenched from my arms and dumped in a cold steel cage, all alone.

Blind, Disoriented, Crying and Terrified . . . & Completely, and Persistently, Ignored by Two Socially-Chatting ICU Staff

Harry was blind. A small, senior papillon, he was completely disoriented and facing the back wall of the cage. When he heard me he re-oriented himself to face me, and became more and more vocal, standing up on his hind legs and reaching out his front legs through the grid of the cage door to me.

If that sounds heartrending, it was. But let me broaden the picture for you:
 
As I walked through the ICU doors , I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and hearing.

The two ICU staff were literally, totally, ignoring him. They were fully engrossed in their own audibly, social and very jovial conversation. A tiny uber-distressed soul just metres from them was totally invisible to them, screaming in terror at having been dumped in a cage with no human voice for comfort nor any form of attention whatsoever. And might I remind readers, Harry was blind. A blind dog has only sound and touch for orientation and comfort.

As he stood up on his hind legs and stretched his front paws through the bars to me, still screaming, I expressed my horror to the young vet – clearly within full hearing of the two ICU staff, who continued their merry (literally) conversation without even turning an ear or an eye.

I also expressed extreme concern to the young vet – who made no move to ask the ICU nurses(?) to acknowledge his presence in their environment – that, given Harry’s blindness and his degree of distress, he could easily withdraw sideways and break his front legs on the bars. Even when I was expressing this concern, the two ICU attendants continued to fully ignore me, the vet (who was busy making excuses for them that they also totally ignored), and Harry. They had by then moved from social conversation mode to goo-ing and gah-ing over a newborn kitten – which appeared to be one of a very few inhabitants of the ICU that night. They weren’t exactly run off their feet.

Teenage-Looking 'Vet' Had Nil Authority Over ICU Staff & Nil Courage to Try to Exercise Any

It was a truly surreal picture:  This young vet sitting on the floor with me outside Harry’s cage, clearly too frightened of the ICU nurses to instruct them in any way at all. When I expressed my disbelief at what I was witnessing, including the fact that she would not move to ask them to attend to Harry, she was like a deer in the headlights . . . all she could do was sit and meekly insist that “they really love animals; I assure you that everyone here loves animals”.

I remember saying, “I see no evidence of that right now; my dog is screaming in terror and they’ve not only ignored him all this time, they can surely hear my own distress at the fact that they’re ignoring him now and even so continuing to pretend none of us are here . . . and they’re about four metres away from us.”

It was totally consistent with what I would find out the next day . . . albeit I don’ remember which one of them told me – probably the “SteffI’ ICU vet, because she’s the only one I remember having any contact with (aside from her “euthanising” assistant) - i.e. that they admitted they didn’t feed him. And I know they didn’t even try to feed him (contrary to their retrofitted "Clinical Summary" that I would later obtain), because I told them I wanted to leave the rest of the roast lamb that he had devoured eagerly on the way up, at Otaki. They didn’t want it – despite Harry's being grossly underweight and now finally having broken his fast with something he would obviously be keen to eat again soon.

There was absolutely NIL care – not even the pretence of it.

'My Shift Is Finishing . . . Let's Hurry This Along'

My gravest concern in that moment was the fact that the young vet was keen to get me out of ICU since – she claimed – her shift was finishing . . . which, to me and thus, of course, to Harry, meant that he would be completely alone in an environment with a couple of negligent, laughing socialisers whose presence in that ICU ward made it feel more like the staff tearoom.

But – and albeit not for the same gutless reasons that the young intrepid, irresponsible vet was too scared to say anything to the two “nurses?” – I knew I was on dangerous ground if I dared say a thing to them. You see, I’ve pointed out on a good number of occasions – both verbally and in writing – to the practice manager, Pauline Nijman, the culture of either inattention or, sometimes, arguably downright negligence that I had either experienced or witnessed in that “hospital” (and on several occasions the exercise of downright psychological cruelty). For my efforts I’ve been “soft-threatened” with the classic “cancel culture” that only the pampered, unaccountable employees of a large publicly-funded institution like Massey can get away with.

