Ask your Diabetic Dog: Got Water?

Bucket-headed dog (Photo credit: Paul Kidd)

It's kind of strange to feature this topic in winter, but WebMd has an article on how much water dogs need.  After I read it, I realized that I often did not pay attention to how much Tony drank; in fact, thanks to the other two dogs in the house, it would have been hard to keep track.  What I'm thinking now is that I should have made a greater effort.  Those of you who followed Tony's story from the start may remember that my first inkling that he had diabetes was his frequent urination.  However, I never thought about keeping some kind of track of his water consumption before that.  If I had, I might have noticed the problem earlier and avoided some of his later issues.

Here's the basic requirement, according to the article:
 

 "A good rule of thumb: Make sure your dog gets at least 1 ounce of water daily for each pound he weighs. That means a 20-pound dog needs at least 20 ounces of water every day. That's more than 2 cups, or as much as in some bottles of water or soda.

To help you keep track of how much water your dog drinks, make a note of how high you fill his water bowl and how far the level has dropped the next day."

Related articles

• Why Water is important for your Dog. (sniperssk8t.wordpress.com)
• Automatic water fountain for dogs (thepoodleanddogblog.typepad.com)
• Flavored, Fortified And Fizzy Water - Is It All Safe? (miami.cbslocal.com)
• When is a Great Blue Heron Most Like a Dog? (babsjeheron.wordpress.com)
• Dogs Prefer Their Water Via Toilette (helpmejoseph.typepad.com)
• This Photo Of The Obamas' Dog Can Legitimately Be Called Epic (businessinsider.com)

You'll be thankful you thought ahead

Image via Wikipedia


 This may seem like a strange time to talk about it, but as your dog gets older you need to think about end-of-life issues, just as you would for a human.  I'm thinking about this just now because the older of my sister's two Great Pyrenees turned 13 this month, which is very old indeed for that breed.  Gus is still pretty active and alert, but he has developed some weakness in his hind legs, as well as incontinence.   Since I was thinking about how Tony died soon after last Thanksgiving (he had turned 13 early in November, 2009), I mentioned to my brother in law that it might be a good idea to start thinking about the inevitable.  Steve tends to think in do-it-yourself terms (partly from personality, and partly because he hates to pay), and he told me his expectations (although not in so many words):  1.  Gus would die at home, and 2.  he would bury him.

It seems to me that these are common expectations in our culture, but nowadays they are unrealistic.   Unless your dog, or any other pet, for that matter, dies in his or her sleep, you will probably do as I did, which is rush it to the vet because it is in distress of some kind.  You will be very upset and faced with several decisions that you are in no shape to make on the spot:  BUT THEY HAVE TO BE MADE RIGHT THEN.  It is much better to decide ahead of time how far you are willing to go in your efforts to save your pet (if that is at all possible or wise) because when the time is at hand, you could be in a state where you will do anything to prolong his or her life, regardless of any financial hardship or common sense. 

I am thankful that my veterinarian managed to keep me from grasping at straws in that regard.  I thought that I was prepared, and I was, in some ways, but I had no idea how hard it would hit me emotionally.  I had already decided that when the time came I would have him cremated privately (see the article "When is the right time . . ." below for information about cremation) so that I would get his ashes, and I had a vague idea of how much that would cost.  It never occurred to me to bury him at home; I'm disabled, and our water comes from a well (I don't know for sure if that matters, but I wouldn't take a chance).  It turns out that there may also be legal issues involved with a home burial.  Steve wouldn't like hearing that.

Burying -- at home -- a dog the size of Gus, who is small for a Pyr, but more than 10 times the size of a Pomeranian like Tony, just doesn't make sense.   I think Steve sees that now; he's actually done some research into the alternatives, not that he's happy thinking about this problem in any way.  But I know he will be glad he did.  
In the meantime, I'm doing my part to help keep Gus happy and as healthy as possible.
  

