Malta vows 24/7 vet rota after beagle Luna dies in owner’s arms despite 13 desperate calls

Dog dies after owner calls 13 vets with no help, prompting ministry action
By Hot Malta Newsroom | 08:30 • 12 June 2024

A Valletta family’s frantic 36-hour search for emergency veterinary care ended in heartbreak last Sunday when their beloved seven-year-old beagle, Luna, died on the kitchen floor after the owners say they were turned away or ignored by 13 different clinics across Malta and Gozo. The story, first posted by owner Karl Micallef in a gut-wrenching Facebook thread that has since been shared more than 18,000 times, has triggered a rare public apology from the Parliamentary Secretariat for Agriculture, Fisheries and Animal Rights and a promise to create a 24/7 “rota of last resort” by the end of July.

“She was shaking, vomiting blood, and couldn’t stand,” Micallef told Hot Malta yesterday, his voice still cracking. “I started calling at 9 a.m. on Saturday. One vet in Sliema said they were fully booked until Tuesday. Another in Mosta told me they don’t do emergencies. By Sunday morning I was begging—literally begging—anyone to see her.” Luna died at 1:42 p.m., minutes after Micallef’s final unanswered call to a clinic in Qawra.

In Malta, where census data show one in every two households owns at least one pet, the incident has touched a cultural nerve. Dogs are more than companions here; they are family members who ride shotgun in battered Toyota Vitz cars, attend village festa marches, and have their own social media followings. The Maltese word “ħabib” is routinely used for both “friend” and “dog,” a linguistic quirk locals say speaks volumes. When Luna’s photo—ears flopping on a red-checkered cushion at a Marsaxlokk café—was pinned to the top of Micallef’s post, the island’s collective heart broke.

The veterinary sector, however, has long struggled with after-hours coverage. Only four clinics advertise 24-hour service, and two of those are on Gozo, a 25-minute ferry ride away. Dr. Miriam Pace, president of the Malta Veterinary Association, says the shortage is real: “We have 72 registered small-animal vets for 520,000 residents and an estimated 200,000 pets. Night shifts burn people out.” Pace added that many clinics are single-doctor practices that simply cannot stay open round the clock without risking patient safety.

Public outrage escalated when screenshots circulated of one receptionist allegedly replying, “It’s just a dog, try Monday.” By Monday morning, activists had plastered St. Julian’s Bay with posters reading “Luna Could Have Lived.” A spontaneous candlelight vigil outside Parliament drew 300 people, some clutching stuffed animals and homemade signs. Tourists wandering past asked what was happening; locals explained in English, Maltese, and sometimes Italian, turning the vigil into an impromptu language exchange of grief.

By Tuesday, Parliamentary Secretary Alicia Bugeja Said announced three measures: a €400,000 subsidy for clinics that join the new night rota, an emergency SMS helpline within 30 days, and a review of veterinary licensing laws that have not been updated since 2002. “Owning a pet is a social contract,” she said. “Government must guarantee that contract does not end at 5 p.m. on a Friday.”

The reaction on the ground has been cautiously optimistic. At the San Ġwann dog park yesterday, owners traded stories of their own late-night scares. “I drove to Gozo at 3 a.m. when my retriever ate rat poison,” said Maria Camilleri, 42. “We need to know help is always there.” Others fear the reforms will be too little, too late. “Luna’s Law” is already trending on Maltese TikTok, with users stitching videos of their pets to demand accountability.

For Karl Micallef, the policy shift is bittersweet. “If this saves one other dog, Luna didn’t die for nothing,” he said, stroking the empty red collar now hanging by his front door. “But nothing will bring her back.”

As the sun set over the Grand Harbour, the bells of Valletta’s Carmelite Church tolled seven times—one for each year Luna spent chasing waves at Għajn Tuffieħa. Somewhere on the island tonight, another dog will fall ill. The promise is that this time, the phone will be answered.