By Nancy Gallimore
We just celebrated our oldest
Dalmatian’s birthday. Howie, a beloved member of our family since the day he turned 8 weeks old, just achieved a happy, healthy 15 years. In the midst of all of the festivities— cake and all—I couldn’t help but feel a tug at my heart for the birthday we didn’t get to celebrate.
We were first introduced to Stewie through a photo on Facebook. My partner in life and dog obsession, Jim Thomason, and I run the Dalmatian Assistance League, Inc., a nonprofit breed rescue group. We have both loved Dalmatians for longer than we likely care to admit, and if there is a canine in need that is remotely spotted, we generally get word.
Often, the photos we receive are of spotted Pit Bulls, bird dog mixes or adorable speckled mutts. While we do sometimes cave and take in an “un-dal” or a “close-enough,” our rescue is small, and we try to reserve our limited resources for our original mission of assisting purebred Dalmatians.
So, when we were notified of a baby Dalmatian at Tulsa Animal Welfare (TAW), we were skeptical, expecting a photo of a darling mixed-heritage pup. To our great surprise, we received a photo of a beautiful 3- to 4-monthold purebred Dalmatian. Though we usually stick to our “no foster fail” guns and provide temporary housing while working to rehome our spotted charges, a funny feeling hit us as we looked at photos of the little dog.
Instead of contacting the shelter to do a rescue pull of the pup, Jim made an appointment (per COVID guidelines) and went to formally pre-adopt him. TAW has a program that allows
people to complete an adoption application and pay a fee for a dog that is still on stray hold. If no owners surface to claim the dog when the hold expires, the pre-adoption becomes final.
I am not going to lie. We basically held our breath for three days. It was hard to imagine that anyone could lose this adorable puppy and not be turning the city upside down to find him. And honestly, we were captivated. Our professional rescue demeanor and resolve had pretty much crumbled after Jim met the puppy through the fence at the shelter. This little man was meant to be ours.
And so, the puppy that would be known as Stewie came home to Tails You Win Farm to become an official member of our family. From day one, this charismatic spotted bundle had us completely charmed. He was playful, affectionate, cuddly and even managed to win over the grumpier senior canine members of our family. Often, you would find the puppy curled up with one of his “grandma” or “grandpa” dogs, enjoying a midday nap.
At night, the clever young dog always managed to torpedo his way into a prime sleeping spot, spooned snuggly against Jim or me. How he pushed the others out of the way is still a mystery, but they tolerated him, amazingly enough. The boy had a gift. He never met a stranger, human or canine, and everyone immediately fell under his brown-eyed spell.
One day when Stewie was about 7 months old, we noticed that he was holding his mouth open in a peculiar fashion, his lower jaw basically immobile. We checked to be sure he didn’t have something stuck in his teeth or in the roof of his mouth. Nothing. We offered a tasty treat, and he had great difficulty taking it and trying to chew it. Something was most definitely wrong.
After consulting with our veterinarian as well as a specialty vet, Stewie was diagnosed with trigeminal nerve neuritis. The trigeminal nerve helps dogs use the muscles of their face to blink, eat and drink, and his was not doing its job.
The underlying cause of trigeminal nerve neuritis is a bit of a medical mystery, though it is possibly immune-mediated, the result of injury or an underlying condition such as bone deformity or possibly a tumor. It can also be deemed idiopathic, as in Stewie’s case.
We were instructed to provide support through a special diet that Stewie could manage with his limited jaw range of motion and to make sure he was able to drink enough water. With time, the condition would hopefully resolve on its own.
Though he suffered muscle atrophy in his head and couldn’t play with toys as he normally liked to, Stewie seemed fairly unfazed by his condition, and his happy attitude prevailed. He still wanted to run, play and be in the middle of all the action that is typical of our busy canine-centric home.
With support from our veterinarians and acupuncture and laser treatments performed by Dr. Heather Owen at Animal Acupuncture, we did see gradual improvement in Stewie’s ability to move his mouth and, most importantly, to wash our faces with his sweet kisses. He was such a tail-wagging trooper through it all, becoming a fast favorite of his veterinary support crew members.