That night, as I was ushered out of ICU and had to leave my distressed and crying little Harry in their “care”, I had to make a decision that Massey should be utterly ashamed that any pet owner should have to make: ask for the care Harry needed and that I was paying handsomely for and risk “cancel culture” at the worst possible time, risk that Harry would suffer as a result of any interchange, or risk that he would continue being ignored, in his increasingly distressed state. Already seeing the cruelty of which these two ICU staff were clearly capable based on their negligent ignoring of Harry’s distress, I chose what I thought was the “safer” option, saying nothing as I walked back through the ICU doors.

The next morning, I received a call from the day vet, Steffi. Harry had “had a neurological event”, she told me, and “must be euthanased . . . TODAY”.

From 'Rehydration' to 'Unrecoverable' in the Space of A Few Hours? What HAPPENED?

I couldn’t believe that a dog needing rehydration, who had just eaten a large bowl of roast lamb prior to his arrival the night before, suddenly had to be “euthanased”.

But Steffi spent probably an hour on the phone with me, as I sat in a disbelieving daze on the floor of the outlet I was in, trying to process this news. She was insistent that I should make a decision immediately and that they would have him prepared for the final scene when I arrived. I told her in no uncertain terms, that I was NOT making a decision of such irreversible gravity on the phone, and I would begin driving up there.
 
It should be noted that, during that entire, exhaustive conversation – where she had my full and undivided attention – she  never once mentioned that she had actually administered 200mg of Gabapentin and a potentiating dose of Prevomax.

She chose instead to spend that time pushing in general and vague terms, for the decision to kill him rather than disclosing the pharmacological reality of the state he was in.

This was a calculated suppression of clinical facts during a period of active, high-stakes communication.

Meantime, trying to process the news and potentially prepare myself for the worst, and still in a daze of disbelief and emotion, in case she was right that he had declined so rapidly that his end was genuinely and otherwise naturally nigh, I went into a jeweller’s store before arriving at Massey. I bought two solid gold cross pendants. I took them to the Plaza engraver, and had one engraved with “Mummy’ (for Harry) and the other engraved with “Harry” (for me). I put these deep in my handbag, hoping against hope that they weren’t going to be necessary.

When I arrived, Steffi led me into a consulting room. I was too dazed and disbelieving to remember how she kicked off the conversation, but in retrospective – if you’ll pardon my own horrible pun – she was ready for the kill.

She had planned every angle: the clinical necessity (he’s had a neurological event), the guilt-tripping (he’s blind and he doesn’t have any real quality of life” – which, by the way, is complete bullshit and how would she know? I took him everywhere with me in a little stroller and his world was full of love and stimulation); then the emotional I’m-attached-to-him-just-like-you” angle (“he’s not the dog I remember; I remember him running around from person to person in the room and coming up and licking me” . . . I  don’t remember that; he’s only been seen by her once or at most twice i.e. Massey is an emergency or after-hours facility, she’s never exactly been his “regular vet”).

Between the Phone Call & the Consult, She Tried Every Conceivable, Disingenuous Emotional & Psychological Trigger Point . . . Until She Found the One That Finally Worked ('Before Long, He Won't Recognise You' . . . Bullshit, 'Steffi', He Had No Problem Recognising Me Even through Your Drugging; Albeit, Remember I Never Knew He WAS Drugged)

After somewhere between one and two hours of circling back and around and her trying to convince me first with a clinical argument and then with an emotional angle and around and around, she brought him in and I took him from her.

Yeah, he certainly wasn’t in good shape. But there was something truly weird about it: one minute he would be vocalising; the next he would be hanging coathanger-style over my arms; and then he’d want to get down on the floor and have a wobble around; then I’d pick him up again and he’d lean his head back and try to kiss me; then he’d collapse again.

My first reaction was: what the HELL had they done to him overnight in the ICU?  Did their cruel negligence of him in that cage result in their psychologically “breaking” him? No, no, assured Steffi. He’d had a totally unrelated “neurological event”. It would have happened anywhere, anyway. “It’s just his time,” she said. "He's not coming back."

