The Drive to Save a Fading Friend

A dark, blood-red tear welled in his left eye, staining gray hairs as it rolled down his face. “I want to go hooome,” he pleaded with an intense gaze, chin quivering. It was not a plea uttered in a human vocabulary, but in the telepathy of a pet to his master. Furrowed brow. Deep, mournful eyes. It was the second emergency veterinary hospital we were at that day and the longest he had been away from his home of almost 10 years.

The big, bounding yellow Labrador--a dog of infinite energy and stamina who lived to chase his wildly bouncing “Kong” toy--was dying.

He had ingested poison pellets intended to eradicate ground squirrels. Bright green, palatable grain-based chunks of goodies that entice victims to come back for more.

Days later the poison kicks in--an anticoagulant that destroys the blood-clotting system, causing the victim to slowly bleed to death. Weakening, fading, without awareness of anything wrong.

“We are getting so many poisonings all of a sudden,” said an attendant at the McClave Veterinary Hospital in Reseda. With spring around the corner, people eager to start their gardens are setting out baits to rid their yards of pests--and inadvertently poisoning their pets.

“It’s sad,” the attendant added, “but often, people don’t notice the signs until it’s too late.”

We had used rodent poisons and other devices without incident at our Canyon Country mini-ranch for nearly two decades, finding them only mildly effective in controlling an abundant population of ground squirrels, rabbits, gophers and moles.

I once tossed a smoke bomb into a fresh hole, only to watch in disbelief as it suddenly plopped back out.

We preferred more ecologically sensitive measures to ward off invaders: glass shards and wire meshing buried around the roots of roses, fruit trees and ornamentals.

But, just as the many former horse-keeping areas of the San Fernando Valley slowly disappeared, so too did our once rural neighborhood evolve into an enclave of country estates. Pastures and vineyards gave way to tennis courts and backyard lakes. Dirt roads were paved over. Rodents crowded into a dwindling space.

I had largely ignored the invasion for years. But as the weather warmed last month and my thoughts turned to gardening, I noted a yard riddled with holes and tunnels undermining horse stalls and feed barns. Mounds of excavated dirt even rose inside a tack room. The ground gave way from beneath as we walked.

I resorted to poison.

“It’s a common reaction at this time of year, when the weather warms up a little bit,” said Richard Holden, executive director of the Southern California Veterinary Medical Assn. “People put out ant stakes, rat poisons, rodent poisons, snail bait--all of which can be quite devastating to pets.”

“It only takes a small amount and the consequences can be quite dire,” said Dr. Cassie Jones of Santa Monica, immediate past president of the Southern California Veterinary Medical Assn.

She rattled off a list of things that can harm pets--not just insecticides and rat poisons, but common items such as chocolate or clothing.

A tiny spill of antifreeze, which has an off-sweet taste appealing to cats and dogs, is deadly with only a few laps, the leading killer nationwide.

An exotic bird can die from pecking at the soldering on a stained-glass window or metal seal on a fine bottle of wine. Pennies coined after 1981, which contain zinc under a copper coating, are toxic when swallowed. There are cases of pets becoming ill after eating sewing kits, heating pads, drug pipes, sweaters, bread dough and costume jewelry.

The Easter lily, along with most other lilies just coming into bloom, has only recently been discovered to cause kidney failure in cats, said Dr. Michael Knight, medical director of the National Animal Poison Control Center.

“There are so, so many things out there that can present a potential hazard to a pet,” Knight said. The greatest precaution any pet owner can take is to be alert to any abnormal behavior, he said.

“There’s no magic bullet nor across-the-board antidote for poisons,” Knight added. “In fact, 98% or more do not have an antidote. But that does not mean that all is lost. Most poisonings can be treated successfully if we get in there quick enough.”

The first step, he said, is that the pet owner immediately contact a veterinarian at the slightest suspicion of illness.

The national poison center, operated by the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and the University of Illinois, answered 60,000 such emergency calls last year. The 24-hour hotline, which charges a small fee for the service, can be reached at (888) 426-4435.

The California Poison Control System, designed to dispense advice to doctors and the general population, also fields calls from pet owners. While the state center is struggling to retain federal funding, it maintains a central emergency number, (800) 876-4766.

I failed to heed my instincts. I had seen the big Lab grab a loose pellet, which he dropped on command, from a squirrel hole. I felt surely he could not have found others, but I immediately put away the poison and watched for any change in behavior.

There was none at first. Then days later, early one Sunday, he urinated a profuse amount of blood.

By the time we arrived at Valencia Veterinary Hospital, blood also was welling up in his left eye. Pets sometimes show no signs of damage from an anticoagulant until it’s too late, explained the attending veterinarian, Dr. Scott Palmer.

Palmer immediately administered a massive dose of Vitamin K, started the dog on intravenous fluids and sent me off to Reseda to bring back a supply of whole canine blood, should transfusions be warranted.

I could not help but feel guilty. There were so many fond memories of the big Lab--an unusually large specimen, even for his breed. My husband picked him from a litter of 3-month-old pups. “That big one, with the yellow eyes and pink nose,” he said.

I named him Bo Jangles. He was such an animated pup--a whirligig that wagged his whole body--although my husband often called him Butkus, after the football powerhouse.

By evening, Bo’s red blood cell count was holding encouragingly steady. But Palmer recommended he be transferred for overnight monitoring at a 24-hour facility.

Thus we ended up at McClave, the vet hospital.

It was a wise move. Bo’s blood count fell frighteningly low during the first night before taking a turn for the better the next morning. After three days of hospitalization, he is now home, receiving twice daily doses of Vitamin K.

We were not alone in our ordeal. Another family with two young children returned to the Valencia animal hospital at the same time as I, anxious to retrieve their cocker spaniel, also named Bo. Attendants differentiated the two by referring to them as “Big Bo” and “Little Bo.”

As I loaded my dog into a pickup for the ride to the Valley, I saw the veterinarian talking with the family. Moments later, they emerged with somber expressions. The youngest was sobbing.

“Little Bo” wasn’t going anywhere.