Pawcurious Vet Blog: Pet help, stories, and information with Dr. V

As awful as this week has been, I have found so much comfort in finding that others have been touched by my little dude as well. I know my sadness is no different than each of you who has also lost a dear friend. How sad for those who haven’t felt this kind of loss, because that means they never got to experience this kind of love.

When Emmett and I were at Dog Beach this Sunday, I was following along as Emmett nuzzled a woman for pets as he always does.  After receiving his due, we continued to walk along the waterline. Her husband approached, a man with a big-guns type of camera around his neck, just like my husband. “Can I take a picture of your dog?” he asked.

I said sure. Emmett is nothing if not photogenic.

He snapped a couple of shots. “Get down by him,” he suggested, so I kneeled down and submitted to the kisses.

The man told me his e-mail address, a couple of times to make sure I had it committed to memory.

On Wednesday, I sent him an e-mail to see the pictures. I didn’t say anything about the circumstances, because if he was anything like my husband he would have a turnaround of a few weeks and I didn’t want to rush him. But he sent them along that night, and there I saw the two of us. I have a lot of pictures of Emmett, but I believe this was the only one of both of us together since the ill-fated Christmas 2003 picture where I made him wear a turtleneck sweater.

Pictures securely in hand, I sent this man a quick note to say thank you, and explain specifically why those shots meant even more than he could know.

And he responded with this:

“I am so very sorry for your loss.  I truly enjoyed the way Emmett looked at you at the beach.  I’ve never offered to take someone elses photo before, but for some reason I was moved.  Now I am even happier that I did.  I just looked at the your photos again and can seel how much Emmett adores you.  I hope the many many fond memories you have of him offer you peace in your loss.”

Opening that e-mail in a public place was a poor decision on my part.

What a curious thing, that of the hordes of pets there that day, this person was moved by my dog. What little unseen soft noses pressed at the back of his knees, telling him that this was something he should do?

The pictures themselves I chose not to share. They are a moment I need to hold close. But the moment and the gesture is one that has left me a little breathless.

Thank you, Jeff.

When my husband and I took Emmett to Dog Beach a couple of weeks ago, my husband commented how the place was like ‘heaven for dogs’. I was thinking the same thing, though he probably wasn’t thinking about it in as literal a context as I was.

This weekend, I went again, without my husband and kids. Just me and Emmett. He had a fantastic time, wading through the surf, visiting other dogs, getting lots of pets. It was a perfect day. That night, things started to go downhill. Fast. I threw every med in my arsenal at him; talked to multiple people about rescue treatments, got ready to cancel my upcoming anniversary trip with my husband.

Through all of this, Emmett has been so compliant, so happy. It was hard to believe he was as sick as he was. Most people had no clue, though those with more astute observational skills could pick up the shaved forearms, the temporal muscle atrophy. But then boom- it happened. He looked sick. And nothing I tried was making it better. I was text messaging my boss trying to track down Elspar and deciding whether or not I should run some IV fluids in when I took a breath, stepped back, and looked at my dog. Into his big brown trusting eyes, asking him what he wanted.

He gave me the look. The look you can’t mistake. The look that made me put down the phone, stop making phone calls to hunt down Elspar in Just One More effort, and give him what he wanted, and needed. He was ready. I wasn’t. But are we ever?

A week ago, my daughter and I were having a discussion about heaven. “What is it like?” she asked, in the literal way four year olds do.

I pondered a moment. “I think it’s like whatever you love best.”

“You walk down a path under a clear blue sky.”

“The water is warm, and there are lots of friends to play with.”

“The beach is dotted with unmonitored bags filled with treats.”

“Little old men walk by and give you donuts. And not those crummy granola fake ones. Dunkin Donuts chocolate glazed ones.”

“And you are happy.”

“You look to the one who held you close in life, standing at the end of the path. When she lets you go, you run off into the waves, happy to wait for the moment she, too, will join you.”

Take good care of him, Kevin.

The phone rings. On the other end is a client with a Boston terrier.

“Hey,” she says calmly. “I just came downstairs this morning, and Chewey’s eye was popped out. I just pushed it in but I’m coming in for you to see him anyway.”

Good call.

Proptosis, otherwise known as bug eyes, eyeballs-popping-out-of-the-head, or most commonly, “AUGH!” is most commonly the result of some sort of head trauma. When the eye is completely displaced out of the orbit, the damage is  extensive and may result in loss of the eye. Do not google this. Trust me. Even I am a bit horrified looking at it.

Breeds with a shallow orbit- ie, the bony cup in which the globe resides- are predisposed to this occurrence. Pugs, Boston terriers, shih tzus, and other squishy faced sorts are the dogs we most often see with the condition. With these guys, the protrusion of the eye can result from something much less extreme than a car accident- such as a tussle with another dog, or an overly eager veterinary student restraining a dog with too much vigor (NOT me!)

The good news is with those less traumatic events, often the eye can be gently replaced, thus preserving vision.  That is what happened with good old Chewey, who was none the worse for wear upon arrival at the clinic. I tested his vision, gave him some medications to help with the inflammation, and we’ll go from there. If it happens again, there are surgical procedures that can make it less likely to happen again.

