And the hits keep coming
So, on December 18, we had two dogs. Now, we have none. One was Haley, who I've written about before. The other was Smudge, her constant companion and cousin, two years her junior. Smudge died last night after an extremely sudden and traumatic illness.
I brought him inside on Thursday afternoon around 4, and he was a bit lethargic, kinda tired-seeming. When my mom left him at 9:30, she actually put him outside because he seemed so hyperactive and playful, she didn't want to wake me. He proceeded to lay down behind my chair for a solid three hours. Definitely not normal behavior for this dog, who was always in your face, trying to get pet or played with. Then came dinner - and he didn't eat at all. Totally, totally wrong for him. Usually he'll not only eat everything in sight, he'll then spend a half-hour licking the bowl, long after any trace of food has gone.
So we took him to the emergency vet, who determined that he was dehydrated and running a very high fever (106 degrees). They got some fluids in him and the fever down, but had no idea what was wrong. We took him to our usual vet in the morning on Friday, and they did an ultrasound. This determined that his intestines had thickened, and simply shut down altogether. They're supposed to be constantly moving, and in five checks of the entire intestinal tract, the doc didn't see any movement except a single flutter that they almost missed. The scariest thing: at Christmas, everyone remarked on how fat he was. On Friday, he was 14 lbs lighter than his May checkup, and he actually lost 2lbs in about 12 hours (between 9AM and 9PM). You could feel ribs and spine, where he had once had a layer of fat.
They don't know what caused his intestines to shut down, but they think it was cancer. In the end, he was just too weak to even survive an exploratory surgery, so we decided around 10PM last night to have him put down. He was in a lot of pain, his abdomen was filling up with fluids, and he couldn't even sit down anymore because it put too much pressure on his diaphragm. The doctor said that dogs are just masters at hiding their symptoms, and he hid his right up 'til he shut down completely. I wonder if we weren't too focused on Haley's long illness to see the signs of his, but still, we hadn't seen any changes in his behavior.
OK, medical stuff over. Smudge was a damned good dog, but always lived in Haley's shadow. We had Haley first, and basically got Smudge so she wouldn't be so bored (and thus getting into trouble) all the time. He loved Haley to death, though he was always a bit jealous. If you started petting her, he'd come over and literally wedge himself between you so you had to pet him, too. If you gave her something, but didn't give it to him, he'd follow you around nosing you hard until you did (or he forgot).
He was always happy to see people. I've never seen him bite or snap at anyone, he just wanted to play and have fun. I remember once Haley, who was a bit smaller than Smudge, had snuck out a small hole in a chicken-wire fence. Smudge tried to follow her, but got stuck after getting his front legs through. So he sat there for who knows how long. When I walked up to him to cut him loose, even before I got him out he was trying to lean up against me, and doing his trademark "talking" (he would kinda bark, kinda howl, but not actually open his mouth, so it just sounded like a muffled "roo roo rrrrrooooo"). Cheery little bugger, even stuck in a fence.
He was a food vacuum, and more than a little bit gross in some of the things he would eat, or roll in. He was an eternal optimist, convinced that *this time* the porcupine would understand that he just wanted to play. They never did - he needed four surgeries in just two years to remove quills from his ears, nose, and throat. He always had to be around people. If you were at home alone, he'd follow you from room to room, even if he was sleeping in the corner, minding his own business.
He wasn't the brightest dog, but it was generally pretty endearing. In addition to getting stuck in one, he's run headlong into multiple fences while chasing something small enough to fit through them, which he was not. Once, when we were camping, we saw him come out of the woods well behind us, put his nose to the ground, and start following the trail... backwards. We had to go and grab him eventually, because he couldn't figure out that the smell-trail he was following went away from us, not towards us. He was terrified of squeaky toys, mostly because he couldn't understand why they kept making noise at him.
