Sleeping with a dog like Canéla in the room can be a challenge at times. While she will begrudgingly depart our bed for her own when we ask her too (often voicing her displeasure with a low, rumbling growl), and on occasion even remove herself after lights out, she fully believes she can reserve the right to unilaterally resituate herself on our queen-sized mattress at pretty much any time she wishes. And if we are sound asleep, oftentimes it turns out she is correct.
Friday morning at 3:40 am, however, she was whimpering on the floor loudly enough that it woke me up. This wasn't the soft cries of bad dreams that we find so unsettling during the day, but sounds of stress and discomfort. She was also at the foot of our bed, not in her own, which was unusual behaviour.
Thinking she needed to go to outside, and got up and led her to the back door, but noticed her walk was much more stiff-legged and awkward than her usual loping gait. After opening the back door, she proceeded gingerly down the back steps and towards the grass.
When I came back from my own washroom break, it looked like she was trying to poop but unable to, and her back legs were visibly shaking. She stopped trying, and then her long legs seemed to fold up under her and she lay down on the cool, damp grass - also unlike her.
I thought perhaps we was taking a short break or perhaps cooling off, but when she didn't get up after a few minutes, I opened the door again and whistled.
Other than turning her head to look at the open door, she didn't move.
I put on my jacket and went outside in my Crocs, bending down and scratching her behind the ears. I stood up, clapped my hands and pointed to the back step, inviting her back in.
She looked at me with an expression I couldn't fathom.
I ended up picking her up and carrying her into the house and setting her on the loveseat in the living room. Glory was up by now and I explained my level of concern, which had been rising consistently since being awakened. Glory checked her legs and paws while I fetched a bowl of water, but didn't find any sore spots or injuries, and Canéla turned up her nose at the water I offered her.
With my concern reaching peak levels, I went back the bedroom for my iPad and sat in the recliner next to her, glad to see her rest her head at the armrest so she could see me. I saw there were a number of 24-hour vet clinics I could bring her to if needed, but she didn't seem to be in any distress at the moment, so Glory and I agreed that wait and see was probably the prudent approach. I texted the happenings to the family Instagram chat and headed back to bed, where sleep eluded me for at least another 1-2 hours. Was my pet's issue neurological? Parvovirus? Cancer?
I found out after I woke up that when Glory got up for her 7:30 am shift at Grey Nuns, the dog was laying on the floor outside her door. Glory let her out, and the morning pattern repeated itself - she ended up carrying Canéla back in and laying her on her own bed, with more room to stretch out. Somehow the same incident repeating made the entire situation more worrisome.
Audrey wanted our own vet in Spruce Grove to look at her instead of taking her to an emergency clinic but they didn't open until 8:30. I called in to work to let them know I would be absent and went back to sleep for a few minutes, but when I called, I discovered they were booked solid for the day and recommended I take her in right away (somewhere else).
So I ended up carrying her out to the Lander (where she had exactly enough strength in her limbs to walk across the comfy blanket I had laid out and onto the opposite rear seat, where she collapsed in a heap), and driving her to Boreal Veterinary Centre, across from the Humane Society on 137 Avenue.
It is a new facility (2 years old this summer), with three of the four receptionsit stations crewed so I could see one right away. They got her checked in quickly and even lent me a leash, since I left the house in such a state that bringing one hadn't even occurred to me.
Canéla walked under her own power to the waiting area until she could be triaged, with her tail tucked and feet skittering uncertainly along the slick floor. She lay down beside my chair in a clear state of apprehension, only rarely letting her head rest on her paws, but not once expressing any interest in or barking at the other people or dogs in the centre.
It did not take long for a tech to come in and assess Canéla, concurring that the limbs seemed all right, and although her temperature was the high end of normal, her heart and respiration were pretty normal. With her being classified as stable, we would basicaly enter the queue of non-emergency cases, and would be bumped if more pressing cases presented themselves. She advised it we likely be a 2-3 hour wait, which I said was fine and understandable.
We walked back to the waiting area, and after about an hour she stood up and pulled for the door, the most initiative I had seen her take all day. I took her out to their spacious lawn and watched her struggle to excrete a tiny bit of diarrhea, and then let her lead us back to the Lander.
She seemed must more restful curled up on the back seat than laying on the hard floor inside, so we stayed out for a couple more hours, driving away briefly so I could get some drive-thru for lunch. After eating, I took her back on the lawn with no result, but did get to see her drink a little water from the makeshift tuna can dish I keep in the vehicle.
After three and a half hours, I was growing a little uncomfortable and a bit impatient, but when a young man in his twenties walked by with (presumably) his father, his eyes puffy and cheeks flushed and tear-stained, I overheard him asking if their pet was going to be cremated here. Reminded that these premises contained far worse things than waiting, I opened my iPad and returned to reading.
It was five hours before we were shown into an examination room, and the lights actually turned off once and I had to flap my arms to reinstate them before the vet arrived . She introduced herself as Milla and apologized for the long wait. She explained there had been an influx of more serious cases and status changes that had kept all the staff hopping.
Despite the stresses of the day, she was delightful and friendly, and plied Canéla with treats while conducting her examination. I held her collar while the vet checked her temperature at the other end, and she noted it had actually increased another tenth of a degree, but wasn't too concerned about it.
She confirmed the diarrhea and largely ruled out constipation based on palping the dog's abdomen, and suggesting an x-ray to confirm was probably unnecessary. In the end, she suggested that the diarrhea must have taken enough of a toll on Canéla to exhaust her early in the morning, and while she couldn't make a determination as to cause, we agreed that "digestive misadventure" was not out of the question.
She suggested a pre-probiotic paste but not only wrote out a prescription for antibiotics just in case (so we wouldn't have to come back in if her condition worsened), but also asked if she could give Canéla a quick ultrasound to make sure there was no fluid around her heart (something that had happened with another case) for no charge. The emergency exampination and medicine came to less than $250. The dog not only walked back to the car but jumped in on her own this time; she was still for the rest of the ride home though.
Friday night Canéla had a few accidents downstairs, and today the backyard evidence suggests she is still pretty unsettled so we are switching from kibble to beef and rice (there's a reason it's a classic)to see if that helps. But she is jumping on and off the bed again under her own power, which is a relief to see, and acting a little more like herself every hour it seems.
And if nothing else, it is good to know that there is a 24-hour animal hospital just down the road that already has "Kanela" on file if we need to go there in a hurry...but I am okay if we never go back either.
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