TRIBUTES: Cubby

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In Memory of Cubby
by Regina Cohn

Cubby died June 3, 2005. He was barely a year old. The eleven months we spent together were filled with sadness, challenge, hope, and joy. For all his medical problems, I think we gave him a happy life, but he gave me much more.

When we adopted Cubby last July, at eight weeks, he was tiny. Almost malnourished. In other ways, though, he seemed like other puppies, climbing everywhere and chewing on everything. But a lot of rescue dogs are malnourished, so we figured he just needed lots of love and extra food. We took Cubby to our wonderful vet, Dr. Louis Burch (picture James Herriot in cowboy boots), for a check up and reassurance. Dr. Burch knew right away something was seriously wrong, not just undernourishment. Dr. Burch calls it clinical judgment; we call it a sixth sense.

On July 28th, we finally got the diagnosis of liver shunt. Some of the blood bypasses the liver, and is not purified. Toxins, especially ammonia, by-products of protein, build up in the system and pass to the brain, causing seizures and other bizarre symptoms.

The weeks leading up to the diagnosis were baffling, exhausting, and frightening. It must have been terrifying for Cubby. He would lie for hours on the bed, clutching a tennis ball in his mouth. One day I followed him around the house for four hours, as he paced the perimeter of the living room, pushing past the furniture, climbing over the objects in his path. One night my husband came into the bedroom frantically reporting that Cubby was blind. At first, I didn't believe him, but it was true. The blindness cleared up by morning, but Cubby continued to stare off into space from time to time, almost in a trance. Because liver shunt is so rare, many of the symptoms we reported were dismissed. Not by Dr. Burch, but by others.

When we finally got the diagnosis, we put Cubby on a low protein diet of K-D (low protein kibble) and Lactulose (gooey stuff that keeps everything moving through the alimentary canal, which Cubby lapped up like water). We also supplemented his diet from time to time with pasta or cottage cheese. He started to improve immediately, much to the delight of our other rescue boxer, B.G., who badly needed a playmate.

Oddly enough, it was during this same time that I received my own diagnosis: atrial septal defect, a congenital hole in the heart. I had a shunt, just like Cubby! The doctors told me I should exercise. My husband usually walked our dogs, but I promised Cubby and myself an extra walk every day.

So together we walked. Every day. Two shunts. Side by side.

Cubby was the perfect walking companion. We would set out together for half an hour each day, Cubby chugging along, undistracted by cats or dogs. People, however, he loved, and if he saw someone across the street, his little ears would perk up and he would want to play. If I stopped to tie my shoelaces, he chewed my nose. Cubby, my personal trainer, kept us moving.

From the time we put Cubby on the diet, right up to the week he died, he only had a couple of "off" days. A few were explained by anesthesia: once for an MRI to find out if the shunt was operable (it was not) and once when he was fixed (I guess we hoped he would live longer). Another time, he climbed up onto the counter and ate cat food! Delicious, but dangerous for liver shunt.

At his healthiest, Cubby displayed typical puppy behavior, and was into everything, everywhere, even on the dining room table! But he also slept a lot (yes, even more than other boxers), and never gained quite as much weight as he should. We were told he would probably live about a year.

Unlike Cubby, my shunt turned out to be operable. On May 16, the doctors fixed my atrial septal defect, with a patch on my heart made from titanium, nickel, and polyester. Cubby was not so lucky. Two weeks later, he died.

The doctors tell me I still need to walk. So I do, every day, for half an hour. Our neighbors think I walk alone now. But in my patched heart, Cubby is walking by my side. And he always will.