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| Kizzy and Ginger |
Ginger liked to play and a new puppy to chase around was a real picker upper for her. I'm not so sure what Kizzy thought of
all of that. They would tear around the house, from room to room, Kizzy in the lead, until she would dive under a chair or some other low thing and hide from Ginger. Ginger would try to coax Kizzy out of hiding and then they would tear off to some other hiding place.
Kizzy was not without her problems. Being the runt of her litter, she had to fight to keep everything she took a fancy to. It gave her an attitude of possessive aggression. Then, when she was spayed, she became a bit incontinent. But that was okay; we just adapted the house so that the places she liked to sleep in had absorbent pads around them. Every once in a while, for reasons known only to Kizzy, if I was holding her and Ginger came into the vicinity, Kizzy would stiffen and literally fly into a snarling rage. The only solution to calming her when that happened was to put her in her kennel and close off the outside world. After a few minutes, she would calm down and yip to be let out again. It was as if she was saying, "I'm okay now."
Auntie Ginger was Kizzy's teacher in what to do and how to do it. Ginger liked to keep an eye
on what was going on outside in our front yard, and her favorite perch was on the arm of a living room chair. Kizzy took up a position along side her teacher. Like Auntie Ginger, Kizzy liked to walk and we would take them both on walks when the weather allowed. Kizzy liked to be in the lead, and Ginger would do her best to take over the lead. But Kizzy liked to stop frequently and sniff whatever it is dogs sniff at in other people's lawns. In any case, Ginger usually got to pick the route we were taking, within reason, of course.
Time passed. Walks were taken. Everybody grew a bit older. Kizzy was about five years old, when life became more complicated. We noticed that Kizzy seemed to be bumping into things, especially outdoors. It didn't seem to be an impediment, but it was strange to see her brushing against the the vines and other plant life outside. She did not do that in previous times. Then one night things came to a head. Ginger way lying in a basket both dogs shared. Kizzy came up to the basket and wanted to get in, but Ginger was already there. A dog fight ensued. We got them apart and checked each dog for injuries; Ginger had some wounds. We took her over to the urgent pet care clinic for a once over. Nothing seemed to be particularly serious. We then decided to have Kizzy checked out also. One of the first things the veterinarian noticed was that Kizzy's eyes were cloudy; Kizzy had uveitis, which is a painful infection of the eye that can lead to blindness.
There are any number of causes for uveitis. At the vet's recommendation, we took Kizzy to an eye specialist in Omaha the next day. The specialist confirmed uveitis and put her on some eye drops to treat her condition. More time passed. Kizzy was not feeling well, and the loss of vision was becoming more pronounced. Again, we took Kizzy to the specialist for reevaluation Kizzy had developed chronic active hepatitis which is a liver inflammation. There was just one treatment: steroids. Prednisone was the medication of choice, and even that might not work. We had been down this road before with Auntie Ginger. Ginger's ailment was probably similar to Kizzy's but we didn't know it at the time. Treating Ginger with Prednisone had driven her into diabetes; we had been injecting her with insulin twice a day for a few years already. Now Kizzy was at that same point. It was do or die: treat Kizzy with Prednisone and hope for the best or do nothing and have her put down. We decided to to treat her. After four separate treatments with Prednisone, with a week interval between them, Kizzy was found to be cured, more or less. As expected, she did go into diabetes, and now we were injecting two dogs with insulin twice a day.
More time passed. Everyone got older. Ginger no longer had such a spring in her step. Neither did I. Then Ginger began having fits of convulsions. We could do nothing for her except to hold her and wait for the fits to pass. Then Ginger began bouts of tachycardia. That was bad news. We long knew that Ginger had a heart murmur; now the heart murmur was becoming serious. We treated Ginger for the first bout of tachycardia, but the veterinarian told us there was no cure and the next bout could result in a fatal heart attack. We understood. We agreed that when Ginger had her next tachycardia attack we would have her put down in order to spare her a heart attack. Two weeks later it happened, and Kizzy had the house to herself.
Still more time passed. An illness that had been lurking in my DNA began to manifest itself; I discovered that I was slowly losing my ability to do things I needed to do to maintain the house we lived in. The walks with Kizzy became fewer and fewer for both Kizzy and me. We took to putting Kizzy in a doggie stroller and took walks that way. After a while even those walks came to an end. Finally, it looked as if we needed to move to more tolerable accommodations. We would move to a retirement facility near San Antonio, Texas; Kizzy would go with us. We would not be throwing Kizzy away for our own convenience.
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| Auntie Ginger |
all of that. They would tear around the house, from room to room, Kizzy in the lead, until she would dive under a chair or some other low thing and hide from Ginger. Ginger would try to coax Kizzy out of hiding and then they would tear off to some other hiding place.
Kizzy was not without her problems. Being the runt of her litter, she had to fight to keep everything she took a fancy to. It gave her an attitude of possessive aggression. Then, when she was spayed, she became a bit incontinent. But that was okay; we just adapted the house so that the places she liked to sleep in had absorbent pads around them. Every once in a while, for reasons known only to Kizzy, if I was holding her and Ginger came into the vicinity, Kizzy would stiffen and literally fly into a snarling rage. The only solution to calming her when that happened was to put her in her kennel and close off the outside world. After a few minutes, she would calm down and yip to be let out again. It was as if she was saying, "I'm okay now."
