So, I was walking Junebug yesterday morning and blood started coming out of her bum, followed by a stream of diarrhea. The diarrhea alone wouldn’t have alarmed me, but then there was the blood. Even still, the last time something like this happened, back in April, there wasn’t any real cause for alarm — the vet then didn’t feel anything in her belly or anus, there were no parasites, she was eating and drinking normally, etc.
So I figured I’d watch her for a few days to see if anything happened, do the bland diet thing, and not drag her to the vet (which she hates) unnecessarily. But then she jumped as I did a little exploratory poking around her belly, and I figured a trip to the vet would be wise.
And lo and behold! She’s got something hard in her colon, that was probably scraping out intestinal lining as it passed through. And also causing gas — which explains who was responsible for the toxic-waste SBD farts. I knew it wasn’t me, but I couldn’t figure out which of the pets was the culprit, since there were always at least two in the vicinity whenever the aroma wafted my way.
I guess you really *can* blame it on the dog!
If I had a dog, and I saw those symptoms, I’d be thinking parvovirus. Good thing that didn’t turn out to be the problem.
Parvo usually comes with vomiting and listlessness.
Granted, it’s something we have at the back of our minds here, but given that it’s chicken-bone season here in Brooklyn, it’s not the first thing that comes to mind. “Perforation” is.
Could be worse — we were at the vet with a dog, Banjo, who’d eaten a belt.
Glad to hear Junebug’s okay! That is scary…
My 8 month old golden retriever Duncan contracted parvovirus from our vet’s office. Very scary; non-stop projectiling- they saved him by injecting him with bags of saline/electrolytes and a few weeks at the emergency vet clinic.
But the whole reason he was at our regular vet’s and contracted parvo in the FIRST place was because he had climbed up on top of the dining room table, opened up a box sealed with packing tape, and devoured a dozen glass Christmas ornaments. He needed 8 hours of surgery to pick the shards out and looked as if someone had “unzipped” his stomach to turn him into a purse.
All of this stunted his growth- he was the shortest golden we’d ever seen. Then he died of lymphosarcoma at age 4. He was my “baby” and I still miss him- he’s buried in my garden and has a lovely stone Charlie had inscribed for me.
Glad Junebug is on the road to recovery!