THE MIRACLE OF MARCUS
Angela Huth on the
inexplicable healing of a labrador
WHENEVER I hear of an inexplicable happening my reaction, I imagine, is fairly typical: credence mixed with scepticism. Recently, I was told the story of a dog Which had undergone a 'miraculous' re- covery I had the chance to see the proof myself. I thought it worth taking. Marcus is an 11-year-old black labrador of aristocratic descent — he comes from the Sandringham line of dogs. His life has been one of love and comfort with a doting family in Pinkneys Green. Of sunny dis- position, bright eye and shining coat, he was formerly an energetic companion. Shooting was his hobby and he had the reputation of being a good working gun- dog. He was accustomed to spending Peaceful nights in his owners' bedroom. One dreadful morning last October Mar- cus stretched a leg, gave an agonised yelp, and was scarcely able to rise. He was whizzed at once to a London vet. Acute arthritis, was the verdict. Anti- inflammatory pills were prescribed. But a week later Marcus was no better. Indeed, he was worse. Back to the vet, who took X-rays: anchylosis, it seemed (i.e. 'coalesc- ence of two bones originally distinct'). He looked gloomy. Distraught, Marcus's own- er then whizzed him to her own acupunc- turist, who refused to touch a dog. Even- tually, a vet/acupuncturist was discovered in Guildford. He, too, held out little hope for Marcus. A back leg would have to be amputated.
By now Marcus, though bravely 'taking it all in his stride', was in a 'very sorry state'. He hobbled in painful and undigni- fied fashion, unable to cock his leg without falling over. Nothing to be done, was the general verdict. Professional pessimism all round. The kindest thing would be to put him down, they said.
But of course no good British dog lover will agree to any such unspeakable solution without a fight. 'He was still smiling at me,' said his owner. 'I had to do something.' With the luck of the desperate, she ran into a friend from South Africa who had once met an English healer. The distinguished gentleman had apparently run his hands over the lady's expiring dog, and 'within minutes it was leaping about like a puppy'.
This same healer, an octogenarian farm- 'This is not a stick-up — it's war.' ing colonel, was tracked down in Hereford- shire. He himself had learnt the art of healing at the age of 65. Visiting a healer in search of a cure after a stroke, he was told he had the power to heal himself, and set about learning how. (Many of us have the power, he reckons: we just don't know how to use it.) Marcus was invited onto an armchair. A natural man-hater, he made no objection when the healer swung his grandfather's gold watch chain over him. In various places the chain whirled about, rixlicating areas of pain. The healer put his hand on the dog who instantly fell asleep. 'It's the tingling, old boy,' he explained. 'Heat from the hand gets the blood going — causes sleepiness.' Healer and owner kept up a merry chat. One of Prince Charles's favourite hunters, it seemed, was a recent success: quite cured by the laying on of the colonel's hands.
Marcus awoke. No, he did not instantly leap about, but each day saw a definite improvement. The healer agreed this was the case on a second visit, when he practised aura healing — holding his hand a few inches above the afflicted parts. But to make assurance double sure, Marcus was returned to the Guildford vet to see if he could help with the back leg that was still giving trouble. The man was astonish- ed at the dog's improvement. 'I've seen miracles, and here's another one,' he declared, and agreed to give some acupuncture.
Improvement continued. Ever stronger, Marcus went for longer walks every day. In the New Year he accompanied his family to Scotland. Plans had been made for two sessions of long-distance healing. At a pre-arranged time Marcus was to be kept quiet for 15 minutes, then his owner was to ring the healer. The first time she failed to keep Marcus still, though he fell asleep for the last five minutes. 'Most odd — didn't keep the dog quiet, did you?' said the healer on the telephone. 'It was hitting me very hard he was moving about, though everything comes through on a low fre- quency when you're far away.' (Once, from South Africa, he healed a girl in Newmarket.) For the second absent-healing Marcus behaved perfectly. He was a new dog by now — even the bad leg had recovered. On return home he was X-rayed for the second time by the London vet who, like the Guildford vet, could not believe his eyes. 'There's no doubt the bone has quite changed,' he said.
I have examined both the before and after X-rays. The first showed cloudy bone, the fuzziness of coalescence. On the second, the edges of the bone were com- pletely sharp, clear. Even to a layman the transformation was extraordinary.
One Saturday, I am glad to report, Marcus returned to a full day's shooting. He was a little stiff. 'But who wouldn't be, at 77?' asked his owner.
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