
You have been more fortunate than us. Following the judging of Norwegian Elkhounds at Crufts, where he took 3rd in Veteran dog, my beloved heart-dog Raider was taken ill on his bench and the vet was called He was sluggish in the ring, which was not like him. He had recovered slightly by the time the vet arrived, and he thought he had either had a mini-stroke or was in pain. The next morning he was right as rain, but in the afternoon he had another episode, and this time he was drawing up his abdomen. It lasted about an hour, after which we were due at the vets (I did actually call to see if they could fit him in earlier, but they said unless he was vomiting or his bowels were loose, it wasn't an emergency). He was perfectly well at the vets, but they agreed with me that there was a problem with his back (I'd noticed a slightly altered stance in the ring over the last several months - very slight, but I know my dog). I'd also printed off a photo that someone had taken in the ring at Crufts, which showed how he was standing, but also showed what to me appeared to be a swollen abdomen. He had also looked swollen in the afternoon whilst spasming, but he was normal by the time we went to the vets, and his stomach was soft. The vet offered to run some blood tests, to which I agreed, although I think that at this stage she didn't feel it was really necessary. Bowel and bladder were normal, and he was eating well.
The tests showed that he was severely anaemic, probably because of a bleed in the abdomen. We brought him in on Saturday morning - he still looked completely normal - and they operated on Saturday afternoon. They found three tumours on his spleen, and performed a splenectomy. They sent the spleen off to histology, but I already knew in my heart that it was cancer, and that I would only have him for a few more weeks.
He recovered well from the anaesthetic, enough to go outside to relieve himself and to eat some hotdogs that the vet's daughter brought in to him. He'd refused other food. They'd kept him in for observation. He might have come home in the late afternoon on Sunday, but another blood test showed that his blood levels had dropped still further. The vet said that this was not unusual after surgery, but she wanted to continue to observe. Checked at 10 pm by the on-site staff, he was found to have gone downhill again - another bleed, but not from the incision site. On opening him up again, the vet was able to find a very small tumour on his liver, which had already burst and was bleeding, buried deep within. She had missed it on first examiniaton, but it was really very small. She was devastated to have missed it. At that point, I decided to let him go, as the tumours would have begun to appear elsewhere, and it wasn't right to bring him round and let him undergo the recovery, when he would only live for a matter of days anyway.
It will have been hemangiosarcoma. Because all of the blood in the body passes through the spleen every day, the cancer would have metastised to all of his other organs. A vet tech on my Moosedog list sent me an email that explains very well what was happening to him "It sounds to me like a hemangiosarcoma which will do exactly as you describe. It is a tumor off the liver or spleen that thrives on blood. When it bursts, it releases blood into the abdomen and them seals itself and things look fine. It grows and then bursts again. The bigger the tumor, the more blood that is released into the body cavity, the more anemic he will get. He'll get tired more readily and as the blood is absorbed, he feel fine again. Sometimes surgery is the answer and sometimes it's too late". It was too late for Raider, but I write this in the hope that someone will catch the very subtle symptoms early enough to save their dog. The message here is do the diagnostic tests if they are on offer!! They might just give your dog a chance.
Please give Merlot a big hug from me. She has had a very lucky escape, and I am so glad that it isn't that. I hope she'll continue to live a very happy life on behalf of Raider. I went from grooming a perfectly healthy, vital and athletic 11-year-old boy on the Wednesday afternoon, to cuddling his cold, dead body on a table in the vets on the Monday morning. A big part of me went with him when he left - I am finding it very difficult to cope, as is my one remaining dog. My old lady died in September, but we'd expected her passing.