CAVALIER KING CHARLES SPANIELS UK ONLINE
SYRINGOMYELIA
This condition occurs in many small breeds but is common in the cavalier King Charles spaniel (CKCS) (conservative estimates at least 50% of the breed have a degree of occipital hypoplasia although only a proportion are severe enough to have syringomyelia).
Carol Fowler writes about Bonnie, a beautiful blenheim Cavalier, who had syringomyelia.
LIVING WITH SYRINGOMYELIA
In Memory of Bonnie 1998-2003
By Carol Fowler
Bonnie, a beautiful blenheim Cavalier, came into my life when she was ten weeks old. She was my first dog, and I looked forward to doing some training with her, some agility maybe, and lots of walking in the countryside where we lived.
Bonnie was a very happy and confident little dog. Everybody fell in love with her, and I wanted to take her everywhere with me.
Right from the beginning, I noticed that Bonnie scratched rather a lot, but was told, ‘all dogs scratch’. I groomed her regularly, changed to a hypoallergenic shampoo, treated her for fleas, and got used to the fact that she was a scratchy dog. One or two people commented that Bonnie had a ‘funny walk’. It was a sort of rolling gait, which looked slightly comical from behind, and I wasn’t worried by it.
I began to see that Bonnie was often quite restless in the evenings. She would frequently move to another part of the room, or go to lie down on the stone tiles in the kitchen. She didn’t like to be too warm. Bonnie’s breeder recommended the homeopathic remedy, pulsatilla, which did seem to help, and which she took every day for the rest of her life.
When Bonnie was twenty months old, she suddenly screamed with pain for no apparent reason, and for the next few days did so intermittently. The vet couldn’t be sure what had caused the pain, but prescribed pain relief and rest for six weeks.
Cutting a long story short, I will just say that over the next two years Bonnie had more bouts of pain, and every possible diagnostic test available. Her restlessness increased, the scratching increased, she obsessively licked her front paws, and she no longer looked forward to walks. I would take her to our favourite open space and she would just sit down and not want to follow me. Bonnie found it increasingly difficult to jump up or down from furniture or steps, and her movements seemed uncoordinated.
Another very strange symptom occurred, which is what finally indicated to my vet that Bonnie should be referred to a neurologist. While walking on the lead, Bonnie’s left hind leg would make a scratching movement which did not make contact with the skin. It got worse, more frequent, and stronger. It was not just when on the lead, but with any kind of excitement. The crying/screaming episodes were almost unbearable to witness. She would often tremble with the pain, and try to hide in a dark corner or under a chair.
The neuro examination and MRI scan revealed all. Bonnie had severe Syringomyelia. Part of her cerebellum herniated through the back of her skull, and there were three large syrinxes (fluid filled pockets), in her spinal cord. In fact most of Bonnie’s spinal cord had been destroyed – the white colour of the fluid present instead of the black solid colour of a healthy spinal cord. As the neurologist put it, ‘a rod had become a tube’. The vets were astonished that Bonnie had managed as well as she did.
I was devastated to discover how much damage my beloved Bonnie had sustained, and how much pain she must have been in. I turned to the internet and found a website which another pet owner had set up, whose Cavalier had also suffered from Syringomyelia. There I learned about the work of Geoff Skerritt, an eminent neurologist in Cheshire, who had been performing a surgical procedure known as sub-arachnoid shunting. I also learned of the work of Clare Rusbridge who was researching the mode of inheritance of Syringomyelia.
I decided that Bonnie’s best chance was to have the surgery performed by Mr Skerritt, and so I took time off work and drove the two hundred miles to Cheshire. Leaving her there, so far from home, was awful, but I believed that I would be bringing home a beloved companion who would no longer be in pain, or unable to walk without ‘scratching’.
This was not to be. Although Bonnie seemed better in herself for a while, her leg ‘scratched’ just as before and I could see that she was becoming more and more disabled. Six months or so post surgery, the episodes of severe pain returned and we returned to Cheshire. Bonnie was re-scanned and the shunt was judged to be in place and working. There was no more that could be done.
My own vet did warn me that I should be prepared for the time when Bonnie’s quality of life would be such that euthanasia would be the only course of action to take. For some time, however, in spite of everything, Bonnie was still a happy, lively and sociable little dog. She could enjoy the garden, even go for short walks, and greeted everybody who came to visit.
But Bonnie tired easily, and whimpered when driven to distraction by the irritation (burning sensation?) around her neck and ears. This was always worse when she became excited, and I tried to avoid any situation which might trigger her symptoms, such as visiting other people, or doing too much, or getting too warm.
One Sunday in March 2003, I took Bonnie for a walk, to a local beauty spot. She seemed fine. We strolled; she sniffed things; the sun shone. Back home, I lifted her out of the car and noticed that her back legs could hardly stand to take her weight. I carried her in to her bed, and in the evening we sat together on the sofa. She couldn’t get comfortable; she didn’t cry out, but I knew she was in severe pain. The following morning my beautiful, brave Bonnie couldn’t move. I phoned my vet and sat with her until he came. It was time for Bonnie to be released from her suffering. I couldn’t hold her in case I hurt her, so I put my hand under her head, while the vet gently injected the anaesthesia.