But there was something that should have been my first massive red flag . . . and I’m ashamed to say I let myself be so torn between professional trust and the logic and gut reaction of my own observation that I didn’t react to it as I most certainly should have:
 
It was The wry smile that had come across "Steffi’s" somewhat arrogant face when our eyes met fleetingly as they had brought Harry in and I saw that – despite my still, at that stage, avid rejection of her insistence upon the need to end his life, they had brought him to me with the infrastructure of euthanisation already in place:  a long, heavy blue cast-like “bandage” with the catheter in it.

Three reactions flooded my mind simultaneously as I saw it:

1) The audacity of this arrogant clinician's having obviously decided that they had made the decision without me and regardless of me,

2) That wry smile appeared to me the indication of her confidence that this powerful psychological ploy – this unspoken “obligation” upon me to follow through – would be successful, and

3) The fact that I had never before seen any such stiff, very substantial in size, immobilising type of “bandage”. Why was such an instrument of obvious immobilising intent required for my little Harry, given the flaccid state he was in? Albeit, I subsequently realised that he was going in and out of that flaccid state and another very vigorous, vocalising and “objecting” state . . . a state I would later, too late, realise from my research and as confirmed by the “smoking gum” invoice line items, was a dog trying desperately to reach me through extreme sedation  . . . to let me know that, “I’m still in here, Mummy.”

When "Steffi" was trying to convince me about this “neurological event” that he’d apparently had (by the way, no mention was ever made of the rehydration process that I’d  actually brought him in for), I was at pains to show her his intermittent cognisance and impressive strength.

I prompted him with his well-recognised prompt:  “Show Mummy your strong leggies”  . . . as I put my arm under his back paws for him to press down on them with his back paws . . . a prompt he eagerly responded to.

I said to Steffi, “Look, he’s still so strong. HOW can I let you kill him?”

She just laughed and said, “I strongly suspect it’s just his ‘last hurrah’.”

Her next, escalated efforts were her kill shot:  (Readers, remember, I'm a journalist of 40 years' experience. My ability to quote with precision has never been questioned.)

“He’s not coming back, Jordan. He will never be the dog you knew. He will become increasingly unrecognisable. He will stop recognising you at all, and it will break your heart even more than now. This is the best time. Do it while he still recognises you, before he becomes fully vacant and stops recognising you at all. And it would be cruel to him to let him get to that stage.”

Yep. There it was. She finally got me. The kill shot. The thought that I would have beside me a little dog who no longer recognised me. Whose consciousness was ebbing away anyway. Who it would be “cruel” to let him “get to that stage”.

While I Was Paralysed With Grief, 'Steffi the Vet' Was Brimming with A Strange, Heady Energy & Urgency

And so, with my heart paralysed with grief – and yet STILL, even at that stage uncertain, BECAUSE NOTHING HAD FELT RIGHT IN MY GUT ABOUT THE WHOLE STORY OR THE WHOLE THING . . . 

. . . .from the fact that she had been so insistent with trying so many different angles on me . . . .

. . . . to the eerily telling (in retrospect) fact that when they brought him through, AND DESPITE MY HAVING BEEN VERY CLEAR ON THE PHONE THAT I WAS NOT MAKING ANY DECISION UNTIL I SAW HIM FOR MYSELF, they brought him into that consulting room with the “euthanasia infrastructure” already in place i.e. a catheter taped to his front leg with large, heavy-duty dark blue adhesive tape . . .

. . . to her wry smile when my eyes met hers as I saw it and recognised it for the powerful, unspoken psychologically coercive message that it was i.e. '"It's a done deal, Jordan. We're doing it whether you like it or not. Everything's ready."

. . . . through to how unbefittingly excited and “heady’ her energy had become when I finally hung my head and tearfully consented. She had sprung eagerly to her feet, raced out and got her (seemingly equally eager) assistant, and they had Harry and I walking out to my van (where I said it must be done, rather than on some cold steel table) in quick-time.

They offered to take some “goodbye photos” on a patch of grass outside (which they did and later sent to me) . . .. and I should have questioned it then, but this "Steffi" wanted my scarf pulled over the leg that had the heavy-duty blue tape and the catheter in it. “We like dignity,” she joked.

When we got to the van and I climbed in with him, he suddenly rose up strongly once again on his back legs – this time so strongly he was standing upright. He screamed or “vocalised” loudly.

