Many of the illustrations from his “Tiny Confessions” series feature pets, and I thought I’d share with you some of my favorites.
Here’s how the artist describes this collection: “I believe that all creatures have their own distinct inner voice which, if we listen closely, we can interpret on their behalf.”
His Etsy shop is over here, and the Fab.com sale (which has $5 off each print) is over here. (You have to be signed up to view the link, alas.)
Which one is your favorite?
Dogs almost never develop the same sort of hardening of the arteries (known as atherosclerosis) that makes middle-aged men and women clutch their chests, drop the 3-wood and shuffle off this mortal coil. Human medicine has all the shiny toys, insurance money and human-life-is-so-important stuff going for it that make veterinarians green with envy, but I thank my lucky stars every day that I don’t have to deal with heart attacks. The canine equivalent, at least in my opinion, is probably a phenomenon known as ‘spontaneous hemoabdomen.’ Your average veterinary ER probably sees two or three of these types of cases a week, and as the pet population ages they are bound to become even more common.
The thing about hemoabdomens that makes them so frightening for pet owners is that they seem to come out of nowhere, and they hit like a random, unforeseen lightning strike on an otherwise sunny day. One moment their dog may be happily cavorting in the yard, and the next they’re lying on gurney in a veterinary ER fighting for their lives.
In most cases, a tumor on the spleen (which may have been growing for weeks in the abdomen without being detected) ruptures and starts to hemorrhage internally. Dogs can bleed to death within a few hours if the bleeding continues unchecked. They can be quite literally felled in their tracks.
The bleeding is internal, and there is no evidence of bleeding that can be seen externally by the pet owner. All they know is that their dog was fine one minute, then collapsed and couldn’t get up the next. No blood in the stool, none in the urine, none anywhere; just a big pool of blood building up inside the abdominal cavity. Blood that should be circulating and bringing oxygen to tissues is suddenly pooling in the abdomen. Shock and low blood pressure set in almost immediately.
The signs are typically a sudden onset of weakness and inability to get up. These can happen in any breed of dog, but the majority are in dogs that share a genome with German Shepherds. Golden Retrievers, sadly, probably take the #2 spot. Any dog over eight years old that’s related to a German Shepherd or Golden is potentially at risk for a a spontaneous hemoabdomen, and this disease should be considered in any dog of this type who has a sudden episode of unexplained weakness. If you check their gums, they are often as white as a sheet.
In about three quarters of the cases, the ruptured mass on the spleen is due to an aggressive malignancy called a hemangiosarcoma, a really nasty cancer that grows out of blood-forming organs (the spleen is a tongue-shaped, flat organ that sits on the left side of the abdomen, all snuggled up to the kidneys and other giblets). Hemangiosarcomas love to grow rapidly, spread to other parts of the body and, worse, they usually eat powerful chemotherapeutic drugs for lunch. They are just a miserable type of cancer to have, and most patients with them are not around for long, even with a full-court press of medical intervention. I hate making the diagnosis of hemangiosarcoma because it usually means I have just completely ruined someone’s day and pronounced a death sentence for a patient.
For that lucky one out of four that doesn’t have a hemangiosarcoma, they likely have a benign and slow-growing tumor called a hemangioma that just decided to break open and start bleeding (we keep the names similar to confuse the tourists). These, fortunately, can be completely cured through surgery. You still have to deal with all that life-threatening hemorrhage and accompanying scariness, but at least you get good news when the biopsy comes back.
The survival rate for dogs with hemangiosarcoma is, on average, about 3 months (with emergency surgery to stop the bleeding). That time span can be doubled with the help of powerful chemotherapy, which is an option that all owners should be offered. We tend to not be as aggressive with chemo for our pets as they are with people, so that can mean fewer side effects. For some folks, six months of good quality life is a blessing, while for many that is nowhere near enough to justify the medical high-wire act that must happen to even hope for a little survival. The word ‘cure’ is almost never uttered in the same sentence as the word ‘hemangiosarcoma.’
To be honest, many owners decide to not pursue surgery when we make the diagnosis of hemoabdomen, and I can’t blame them. They are usually looking at a 75% chance that their dog has a disease that will very likely kill them inside of 90 days. The alternative is a fast and painless euthanasia, or, in some special cases, a death at home. Despite all the drama of this disease, it is usually totally painless and I will honor requests to take pets home to die if the owners are educated about what may happen. For those that elect to pursue treatment (I would say about 1/3 opt to treat), the goal is to take them to surgery as soon as they are stabilized. This means blood transfusions and other methods to try and make them the best anesthesia candidate we can.
