So the story of Blu and the gander attacks continues. Took a short break to enjoy winter that’s dragging on, plus a visit from my granddaughter. Oh, and how could I forget, another week in bed fighting one more case of nausea.
Such highs and lows in a very short time, but I have to say the week with the youngster was the highlight of my life for the past 9 months. The best distraction from this pain, laughing and smiling for a bit.
But finally, back to the big gander attack. (my editor hates starting a sentence with “but”, so I do it just to irritate her.) I have been struggling with getting this written for some odd reason, and it frustrates me to no end. I need to continue with my life on paper, so it’s there when I don’t remember it, if god forbid that day comes.
I don’t need to re-hash the attack itself, (you can read the post here) about a big nasty Canadian gander determined to go after a 6 month old Frenchie and inflict as much damage as possible. A 20 pound bird with a 6 foot wing span. The goose was protecting a nest on the flat roof of my former office, which was being dutifully attended by his life mate.
I don’t know if the first post did the attack justice, for ten minutes it was man and his dog versus a mean nasty bird, a test of strength and wills. I know, it was just a goose, but try fighting one while protecting a pup.
What occurred afterward was a six year journey of Mister Blu dealing with the symptoms of a trauma induced mental illness. His mind and his body disconnect at times, caused by a simple flashback, triggered by a sudden overhead flash of light.
I am pretty well convinced he is suffering from a severe case of PTSDD or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder for Dogs.
There were three different stages Blu has gone through, ending up at stage 3, and where he is presently. His symptoms morphed over time, starting right after the initial attack when he was 8 or 9 months old. He still suffers seizures, or panic attacks if you like.
The gander attack took place in early spring of 2020, and the first evidence something was amiss was his reaction to light. It manifested itself at the office where I was working at the time, my home away from home for 24 years.
His panic episodes could have been triggered by the location, at the scene of the crime. I would still take him up to spend 3 or 4 hours a day with me while I worked away. Blu was often found lying under my desk, sound asleep, or else he was being loved to death by the four young women that worked with me.
The open concept office and warehouses are situated on a side street next to one of the smaller four lane highways cutting through the city. It’s always busy since it connects to a couple of the major freeways, and there’s a constant flow of traffic going by.
The front doors were located on the furthest northeast corner. Both doors were all glass and emptied into a small vestibule or foyer, all floor to ceiling windows. This was followed by another set of double doors to get in to the receptionist. The point being there was a lot of natural light in the place, and direct views of the highway and cars whizzing by.
One morning when Blu was making the rounds, getting scratches from everyone, he started to react to something on the ceiling. He would start running in small circles and bark up at the ceiling. He was really agitated, but then calmed down again. At first we thought he was reacting to the fluorescent lights in the ceiling, or maybe a bug or something. We turned off all the lights in the room, thinking it would help, but he continued to react, get agitated and chasing after something above him.
Turning off the lights and having the room darkened let me see what was actually happening. He was reacting to a flash of light on the ceiling, created by a reflection off the car’s windshield traveling on the highway. It wasn’t every car or truck that caused this to occur, but certain cars created a quick flash of light across the ceiling, starting from the front foyer and crossing the room, all in a split second.
It had started at work, and he would get agitated four or five times in those three hours. Not a lot, but enough to be a concern. Then it started taking place at home. The agitated behavior worsened, as if he wanted to attack whatever was causing the overhead distraction.
Our kitchen is designed with six bright pot lights set in a ten foot ceiling, so it’s always very well lit. Every time one of our pieces of silverware came out of the drawer, the pot light would catch the utensil and sure enough, a flash of light would hit the ceiling. Plates, bowls and coffee cups all caused the same effect.
Blu was constantly agitated every time we ate. The solution? First we did the obvious and turned out all the lights. That definitely helped, but we were eating in the dark, which was more difficult than we thought.
The missus went on a mission to find tableware and utensils that were a flat matte finish and wouldn’t cause the reflection to happen. We switched everything over to silverware that isn’t really silver, more of a pewter color. Looks like something you’d get in a prison. Industrial looking. Plus she bought table settings for 4 people, all in a dark black matte finish. Functional but pretty ugly looking.
With some added measures we were able to keep his episodes down to a minimum, but it was impossible to control each and every situation when it comes to light. The front door for instance has a side light, wide enough to accommodate two dogs standing side by side.
