Tag Archives: illness

Going to the Dogs: A Forced Series on Canine Arrhythmia

go to the dogs
Meaning: become ruined, often by excess or neglect

Tonight’s pre-bed pastime has devolved into watching Dub lick himself. He started at the front, working his tongue intently between the pads of his front paw, left then right. He worked his way back to the left hind paw, up his long leg – the dog has hind quarters like a small deer – to the grand, prized space between his legs.

I just had to stop him because he began to nibble at the surgical tape securing a plastic IV bag over his right, rear paw. The plastic IV bag covers a blue bandage that completely encases his foot, and extends up to his knee joint. The bag is there to save our carpet from any excess, dripping blood. “I’m sorry, boy,” I whispered. I touched my nose to his and inhaled his current smell (earthworms and grass). “Try to get some sleep,” I said, and slipped the 15-inch diameter translucent plastic cone back over his head.  

In the park earlier tonight, Dub — who knows how — ripped off a toenail. I swear this dog was born under an unlucky star. He’s not even five years old; we’ve had him with us for five months. So far we’ve had a seizure, a complete blood work-up, and invested in several preventatives. Total veterinary expenditure so far: $600+.

Here’s the kicker: DH called me from the vet while they were fixing up his bloody paw, and reported that Dr. H- discovered a heart arrhythmia. “Severe arrhythmia,” came his voice through the blackberry balanced on my shoulder.

“That can’t be,” I said. “Last vet appointment, after the seizure, they said he had the heart rate of a champion.”

“Dr. H- said these things appear rather suddenly.” I’ll say. His last check-up was only two months ago.

I stomped my slipper on the kitchen floor where I stood washing dishes. “He’s not even five years old.” I vividly recalled in this moment that the last time DH called me from the vet it was to tell me that Samson had an aggressive form of cancer and very little time left. Prior to that, I had been ready to pony up thousands to just make him better before we discovered that there was no such option. And whether I had been driven by devotion or mere dependence, my emotional memory cannot distinguish.  

“She says we need to get him to a cardiologist ASAP,” he continued.

“Could you ask her about his crazy metabolism?” I said. “Tell her how much he eats and his energy level; tell her that he could run all day and eat all day and never gain a pound.”

“Well, sure. But what does that have to do with his heart?”

I don’t know. That’s why I want to ask. He eats a like a horse.”

“Ok, I’ll ask.”

And that was that. I don’t think he asked. DH brought Dub home, along with a prescription for antibiotics and a brochure for Chesapeake Veterinary Cardiology Associates. I wish I could make this funny somehow, but I can’t summon it. Dub’s bumbling around the house in his cone of shame isn’t even amusing; this dog, of all dogs, should not be restrained or subdued. Both current and potential situations are against his nature. There has been no neglect or excess that could have caused this potentially very bad diagnosis. Potentially bad. We don’t know yet. May be nothing? But it may be something.

And at the moment I’m not feeling especially devoted or dependent. Just dumbstruck.

WTF?

Advertisements

1 Comment

Filed under Adopting Dogs

Do Not Push

So it read on the back of the dump truck in front of me in morning traffic: “Do Not Push.”  After 7 days alone with the kids and the dogs, it came as a divine intervention. 

I’m exhausted, and it ain’t over yet. 

First things first. Dub is fit as a fiddle, far as the vet can tell. He has the resting heart rate of a champion and the dog can catch a frisbee mid-flight with the grace of a gazelle, IF said gazelle could catch a frisbee and as far as I know, gazelles are not nearly that capable or entertaining.  

Dub in his natural state

Our fine vet, Dr. H., thinks the seizure was a fluke; he hasn’t had another. The blood work came back clean. And the vomiting was likely unrelated.  Or as I summarized for DH on the phone the night he called from Pune, “he’s a puker.”  

But I am growing rather attached to the puker.  He takes his cues from his humans, following us everywhere, resting when we rest, running when we run. Bam-Bam is learning this lesson the hard way – he knocked her down during an overzealous game of — and I quote — CHASE! ME! DOGS!  He has a cold black nose and looks so very interested, when he cocks his head just so, in what I have to say.  

He also barks his head off at anything that walks, rolls, or glides past our house, and we live on a very busy corner.  But I’m just moving into day eight of ten home alone, and the dump truck has spoken. I won’t think about that now. I’ll think about that tomorrow.

Leave a comment

Filed under Brittanys

Zone Defense: Days 1 and 2

Yesterday DH left for India for ten days.

An hour before he left, I held Pebbles on my lap while she received four immunizations, two in each thigh.  I will forever hear her screaming “don’t let them do it to me, Mama!”

Six hours before DH left, Dub had his first seizure. He just crouched like the Sphinx, unblinking, drooling, helpless on the office floor.

Twelve hours before DH left, I was on the phone with the on-call pediatrician begging him to call in a prescription for Bam-Bam, who has pink eye. In both eyes.

Twenty-four hours before DH left, I was certain I could handle everything just fine!

Now I’m waiting for the vet to call us back with the results of $300 worth of blood work. (Since the seizure he has played two extended games of fetch and gone for two walks.) I’m administering Bam-Bam the pink-eye medication in four doses daily for five days. Pebbles is proudly explaining to everyone she encounters that her body is now fighting off the diseases the ladies shot “into her bones.”  That is to say, everything seemed to be settling out, until I came home from work this evening and learned that Dub vomited and had diarrhea all over the house.

Under the piano.

Again in the corner.

In the mudroom, dripping down into the air vent.

In the family room.

All over his dog bed.

And our blessed nanny cleaned all of this up, only to vomit HERSELF mid-way through the cleaning job.

I hope the dog doesn’t die. I hope the nanny doesn’t quit. I hear New Delhi is lovely this time of year.

1 Comment

Filed under Kids, Travel