All of this comes at owners with dizzying speed. I am often in the unenviable position of trying to get them to make a timely decision on a very expensive, delicate matter with little information and no guarantees. As I hinted at (and took some heat for) in last week’s post, lengthy Q & A sessions in the middle of this type of crisis only makes the prognosis grow more dim for the patient as their lifeblood seeps into their abdominal cavity.
However, I recognize the need for people to feel that they have made the best and most informed decision that they can in this scenario. I try to answer as many questions as time permits for the patient, and steer them to make a decision if we start covering the same ground repeatedly. I want to note one important point right here. This is an excruciatingly difficult point in the lives of pet owners, and it becomes a critical juncture for me to talk to the owners, hear their concerns, and help them make the best decision we all can, given the imperfect information we have on hand. Unfortunately, in this case the patients simply don’t have time for anything but a rapid decision.
The cost for surgery and ICU aftercare can easily run into the thousands (many will hit the $5,000 mark before discharge), and many will have post-op complications that can escalate that amount even higher.
For a bad outcome, that’s a pretty good way to look at it.
Yesterday as I walked past her, she rolled over to bare her belly. I wasn’t foolish enough to actually touch her belly but I did gently rub under her chin a couple of times before walking away. I didn’t feel a purr, but she also didn’t bite me or rake me with her claws.
Then last night, she came up and relaxed on the arm of the sofa where I was sitting. I didn’t reach out to touch her, just acknowledged her by talking to her. After a few minutes, she reached out and rubbed her head against my hand.
A couple of rubs under the chin and a head rub may not seem like much, but for a formerly — or perhaps still — feral cat who only loved my late husband Paul, I feel like we’ve made huge progress.
There is still a long way to go. I can’t pick her up yet, or even brush her, without damaging our fragile peace. I’m just hoping that she remains safe and healthy until she trusts me enough that we can make some faster progress. Meanwhile, I’m trying to build trust by not pushing her too fast and by bribing her with tasty tempting bits of meat. She really likes turkey so I always have some in the refrigerator.
Last night, Xena made me laugh while she startled Sisko. I have a curly willow tree in the backyard. It’s a self pruner and drops small twigs and sticks on a regular basis. Sisko came into the house with a small stick, dragging some long twigs behind him.
Xena, who was on the sofa, took off after the twigs, playing pat-pat with them. Sisko, who is afraid of Xena, started circling the living room, with the twigs dragging behind him and Xena chasing him. I think he was so concerned about the cat he didn’t even think about dropping the stick. Eventually it broke, though, and Xena — as the victor — demolished the twigs.
I, of course, got to clean up the mess.
Photo: Xena on my clothes on the bed. Photo by Liz Palika.
Tasker and Theo, inseparable in life and in death (Photo: MoD/PA Wire)On Tuesday, British Lance Corporal Liam Tasker died in a firefight with the Taliban in Afghanistan. Shortly after, his devoted 22-month-old bomb-sniffing dog, Theo, who was with him when he died, suffered a seizure and also died.
It’s not a big stretch to think the young, healthy springer spaniel cross could have died of a broken heart, as many are speculating.
The two had formed an incredibly strong bond during their time together. Tasker, 26, of the Royal Army Veterinary Corps, 1st Military Working Dog Regiment, spent 15 weeks at a handlers’ course with Theo. They learned to work as a team and developed their deep bond. They then went to Afghanistan. In their five months there, they recovered 14 home-made bombs and huge numbers of other weapons. According to the Daily Mail, it was a record for a dog and his handler in the conflict.
They clearly had something special together. “I love my job and working together with Theo. He has a great character and never tires,” the Daily Mail reports Tasker as saying in an interview. “He can’t wait to get out and do his job and will stop at nothing.”
The two are credited with saving countless lives because of the finds they made as a team.
Tasker’s family issued a statement about Tasker. You can see why his dog would be so devoted: “There are three words that best describe Liam: larger than life. He lit up every room he walked into with his cheeky smile.