She told me to hold him down, and dear God, I cannot believe that at that moment in time I didn’t see the reality – and I did as instructed.

My little Harry was SO strong. It felt SO wrong to be pulling down to the bed a fully cognisant, crying, upright standing dog that had just the night before been delivered into their care for simple rehydration – and now to be suddenly restraining my beloved, precious baby, while this vet quickly sedated him (or, as I would later discover FURTHER sedated him), and like a flash of lightning whipped the cap off the syringe she was holding between her teeth and delivered her “final solution”.

She stood back, satisfied. She had achieved her objective. She had finished him off . . . whether I had liked it or not.

So Do You Want to Know What REALLY Went On In Behind the Closed Doors of that Horrific ICU Ward?

And NOW – do you want to know what REALLY went on with my little Harry? Do you want to know why my gut was screaming at me that something wasn’t right with this whole story and this whole scene just as loudly as Harry was screaming while standing up in that ICU cage the night before?

Because two weeks later I discovered the truth. I found the invoice that I had paid and that was emailed at the time of his killing (you can go to hell, Massey and you too, "Steffi", I am NOT calling it “euthanasia” because it wasn’t; it was a premeditated, unnecessary killing).
 
And here’s exactly what I was able to ascertain from that invoice: They had loaded up on three separate occasions (without cause and without my authorisation or even my knowledge) this tiny, dehydrated dog, with a cocktail of strong and potentiated sedatives on the  morning of December 1^st.  By the time I arrived at Massey that afternoon, he would have been at the peak of a pharmaceutical pincer effect caused by 200mg of Gabapentin and a potentiating dose of Prevomax, given while he was already metabolically compromised by the dehydration.

Incompetent or just plan wicked?  Whichever it was (certainly both, in my view) . . . it was not only without my consent, but also without my knowledge. And here’s the evil in play: it remained outside of my knowledge until I found this smoking gun invoice . . . that, together with some deep-dive research, heartbreakingly, explained everything.

You see, I might not be a vet, but – like I said – something never felt right – and the more I reflected on every aspect of it all, the less right everything felt. So I started doing some research. And I put in a request for Harry’s full clinical records, the ICU CCTV footage and the CCTV footage of the goings-on in that consulting room. And I’ve asked for the metadata and audit  (none of which I've ever  received, only their alterable, and altered, "Summary" document). . . because I’m not only unimpressed with Massey’s ethics, I’m also aware that they’re capable of great cunning. So to the average pet owner who might not know the significance of the audit logs and metadata, these are a feature of modern veterinary clinical digital record-keeping systems, that show if and where records have been edited, added to, deleted, or otherwise altered, post the original date of the entry.
 
DO you know WHY I’ve requested these? I’ll tell you:

BECAUSE HARRY HAD  NOT HAD A “NEUROLOGICAL EVENT’. HE WAS HEAVILY SEDATED. AND HIS SPORADIC DISPLAYS OF PHYSICAL STRENGTH THEN COLLAPSE THEN STRENGTH AGAIN, AND HIS ACTIVE DISTRESS, THEN TRYING TO BEND HIS HEAD BACK AND KISS ME, THEN COLLAPSING AGAIN . . . HE WAS UNDER THE HEAVY INFLUENCE OF TWO DRUGS THAT ARE WELL-DOCUMENTED WITHIN THE CLINICAL LITERATURE AS  MIMICKING NEUROLOGICAL EVENTS.

And when he responded to his Mummy’s prompt to “show me your strong leggies” and then began struggling like a little bucking bronco in the van in that infamous final scene where – through his densely drugged state he sensed exactly the nature of the intentions of the two vet-coated women at the open van door – he suddenly stood up wildly on his back legs, like a little bucking bronco and started – not just “vocalising” but indeed, literally screaming – and screaming loudly.

And – while I had NO idea that what I was witnessing was a heavily drugged little Harry trying to communicate with me that he was “still in here”,  the Massey vet, “Steffi’, certainly DID know that he was still in there, as she wickedly instructed me to hold him down, so that she could quickly get the kill shot into him and take him out.

In doing so, destroying (she thought) all possibility that the truth would ever be discovered.

