I’m the first to confess that I tend to go wild for my pet dog’s treatment. After all, as a life-long animal advocate, I have seen too much inhumanity, too much pain, and too much suffering placed on these pets not to intend to turn around that in my house. I have also seen how outstanding, resistant, and rousing they can be. Even for me, though, some treatments can seem extreme for some family pets. When faced with a significant clinical choice, it can be hard and difficult to choose what’s right.
Lately, I have been in such a situation with my canine, Fiona. I hope that my story will aid you in the future.
Meet Fiona, the previous puppy mill breeder.
Meet Fiona, perhaps the worst candidate for therapy (or so I thought). My little Fiona is an 11-year-old puppy mill breeder who invested the first seven years of her life in a cage, pumping out litters of (severely) purebred Italian Greyhounds. While her pups were probably shipped to family members across the country, she invested seven years with little to no human communication, love, or healthcare. By the time she reached rescue, she was so mentally stunted that she invested two years in foster care despite being smaller, more youthful, and chouchou healthier than many other adoptable pet dogs in New York City. She maintained obtaining taken on and returned since she worried about living like a regular canine.
I met Fiona shortly after her 2nd wedding anniversary with K9Kastle, a fantastic rescue team I volunteered with. I took Fi on as a foster to assist with her socializing. I hoped I could function to get her to a place where she could bond with other individuals. Eventually, Fi and I obtained her there, yet also falling undoubtedly crazy en route. So I “stopped working” as a foster mommy and became Fi’s long-term “mom” instead.
Fiona’s fear of therapy
Two years later, Fi’s gone from the frightened puppy that would duck for cover anytime somebody relocated to approaching unfamiliar people on the street. (Thank you, bacon treats!!!) As she constantly did, she loves cuddles and chin grazes but now seeks them out from people she doesn’t understand. She also started doing post-poop dancing and running in the early mornings.
Fiona’s not without her scars. Recurring urinary problems and regular stress-related colitis are 2 of the big deals. It took over a year to discover a secondary caretaker she would certainly be comfortable with when I took a trip to keep her from establishing heartbreakingly bloody fetuses from the stress. She’s never discovered to play but has initiated solace in replete kongs and rawhide chews.
Medicating Fiona can customary her off, so her vets frequently choose the “delay and watch” technique when anything new appears. It’s not that they do not want to treat her; therapy has commonly made the problem worse.
So Fiona didn’t appear (to me) like the type of dog who would be a good prospect for chemo. When we discovered an unusual kind of pole cell tumor in her gum tissue, I assumed treating it would suggest damaging any lifestyle she had left– something I wasn’t ready to do.
My decision to deal with Fiona
I would never have gone through chemo with my pet dogs or cats. I would certainly recognize others who had tried it, to differing results. Nonetheless, I secretly always assumed that chemo would be a little extreme, even for me, particularly for a pet like Fi. And, fortunate or otherwise, chemo had not been a great alternative whenever I would certainly battle the big “C” with pets.
Yet then Fi’s diagnosis returned, and, yet again, she started teaching me to throw every one of my assumptions to the wind.