Things continued fairly normally over the next few months. Stewie’s appetite was great, he was getting better at chewing his special soft diet without making a horrible mess, and he was starting to gnaw on toys again. We were hopeful that he would soon make a full recovery.
Then one morning Stewie lost his appetite. For anyone who has a Dalmatian, you know that 99% of them are complete and dedicated chow hounds. Food is a priority, and all spotted dogs tend to be members of the clean bowl club. I always say if your Dalmatian refuses a meal, something is very wrong.
And in Stewie’s case, something was very wrong. He became lethargic. He wasn’t interested in any of the buffet of food choices we offered him. We immediately headed to our primary veterinarian for a complete checkup.
Over the course of the next three days, Dr. Lauren Johnson of Hammond Animal Hospital worked to give Stewie the immediate support he needed and ran various tests to try to find a cause for his sudden, rapid decline.
Bloodwork showed that Stewie’s kidneys were in distress, but we were unable to pinpoint any specific cause. Our next step was Oklahoma Veterinary Specialists, where Stewie was admitted for more tests and around the clock care. Our sweet boy was gravely ill, and turning him over during the pandemic, when we couldn’t visit to help boost his spirits, was completely heartbreaking. But we knew he was in the best hands and receiving exceptional care.
Despite our hopes and prayers, the news over the next 72 hours did not improve. The intravenous fluids and other medications should have helped Stewie start to rally, but instead his kidney function continued to deteriorate.
On Friday evening, one week to the day of Stewie simply refusing a meal, we received the call every pet owner dreads. Stewie’s kidneys had failed, and his condition was to the point where the veterinarian overseeing his care feared he would not make it through the night. Jim and I stared at each other for a moment in disbelief, our minds unable to accept that our precious, personality-packed puppy could be leaving us.
We both immediately agreed, however, that we would not allow Stewie
to linger or risk having him pass without us there to give him all our love until the very end. Our boy needed us more than ever in that moment, and we would not fail him.
During the drive to the hospital, my brain was spinning with a jumble of what-ifs, whys and hows. In despair and desperation, irrational thoughts were creeping in. How can I turn back time? There must be a way to fix this. How can I fix this? But there simply were no more fixes.
Thankfully, despite the remaining COVID lockdown, we were allowed into a room to spend some final time with our puppy. We got the chance to tell him the things once again we had been telling him for the past eight months: “We love you so much. You are the very best boy.”
And we added one more—“you don’t need to fight anymore, sweet boy.”
With great compassion and a gentle hand, the veterinarian came in and released our Stewie from his failing body. He relaxed in our arms and took his last breath, with our tears falling on his precious face.
That drive home was one of the longest of my life. Stewie was supposed to be with us for years to come. We had been planning to celebrate his first birthday the very next day. We had a cake for him. It all seemed so unbelievable and painfully unfair.
Stewie’s cause of death was officially juvenile kidney failure. We don’t know what caused it or if his trigeminal nerve disorder was somehow linked or not. We did not push to find out. All the postmortem knowledge in the world wouldn’t bring our boy back.
I always believe life hands you lessons in every situation, the good, the bad, the sad. This time, I will admit, it took me a bit to find the lesson in losing a young, brilliant dog in the blink of an eye. And then, when it was time to celebrate our Howie’s 15th birthday—a milestone birthday for any dog—it hit me.
It doesn’t matter if you have a dog for eight months or 15-plus years. Once you let a special dog into your heart, you love them completely and fiercely. You embrace every moment. You shake off a chewed shoe or a hole dug in the yard. You marvel that a creature so different from you manages to communicate and bridge the gaps. You appreciate how much richer your life is for bringing them in to be a part of your family.
Losing a dog at such a young age was a first for us, and I honestly feel so robbed. While we still ache daily for our loss, we will always remember Stewie and his puppy antics with a laugh and a smile. The space he filled in our hearts would have covered a cake with dozens of flickering candles.
Time is never guaranteed—a hard lesson learned. But love for a special dog is also powerful magic. And that is something a timeline can never erase.
