We aren’t sure. It wasn’t out and out violent convulsions and lose of bowels and all that fun stuff, but he was weird and trembly and disoriented and trembly and did I mention trembly? Certainly heat stroke, and I’m sort of baffled still because the cats — the oh so hairy cats — are and have been fine (if pissed at having their heads doused regularly). At the onset of it we pulled him into the tub and had him standing in cold water while running water over him. And proceeded to spend hours applying cold cloths, icy cloths, ice packs, any watered down juice he’d drink, and popsicles. He had non-normal reactions to new people (we pulled in our neighbors, who have a dog with epilepsy, because I’ve never SEEN the precursor signs of seizures. He spent a long while bracing himself, which reminded me of how he braced himself when he was sedated with the back injury. He certainly was not *seeing* right — or processing things right. He was fine with us talking to him, he was a bit weird about the female neighbor and he was all out aggressively/defense stance with the male neighbor (he historically has a harder time with other males, though usually he’s cautiously friendly). I’ve never, ever seen Corbie react that way to anyone, and I know things were Not Okay with him.
We finally, finally relaxed and went into deep snoring sleep hours and hours after it all began, relaxing to the sound of my voice reading to him (poor dog. He prefers stories, not theological books). We dozed with him sprawled against me, head on my arm. Home today waiting to hear back from the vet. I really, really hope it was heat related. Obviously if it’s not, obviously if it’s a sign of things to come, we’ll deal. It won’t be the first time we’ve adapted to chronic health issues.
I’m so very grateful that we have him, and so very grateful that he has us. Called in sick at work today without an ounce of my typical anxiety over it, because dude, my dog. My heart breaks for the dogs who do not have people to pull them into the cold showers, mindless of clothing and getting wet. My heart breaks for the dogs who do not have people to apply icy wash cloths and ice packs, to offer drinks of juicey water and ice chips. My heart breaks for the dogs who are left out, unloved, unthought of, in the sweltering heat. Corbie may have been grumpy about the water on his head, but he loved the washcloths on his back and the ice against him. By the time we took our last run outside, he was jaunty and inquisitive and nosey. And, exhausted. Today we are all wiped out.
The cats are amazing and all came to check on him repeatedly throughout the worst of it. “What’s going on with the dog? Is the dog okay? What’s he doing?” Neech especially was frantic to come and head put him and mess with him, and was not happy with being kicked out of the room, but even A Lady deigned to offer her support and concern.
And . . . I am so very grateful for my gods. Nothing, nothing lays me low like my animals suffering. I talk tough when I’m panicking — I don’t have a “please, I pray that You aid his recovery.” When it’s articulated at all beyond the general nononono panic, it’s articulated in demands and threats. “This IS NOT going to be a THING. You had better . . .” After, when things have calmed down, I’m invariably horrified and contrite . . . And Odin has absolutely no patience for the apologies I try to offer. “It is your place to asks these things of Us, and I don’t expect you to be passive about it. Also, I recognize bluster-to-keep-functioning when I see it.”
Our gods, They are wise.
We’re hoping for good news today — we’re hoping for heat stroke and dehydration, a sub-q shot, and rest. I’ll be running out to get pedialite type pops for him — they’re vet approved! — and today is supposed to be cooler anyway.
Any thoughts, prayers, and energy would be appreciated. Corbie offers loves and snuggles and an affection nose into your eyeball — the smelliest part of the human anatomy, you know. Mind, take your glasses off first, because he’ll nose them out of the way if you don’t.