Archives for posts with tag: dogs

8522BE73-564B-4DA8-BCC1-DB9B667C767DThis started out as a very different post called “Oh the sad sweetness of the very senior dog” — a melancholy review of the passage of time and the impact on my old girl Tawny (age guess around 16 years). The fatigue, the wandering, the peeing, the wobbling, the panting, etc. etc. Oh sadness, oh sorrow.

Then everything changed when the seizures started. I went from oh well to CODE RED in a heartbeat. Caring for the old dog turned into a panicked, sleep-deprived dive into Oh My Gawd.

I know a bit about seizures, having had a fair number of clients over the years who have had dogs burdened with them. Plus my last dog seizured the last day of his life (he was 17), so there was that terrifying thought leaping around my amygdala. I know there are usually only a few possible causes in an old dog, and most aren’t good: growth/tumor, general body/organ breakdown.

But there was also this possibility: inner-ear infection. Which has no visible symptoms.

I also am intimately familiar with (some might say OCD about) Tawny’s body and health history. She came to me as a foster with a bad ear infection that took 6 months of daily cleanings to clear up. After that, I was obsessive about checking/cleaning to make sure it never recurred. And at the time the seizures started, she was on antibiotics. So an infection wasn’t possible in my view.

Still… Tawny’s unique ears feature corn-maze-like passages that are difficult to keep clear. So was it possible she had not an infection but a blockage? Would that be enough to trigger a seizure?

Crossed my fingers and started flushing (fueled by massive amounts of ground turkey for tolerating it. I mean for Tawny of course). Warm compresses (more turkey). Massages (no turkey needed for this one!).

What happened? A miracle. The seizures stopped.

 

I nervously started counting days. They’d been happening a week apart. A week passed. Eight, nine, 10 days. Two weeks. Three. Though I never saw a smidgen of dirt flush out of her ears, something was happening. (I did once see a tiny bit of yellow glop from one ear which may have been a blockage.)

As the no-seizure days piled up, I started allowing myself the feeling that I had addressed the problem. Relief washed over me and sleep started returning.

But this story isn’t over. Because the miracles kept coming.

To my delight and astonishment, other changes emerged. Tawny perked up, becoming more aware of her surroundings, more engaged with me, even starting to play again. She was less wobbly. The limping she exhibited in her front leg that caused me to put a brace on her went away. The incontinence stopped. And most astonishing of all, a growth that appeared on her inner eyelid shrank and disappeared.

I thought these were all old-dog things that just had to be managed. I could not have been more wrong.

How long had that inner-ear problem been going on? How could we (me, vets) have missed it?

Know what? I don’t care. All I care about is treatment worked, the seizures are gone and her health is still improving. How far can she go? I have no idea. I am just going to continue to observe, challenge and adjust as needed.

And NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER ASSUME.

What a gift.

The review is in: My Tawny girl loooooves her home-cooked meals. I keep researching and experimenting with different foods to give her the best nutrition while making sure I minimize her exposure to allergens, especially the one that made her so sick: mold.

Imagine my horror when I opened up a new bag of her favorite chicken jerky (made in the USA) and found the entire contents covered in mold. I mean this stuff, normally an orange collar, was green. I looked at the second bag I bought; same deal, but not as obvious.

I returned them, and when asked if I wanted replacements, without even thinking I said no. I wondered how many more might have mold, how many I may have brought home with some amount of mold on them I didn’t notice. I couldn’t risk it. I walked out without anything for my dog to chew on. Again. I’d already been through this process several times eliminating just about every chewing option for one reason or another: too hard (antlers, bully sticks, regular Nyla bones); contains corn, wheat and/or soy (many composite/shaped things), too-big last pieces getting swallowed and thrown back up with blood on them (rawhide!).

The only option I had for Tawny were the sticks in the yard! She liked them and didn’t eat any of the pieces she broke off. Little hard to find one in the snow, though, and a little more mess than I’m willing to deal with in the house….

Aarrgh! Now what?

To the Internet, of course.

I found a recipe for making sweet potato chews. It went like this: slice and bake in low oven for several hours. Okay, so more like a procedure. Really easy, I thought. I’ll give it a whirl.

I should mention here that I know absolutely nothing about sweet potatoes, except that they’re not the same as yams. I don’t know the difference is. I’ve never cooked or eaten one. That orange stuff in the bowl with the marshmallow stuff on top? I don’t know which one that is; regardless, no way am I eating that.

I was stumped in the store because one sign said yams and another for the same bin said sweet potatoes. A kind fellow shopper informed me that the things in the bin were what I wanted, no matter the name, because we only have one kind on the U.S. I don’t remember which one. But I’m awfully grateful to the shopper; if not for her, I might still be standing there.

I also have learned that sweet potatoes are really hard to slice for three reasons: they are shaped funny, they are dense, and my knives stink. I ended up raiding my mom’s knives and finally found a serrated one that worked.

The “easy” cooking part was anything but because of the above slicing challenges and one additional one: I can’t cut straight. It’s a hand-eye coordination thing; it looked straight until I start slicing. My knife got stuck and I realized I was seriously off track. When I finally get a piece hacked off I tried to even it out by planing it like a door, which worked not at all. So uniformity did not happen. That meant a lot of different cooking times for one trayful. Since the goal here is to dry them out, I really had to keep an eye on them. Other parts of the learning curve caused me to toss a bunch that I burnt because I set the wrong temperature, and another batch was 86ed because I forgot to turn them halfway though.

Sooooo, not as easy as it seemed.

However, I am nothing if not determined — some might say stubborn, perhaps even pigheaded — and I have pretty well straightened out my system. I use parchment paper instead of foil so they don’t stick. If all the shininess is gone from the inside they are close to done. I have even gotten a little better at slicing. A little.

There are several upsides to doing this. It’s cheaper — much — to make my own. It makes my house smell nice.

The best thing, the most surprising thing, and the only thing that will ensure I will keep making them, is that Tawny loves them. I mean loves them. She takes them and runs off in absolute delight. How could I not keep cooking them up? I believe I have already established that I will do practically anything for my dogs to make their lives better. Goofy dog love!

Sweet potatoes. Who knew? What next?

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