CountryWolf07
01-28-2009, 01:36 AM
http://www.usatoday.com/life/columnist/pettalk/2009-01-27-paralyzed-dog-triumphs_N.htm
http://i.usatoday.net/life/_photos/2009/01/28/pet-talkx-large.jpg
One year ago this week, my big old Rufus walked again.
It may seem odd that I'd comment on a dog walking. But for weeks he had been paralyzed from the shoulders back. And there was some possibility he'd remain that way.
This is a story about how we don't always know our pets as well as we think we do. They can draw on reserves we never knew existed and teach lessons in bravery and determination we never expected. It is the tale of a stray dog who landed where he was loved, and developed the fierceness of a lion when asked.
The Saturday before Christmas 2007, Rufus, the malamute/shepherd mix I'd adopted three years earlier from the shelter, was suddenly, inexplicably paralyzed from his shoulders back. Without warning, his rear legs had simply gone limp as noodles as he played in the snow. No movement. No feeling. Vet visits and discussions with a vet neurology specialist diagnosed it as a fibrocartilaginous embolism (FCE), which is, essentially, a spinal cord stroke.
It can happen (for reasons not fully understood) to any dog or breed, but it tends to hit giant or large-breed dogs most often. Depending on where the blockage occurs, a dog can lose a little or all function in one or both legs. Rufus was on the extreme end of function loss — it was both legs and total loss — but he wasn't as bad as some, as he wasn't incontinent. About 70% to 80% of afflicted dogs improve; not many get back 100% functionality.
FIND MORE STORIES IN: Christmas | Rufus
Patience was prescribed. And if we were lucky, he'd regain some or a lot of his ability to walk.
Some experts believe that acupuncture and water therapy can speed the regaining of whatever can be regained and may also usher in a greater level of final-stage functionality. This, however, isn't a universal belief.
I decided to pursue the more aggressive approach. Rufus is an 85-pounder, so hauling him up and down the porch steps and propping him up to do his business had to end as fast as possible. Also, he's a dog who had been happiest when walking — 4, 5, and 6 miles a day had been our norm. Moreover, he was now panicked whenever left alone in a room — understandable, given how helpless he must have felt. So getting him ambulatory was crucial.
Still, I really didn't think he possessed the fight he'd probably need to muscle through all this, and I imagined I'd let him persuade me to drop out of the aggressive approach quickly.
Most vets will tell you that resolve is just as important in dogs as in people if a medical calamity is to be overcome. And Rufus is passive to the extreme: When a neighbor dog attacked his flank a few months earlier, Rufus didn't even snarl at her. He simply dropped, yelped and waited for me to kick her off. (His ripped-open leg required many stitches.) He gets anxious in new surroundings. And when he's confused or feels trapped, he's a mess.
These are qualities I feared would work against him.
Indeed, he was anxious the first time he went into the underwater treadmill. It's a big box that fills with water to provide buoyancy so he can lift his legs when the treadmill moves. But soon, his big tail was waving like a banner. The acupuncture? That seemed weird to him, too, but he had a brilliant young veterinarian acupuncturist who knew exactly what to do to earn his trust, and by the third visit Rufus was besotted.
Twice a week he faced the water and the needles, and by the end of January he could sort of walk haltingly on flat surfaces if I supported his back end with a sling. His rear legs were weak and floppy and really didn't know where they were most of the time; his back feet buckled under, creating painful scrapes on the tops; he tipped over sometimes; and 10 minutes of inching his way down the sidewalk wore him out. But several times a day, whenever he could get my attention, he dragged himself to the door, making it clear he wanted to walk more, work harder.
AGILE DOGS:Oddly light on their (4) feet
He had to reteach himself everything about how legs function together. He mastered walking on asphalt, but for many weeks, if he had to cross gravel or snow or bumpy ground, communication between his brain and legs stopped and he'd fall. He relearned how to go up stairs after about three months, but he couldn't go down without help for several more. Not until spring could he stand on uncarpeted floors without his rear legs splaying out in a V.
And yet he prevailed.
I was amazed. This dog had become a driven warrior vanquishing the enemy. He had a big cheering section — all the care providers who grew quickly attached to him; our many friends who helped when we needed it; complete strangers who grew invested in his progress as we inched our way around the neighborhood every day. But none of that would have accomplished much without Rufus' titanic will.
Today we walk 3 miles a day. His gait is a little off; he's not exactly rock-solid in the hind end. But he covers ground briskly, confidently and happily. And sometimes he looks back at me with an expression that looks like pride. Maybe it even borders on smug.
