Today on Daily Grail, we ran across an interesting link about dogs trained to predict seizures in epileptics. It sounds like the kind of area that British biologist and author Rupert Sheldrake might be researching.
Eddie is a three-year-old terrier who was abandoned at an animal rescue center in because his owners couldn’t control him. It turns out that his energetic nature made him an ideal seizure alert dog. He was trained at Sheffield Support Dogs, the only facility of its kind in the UK. Seizure alert dogs apparently fall into the same category as seeing eye dogs, but they aren’t just companions. Their job is to predict.
Eddie the terrier ended up with Andrew Eccles, who has never taken anti-convulsants for his condition, but hopes that Eddie may make it possible for him to spend quality time with his daughter and to do nornal things with her – like go to the park. When Eddie alerts Andrew about an impending seizure, he has time to sit down or get himself someplace safe where he won’t hurt himself or his daughter.
One seizure alert dog, for instance, licks his owner’s left hand “obsessively” fifty minutes before a major seizure. For a minor seizure, the dog licks her hand three times, then paws her. Quoting from the article linked above: “It’s not known how dogs like Eddie can sense that a seizure is about to occur though there are three main theories; firstly there may be micro expressions that the dog can pick up which precede a seizure, there may be a particular scent generated which the dog is sensitive to and finally it may be that the dog can sense disturbances in the electric field which are caused by a seizure.”
Finding this article was something of a synchronicity for us. Earlier today, one of the stray cats we feed, Smoke, seemed incredibly lethargic, wouldn’t eat, could barely walk, so we brought her indoors and called the vet.
Smoke first appeared in our back yard when the housing market went south two years ago and people who had lost their homes began to abandon their pets. She wandered into our yard one hot afternoon, timid, hungry, with such soft, plaintive eyes that of course we fed her. Eventually, she moved onto our screened porch and pretty much claimed that area as her own. Our other cats didn’t like her, so she stayed outside, seemingly content to wander around the pool area on cool days, always coming onto the porch at night. We kept trying to convince neighbors and friends to adopt her, but most of the people we know already have pets or have dogs who don’t like cats. So she stayed on our porch.
While she was inside, laying against the cool tile floor, Noah came up to her and sniffed her side. Usually, Smoke hisses at Noah. Not today. Noah kept sniffing, then began to lick Smoke’s side, a slow, loving lick, like he knew something we didn’t.
A few minutes later, our male cat, Simba, moved warily toward Smoke. He usually hisses at her and races past her. But today, he paused and moved closer, sniffing as the same area where Noah had sniffed and licked. It was eerie. It was then we realized that Smoke was seriously ill. By the time we got her to the vet, she wasn’t responding to visual stimuli.
The vet’s prognosis was bad – kidney failure, a possible tumor, diabetes. We made the heartbreaking decision to have her put down. In the moments before the drug took effect, she made a soft, plaintive sound, and her eyes fixed on Megan and me. She knew. Megan and I stood there sobbing, whispering to her, and I felt so ridden with guilt that I hadn’t made a more gallant effort to have her accepted by our other cats.
Unfortunately, the few photos we had of Smoke were lost in various computer crashes. Think: ash gray, amber eyes, a plump Buddha cat.
May your journey be joyful, Smoke. Please return to us.