We had just “inherited” Lucy, who would simply sit back and watch when the episodes occurred. She was as confused as the rest of us.
This agitated state resembled a panic attack, in my humble opinion. An instantaneous fight or flight struggle. I can tell that he’s torn between wanting to attack the so-called intruder and wanting to run away and hide. All brought on by the sudden flash of light.
The first stage lasted for six months I’m guessing, when out of the blue (no pun intended) he became a whirling dervish. He would spin uncontrollably, counter clockwise if that matters. This wild spinning would last up to 10 minutes, but only ended when exhaustion overtook him and he just collapsed.
I even tried to pick him up, hold him tight against me, but when I put him down he’d go right back to chasing the air around him. Faster and faster. A madness had overtaken him.
After the 3rd time of this whirling business I called the vet and took him in for a quick exam, where they found nothing. I was told that if it happened again to take him to the emergency vet hospital, where a dog neurologist could make a better diagnosis.
It didn’t take long. Three days later I had taken them both to work and he went from sleeping in a sunny spot to up and running as fast as possible in tight circles. I was smart enough to record this episode for the doggie doctors.
No matter what we said or tried to do, he kept up this maniacal chasing at nothing. The fight or flight mechanism haywire as hell. His sister sat back and watched, like she knew to stay out of his way.
Okay, time to head to the hospital as instructed. I had to physically restrain him to put his harness and leash on, but every time I set him down he simply started turning like a top. So we left Lucy in care of the girls, and I headed out to the car with an armful of hypertensive thirty-five pound dog. As we reached the parking lot, I realized I had to reach in my pocket for the car keys. I had to set him back down..
Off he goes again, back to chasing a tail that doesn’t exist.
Once I got my car keys out it was time to try to pick him up. Easier said than done. In reaching down to grab his harness, my left hand ring finger got caught in the metal ring where the leash attaches. When he spun around the first time I managed to twist my hand around so there wasn’t too much pain.
The second spin was when I watched my finger bend in an impossible angle, moving sideways. The pain was bad enough, but nothing compared to the third spin. I watched as my finger bent sideways at the main joint, then snapped completely, ending at a right angle from the rest of the finger.
At that point I just had to pull it out of the loop, as one more spin would have taken the finger off completely. Once freed, I was able to pick him up mid-whirl (I know that’s bad English, but I’ve typed “spin” a million times already) and was able to get him in the car.
Now we both needed medical attention, but I was more concerned with poor Blu. Once in the driver seat I looked at my poor finger and thought “this is going to hurt…but” then pulled it hard enough to straighten it out. I had thought correctly… it had hurt like hell, but I had no other option.
Off we went to the emergency vet clinic and spent 8 hours and countless dollars. I swear the hospital was nicer, newer and more spacious than any of the ones for us poor humans. Luckily Karen was able to retrieve little Lucy, who had sat at the office doors wondering why we’d abandoned her.
This visit was more intense than most, lasting a full 8 hours. All the spinal tests took place, with the final diagnosis that he was having epileptic seizures. The way forward was giving him 2 separate drugs, 3 times a day for one, twice for the other. The vets and ourselves were worried that one of these times a seizure might do permanent damage, so why take the chance.
If you remember from Part I, the five minute mark was the trigger. If he went into any type of seizure for more than five minutes I needed to bring him in as soon as possible. Plus I was told to video any episodes that I could.
Although we kept coming up with creative ways to get the pills down him, eventually he caught on and simply stopped eating anything that didn’t smell 100% to his liking. Blu also learned how to eat the entire chunk of hotdog, piece of cheese or pill-pocket and somehow manage to spit the pill out intact. A magic trick perhaps known only to dogs.
So the only way to get the meds in him was to straddle him from behind, tilt his head back, pry open his lower jaw and stick the pill down his throat. A little dab of peanut butter made for the perfect “glue” on the tip of my finger, and held the pill in place while I shoved it down. He often knew what I was up to and ran upstairs to try to escape. I can’t blame him.
The spinning and agitation calmed down, between the meds and our continued actions on minimalizing flashes at both home and office. He definitely didn’t go back into whirling dervish mode, but you could see how sudden light got to him.
As with all good things there’s a price to pay.