‘He died a hero doing a job he was immensely passionate about. We are so proud of him and everything he’s achieved. Words can’t describe how sorely he will be missed.”
With any luck, Tasker is going off into the next world with a dear, devoted dog who didn’t want to give up his rightful place at his best friend’s side…
Gracie has a new address now — at Almost Heaven Ranch with my dad, Dr. Marty Becker and my mom, Teresa.
My dad and I, along with the staffs of North Idaho Animal Hospital in Sandpoint and Lakewood Animal Hospital in Coeur d’Alene, spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day visiting our local animal shelters and bringing toys, greats and other gifts to the homeless pets there. It was our way of trying to make these special pets have a happier day.
On the way from Panhandle Animal Shelter in Ponderay to Second Chance, my dad was talking to me in the car about how he wanted to get a new dog in the future. He said he wanted to wait for the right dog, one who really needed a home. Some of my work as a dog-trainer is at the local shelter, so I said that I’d be on the lookout for him.
When we got to Second Chance, we were busy handing out gifts. Dad posed for photos with a black mixed-breed dog named Gracie. Although she was far from lap-sized, she let him hold her in his arms, totally relaxed — almost collapsed.
At one point I looked around and realized my dad had vanished. I walked back to the kennels and found him sitting in Gracie’s run. She was cuddled up next to him, staring up at his face while he petted and held her. The treat-stuffed Kong toy we’d given her for Christmas did not mean nearly as much to her as it did just to sit next to my dad.
Although there were dozens of people in the area, it felt like there was no one else in there at all, like it was just the two of them. I was witnessing something amazing.
When I asked dad what he was doing, he answered me in a voice I’d never heard from him before. He sounded like a little kid excited to open his stocking on Christmas.
“She’s a special dog, Kel,” he said. “She’s just really touched me. I don’t know what to do, but she has really stolen my heart. I think she might be the one!”
I knew then and there we were bringing home a new dog for Christmas. She and dad had an immediate connection, as if they were soulmates.
As soon as dad, after a few minutes of deliberation, decided he was taking her home, the entire staff and volunteers were in tears. They said they had all spent many anxious nights worrying about Gracie and if she would ever get a home with her special needs. They figured she had a good chance of always being a shelter resident.
Instead, it turns out she had just been waiting there for the special person who was going to be her forever friend.
On the way home she was sitting in my lap, but kept inching closer and closer to my dad in the driver’s seat until half her body was lying in the center console so that she could have her head resting right by him.
When we got home to Almost Heaven Ranch, dad marched in with her, so much vigor and joy in his step. He reminded me of a little kid who just got his first pet, or even like a mom who just brought her new baby home from the hospital.
My dad speaks at veterinary meetings and conferences about the connection people have to our pets and how much we love them — he calls it “The Bond” — to help motivate veterinarians to improve their connection to pet owners as well as pets. I’ve always known how sincere he is about that, but this weekend I’ve seen it in action in a way I never have before.
I see dad looking at Gracie and seeing past her crippling ailments to the pure soul that lies underneath. I see him crying while he holds her in his lap, Gracie just staring up at him with such calmness, such a sure sense that he is going to protect her from now on.
This Christmas, we thought we would be giving out presents to pets to make their day special. I never expected one pet would steal my dad’s heart at first sight and, as my mom said yesterday, turn out to be the greatest Christmas present he has ever had. I know each day with her will continue to be a gift.
Welcome home, Gracie!
More video of Gracie and our Christmas shelter visits under the jump…
As I predicted, the s
My little pick-’em-up truck doesn’t have room for a crate (my guys ride belted in the jump-seats in the extended cab with me), so I tethered her to the headrest and decided to pick up a pizza on the way home. She squawked a little, and then fell asleep. She sat up and waited patiently when I jumped into Hot Italian, then fell back to sleep for the ride home. Then she came in, met all the dogs, went out to the yard, did her business and is now asleep on my feet.
This is a great puppy! Friendly, people-focused, house-training concepts in place and already has a good retrieving instinct. Loves to be snuggled. The dogs here accepted her with a couple of sniffs, and it’s all good.
Ursa (and maybe still a littermate or two) are being adopted out through Greater California German Shepherd Rescue. It’s a fantastic organization that truly represents the best of what a rescue could and should be. Check out their dogs!
Any now, here’s Ursa!
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