But here – as I now (very much too late) know – is that truth:

The Invoice:

Gabapentin

• Primary Uses: Used to manage chronic neuropathic pain, control seizures (often as an add-on therapy), and reduce anxiety/fear associated with veterinary visits or travel.

• Sedative Properties: It is frequently used as a "pre-visit" sedative to make animals (especially cats) easier to handle during examinations.

• Ataxia: While not its purpose, ataxia (loss of co-ordination/stumbling) is a common dose-dependent side effect. "At high doses, this lack of co-ordination can mimic neurological deficits, potentially leading to false-positive results during neurological exams,” states the well-known veterinary literature.

The Clinical Reality:   

Harry Had NOT Had A 'Neurological Event'. . . . He Was Under Severe, Potentiated, Condition-Contraindicated, Unauthorised, Unnecessary & Undisclosed Sedation

Gabapentin creates stumbling, lack of co-ordination, and "drunken" behaviour (Ataxia).

The vet, “Steffi” told me these symptoms were the result of a “neurological event" that had caused permanent damage, and that Harry was "unfixable”.

But he  wasn’t “unfixable”.

He was drugged.

Convenience-drugged.

And with an agent (which was then potentiated with a further strong sedating agent), compounding the first i.e. magnifying the impacts of the Gabapentin, which is extremely well-known in the veterinary clinical literature to be strictly contra-indicated for a dog with any degree of kidney disease  . . . which the very blood tests the ICU staff had taken (and had back in hand) that night, demonstrated clearly that he had.

And his extreme response (given not only the non-necessity and thus unauthorised  pharmacological intervention and the associated Breach of Duty of Care) to the convenience-based use of sedating drugs (something I had seen just two months prior when a local vet was careless in his administration of Gabapentin), had either caused staff to panic not knowing the eventual outcome of their actions, AND/OR they saw this as an opportunistic exit strategy for a client that had challenged them on occasion – and although with good cause, their individual and corporate egos had never coped well with it at all.

THAT was, or THEY were, the reason or reasons he had to be “euthanased” with urgency.

And THAT was why – despite my telling them I was making NO decision on the phone – they had him all prepped up with the infrastructure of his PLANNED demise well in place before I even arrived. It was also intended to be a strong psychological influencer, “Look, we’ve already made the decision for you.”  And how interesting it was that such heavy duty tape should be needed for a dog that was, apparently, experiencing neurological failure.

AGAIN, AND I CANNOT SAY IT ENOUGH, THEY NEVER TOLD ME HE WAS UNDER HEAVY SEDATION - OR THAT HE'D HAD ANY SEDATION ADMINISTERED AT ALL.  That he was “drugged”, “doped”.

But that, unbeknownst to me, was what I was seeing that fateful day. I was seeing a dog whose system was beginning to finally metabolise the Gabapentin and Prevomax with which he’d been loaded up. And actually, loaded up repeatedly.

"Steffi" was not "ending his suffering"; she was destroying the only living witness to her and her Massey colleagues' pharmaceutical malpractice. She was ensuring the truth would be buried with him.

And now I have to live the rest of my life with these visceral, horrific, haunting images . . .  and the knowledge that all I had had to do was walk out of there with him and there was a decent chance he might still have survived his torture, if I had  only known what I was dealing with and could have gotten him to an ethical and competent place of practice.

Clinical Research Note:

Prevomax (Maropitant) is officially an anti-emetic, but in this set of circumstances, it would have acted as a "secondary sedative" due to how it behaves in the brain and how it interacts with Gabapentin. When Prevomax is administered alongside Gabapentin, you are not just giving two drugs; you are creating a synergy. There is documented evidence in veterinary anaesthesia literature that Maropitant has an "anaesthetic-sparing effect".

This means it makes other sedatives and anaesthetics stronger than they would be on their own. By giving Harry Prevomax with Gabapentin, Massey’s veterinary staff effectively doubled-down on their convenience-sedation of him. The Gabapentin caused the ataxia (stumbling), and the Prevomax deepened the "vacant" look that "Steffi" used to claim he was neurologically failing.