Blu just wasn’t Blu. Or maybe Blu had a bad case of the blues, that’s what it seemed like. He wasn’t his normal playful, happy dog. He still had an appetite, slept well, but didn’t grab his favorite ball or stuffed moose, or torment his sister like he used to. He normally has a sad expression, this was more than that.
I had to keep up with the meds as his uncontrollable spinning had stopped. So which was the best option? A dog that had his seizures under control but was knocked for a loop from the medication, or a life of occasional seizures taking an unknown toll? I had to trust the doctors.
He still had a few times where a flash of light at the front door would startle him, but we had assumed the worst was over. We were a little overly optimistic.
Stage 3 of his reaction to light was a surprise to us all.
It happened on a really bright sunny day in the early fall. One of those days where the sun comes through the side window at the front door, warms the carpet below, and becomes a great spot for two dogs to nap.
I was sitting at the kitchen island, which gives me a direct view of the hallway and front door. The two of them were lying back to back snoring away.
As happens everyday, when the mailman came they both shot up to fight for the best spot in the window. When they turned from the window it seemed like Blu was out of sorts. It was more like a seventh sense or something, but I felt something was wrong, and knew there was an issue.
“Blu, what’s wrong mister?”
I got out of my chair and headed toward him.
He was walking like a punch drunk boxer, weaving back and forth, trying to hold himself up as he made his way to me. He was seeking me out, reaching for help as best he knew how.
We met in the middle of the hall, a mere 10 steps for each of us. When he reached me, he leaned against my leg for support, his eyes glazed over then he slid to the floor.
That’s when his first true seizure started.
His paws were splayed out in front of him, grabbing at the air, his toes pulled into a fist. His face had become that of an ancient gargoyle, his lips pulled into a toothy grin, but he was far from smiling.
I managed to sit down beside him, doing the best I could to try to keep him calm. This was the first time he really exhibited a more typical epileptic seizure lying on his side as his body went into convulsions. He wanted to try to stand but couldn’t. “The poor little guy” I thought. All I could do was to stoke him gently, and whisper that everything would be okay.
I looked at my watch, which read 9:13 am. I wished at the time that I had my phone with me to record this, but it was still on the kitchen island. There was no way was going to leave his side, so any video taping of this event wasn’t going to happen.
Luckily enough at 9:17 the trembling and shaking started to subside, his muscles relaxed, his paws stopped their windmilling the air. 4 minutes which seemed like forever.
At the end of it all he gave a huge sigh of relief. I managed to get myself up off the floor, no easy feat mind you, picked him up and put him on the couch. I sat stroking his head, and he went right to sleep. He was exhausted from this little internal battle.
“Now what?” I wondered aloud. This was something completely different from the agitation and spinning, this was a full blown seizure. He wasn’t frothing at the mouth or having trouble breathing. He had been aware of what was happening, and I could see from his eyes he wanted me to help him, but there was little I could do.
I knew he had lost control after running to the window, and seeing the bright sunlight was once again the trigger.
Hmmm. More hmmm’s.
So this seizure had come even with the high doses of medication.
The next time was almost exactly the same as the first, and occurred a month later. Just short of 5 minutes.
So now I had an unhappy dog on a bunch of meds that was still having problems.
I talked to our regular vet, and told her of my decision to wean him off the meds. They weren’t really helping the situation, as he continued to have the occasional seizure. After coming off the medication Blu was back to his normal, happy self. Playful, mischievous and full of life.
These episodes came once or twice a month at first, all under the 5 minute mark, but have now slowed down to just once or twice every three to four months.
These attacks always seemed to be triggered by a sudden flash of light, and one day it came to me that maybe these aren’t really epileptic seizures at all. I thought then, as I do now, that his mind is simply freezing up caused by PTSD.
The traumatic experience of being attacked by that damn gander was to blame for this. He sees that overhead flash and his fight or flight response goes into overdrive and he seizes up.
I thought it profound that my best friend and I suffer from the same issues in dealing with a traumatic event at a very young age. This event has dictated both our lives, and continues to do so.
To this day I still suffer the occasional pain attack, especially triggered by being in a hospital or in a men’s room.
And to this day my dog still suffers major panic attacks caused by a flash of light and a flash back to the day of the gander attack.
So we deal with our traumas together, he and I.
A man and his dog.