I hope you'll excuse my turn for the maudlin. It was a lot easier with Haley, because we expected it. Smudge went from his usual self to in such visible pain that he couldn't even bring himself to sit down within about thirty-six hours.
I brought him inside on Thursday afternoon around 4, and he was a bit lethargic, kinda tired-seeming. When my mom left him at 9:30, she actually put him outside because he seemed so hyperactive and playful, she didn't want to wake me. He proceeded to lay down behind my chair for a solid three hours. Definitely not normal behavior for this dog, who was always in your face, trying to get pet or played with. Then came dinner - and he didn't eat at all. Totally, totally wrong for him. Usually he'll not only eat everything in sight, he'll then spend a half-hour licking the bowl, long after any trace of food has gone.
So we took him to the emergency vet, who determined that he was dehydrated and running a very high fever (106 degrees). They got some fluids in him and the fever down, but had no idea what was wrong. We took him to our usual vet in the morning on Friday, and they did an ultrasound. This determined that his intestines had thickened, and simply shut down altogether. They're supposed to be constantly moving, and in five checks of the entire intestinal tract, the doc didn't see any movement except a single flutter that they almost missed. The scariest thing: at Christmas, everyone remarked on how fat he was. On Friday, he was 14 lbs lighter than his May checkup, and he actually lost 2lbs in about 12 hours (between 9AM and 9PM). You could feel ribs and spine, where he had once had a layer of fat.
They don't know what caused his intestines to shut down, but they think it was cancer. In the end, he was just too weak to even survive an exploratory surgery, so we decided around 10PM last night to have him put down. He was in a lot of pain, his abdomen was filling up with fluids, and he couldn't even sit down anymore because it put too much pressure on his diaphragm. The doctor said that dogs are just masters at hiding their symptoms, and he hid his right up 'til he shut down completely. I wonder if we weren't too focused on Haley's long illness to see the signs of his, but still, we hadn't seen any changes in his behavior.
OK, medical stuff over. Smudge was a damned good dog, but always lived in Haley's shadow. We had Haley first, and basically got Smudge so she wouldn't be so bored (and thus getting into trouble) all the time. He loved Haley to death, though he was always a bit jealous. If you started petting her, he'd come over and literally wedge himself between you so you had to pet him, too. If you gave her something, but didn't give it to him, he'd follow you around nosing you hard until you did (or he forgot).
He was always happy to see people. I've never seen him bite or snap at anyone, he just wanted to play and have fun. I remember once Haley, who was a bit smaller than Smudge, had snuck out a small hole in a chicken-wire fence. Smudge tried to follow her, but got stuck after getting his front legs through. So he sat there for who knows how long. When I walked up to him to cut him loose, even before I got him out he was trying to lean up against me, and doing his trademark "talking" (he would kinda bark, kinda howl, but not actually open his mouth, so it just sounded like a muffled "roo roo rrrrrooooo"). Cheery little bugger, even stuck in a fence.
He was a food vacuum, and more than a little bit gross in some of the things he would eat, or roll in. He was an eternal optimist, convinced that *this time* the porcupine would understand that he just wanted to play. They never did - he needed four surgeries in just two years to remove quills from his ears, nose, and throat. He always had to be around people. If you were at home alone, he'd follow you from room to room, even if he was sleeping in the corner, minding his own business.
He wasn't the brightest dog, but it was generally pretty endearing. In addition to getting stuck in one, he's run headlong into multiple fences while chasing something small enough to fit through them, which he was not. Once, when we were camping, we saw him come out of the woods well behind us, put his nose to the ground, and start following the trail... backwards. We had to go and grab him eventually, because he couldn't figure out that the smell-trail he was following went away from us, not towards us. He was terrified of squeaky toys, mostly because he couldn't understand why they kept making noise at him.
I hope you'll excuse my turn for the maudlin. It was a lot easier with Haley, because we expected it. Smudge went from his usual self to in such visible pain that he couldn't even bring himself to sit down within about thirty-six hours.