Further – in a metabolic logjam of dehydration – In a dehydrated dog, the blood is more concentrated. This increases the "free fraction" of the drug in the bloodstream, making it more potent and much harder for a senior liver/kidney system to clear. That’s according to the Plumb’s Veterinary Drug Handbook, the "bible" of veterinary medicine.

And should some Massey shill be sufficiently desperate or sufficiently highly paid as to argue that "Prevomax isn't a sedative," actually, it’s worse, due to its anaesthetic-sparing effect . . .  which means you, Massey, used a drug  well-known to potentiate Central Nervous System depression in a dehydrated senior patient, and then you diagnosed that drug-induced depression as a terminal brain event. 
 
That Massey, that "Steffi", is gross multi-level malpractice.

When I had prompted Harry ("Show Mummy your strong leggies"), he forced himself through willpower to break, momentarily, through the sedation.

A dog suffering a catastrophic brain event cannot "override" that deficit. But a sedated dog can - at least momentarily - override the drugs with which they have been sedated if that dog is stimulated by a familiar, beloved voice.

But . . . WHY?

And WHY had they sedated him to start with?

Sedation is prohibited under the VCNZ Code of Professional Conduct when a dog is neither in pain nor being prepared for surgery.

My Harry was not in pain, nor was he having surgery.

And, says the Code, such a drug should also be the subject of “OBTAINED AUTHORISATION”  by the pet’s owner.

Nobody ASKED me. Nobody even TOLD me.

And It Gets WORSE. MUCH Worse.

READERS: PLEASE NOTICE SOMETHING ABOUT THE PHOTOGRAPH BELOW.

That blood-staining / blood-shadowing / bleeding-indicative patch around Harry's nose and muzzle? Look at it carefully.

I had a highly sophisticated AI subscription service analyse it. Here is its output:

Visual Forensic Analysis: The Muzzle and Eyes

Looking closely at the high-resolution image (    Harry at Massey - pic 1 - glassy- vacant- half-closed eyes   )

Around the Muzzle: There are visible dark, reddish-brown patches and staining around his nose and the edges of the mouth.

Clinical Implications: These could indicate epistaxis (nosebleed) or hemoptysis (coughing up blood), often associated with acute internal distress or side effects from aggressive pharmacological intervention. This staining suggests a period of acute physical struggle or physiological crisis that occurred before the photo was taken.

The presence of localised, dark, reddish-brown discoloration in the fur specifically concentrated around the nostrils and the corners of the mouth is a classic forensic indicator of dried fluid - most commonly blood or serosanguinous discharge.

"In a professional veterinary ICU setting, staff would likely have wiped away active bleeding to maintain 'clinical appearance', but unless they performed a deep chemical cleaning of the fur, the protein-based staining of blood is notoriously difficult to remove completely from light-colored or fine facial fur."

Forensic Reasoning:

• The Concentration:  The fact that the staining is not a general "muckiness" but is concentrated at the respiratory and oral exits strongly suggests the fluid originated from within (epistaxis or hemoptysis).

• The "Cleaning" Indicator:   If the fur looks slightly damp or "matted down" in those specific areas despite being mostly "clean", it suggests an attempt to wipe away a substance that was previously much more prominent.

• The Context of Struggle:  High-stress struggle or severe pharmacological reactions (like pulmonary edema or acute hypertension) can lead to small capillary ruptures in the nasal passage or lungs.

• Physiological Response:  High stress, extreme anxiety, or intense physical struggle triggers a "fight-or-flight" response, releasing adrenaline and cortisol. This causes a sudden, sharp rise in blood pressure.

• Mechanism of Rupture:  The delicate, superficial blood vessels (capillaries) in the nasal mucosa (specifically Kiesselbach's plexus) are thin-walled. A sudden pressure surge can cause these "tiny hoses" to leak or burst, resulting in a nosebleed.

• Contributing Factors:  Stress-induced behaviours, such as aggressive rubbing or blowing of the nose, can further rupture these already strained vessels. 

• Pulmonary Edema:  Severe pharmacological reactions and lung capillaries: Certain drugs or toxins can trigger severe, non-inflammatory pulmonary edema, where fluids and blood leak from capillaries into the lungs.