Related articles

• When is the right time to say goodbye to an ailing pet? (mnn.com)
• Urns for Your Pet Dog (brighthub.com)
• When Knitting Goes To The Dogs (timesunion.com)
• Memorable Pet Remains - Alex Lynch's Pet Cremation Tablets Let You Remember Your Furry Friend (GALLERY) (trendhunter.com)
• Squash my Dog Fears and other Pumpkin Thoughts [Casaubon's Book] (scienceblogs.com)
• What Are The Top 10 Biggest Dog Breeds? (brighthub.com)
• Rescuing the guardians (timesunion.com)
• Dog who saved soldiers euthanized by mistake (ctv.ca)

This may seem like a strange time to talk about it, but as your dog gets older you need to think about end-of-life issues, just as you would for a human.  I'm thinking about this just now because the older of my sister's two Great Pyrenees turned 13 this month, which is very old indeed for that breed.  Gus is still pretty active and alert, but he has developed some weakness in his hind legs, as well as incontinence.   Since I was thinking about how Tony died soon after last Thanksgiving (he had turned 13 early in November, 2009), I mentioned to my brother in law that it might be a good idea to start thinking about the inevitable.  Steve tends to think in do-it-yourself terms (partly from personality, and partly because he hates to pay), and he told me his expectations (although not in so many words):  1.  Gus would die at home, and 2.  he would bury him.

Hidden problems under those thick, fluffy coats

Image via Wikipedia

Yesterday I saw something that brought home a problem that is the major risk factor for diabetes (in dogs and humans), which is excess weight.  My brother-in-law, Steve, took the younger of his two dogs to the groomer, and he discovered why a Great Pyrenees's coat requires either constant attention from the owner or regular visits to the groomer (no more than 3 months apart). 

My sister and her husband have been having a hard time lately moneywise (who hasn't, right?), and they had to put off taking the dogs to the groomer.  Gus, the older dog (he's three-quarters Great Pyrenees and one-quarter Komondor -- his coat doesn't cord, but he has some cool waves) went last month, and there were no problems.  Doc's coat looked pretty good, at least as good as the dog in the picture above; after all, they do brush him and so on, but what none of us could see was that his undercoat had become a giant mat.  The groomer called my sister to tell her that they were going to have to shave Doc.

So, last night, Steve went to pick Doc up, and he said later that he was afraid to bring him home, since he expected his wife to go into hysterics when she saw her "new" dog.  In fact, I was the first to see him when he came into the house, and I didn't know anything about the matting.  "Who is that?" I asked.  Steve kind of winced.  "It's Doc."  I couldn't believe it.  Doc weighs about 130 pounds, and he looked like he was half the size he had been that morning.  However, without all that fluffy white fur, his body was suddenly easy to see, and it was obvious that he is overweight.  You could see that his silhouette was too round, just like those diagrams all the vets have in their waiting rooms that tell you what a dog at the right weight looks like. 

My sister's reaction was totally unexpected.  She kept saying, "he's so cute!  Like a giant puppy!"  She went nuts over him, but she also noted his enlarged midsection, and pointed it out to her husband.  Now, for years he's had issues about feeding the dogs.  Gus is a fussy eater, and doesn't eat a lot at the best of times, so when Doc came along and REALLY liked to eat, Steve rewarded his appetite with more food than was good for him.  Doc's new look finally showed Steve what he had done, and I think he's learned his lesson.  He saw what I went through with Tony.  I am willing to bet that Doc is going to be getting less food and more exercise from now on. 

I hope to have a picture of Doc in his "puppy cut," but I'm not sure Steve will let us take one.  He hangs out with a bunch of Pyr owners at the dog park, and he's always been proud that Doc is such a big dog.  I think he'll be too embarrassed to take him until some of the fur grows back.