With medical entries, I like to try and include a picture to help convey the type of condition I’m describing. I’ll spare you that in this case. Instead, enjoy this short clip from the oldie but goody, Pee Wee’s Big Adventure.

Exophthalmos at its most fun.

I don’t envy the job of Animal Control officers. Yesterday’s post brought up a good question by a sharp reader- the dog in question was microchipped, but did the rescue follow up on this? (Still waiting to hear from my friend.)

People get their dog microchipped, and subsequently forget to follow through with the all so important address changes. And then you wind up with stories like this one, from my local paper today.

Here’s the gist:

1. Family finds dog running around, takes a shine to dog.

2. Takes dog to shelter. Dog is microchipped, but the phone number is disconnected. Family waits requisite 5 days, then officially adopts dog.

3. On day 6, previous owner shows up at shelter. Had forgotten to update the microchip information. Dog apparently functions as an unofficial therapy- type dog to a person with disabilities.

4. Shelter asks new owners to return dog. They refuse, which is their legal right at this point.

5. Newspaper blogger gets involved. Chaos ensues.

I can see both sides of the story here. The family did everything correctly. Should they have returned the dog? What if it was 7 days instead of 6? 14? A month? What determines ownership?

I’ve seen a few similar custody cases gone bad- one involving a woman who found an unmicrochipped dog, waited a week, adopted the dog, got her fixed, vaccinated, etc. One month later, the prior owner saw the dog getting groomed in Petsmart, called the cops- and again, chaos ensued. It gets ugly.

When someone brings in a ‘found’ pet to me, I always scan him or her, then tell the person to call the shelter and follow the rules about found pets. I’ve had no problems myself, but I’ve heard some horror stories of vets who scan said pet, find a microchip, and the new owner refuses to allow them to contact the number. This puts the vet in a bind. Are we liable for not following the owner’s wishes and having the pet potentially taken away? Are we liable for not contacting the previous owner and letting them know we saw their pet? The answer to both is maybe.

As an owner, there are a few big steps you can take to avoid such a nasty mess should you and your pet become separated:

1. Make sure your microchip company is updated with every change in address and phone number.

2. Have your vet scan your pet yearly; microchips can migrate, and occasionally, malfunction.

3. If you do lose your pet, don’t just call the shelter. Workers are often overwhelmed and not sure of every pet that comes through. Go there in person, daily. Bring pictures of your pet. Fax pictures to all the local veterinarians as well.

I recently received this e-mail from my friend Lisa:

Hi Dr. V,

We went and got a Golden retriever, named Eddie, from a rescue shelter six or so months ago.  He’s 2-3 years old, and quite bright, as all Goldens are…he came to us knowing sit, shake, and lay down.  We also have a cat, and after quite some time of the cat staying away from him, they are finally able to tolerate being around each other.  At the rescue, they said they found him out and about, he had been microchipped and obviously the previous owners didn’t want him or couldn’t care for him.

Eddie’s problem is that he cannot tolerate other dogs, no matter what size they are.  He lunges for them, goes berserk when they are around, and tries to attack them.  We recently were on the receiving end of an expensive vet bill because he got to another dog too quickly and tore the dogs ear up.  When I walk him around the neighborhood at night, I have to deliberately walk him out of the line of fire of other dogs, because at 75 lbs, he can really walk me, if you know what I mean.  He is a sweet, social and loving Golden, there’s hardly a doubt in my mind that he might have been the victim of some attacks from other dogs while he was out on his own.

What can I do to socialize him with other dogs?  I don’t want him to be unfriendly, because as you know, he’s probably the most friendly of the breeds out there.  Any advice?

Thanks,
Lisa

Oh dear. The unfortunate aggressive Golden, an uncommon but not unheard of phenomenon.

Out of curiosity, let me start with two questions which immediately came to mind:

1. What sort of training have you already done, if any?

2. What are you using to walk Eddie? (regular collar, Gentle Leader, Halti, choke chain?)

Normally, when clients ask me behavior questions like this I mumble something about “desensitization and counterconditioning,” ask if they have been to a trainer, and give them a card for our local veterinary behaviorist. Sorting out behavior issues can be hard for vets- one, because many do not have any formal sort of training in behavior, and two- even if you do, the history taking process is often too time consuming to fit very well into the average full day.

I will tell you this- to really deal with this issue, you will need the hands on assistance of someone who has experience with canine behavior, either a seasoned trainer or a veterinary behaviorist.

Obviously this advice still stands, but I know there are some readers who have more extensive experience than myself in training and may be able to outline a little more clearly how a trainer would assess and handle this situation- dominance versus fear, techniques for desensitization, etc.

And if not, maybe some of you at least have some links to good pet behavior websites? Those are lacking in my repertoire. And you guys better not link to that Cesar guy.

Joy, originally uploaded by pawcurious.

Hope everyone has a great weekend! Virtual dog kisses from Emmett to all!