Animals are truly amazing.
http://i.usatoday.net/life/_photos/2009/01/28/pet-talkx-large.jpg
One year ago this week, my big old Rufus walked again.
It may seem odd that I'd comment on a dog walking. But for weeks he had been paralyzed from the shoulders back. And there was some possibility he'd remain that way.
This is a story about how we don't always know our pets as well as we think we do. They can draw on reserves we never knew existed and teach lessons in bravery and determination we never expected. It is the tale of a stray dog who landed where he was loved, and developed the fierceness of a lion when asked.
The Saturday before Christmas 2007, Rufus, the malamute/shepherd mix I'd adopted three years earlier from the shelter, was suddenly, inexplicably paralyzed from his shoulders back. Without warning, his rear legs had simply gone limp as noodles as he played in the snow. No movement. No feeling. Vet visits and discussions with a vet neurology specialist diagnosed it as a fibrocartilaginous embolism (FCE), which is, essentially, a spinal cord stroke.
It can happen (for reasons not fully understood) to any dog or breed, but it tends to hit giant or large-breed dogs most often. Depending on where the blockage occurs, a dog can lose a little or all function in one or both legs. Rufus was on the extreme end of function loss — it was both legs and total loss — but he wasn't as bad as some, as he wasn't incontinent. About 70% to 80% of afflicted dogs improve; not many get back 100% functionality.
FIND MORE STORIES IN: Christmas | Rufus
Patience was prescribed. And if we were lucky, he'd regain some or a lot of his ability to walk.
Some experts believe that acupuncture and water therapy can speed the regaining of whatever can be regained and may also usher in a greater level of final-stage functionality. This, however, isn't a universal belief.
I decided to pursue the more aggressive approach. Rufus is an 85-pounder, so hauling him up and down the porch steps and propping him up to do his business had to end as fast as possible. Also, he's a dog who had been happiest when walking — 4, 5, and 6 miles a day had been our norm. Moreover, he was now panicked whenever left alone in a room — understandable, given how helpless he must have felt. So getting him ambulatory was crucial.
Still, I really didn't think he possessed the fight he'd probably need to muscle through all this, and I imagined I'd let him persuade me to drop out of the aggressive approach quickly.
Most vets will tell you that resolve is just as important in dogs as in people if a medical calamity is to be overcome. And Rufus is passive to the extreme: When a neighbor dog attacked his flank a few months earlier, Rufus didn't even snarl at her. He simply dropped, yelped and waited for me to kick her off. (His ripped-open leg required many stitches.) He gets anxious in new surroundings. And when he's confused or feels trapped, he's a mess.
These are qualities I feared would work against him.
Indeed, he was anxious the first time he went into the underwater treadmill. It's a big box that fills with water to provide buoyancy so he can lift his legs when the treadmill moves. But soon, his big tail was waving like a banner. The acupuncture? That seemed weird to him, too, but he had a brilliant young veterinarian acupuncturist who knew exactly what to do to earn his trust, and by the third visit Rufus was besotted.
Twice a week he faced the water and the needles, and by the end of January he could sort of walk haltingly on flat surfaces if I supported his back end with a sling. His rear legs were weak and floppy and really didn't know where they were most of the time; his back feet buckled under, creating painful scrapes on the tops; he tipped over sometimes; and 10 minutes of inching his way down the sidewalk wore him out. But several times a day, whenever he could get my attention, he dragged himself to the door, making it clear he wanted to walk more, work harder.
AGILE DOGS:Oddly light on their (4) feet
He had to reteach himself everything about how legs function together. He mastered walking on asphalt, but for many weeks, if he had to cross gravel or snow or bumpy ground, communication between his brain and legs stopped and he'd fall. He relearned how to go up stairs after about three months, but he couldn't go down without help for several more. Not until spring could he stand on uncarpeted floors without his rear legs splaying out in a V.
And yet he prevailed.
I was amazed. This dog had become a driven warrior vanquishing the enemy. He had a big cheering section — all the care providers who grew quickly attached to him; our many friends who helped when we needed it; complete strangers who grew invested in his progress as we inched our way around the neighborhood every day. But none of that would have accomplished much without Rufus' titanic will.
Today we walk 3 miles a day. His gait is a little off; he's not exactly rock-solid in the hind end. But he covers ground briskly, confidently and happily. And sometimes he looks back at me with an expression that looks like pride. Maybe it even borders on smug.
Animals are truly amazing.