More Heartbreak: Now We Lost Maple

Last weekend I had already mapped out what I was going to write in this month’s blog post, and it was all good news about Maple: how our veterinary team at BEVS had fixed her constant vaginal bleeding, how she had undergone a successful spay and splenectomy, and how biopsy samples of the bleeding mass in her vagina had come back as benign. On top of that, she had finally reached normal weight too. She was a happy, bouncy and loving girl. She liked to prance around the living room, jumping on and off chairs, then twirling around on the floor. We had taken to calling her Twinkle Toes, which in short order became just “Twinks.”

All that changed two days ago, on Monday. I had earlier that afternoon scheduled an appointment at BEVS for her first heart worm treatment for the end of January. Her only remaining medical needs now were taking care of the heart worms and after that, getting a dental done. And then we were free and clear, we thought, looking forward to having this lovely girl in our lives for years to come.

But about 7 p.m. on Monday, just as we were about to begin feeding the dogs their dinner, she began retching … just dry wretches, no vomiting or foam. It was like she was gagging a bit, but then would stop. She had just been outside, and had come running in from the yard and up the ramp. Alayne had been outside with her and the other dogs, and had noticed just how graceful and elegant Maple was as she ran towards the back door.

So we thought, hmm, maybe she scarfed too much snow? She loved to eat snow, so that was the first thing we thought of. After a couple of minutes of off-and-on retching, she stopped. But when I placed the food bowl in front of her a short while later, she showed no interest in it. That was unusual, because she always had a good appetite. At this point we weren’t sure what to make of it.

When everyone went out again after eating, she joined the crew, then came back inside. She joined us in the living room for the rest of the evening, sitting in her favorite chair. But just a few minutes before 10 p.m., when I was putting Maple in her pen next to my desk for the night, she started retching again. Then I happened to look down on her from the top and noticed a bulge in her left side.  I called Alayne over and said, “I think she’s bloating!” I felt her abdomen and could feel how tight and swollen it was. I ran over to my computer, looked up the veterinary urgent care clinic in Littleton — 45 minutes away — and found they had just closed at 10. I called BEVS, told them we had an emergency, and I would be on my way with Maple.

Burlington is 2.5 hours away in decent weather, in daylight. As our terrible luck would have it, a heavy snowstorm had moved in Monday evening, the roads were thickly covered in snow, and the snow was coming down hard. I had barely 20 yards visibility, and had to drive much slower than normal. Even with all-wheel drive and studded snow tires, it was painfully slow … and I felt Maple’s life slipping away behind me.

Our luck got even worse. I had made it about 45 minutes down Highway 2 to East St. Johnsbury, Vermont, when I saw a lot of red and blue flashing lights up ahead. Fire trucks and police cars blocked the road. I could see a car off to the side, so I figured someone had run off the pavement. I came to a stop. A Vermont state trooper came up and told me I couldn’t get through. I said, “Officer, I have a veterinary emergency – I have a dog in the back who is going to die if I don’t get her to Burlington in the next two hours. Can I just drive around all this?” I was so upset and frustrated I could barely believe what was happening.

The officer told me that the car had indeed slid off the road but hit a power pole, bringing all the live wires down across the highway. There was no getting through. He told me I would have to turn back and take back roads north to Lyndonville, then pick up I-91 and head south again until I could get back to Highway 2.

In the blinding snow, going 20 miles an hour at times, I found my way across the Vermont hills and eventually back to Highway 2. But it added another 30 minutes to an already torturous trip. Even when I finally reached the Interstate highway again at Montpelier and headed for Burlington, the roads were so bad and it was snowing so hard that I never got above 40 miles an hour. And even then I was passing other cars that were just inching along.

I pulled into BEVS at 1:30 a.m. I could tell when I got Maple out of her crate that she had bloated even more. I thought, oh no.

Two vet techs immediately came out and took Maple into the back. Fifteen minutes later, the ER vet came out to get me. She took me into an exam room, sat me down, introduced herself, and said: “I know you want to do everything you can for her. I’ve cared for many of your dogs over the years when they’ve stayed overnight here after surgeries. When I heard it was Maple coming, I told my techs, ‘they’ll want us to whatever we can, get the surgery suite ready.'”

She grew silent for a moment, then said: “But this isn’t one of those times. She’s too far gone.” She reeled off some stats about Maple’s condition and blood flow and temperature, how all this meant it was too late for a surgical intervention, but my head was spinning and I didn’t even process it all.

The doctor asked me to follow her into the radiology suite where they had Maple on the X-ray table, sedated and on pain meds. A radiograph of her abdomen was on the screen, and it showed her now enormous stomach, filled with air and flipped over.

The first thing they had done was get air out of her stomach, and yet she was still bloated. With that image in my head, she took me back to the exam room so we could talk some more. Maple’s condition was called Gastric Dilatation-Volvulus, or GDV. You can read about it here.

The ER vet was wonderful, and compassionate, and helped me face the inevitable. I called Alayne with the news, and we both cried on the phone.

About 15 minutes later, after I told them I was ready, they took me to their special “garden room” where they do euthanasias. They wheeled Maple in on a trolly. I bent my head over her face and wept. I just couldn’t believe we were losing this adorable, sweet girl after less than three months of having her.

They left me alone so I could be with her for a while.

Here she is, not long before we let her go:

I told her how much we loved her and how much we would miss her. I cried and cried.

Finally, I pushed the blue button on the wall that let the ER vet know I was ready for her to come in.

And then Maple was gone.

Sitting in the van outside the hospital, I called Alayne again to tell her it was over. We both cried some more.

I spent what was left of the night in a hotel in Burlington, and drove home the next day.

On Tuesday morning, before leaving Burlington, I texted the animal control officer in Virginia who had asked us if we could take Tommy and Maple. I told her what had happened. She knew we had lost Tommy on Christmas Eve. She said, “I don’t know how you handle so much loss. My heart breaks for you.”