There was a feeling of relief for a short time, and then an overwhelming grief for the bravest and most gorgeous little soul, who I had been privileged to share my life with. She could not have been more loved, and truly was the bravest of the brave.
I can’t think of Bonnie without the pain of knowing how badly she was let down by everyone, including myself. How bravely and stoically she coped with her pain and disability. However, there is some comfort in knowing that her life is helping to raise awareness of this terrible hereditary condition, which so many other dogs are now suffering with.
Bonnie was a very happy and confident little dog. Everybody fell in love with her, and I wanted to take her everywhere with me.
Right from the beginning, I noticed that Bonnie scratched rather a lot, but was told, ‘all dogs scratch’. I groomed her regularly, changed to a hypoallergenic shampoo, treated her for fleas, and got used to the fact that she was a scratchy dog. One or two people commented that Bonnie had a ‘funny walk’. It was a sort of rolling gait, which looked slightly comical from behind, and I wasn’t worried by it.
I began to see that Bonnie was often quite restless in the evenings. She would frequently move to another part of the room, or go to lie down on the stone tiles in the kitchen. She didn’t like to be too warm. Bonnie’s breeder recommended the homeopathic remedy, pulsatilla, which did seem to help, and which she took every day for the rest of her life.
When Bonnie was twenty months old, she suddenly screamed with pain for no apparent reason, and for the next few days did so intermittently. The vet couldn’t be sure what had caused the pain, but prescribed pain relief and rest for six weeks.
Cutting a long story short, I will just say that over the next two years Bonnie had more bouts of pain, and every possible diagnostic test available. Her restlessness increased, the scratching increased, she obsessively licked her front paws, and she no longer looked forward to walks. I would take her to our favourite open space and she would just sit down and not want to follow me. Bonnie found it increasingly difficult to jump up or down from furniture or steps, and her movements seemed uncoordinated.
Another very strange symptom occurred, which is what finally indicated to my vet that Bonnie should be referred to a neurologist. While walking on the lead, Bonnie’s left hind leg would make a scratching movement which did not make contact with the skin. It got worse, more frequent, and stronger. It was not just when on the lead, but with any kind of excitement. The crying/screaming episodes were almost unbearable to witness. She would often tremble with the pain, and try to hide in a dark corner or under a chair.
The neuro examination and MRI scan revealed all. Bonnie had severe Syringomyelia. Part of her cerebellum herniated through the back of her skull, and there were three large syrinxes (fluid filled pockets), in her spinal cord. In fact most of Bonnie’s spinal cord had been destroyed – the white colour of the fluid present instead of the black solid colour of a healthy spinal cord. As the neurologist put it, ‘a rod had become a tube’. The vets were astonished that Bonnie had managed as well as she did.
I was devastated to discover how much damage my beloved Bonnie had sustained, and how much pain she must have been in. I turned to the internet and found a website which another pet owner had set up, whose Cavalier had also suffered from Syringomyelia. There I learned about the work of Geoff Skerritt, an eminent neurologist in Cheshire, who had been performing a surgical procedure known as sub-arachnoid shunting. I also learned of the work of Clare Rusbridge who was researching the mode of inheritance of Syringomyelia.
I decided that Bonnie’s best chance was to have the surgery performed by Mr Skerritt, and so I took time off work and drove the two hundred miles to Cheshire. Leaving her there, so far from home, was awful, but I believed that I would be bringing home a beloved companion who would no longer be in pain, or unable to walk without ‘scratching’.
This was not to be. Although Bonnie seemed better in herself for a while, her leg ‘scratched’ just as before and I could see that she was becoming more and more disabled. Six months or so post surgery, the episodes of severe pain returned and we returned to Cheshire. Bonnie was re-scanned and the shunt was judged to be in place and working. There was no more that could be done.
My own vet did warn me that I should be prepared for the time when Bonnie’s quality of life would be such that euthanasia would be the only course of action to take. For some time, however, in spite of everything, Bonnie was still a happy, lively and sociable little dog. She could enjoy the garden, even go for short walks, and greeted everybody who came to visit.
But Bonnie tired easily, and whimpered when driven to distraction by the irritation (burning sensation?) around her neck and ears. This was always worse when she became excited, and I tried to avoid any situation which might trigger her symptoms, such as visiting other people, or doing too much, or getting too warm.
One Sunday in March 2003, I took Bonnie for a walk, to a local beauty spot. She seemed fine. We strolled; she sniffed things; the sun shone. Back home, I lifted her out of the car and noticed that her back legs could hardly stand to take her weight. I carried her in to her bed, and in the evening we sat together on the sofa. She couldn’t get comfortable; she didn’t cry out, but I knew she was in severe pain. The following morning my beautiful, brave Bonnie couldn’t move. I phoned my vet and sat with her until he came. It was time for Bonnie to be released from her suffering. I couldn’t hold her in case I hurt her, so I put my hand under her head, while the vet gently injected the anaesthesia.
There was a feeling of relief for a short time, and then an overwhelming grief for the bravest and most gorgeous little soul, who I had been privileged to share my life with. She could not have been more loved, and truly was the bravest of the brave.
I can’t think of Bonnie without the pain of knowing how badly she was let down by everyone, including myself. How bravely and stoically she coped with her pain and disability. However, there is some comfort in knowing that her life is helping to raise awareness of this terrible hereditary condition, which so many other dogs are now suffering with.
