Did you ever wonder exactly what the heck could be going on inside your dog’s head at the vet? Maybe why your toddler is freaking out, or why your cat tries to make your insides into your outsides when it’s time for a medical exam or treatment?
We don’t have mind-reading equipment yet, but we’ve got the next best thing — a human who can explain from inside a clinic where she’s uncomfortable.
Time for another update, though I’ve been kind of putting it off….
So. Wednesday was supposed to be Laev’s last chemo treatment — except that her lymph nodes were enlarging again, and while she achieved clinical remission pretty quickly, her oncologist isn’t happy with her latest progress and the lymph nodes. So I’ve been worrying a bit.
It’s autumn, perhaps my favorite season, and I’m keeping an eye on the Dober-thermometer (the tightness of a Doberman’s sleeping curl indicates the overall temperature). So far it’s been mild and lovely, but I expect to see tighter sleeps in the coming week. First snow might be Wednesday. I’ll have to stock up on firewood.
We took a trip to a local orchard, just for fun. Laev was walking happily beside me until we got the caramel apples. Then she sniffed the goodie-laden air, got excited, and promptly flattened herself to the ground. “Look at me! Look at how not-pushy I’m being around the yummies! Do I get one?”
I mentioned in my last post that I wished I had more good-quality photos of Shakespeare. (Most of his work was in the days before there were decent cameras in phones.) So my mom sent…
And here’s your irregular update on Shakespeare and Laevatein….
Laevatein has no idea she’s sick. Aside from lethargy about 36-48 hours after her chemo — during which she’s merely sleepy, and doesn’t seem to feel ill except for just once — she’s living a totally normal life. We’ll hope the chemo does its thing and pushes the lymphoma into remission. In the meantime, we are so very glad we did our relaxation work with the mat before now, because I don’t know what our frequent clinic visits would be without it!
For Shakespeare, we’re just looking for as many good days as we can get — but so far, we’re getting more than expected! Yesterday marked FIVE WEEKS from his diagnosis with a prediction of as little as three weeks to live, so we’re very pleased. His jaw is distorted and swollen, and he’s having to work harder at eating and drinking, but the pain meds seem to be doing the trick and his attitude is pretty good, his routine pretty similar to what it’s been for the last year.
And I was told that his appetite would be the primary barometer of how he’s doing, that we should start making the tough decisions when he feels too bad to eat. (The cancer is in his jaw, so pain while eating is going to be a big factor.) But this is what Shakespeare looks like at suppertime:
One of the great precepts of clicker training is to set the training subject up for success. As a trainer, you never want to put your dog (or other trainee) in a situation she’s not ready for, or ask her to perform a task she might fail. Failure isn’t instructive for the learner, and it can be very frustrating, which can be a major setback to your training.
But just because we don’t make failure a part of the training process doesn’t mean it’s not on our minds. Anything can happen in real life — unforeseen distractions, accidents, equipment failure and numerous other complications can interfere with our plans. We have to have a contingency plan in case something goes wrong. This is why we train fail-safe behaviors!
Normally, the Rimadyl wouldn’t even have been in the house.
I personally don’t like carprofen for my dogs, due to the potential liver damage (which, I’ve read, Dobermans may be more susceptible to than some other breeds), and we tend to use other anti-inflamnatories when necessary. But Shakespeare was given as little as 3 weeks to live, and living long enough to develop liver problems would be a win anyway, so I brought home Rimadyl to keep him as comfortable as possible.
It didn’t even occur to me to ask if it came in a non-flavored version. My dogs are , and a regular capsule would have been much safer than bringing a liver-flavored drug into a house with Laev on prednisone, giving her chronic munchies and motivating her to new heights of counter-surfing.
So I’m making this a series, so we can connect all the cancer-related posts for anyone interested and in case it helps anyone later on. I really, really wanted to call this series “Kicking Cancer in the Teeth,” but I thought that might be tempting fate a little too viciously. But it’s the attitude I’m bringing, just the same.
First, thank you for all the prayers, good wishes, and support. I really appreciate it!
Not quite sure how to start this one, so I guess I’ll just jump in…. Laevatein has terminal cancer. Lymphoma.
She was just diagnosed, when a vet found somewhat-enlarged lymph nodes during a routine exam. “I have to mention the c-word,” she said, “but she really doesn’t present like a cancer dog.” Indeed not; Laev is 8, but she’s quite active (she spent about 4 hours Sunday night circling and jumping, trying to work out how to reach a critter in a tree) and looks sleek and shiny. We figured some sort of tick-borne disease was more likely and ordered panels to test.
But the biopsies came back as lymphoma. Two weeks later, her lymph nodes are already large enough to visibly distort her silhouette in front and rear. Monday we met with the oncologist, discussed options, got further tests (cancer has likely spread to spleen and lungs, but not liver), and started chemotherapy.
(This is an old blog post, originally dated December 4, 2005. I’m copying it from my now-defunct Puppy and a Plan blog to here, as I know some like to reference it.)
Laev had an inflammation of the third eyelid which was matting her eyes with nasty stuff, so we got some ointment on Nov. 21 for treatment. I had visions of wrestling with a ever-larger puppy to insert goo, and this was compounded by my own eyeball hangup (I’m one of those people who can listen to fingernails on a blackboard, but don’t talk about eyeball contact).
Well, heck, I’m fresh off ClickerExpo and a series of wonderful workshops with video footage of tigers volunteering to get stuck with 6″ needles. What kind of lousy trainer am I if I can’t convince my dog to handle this minimally invasive procedure?