Dear Maia, Isaac, Dog Lovers and Virtual Wanderers,

This is a series of blog posts discribing my 6 pound soul dog, Cimarron’s, final life journey. I am sharing this to help other dog owners recognize early signs of tracheal collapse and mitral valve disease (with or without congesting heart failure). I may be Doc Cathy (Doctor of Nursing Practice), but I had a lot to learn during these final weeks.

The summer was hectic, everything too rushed. While Cimarron had some early signs of trachea collapse and advancing mitral valve disease, they seemed to blend into the white noise of a busy summer – here is part 1 of my 5 part series on Cimarron’s final weeks of life.

It was finally time for our last camping trip of the season. I time the trip to fall on the week of my doctoral graduation. This year was my 10th annivarsary. I had hiking plans – and maybe even a short roadtrip to Bluff, Utah for a Bears Ears Scramble. This was to be my breath of fresh air before getting ready for fall shows for my art business, Art from the Hartt.

The day started like most trip days – we were late leaving. I was hustling to get everything off the check-list. Cimarron picked up on the change and refused breakfast. This is not uncommon for her, although she was eating better the last few weeks than during the peak of the heat. When I finally got ready to load the dogs, she and Kachina were out the gate and raced to the car. I opened Kachina’s door, and Cimarron leaped into the driver’s seat, as usual. After loading Koko, off we went over the mountains to Hovenweep National Monument.

Since we left late, we got there around 5. By the time camp was set-up and I cooked, it was too dark to walk much. We snuggled in, I read for a bit then tucked Cimarron into her beloved pink sleeping bag. I woke up about 5 because Koko was shivering and I covered her with the blanket. I dozed some until the sun was warming things up. It was about 8 when I finally got out of my bag. I took goofy pictures of Koko and Kachina. (Note: Kachina had bad eye allergies that started about a month prior and was still in the cone.) Cimarron seemed to be sleeping still, which wasn’t uncommon, so I left her alone. I put the other dogs out by the table, got food out of the car. Then I remembered that I needed to move my specialty med from the tent to the cooling area in the vestibule in the back of the tent.

That’s when it happened. And even nearly a month later, it feels stunning. I though I heard Cimarron scream twice as I was leaning in to put the medicine into the cooling area – I was just feet from her but on the other side of the tent wall. Cimarron was a screamer and I thought she was stuck in her bag. I even said something like, “Are you stuck? I’ll be right there.” Me, picturing her as her drama queen self – but that vision vanished when her bag was flat (not like she was standing) and I reached in to help her and she was limp.

I wondered for a second if she was dead. Then she urinated and had clear reflux. Seizure is what landed in my clinical mind. Maybe low blood sugar as was my hypothesis the month before when she had the dizzy episode at Pearl Lake. So, I grabbed her glucose gel from the car and rubbed it on her gums. She started to regain alertness and licked the jel. She got up and drank water within about 3 minutes. But, she seamed spacey afterwords – just standing in the sun staring into space. I think my brain knew this was the begining of her decline – but I expected months not days. Once she was stable, I walked up to the restroom and back because it was overwhelming to my mild CPTSD to consider losing her.

When I got back, I fed the other dogs and watched her. She ate about 30 minutes later and I had started calling vets. After a several calls, the vet in Dolores eventually agreed to see her the next morning for an evaluation. The morning and early afternoon passed with Cimarron sleeping on my lap under the shade at Hovenweep. I was still unclear why she would have had a seizure – was it too hot, was her blood sugar low, was she smothering. I felt it was best just to let her rest and I just savored holding her in this spiritual place. I was sure the vet would clear her as having some isolated event.

By mid to late afternoon, we needed to make a trip to the Visitor’s Center, as we were out of water at the site. In addition to water, I put Cimarron in her stroller and we walked down to the edge of the paved path to see the ruins and the start of the path we had planned to take that morning. Cimarron was engaged, jumped from the stroller. I had the 3 of them pose for the photo by Stronghold House, as usual. Cimarron wanted to walk back to the car on her own.

That night was pretty routine except Cimarron seemed to still be gaggy from the “seizure” that morning. We took a short walk around the campground and I tucked the pups in as I had the night before.

Around 2 AM, my bladder needed attention. I stirred and became aware of a loud honking noise. I woke up and realized it was coming from tiny Cimarron. I wondered if she aspirated and was getting pneumonia – but in retrospect it was more of an upper airway noise that my brain couldn’t make sense of. It had to be the aftermath of the “seizure” and aspiration was all that made sense in my brain fogged exhaustion.

I moved her into my sleeping bag and started calling vets. I still wonder if other campers were freaked out hearing voices. I called 11 times in the next hour. Sometimes the same number twice to listen to the recording and write down the number. Once ER said the closest was Albuquerque. I am like, I won’t be to Albuquerque until noon. Finally I reached the vet on-call for Riverview Urgent Care in Durango. She said to keep Cimarron quiet and leave for the UC at 5 AM, as they opened at 7:30 and it was a 2 hour drive.

Those rez roads seemed impossibly long and dark with little Cimarron honking in the booster seat by my side. Finally, as we reached Cortez, the sun started to rise. We drove another hour to Durango and as I pulled into the UC parking lot, I told Cimarron that I wasn’t ready to lose her. Tears ran down my face.

When I got her out, wrapped in her sherpa bag, I expected her to continue honking non-stop once awake. She surprized me and was engaged with people and the cough quieted. It only came when she was upset. She just wanted to be on my lap – her safe zone.

They did an exam and she honked at them. The vet and tech looked at each other and said “that sounds like collapsing trachea.” They asked me if she had ever had it before to which I replied “no.” That was the last it was brought up. She went for X-ray and the vet came in and told me her heart was very enlarged (it had been since she was started on vetmedin 3 years before). They felt the cough was cardiac in nature because of her breed, history and the x-ray. They gave her lasix and antibiotics – and advised us to stay in a hotel that night so we could return if needed.

I was perplexed. It didn’t fit. Whatever was happening was the aftermath of what had happened that morning and she was too energetic and interested in food to be in CHF crisis. What on earth could this be? The UC visit confirmed some things but left a lot hanging.

More to come soon . . .

Doc Cathy