I just lost my spunky 10-year-old Carin Terrier to Polycystic Kidney Disease, and I am devastated. It's very hard still for me to talk or write about it, but I am sharing my story incase my experience can help someone else who has a dog with this terrible disease.
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| Good boy. |
At ages five and six he had a blood test warning his kidney values were more like that of a senior dog. No symptoms. By Seven and a half he was diagnosed with Chronic Kidney failure and put on a kidney diet. He still showed no symptoms. I cried for a week after his diagnosis, but after a month or two with no symptoms, I decided to not think about it, feed him his special diet (he loved the food) and enjoy having him as my pal.
Well, a year went by, and still no symptoms, and then another, and while his kidney values inched up, they were still stage 1 to beginning stage 2. No symptoms. I was beginning to think, the SDMA values in the blood tests were a mistake, or he was one of the lucky ones whose kidney disease would not progress further. Now, I realize I was in denial. What choice did I have? There is no cure, so I could either go on as normal or be consumed with sadness every day for three years.
Nine months after his yearly checkup, one month after his tenth birthday, my boy, who two days prior jumped off the kitchen table when he was caught scavenging food, refused his treat and heartworm pill slathered in peanut butter. My little boy was a doggy who never missed a meal. No one's food was safe left unattended. He’s once snatched a piece of popcorn out of my fingers as I was lifting it to my mouth without touching me. He lived and breathed food, so I knew something wasn't right.
Without hindsight, these are the first symptoms I noticed the night he became sick: He was sleeping so hard he was difficult to wake up. He was extremely lethargic, such that if he wasn't better in the morning, I was going to an emergency vet. The next day, a holiday, he wasn't right, but a little better, so I waited another day and took him to his regular vet on Tuesday, the next business day.
The vet ran blood tests looking for kidney malfunctions, and on Thursday we got the results. He was well into stage three of kidney failure. He went from 18 SMDA in December to over 35 SMDA in September. On that same day, he lost his appetite. He would not eat his dog food—maybe take three bites and walkaway—and I went crazy trying to feed him anything I could that was kidney friendly--carrots and watermelon one day, rice with low-salt broth the next. I also gave him entice (an appetite enhancer) and subcutaneous fluids every other day. (Yes, I learned to inject the needle myself.)
For the first week after his present diagnosis, and after three days of fluid therapy, I saw improvement. He was more alert. He begged for my food, he started following me around some again, but I soon lost hope when a few days later he quit eating.
The vet said to try baby food. Well, I did and he scarfed it down, and I had hope once again, until that night. He threw up everything in his stomach and some horrible smelling bile afterwards. My little pal became so sick, he refused to eat the baby food chicken he'd eaten so well the day before.
The next day, he was prescribed antinausea meds, but still, that day he only ate two baby food hotdogs and had two licks of low salt broth. He would drink water, thank goodness. He would eat a little bit of a certain food for a day, then when it made him feel sick, he'd refuse it the next.
Over the course of his final week, his backbone became prominent, and while he lost only a little over a pound in a week (He was twenty pounds healthy), his backbone stuck out. I learned that often in later stage KD dogs lose muscle tone along their spines. He shed a lot, and his hair changed texture while growing slightly darker. My poor baby visually looked so sick it hurt my heart. His expression was strained. His tongue was gray and his gums white. His pretty pink tummy had turned white all due to anemia caused by non-functioning kidneys.
I made the decision that if by Thursday of that week he showed no improvement after anti-nausea meds, I would set him free. I wish I could tell you differently, but he only got worse. His breathing grew rapid due to his anemia. His lungs didn’t have enough blood to take in sufficient air.
I scheduled an appointment at the vet for Saturday morning and took Friday off work and spent the day with my little boy in my bed. He snuggled with me all day.
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| Our last full day together. He barely left my bed, and only if I carried him. Due to the privacy of this matter, I will share only the pictures that showed his kind spirit, and not his illness. He often sat under my legs when I laid in bed and worked on my laptop. I never paid much attention to the meaning of his simple gesture until this day. He was still trying to make me feel better, despite being very sick himself. He never pulled away from me, he only moved closer. |
I took several pictures. He looked cute in some, and in others, very sick. I did not want to take the sick photos, and assured myself I didn’t have to look at them, but I did, and they remind me of why I chose that day to free my little boy despite the fact my heart was, and still is, breaking. (It's so easy to forget and second guess my decision.)
By Friday afternoon, I had to carry him out to use the bathroom (which my good boy only did outside all through his illness). He would not walk for more than a few steps.
I carried him on his last walk. He walked five steps, and me, well, about fifteen hundred. Then when we got home, we circled the backyard, so he could have one last look around. The next day we drove to the vet with the windows down. My son held him up so he could enjoy the breeze and strange scents.
I held my sweet boys head in my hand while his soul left this planet. It has been almost five weeks, and I still cry every day, and second guess my choice even though I know I did the right thing. I have pictures to remind me.
When I divorced, I got him for my son, and always thought of him as a therapy dog for him. That was not the case. In my little boy’s absence, I know all too well he was actually my therapy dog, taking care of me to the end.
Did I have prior warning? Apart from kidney value tests, the month before he got sick, I noted him sleeping more. I kidded him about having bedhead when he woke up because he slept so hard. I remember thinking, I'm late with his mid-year checkup, I will make an appointment after Labor Day. For a month or two prior, he had slowed down a bit, but I figured he was ten. Oddly, earlier in the year I noted his younger brother starting to steal the alpha role. I suppose, that was a sign, too. Four days before he got sick, I caught and stopped him from eating dirt out of one of my planters. I later found out dogs eat dirt because it contains iron, something he was gravely lacking. My little boy went from a ball of energy to acting like a 15-16-year-old dog in a matter of days. From when I noted symptoms to his last day on earth was 21 days. FYI: The Carin Terrier life span is typically 13 to 18 years, provided they get no hereditary disease or succumb to an accident.
He was a good doggy. He did his job well.
Breeders, there is a low-cost test to detect carriers of the Polycystic Kidney Disease gene that would stop the spread. If either parent is a carrier, they have a fifty percent chance of passing it along to their offspring. Please be kind.
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| Puppy love. |
