Hi guys, thanks for your site.

We lost our Siberian husky, Frosty, the evening before last.  It all began with a cruciate ligament that was not healing. The vet I took him to prescribed Previcox. His normal vet was closed because of a Christmas holiday break.

It seemed not to be relieving his pain or making much apparent difference to the visible inflammation. I took him to a large veterinary clinic that had been used by several of my friends and they recommended he have immediate surgery on the leg. We decided that this would be more effective and get him off Previcox. He was already epileptic and taking phenobarb to control his seizures.

After the surgery he seemed much better, however this vet also recommended we maintain the Previcox. Surgery was the 30th December. He ate a meal on the 31st December and even began to walk three-legged. He progressed through the next day and seemed to be making good progress except he had commenced vomiting small quantities of food and then refused to eat.

I managed to get him to drink water and he then headed off to lie on the coolest part of the lawn he could find. His gums had changed colour slightly. The night of the 2nd of January he came inside and after his phenobarb fell asleep in the spot he had “flopped” down in. It is midsummer here in Melbourne Australia and he needed to be in the air-conditioning.

About 22:30 he began to scream like an injured horse. A Husky is usually very refined in vocalisations; usually they try to “speak”, screaming is so unusual.  I had never heard it before. Things began to come undone very quickly. I comforted him and gave him water; I sat with him through most of the night. His breathing had become somewhat erratic.

That morning, 3rd of January, one of my friends came with some fresh chicken to see if the “treat’ that he used to love would tempt him. He spat some out and vomited the small portion he swallowed.  We brushed him, encouraged him, tried to help him stand but it was becoming clear that he was in real trouble. 

It was late on Saturday afternoon by then and his abdomen was terribly distended and his gums had yellowed very rapidly. Only the 24 hour emergency clinic several suburbs away remained open. I called them and they advised me to rush him there immediately. We slid him on the rear seat and travelled as fast as was safe. My son patted, talked, sang and kneaded him to keep him alert. 

They rushed him straight to a room like an ICU. We were allowed back to see him after he appeared stabilised. His blood oxygenation was up to 92 and his heart rate which had been nearly 160 bpm had almost halved. He was re-hydrating via a drip. The vets took all the details that we could think of, then advised us to go home. They would call us the moment they had some imaging and pathology test results. 

They called back a few hours later. Frosty had an elevated white cell count and they had started him on IV antibiotics. The radiologist had the worst news. Frosty had a perforated duodenal ulcer.  His digestive system had emptied its contents into his abdomen. Frosty had the option of immediate surgery ($5000 plus another $5000 for post operative care) and he would suffer considerably through the process and still have less than a 50% chance of a recovery. We had a family conference and through the tears and disbelief we decided we should let him leave the physical world in the least pain possible. I called the clinic back and asked if we could come and say goodbye.  

They had plenty of tissues ready when we got there and I completed the paperwork.  Frosty was on a bed with some pain medication in the IV. He was alert and acknowledged us but it was clear he knew it was time to go. Frosty had a look in his eyes so much like the look my Dad had when he was dying and I was talking with him about whether he could stop fighting and pass on. 

I elected to stay with him and hold the paw that we had played games with so often. Others wanted to stay but were needed to support my son who was absolutely grief stricken. 

After some goodbye hugs and kisses and a gentle game of “left paw, right paw”, they left.  I knelt beside Frosty, wished him a safe journey and assured him that we would meet again.

I held his bandaged left paw, and whispered to the vet that we were ready. She gently pushed the syringe on the drip line and our best friend quietly slipped away into the night. 

When we had come in to the clinic the moon and Jupiter were bright in the early evening sky. Frosty and I used to often sit and watch the moon rise. We had watched it and Jupiter only a few evenings before. He always seemed to love the clear skies at the farm. 

I don’t know how long this round of grief will take to overcome.  Life and death go on.  I am sure of one thing though, this death was unnecessary. Frosty did not have a pre-existing duodenal ulcer. His epilepsy ensured that most of his medical history was quite well documented.  

None of the vets even remotely understood the chemistry of Cyclooxygenase (COX) or the inhibitor chemicals that have been developed for the related isoenzymes (COX-1, COX-2).  None had any more available information on Previcox than the generic material produced by the manufacturer. This would not pass muster for human medication.

We humans must decide for our animal friends; therefore the material must be of equal or better quality. Four vets I spoke to could only describe them as analgesics. They are not.  Analgesia is an outcome that is coincident with the modification of the inflammatory processes that the body must have.

They are dangerous drugs until they are better understood. This is because they alter a metabolic pathway that is essential to a large number of critical mammalian body functions.  The fact that most of the COX-2 inhibitors have been withdrawn from human use after their rapid introduction should be guide enough that all is not well.

Jason, Jeannie and Tristan.