Toby did not react well to bee stings. And then again, who does? I saw this reaction twice when he was a young dog. As he was walking on the grass, he would come to a complete stop, his whole body would tense, and he would fall over on his side. It looked as though his body was in full rigor mortis, with his four legs sticking straight out. It was one of the oddest things I've ever seen. He looked like a mannequin of a dog.
I would go over to him to see if he was okay. He would quickly recover and then get back up. I thought his response was just an odd, quirky reaction to the pain of the bee sting. It wasn't until an incident several years later when I realized it was much more than that.
A year before Toby died, I had a different experience with him and a bee sting. We were walking around an industrial area. I was always visually searching the ground for sharp objects (broken glass) and any food that people may have thrown on the ground. Food was a concern because of Toby's colitis. This day, I missed the food item.
Someone had thrown a piece of bread, or other baked good under a bush. It was in the fall when yellow jackets (wasps) are looking for sugary food sources. Unfortunately, the wasp was eating from the baked good first. I saw the wasp on it just as Toby picked up the food in his mouth. I can't remember if he spat it out or not. He must have, or I would have put my hand into his mouth to remove it. It didn't matter; the damage was done. The wasp had stung the inside of his mouth.
Toby immediately laid down on his side on the grass and closed his eyes. He was breathing, but he was unresponsive. I called his name, raising my voice. Nothing, no response from him. I touched him gently and then shook him slightly. Again, nothing.
I didn't know what to do. It was a Sunday afternoon, so the veterinary hospital was closed. At that time, I didn't know the location of an emergency clinic. Also, I had the feeling that even if I tried to take him somewhere for medical help, I wouldn't get him there in time to save him.
My car was at the far end of the complex. I moved Toby's body closer to a post and tied his leash to it. I did that to keep him safe, in case he regained consciousness while I was gone. I ran as fast as I could to my car. I drove and then parked it as close to Toby as I could. I got out of the car and sat on the grass beside him. He was still unresponsive.
I knew I didn't have the strength to lift him into the back seat of my car while he was unconscious. I couldn't lift sixty pounds of dead weight. So, I continued sitting beside him while I pet him. I kept saying, "Toby, don't die. Not here, not today. Please don't die." I had dread in my heart as I sat there with him. I made the conscious decision to live in that moment with him. I would stay with Toby, regardless of the outcome.
It took some time before he came to. He opened his eyes and made eye contact with me, but he wasn't moving. He just laid there. I gave him time to recover and regain some of his bearings. When he was ready, I lifted him onto the back seat of the car. It was difficult because he couldn't do much on his own. After a bit of a struggle, I got him in.
After I made him comfortable and securely tethered his harness, I got into the driver's seat and drove to the closest parking lot. I parked the car, got out, and then sat in the back seat with him. I didn't want to drive right away yet, in case he lost consciousness again. We stayed there for half an hour or so until I felt it was safe to drive him home. He was conscious but groggy. He could move on his own, but seemed to want to sleep.
When we got home, it was easier getting him out of the car and into the house. I kept an eye on him for the rest of the day and evening. I realized that what I had previously thought of as his quirky reaction to the pain of a bee sting, was an allergic reaction. After that, I added bees and wasps to my visual searching on our walks.
There were no more bee stings after that. And I was fortunate and blessed to share another year of my life with Toby.
© Debra J. Bilton. All rights reserved.