Canine Epilepsy - for Hagan

I wasn't supposed to get this puppy. My deposit was put down on another one, Hagan's brother, a "special price" puppy who had an overbite. I took a week's vacation to be with my new puppy, and the day before my scheduled drive to the beautiful ranch in Sebastapol, California, where these puppies were born, I got a call from the breeder. She said my puppy had pulled or strained a leg muscle and would not be ready to come home with me. She would not sell a pup that was limping. My choice was to wait a week or two for this guy to heal, or take his brother who was not a special price pup. She said the brother was a beautiful, show quality pup who was a bit of an introvert and that if I was the type of dog owner who would take a week off to be with a new puppy, this would be the perfect dog for me. So, I picked up Hagan the next day. He was already six months old and pretty good sized. He had never been in a car before and was scared stiff. He laid in the front seat of my Blazer during the hour and a half trip back to Benicia, back end in his own seat and front end in my lap.

We were joined at the hip forever after that car ride on August 20, 1998.

Hagan moved in and immediately took over as Alpha dog, displacing my sweet, gentle, twelve-year old Bernese Mt. Dog mix, Expo. She took the demotion with the same grace and dignity she took everything else. It made me sad to watch, but I knew I wasn't supposed to interfere. Despite the takeover, they were good friends. When Expo died eight months after Hagan's arrival, he was devastated. His grief and loneliness were unbearable to watch - I didn't know a dog would grieve so much at the loss of a friend. I have learned a lot since.

The same breeder offers retired brood bitches, free of charge, to people who already own another Giant Schnauzer. Hagan and I made several trips back up into the Sebastopol hills to find another friend for him.

Our third trip back to the kennel paid off: we met Tess. She was four years old and sweet as could be. Hagan adored her instantly. Maybe they knew each other already. It's hard to say since the kennel is huge, with dozens and dozens of puppies, dogs and bitches of all ages. Tess came home with us and the two of them became inseparable best friends.

October 3, 2000. I woke up about 30 minutes after I went to bed. As usual, Hagan was on my bed and Tess was on her pillow on the floor. What woke me was Hagan shivering, I thought. I reached over and put my hand on his back. The shivering didn't stop; in fact, it became more intense. I sat up and turned on the light. I then witnessed one of the most horrible sights I had ever seen. In my arms, on my bed, my beautiful dog's eyes rolled back in his head. His body contorted and became hard as concrete as it violently thrashed and shook. He foamed at the mouth and gagged like he couldn't breathe. It lasted about a minute but it seemed like an hour.

I was calling his name, crying, calling my son's name (the only other person in the house - what did I think he could do?). I thought for sure my beautiful, strong, healthy two and a half-year old best friend was dying right there before my eyes.

He didn't die that night, he had a Grand Mal seizure. After the seizure, he was blind, frightened, and very disoriented - close to panic stricken. Most vets are rather complacent when it comes to seizures. They run a basic blood panel, call it Idiopathic Epilepsy and prescribe anti-convulsant drugs such as Phenobarbitol or Potassium Bromide. Idiopathic means 'of unknown origin' and anti-convulsant drugs have lousy side effects.

I was not happy. Neither was Hagan. I didn't want my best friend to live out the rest of his life doped up on Phenobarbitol, so I began educating myself (and my vets) on the subject of canine epilepsy.