Here's a sad story that just popped up from my Zemanta feed (Doc never looked as big as the dog in the Vail News photo, in case you are wondering), plus some less tragic tales:

Related articles by Zemanta

• Cougar Kills 150-Pound Dog In Gypsum (huffingtonpost.com)
• Great Pyrenees Dog Breed (brainz.org)
• Pet Tip of the Week (gloucestercitynews.net)

No Miracle for Tony

I wrote most of the following on December 10, 2009, but I haven’t posted it until now because I was trying to come up with something that would cover all that I was feeling. I’m not sure that’s possible now, after trying again and again to do it.  Grief is not just an emotion; it's a process.



I’m sorry to report that Tony died on Wednesday, December 2. I haven’t been able to write about it until now, but I’m hoping that doing so will help me sort out how I feel. Despite everything that was going on with him, it was sudden, almost unexpected. On Tuesday, I took him to the vet for the follow up on his abscess. He had refused his breakfast, but other than that, he seemed perfectly normal. Dr. Kroll was amazed by how well the abscess had healed, which I was pleased to hear. I had them trim his nails, and I picked up a fresh bottle of insulin. When we got home, he still didn’t want to eat, but he took his usual late afternoon nap, waking briefly to bark with the other dogs every time one of them heard something outside.

He didn’t want his dinner, but he’d done that before from time to time, so I wasn’t too worried. When we went to bed, I couldn’t sleep until I heard his tags clink against his water bowl as he drank. He got me up about an hour later. I took him out, he did what he had to do, and then we came in. But he didn’t want to go back to bed. He went up his steps to his favorite spot on a loveseat. I sat next to him and rubbed his back. After about half an hour of that, he was willing for me to carry him back to the bedroom. I remember being surprised at how light he felt. Before he developed diabetes, he had weighed as much as 15 pounds (my brother Alex was prone to call him “Pomzilla” at the time), and he had lost 5 pounds before he went on insulin. His weight stabilized at 10.5 pounds for over two years, but he had been losing weight steadily since his bladder infection developed. He was down to 8 pounds.



The big change came in the morning. I got up to get ready for my 8AM class, but he didn’t follow me out of the room as he usually did. At 7:15, I took him outside, carrying him to the edge of the patio, since he seemed kind of out of it. Instead of taking a couple of steps off the patio and whizzing, however, he walked a few steps out and made a sharp left turn. He just kept walking, and he was headed toward the pool. The pool is covered, but it hadn’t been drained down for the winter yet, so the water was almost to the top. I went around on the concrete toward the pool, but I’ve been having a truly horrendous year arthritis-wise, and I couldn’t move very fast. I heard a splash just as I rounded a bush. Tony had walked right onto the pool cover, and the water was up to his knees. He was just standing there when I reached him. I managed to grab his collar and pulled him toward me enough to be able to pick him up. He was not reacting to anything; his eyes were open, but he just didn’t seem aware. I took him in and dried him off, setting him on the floor in the den. He lay down and appeared to go to sleep. By this time, I was pretty worried, but my mother assured me that she could watch him for the hour or so that I would be gone.



I have never prepped a class for their final exam as quickly as I did that morning, but as I was driving back home, I found myself slowing down a couple of times. I was dreading what I was going to find there. Tony had never acted that way before, not even close to that. As I came through the door (no Tony barking to greet me), my mother told me that he hadn’t moved but had vomited a bit. I checked and found only a small spot, about the size of a quarter, on the carpet. I went to call the vet.


We’ve been going to the Animal Medical Clinic of St. Charles for so long that everyone there knows Tony. When I identified myself to Nada, the receptionist, she immediately asked about Tony. I said the first thing that came to mind: “I think he’s dying.” She told me to bring him right in, they’d be waiting for me. And they were. I had had to cram Tony into his travel kennel (this normally involves a lot of activity on his part, but this time he just let me put him in), and one of the techs took it from me as soon as I got there. They left me in an examining room for a couple of minutes while they looked at him in the back area. Dr. Kroll came in from the back, and I knew from the look on her face that this was it.




