Since July, I’ve had to take my dog Shelby to the vet ER twice because of breathing issues and an awful, croup-sounding cough. The first time, they told me her tongue turned blue as they were taking x-rays, so they put her in a pressurized oxygen chamber and kept her overnight. When I went to visit her in the evening and was sitting outside the apparatus, as soon as she recognized me, she began pawing at the door. I started crying and asked the staff if I should leave because I felt as though I was upsetting her. After I took her home the following day, she was so traumatized from our separation that she barely ate for the next two weeks regardless of what I tried to entice her with.
An article from The Humane World for Animals states, “In really simple terms, separation anxiety is just the fear of being left alone and the unknown that follows." The article quotes veterinarian Nellie Goetz, who said, "Animals live in the here and now … so when you leave, as far as they know, you could be gone forever.”
The next ER visit was in September at about 5 AM. Her oxygen level was low, but not as low as the first time. The vet put her in the same pressurized oxygen chamber for a couple of hours, but she didn’t need to stay overnight. I took her home later that same morning.
Shelby is a 10-year-old lab-terrier mix whom I rescued from a kill shelter in Mississippi when she was about three years old. She was being fostered by a family in New Jersey. I met Mom in the parking lot of a supermarket in New Jersey that was the halfway point between our two homes. She said, “Thanks for taking her,” and handed me her lead. That was it.
Her profile on Petfinders said she was good with other people, with children, with other dogs and cats. None of that was true. I live in a large condo, and she was growling and lunging at the other residents. She scared them and they complained to the board. I was told I may have to get rid of her. I told the trainer Shelby and I were working with at the time and she suggested putting Shelby on a low dose of Prozac. Once I found a vet willing to do this, her behavior took a 180-degree turn within two weeks. She remained on the Prozac for six months, and she has never reverted to her growling or lunging behaviors.
She has since developed a heart murmur and an enlarged heart and was diagnosed with congestive heart failure. One of the ER vets said the sound she makes when she coughs is indicative of a collapsed trachea. She goes to a vet cardiologist once a year for an echocardiogram and her prognosis had, until now, improved from guarded to fair.
At the recommendation of the cardiologist, I started cooking for her instead of serving her canned dog food. Each morning, I brown ground turkey in a pan and every couple of days I make white rice. I also add a couple of bites of rotisserie chicken because without that in the mix she won’t touch her bowl in the first place.
I live in a very doggy neighborhood. Seven years later, people on my block stop me on the street and tell me they can’t believe she is the same dog and what a wonderful job I’ve done with her. They say we are an example of what love and patience can do for an abused, rescue dog.
Last Sunday morning, I texted my brother and some close friends, “I think Shelby is dying. She hasn’t moved in hours. Not to eat, to drink, go out or anything. Her breathing is very shallow.” She eventually got up after about six hours, and we went for a slow walk. I made an appointment with the practice where her vet works, but it was with a doctor I’d never met before. That vet prescribed an over-the-counter cough suppressant which didn’t work.
A couple of days later, I called the veterinary office and asked to speak to the vet who owns the practice. He and I go way back. He took care of my two cats, Zoe and Lucy, with great care and compassion, and eventually put them down when it was time. He called me back and he prescribed a much stronger cough suppressant, and we also talked at length about what could be causing this cough. I told him that my primary concern was that she does not suffer and when she coughs now, she seems like she is suffering and like she is not getting enough air. I know he heard me.
The pharmacy had difficulty getting the medication because it’s a controlled substance, but I finally got it and it does seem to help for now. It doesn’t address the root cause, but it is alleviating the symptom which is causing her distress. Finding the root cause would necessitate a lot of expensive testing, like another echocardiogram, which the vet said might not even give us a definitive answer.
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An article from the University of Minnesota Profiles shares, “When a pet is reaching the end of its life, knowing when to say goodbye is one of the biggest struggles for owners. Our pets are instinctively going to hide pain and discomfort. It's actually counterintuitive to think about them telling us when it's time—that's not their job. Instead, they try to mask that discomfort.”
So, when do we say goodbye? For me it’s when she is suffering and when that suffering cannot be alleviated. Knowing when it’s time, I’ll partially rely on her vet but mostly on myself as I know her best. I’m crying as I write this just thinking about the possibility of her not greeting me as I put my key in the lock and open the door, but then it’s not about me, is it?