• Stress Failure of Pulmonary Capillaries:  Abnormally high pressure in the pulmonary circulation - caused by severe pharmacological reactions, intense exertion, or acute left ventricular failure - can lead to "stress failure" of the capillaries. This involves physical breaks in the capillary endothelial layer and alveolar epithelium.

• Frank Hemorrhage:  These breaks can lead to increased permeability, leakage of protein, and, in severe cases, actual bleeding (hemorrhage) into the lungs. 

Acute Hypertension: 

• Vascular Strain:  A hypertensive crisis (severely elevated blood pressure) places immense strain on the entire vascular system.

• Target Organ Damage:  This pressure can rupture small blood vessels in the nasal mucosa, causing epistaxis, or damage the pulmonary vasculature, leading to pulmonary edema. 

In summary, this represents the mechanism of stress failure in both pulmonary and systemic capillaries under extreme pressure.

Harry's Eyes:  The Give-Away Sign of Heavy Sedation

"The eyes are not just 'closed'; they are vacant and glassy, with a significant 'third eyelid' (nictitating membrane) protrusion. This is a classic sign of heavy sedation or profound systemic shock." 

"This completely contradicts the narrative of a spontaneous 'neurological event'," according to the AI.

I further enquired of the AI regarding the heavy blue cast-like bandage they had installed around Harry's foreleg prior to the success of their coercion of me to agree to his termination. I could not show the AI for visual analysis as "Steffi", the "vet", had insisted on my scarf being used to cover over the bandage so that it would not be visible in any photos.

• "The Foreleg: The heavy wrapping/splinting on his leg - which you have described as being like a "plaster cast" - is highly irregular for a simple IV site. It suggests immobilisation for a patient who was expected to (or had been) physically resisting."
  

The Implications for ‘Informed Consent’

Under New Zealand law and the Veterinary Council of New Zealand’s Code of Professional Conduct, a veterinarian must provide an accurate clinical picture.

Specifically, Clause 2.1 (Communication and Consent) states:

"Veterinarians must ensure that the client has a clear understanding of the animal’s condition and the options for treatment . . . to enable the client to make an informed decision."

Further, Clause 2.8 mandates that "Veterinarians must provide accurate and complete information to clients."

But "Steffi", the Massey vet, failed to tell me that Harry looked the way he did, because he had been sedated – instead claiming that he looked that way, essentially, because his brain was (according to her) failing.

She and her “colleagues” (or perhaps, more appropriately, “accomplices”) didn't just make an error. They fraudulently induced my consent for euthanasia – which, as these subsequent discoveries clearly show, was NOT “euthanasia”, but a calculated, coerced, clinical killing of my deeply loved dog.

Imagine their panic if I had thought to insist on taking him from the hospital and to another vet clinic – right then – for a second opinion. Another vet would not only have recognised the signs and state of a dog on his way out of heavy sedation, they would ALSO have asked Massey for his clinical records for the period of the admission . . . and would have seen immediately that the drug – Gabapentin – that Harry had been sedated with, mimics ataxia i.e. by (according to the well-documented research) “inducing proprioceptive deficits and drug-induced paresis”.

To be noted – as you will see of my publication of my requests for his information under the Privacy Act 2020, Massey’s “Legal and Governance” team aren’t particularly champing at the bit to hand these over to me. 

While the Companion Animal "Hospital's" Practice Manager, Pauline Nijman, had the records ready to hand over two weeks prior, the Legal and Governance team stepped in for a bit of – what sounds like – sanitisation.

It is plain to see that it is fully intended that my attempts at following formal routes (i.e my requests for Harry’s FULL AND UNREDACTED, PRIMARY CLINICAL RECORDS under the Privacy Act, along with OIA requests) to uncover the truth are unlikely to achieve that.

But to the suits, and to the staff who knowingly participated in this travesty and the plan to "destroy the evidence" of your wilful malpractice:

You no longer hold this leverage over me – but, I fully believe – you exercised it to the point of a very successful “exit strategy” for my dog . . . and thus for myself as a client who dared to challenge what she saw as your (all too numerous) shortcomings.

Now, though, you have created a situation whereby I have nothing further to lose, as I turn the lights on – and to continually brighten the intensity of them – in a room you would greatly prefer to remain dark.