Dundee, the Wonder Dog
By: Patty Latham
Tags: Heartbreak, Australian Shepherd, Dogs, Genetic Testing, Anecdotes

Animal Anecdote

Dundee, the Wonder Dog

How being pick of the litter can lead to heartbreak

Dundee. Black tri Australian Shepherd. Photo by the author.

He glanced back and forth, back and forth, whining, frozen to one spot there in the kitchen, terrified at his sudden blindness. I could feel the thud of his heart against his ribs as I held him, fast but irregular, and it looked like all the blood in his body was concentrated in his remaining eye. He was only eight.

How did the pick of the litter, primed for show, end up collapsing in the Colorado mountains?

Dundee, Travlin’ Man, was bred to be a champion Australian Shepherd, directed to a show home where he would be groomed for stardom. His owner trained him to trot with panache, to pose tabletop, to love his admirers. And he took him camping once or twice. But human romance had other plans for the young dog. Dundee’s first owner married a lady with little kids, little dogs, and they had a little yard. In a city. Dun was relegated to a pen or a kennel, ostracized by his size and his exuberance. His hair grew and matted, he fretted in frustration and isolation. Fortunately, his only remaining admirer was the breeder who had created him and she had retained controlling interest in the planned best of breed.

We had always shared our lives with Australian Shepherds and when our 15-year-old, Koobi, finally asked for release from discomfort and disinterest in life, we were devastated. We began the search for a pup, maybe a distant relative, and contacted the breeder. She asked if we would consider rehoming a three-year-old male dog. We drove to Denver to meet her and the newly neutered, newly groomed dog. Dundee danced around us, noisy, hyperactive, panting, and around the mounds of plucked undercoat in the front room. We snapped on a lead and went for a walk, the dog still leaping around us in joy.

Feeling somewhat crazy ourselves, we agreed to take on Dundee, and when we opened the truck door, he launched himself into the front seat, over the console, and into the back, but positioned himself with his head on Jim’s shoulder and his nose pointed to the future.

The next four years were filled with fun and frustration. Dundee was great with cats, wonderful with kids, even babies, played catch and frisbee but was absolutely nuts around our horses. He wanted to herd them and us into a spot the size of a soccer ball, and put all his energy and vocalizations into accomplishing that every time we saddled the horses. He was terrific about staying with us on hikes or rides unless there were deer or elk around and it took some stern training to convince him that chasing wildlife was forbidden. Leaving him home, though, was unthinkable and he’d tear a crate apart or leave claw marks across a table in an effort to see out the higher windows. Once released from his prior confinement, he wasn’t going back. He slept by my side of the bed and played tug a war while I did my sit-ups every morning.

At age seven, there were subtle changes. He began to gray around his eyes and mouth. We knew that was early but Dundee still ran and played and barked and loved.

In another six months, Dundee suddenly had hemorrhage in one eye. We took him to a veterinary ophthalmologist and began treatment for an autoimmune disease, Uveodermatologic Syndrome, but he was blind on that side and our biggest concern was the pain from developing glaucoma. That eye had to be removed.

Dundee after right eye enucleation. Photo by author.

In the fall, Dundee was doing his usual frantic race around the arena where we were riding. Then suddenly he wasn’t. I jumped from my horse and ran over to check him out. As veterinarians we are never far from a stethoscope, but it didn’t take much to see the pallor and purple discoloration of his gums, to feel the thready nature of his heart beat.

In the few minutes it took Jim to tie up the horses and get to the barn, Dundee sat up, shook his head, stood, and trotted to him, panting a little, but apparently none the worse for wear. Huh? Had he run into a post? We checked his good eye reflexes, confirmed now normal gum color, steadying heart.

Hopeful, intentionally deluded, we checked blood work and kept a chart of Dundee’s heart rate and color. All good. Until Christmas Eve, again by the arena, he collapsed. And recovered. We made an appointment for an echocardiogram at a local clinic.

Dundee had a tumor on his heart, probably cancer, probably leaking, and because of his breed and statistics, probably genetic. Hemangiosarcoma in a nonsurgical location would eventually be fatal. We had a planned meet up with family at a ski area, family that Dundee cherished, and so we went. He cried and put his beautiful soft paws on shoulders and smiled. Hello and Good Bye.

More and more science is able to identify the genetic diseases we have bred into purebred dogs, to test for some to eliminate carriers from the gene pool: Allergies, orthopedic disease, drug sensitivity, cataracts, thyroiditis, and cancer. But winners beget winners, and sometimes testing is ignored.

Two weeks later, just after the New Year’s birth, Dundee collapsed in the kitchen, his remaining eye filling with blood, swelling, as his heart beat faster and weaker, panic in his mind. We held him close, he trembled and leaned tight against Jim, as I threaded a needle into the vein on his foreleg and gave him peace while my own heart broke.