In the weeks since this happened, I’ve been thinking about how different it is when a beloved pet dies as opposed to a human being. It seems that only people who have had pets accept that this is a significant loss, which is difficult to deal with, for me, at least. I just lost my best friend.

A Three Dog Household

I have probably mentioned that there are other dogs here, but it's worth talking about in more detail, since there are problems connected with having other dogs living with your diabetic dog. In my case, the problem is exacerbated by the size of the other dogs and my dog's attitude issues. You guessed it: Tony has delusions of grandeur, mostly related to his conviction that he is the biggest, the toughest, the baaadest dog on the planet (or at least in the house). What's surprising is that the other dogs seem to buy into his domination fantasy, all the moreso since they are Great Pyrenees,
giants who were originally bred to protect flocks of sheep by fighting wolves. Doc (age 5, 130 pounds) and Gus (9 years old, getting skinny-- only 85 pounds) both let 11-pound Tony call the shots most of the time. When all three of them were younger, it wasn't unusual to see Tony jumping up to bite them in the throat (I had to pull wads of fur out of his teeth almost every day. Good times.). I kept thinking that someday Doc would walk in with Tony hanging off his neck like an earring, but that never materialized (a pity, since it would have been a heck of a picture). Nowadays he mostly just growls at them as needed. He still occasionally mounts them, which is pretty funny-- after a few seconds of this, the big dog will turn around and look to see what's going on back there. So much for making the big domination move, little guy.



He's still leader of the pack, however. When Tony was first diagnosed with diabetes, I worried that their dog games would be a problem. Before then, I mostly worried about one of them stepping on him -- their feet are bigger than his head-- but he would get a scratch from time to time as he tried to show them who was boss. Now that he could be expected to have trouble healing, I had something new to worry about. Luckily, he hasn't been scratched or stepped on in the last three years, so my fears haven't panned out. Gus and Doc still want to sniff him all the time, which he usually does not permit, although he likes to play "dog vet" with them, sniffing them from one end to the other until he's sure they're not coming down with some dread disease. They stand stock-still when he does this, and they don't relax until he walks away (actually, he kind of swaggers). Tony's cataracts (a common side effect of diabetes) have been getting worse, but his vision impairment hasn't been as much of a problem with the boys as it has been with the humans, who are used to Tony getting out of their way rather than the other way around.

Most of the problems we've had have had to do with food. Doc eats a lot, where Gus is very picky, but neither is what you might call a dainty eater. Tony has been in the habit of batting cleanup after their meal, and it's sometimes hard to stop this. When he was first diagnosed, my sister found a couple of plant stands for Gus and Doc's food bowls, which turned out to be a perfect height for all of them. They're over Tony's head, but easy and more comfortable for the Pyrs. When it comes to treats, however, all bets are off. My mother was in the habit of giving Tony treats whenever he seemed to want one (a classic grandmother!). She still does this with the other two, but now she lets me know if she's given Tony anything, and her contributions to his diet tend to be things like the last bit of scrambled Egg Beaters on her plate; in other words, protein. She doesn't do it often, thankfully. Dealing with the treats is tough for me, too. It's so sad when the big dogs are being showered with rawhides or whatever, and the Pomeranian can't share in the fun. It would be easier if Tony liked toys, but he rarely plays with them.

If your dog is in frequent contact with other, non-diabetic dogs, you will probably find that the most difficult thing is getting the people of the other dogs to cooperate. They may need continual education and reminders about how their actions affect your dog, and after a while, this becomes tedious for both parties. I can't help you there. One of my housemates has memory issues, yet he becomes upset if you remind him (or if you don't remind him, for that matter). Your best bet is to establish as rigid a routine as you can, so that it becomes second nature for everyone in the household, not just you and your dog.

I'll leave this here for now, but I expect to revisit it from time to time. Right now, Tony still hasn't eaten, and I need to shop for our 4th of July celebration.