Auntie Ginger was Kizzy's teacher in what to do and how to do it. Ginger liked to keep an eye
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| On guard duty |
Time passed. Walks were taken. Everybody grew a bit older. Kizzy was about five years old, when life became more complicated. We noticed that Kizzy seemed to be bumping into things, especially outdoors. It didn't seem to be an impediment, but it was strange to see her brushing against the the vines and other plant life outside. She did not do that in previous times. Then one night things came to a head. Ginger way lying in a basket both dogs shared. Kizzy came up to the basket and wanted to get in, but Ginger was already there. A dog fight ensued. We got them apart and checked each dog for injuries; Ginger had some wounds. We took her over to the urgent pet care clinic for a once over. Nothing seemed to be particularly serious. We then decided to have Kizzy checked out also. One of the first things the veterinarian noticed was that Kizzy's eyes were cloudy; Kizzy had uveitis, which is a painful infection of the eye that can lead to blindness.
There are any number of causes for uveitis. At the vet's recommendation, we took Kizzy to an eye specialist in Omaha the next day. The specialist confirmed uveitis and put her on some eye drops to treat her condition. More time passed. Kizzy was not feeling well, and the loss of vision was becoming more pronounced. Again, we took Kizzy to the specialist for reevaluation Kizzy had developed chronic active hepatitis which is a liver inflammation. There was just one treatment: steroids. Prednisone was the medication of choice, and even that might not work. We had been down this road before with Auntie Ginger. Ginger's ailment was probably similar to Kizzy's but we didn't know it at the time. Treating Ginger with Prednisone had driven her into diabetes; we had been injecting her with insulin twice a day for a few years already. Now Kizzy was at that same point. It was do or die: treat Kizzy with Prednisone and hope for the best or do nothing and have her put down. We decided to to treat her. After four separate treatments with Prednisone, with a week interval between them, Kizzy was found to be cured, more or less. As expected, she did go into diabetes, and now we were injecting two dogs with insulin twice a day.
More time passed. Everyone got older. Ginger no longer had such a spring in her step. Neither did I. Then Ginger began having fits of convulsions. We could do nothing for her except to hold her and wait for the fits to pass. Then Ginger began bouts of tachycardia. That was bad news. We long knew that Ginger had a heart murmur; now the heart murmur was becoming serious. We treated Ginger for the first bout of tachycardia, but the veterinarian told us there was no cure and the next bout could result in a fatal heart attack. We understood. We agreed that when Ginger had her next tachycardia attack we would have her put down in order to spare her a heart attack. Two weeks later it happened, and Kizzy had the house to herself.
Still more time passed. An illness that had been lurking in my DNA began to manifest itself; I discovered that I was slowly losing my ability to do things I needed to do to maintain the house we lived in. The walks with Kizzy became fewer and fewer for both Kizzy and me. We took to putting Kizzy in a doggie stroller and took walks that way. After a while even those walks came to an end. Finally, it looked as if we needed to move to more tolerable accommodations. We would move to a retirement facility near San Antonio, Texas; Kizzy would go with us. We would not be throwing Kizzy away for our own convenience.
Kizzy tolerated the trip pretty well and settled in to our new home. We found a veterinarian who had some experience with diabetic dogs and another who probably had only learned about diabetes treatment for dogs in vet school. We chose the vet who had dealt with diabetic dogs. Fortunately, by the time that life event happened I already had several years worth of experience dealing with and even recognizing some of the problems of diabetic dogs. Since we tested Kizzy's urine a couple of times a day we had a fairly good idea of how she was doing; her behavior was another clue to how she felt. Her appetite was yet another indicator: when she felt good, she ate well; when she didn't feel good her appetite was not so good.
We went on treating a clearly failing Kizzy for a few months. Her urine glucose kept creeping up and I responded by slowly increasing the insulin injections she got twice a day. It looked like a case where the body develops insulin resistance. Kizzy's appetite continued to be on the "not feeling good" side, and the urine glucose readings remained on the high side. Then a miracle happened: Kizzy suddenly became the eager eater she had been in her younger years. That went on for a couple of days, and then it became clear that the end was near: she refused all food. We let her go for two or three more days, but her behavior got worse. We contacted our usual vet to talk about having Kizzy put down. Unfortunately, he was not available to do the euthanasia; we had to call on the other vet in town. I thought maybe she could last another day or two, but that was not to be. I requested that the vet perform the euthanasia that afternoon. The vet asked me a couple of times whether we really wanted to do that; I told her that we did. I brought Kizzy into the vet's office; we waited a bit while Kizzy was prepared for the final act. We said our last goodbye to Kizzy in one of the examining rooms and then the vet came in with two syringes loaded with the necessary "stuff" for a painless euthanasia. Once more, the vet asked if we really wanted to go through with it; we said yes. A few minutes later Kizzy breathed her last.
She lived a good life and we miss her as much as we miss Ginger.
