10/22/2019

The past couple of weeks have been tough. No doubt about it. Cian isn't the first dog we've lost and he won't be the last but, in many regards, he was the hardest. I want to take a moment to publicly thank all of you for the kind words, the private messages, the cards, the hugs, the support and the understanding. I've been riding the roller coaster of grief as best I can, trying not to think too much, bouncing erratically from tears to anger, most times settling somewhere in-between as I remind myself to live in the moment. In any case, healing is coming, though it's taking its own sweet time. I read somewhere that if you can tell your story without crying, you're well on your way. Guess I'm not too close to that point yet, but I've been attempting to help it along by doing those things that

08/08/2019

I suck at living in the moment. Cian's been trying his damndest to teach me. I have failed. What can I say? I'm human. I obsess about shit. Shit that happened, is happening, may happen, could never possibly happen but WHAT IF IT DID???? My latest obsession comes courtesy of Cian's FitBark. I sync the phone app to it whenever I'm in range, and check it frequently, comparing what he has done to the data being displayed. I find it fascinating and hope the UW's study will find it equally so. A somewhat normal day for Cian might look like this: Active quite a bit and sleeping good at night. I'm not certain how the FitBark differentiates between Play and Active. There are times I think it should register other than it does but I haven't researched that part yet. Compare that to this readout from the 20th when Cian had a seizure during the

03/24/2019 Thriving

My last post on Cian was a great example of the crashing lows epilepsy can bring in the blink of an eye. It wasn't, however, a great example of most days. The truth of the matter is, since this all began last November, there have been far and away more good days than bad. One of the worse things about epilepsy, however, is how it strips away your sense of security, making it easy to get caught up in the darkness of it. As usual, I need to learn a lesson from my dog and stop dwelling on what could happen. I have a plan for breakthroughs. I have a great support team. The control freak in me needs to let go. Like Cian, I need to embrace all of our good days. Days like these

03/06/2019 In Like a Lion

I have been holding off posting an update on Cian because I didn't want to tempt Fate. I figured if I didn't say he was doing awesome, Fate would turn a blind eye and leave us be. Apparently, just the thought was enough. After 4 months seizure free, Cian clustered. Six seizures in an hour and a half by the time I could get him to the ER. He spent the night there, and the fragile normalcy we had built shattered. I accept Cian will never be seizure free. I could handle one or two seizures a couple times a year. Watching him have one after another with next to no time to recover in between is like having someone reach into my chest and rip my heart out. It was a fool's hope that phenobarbital alone would manage his epilepsy, but we held it nonetheless. It seems, however, when working breeds get hit with this, they get hit hard. All

12/18/2018 Weathering the Storm

Sometimes, shit happens. No rhyme or reason. Nothing you could have done to prevent it. Shit just happens. Like a storm, it can pass quickly with minimal damage, or rage on leaving you feeling beaten and dragged. All you can do is ride it out, collect the pieces afterwards, and move forward. Our storm hit on an otherwise normal Friday afternoon at the beginning of November when Cian began to seizure. Not just one, but four on that first Friday. They would continue until the following Monday night before we were able to break the cycle. Over the next two weeks there were numerous consultations and trips to our vet, the ER vet, and a neurologist. There were many tests, a barrage of drugs, and long, sleepless nights. For a stretch of a couple weeks we feared Cian wouldn't come back to us. We tip-toed around the fear that the kindest