Never, after danger has seemingly passed, permit the animal to return all at once to flesh food. For some time, after all signs of the disease have entirely disappeared, let vegetables form a part, and a good part of the diet. Do not let the animal gorge itself. However lively it may seem to be, and however eager may be its hunger, let the quantity be proportioned to the requirements independent of the voracity. Above all, do not tempt and coax the dog to eat, under the foolish idea that the body will strengthen or fatten, because a great deal is taken into the stomach. We are not nourished by what we swallow, but by that which we digest; and too much, by distending the stomach and loading the intestines, retards the natural powers of appropriation; just as a man may be prevented from walking by a weight which, nevertheless, he may be able to support. Give enough, but divide it into at least three meals—four or five will be better—and let the animal have them at stated periods; taking care that it never at one time has as much as it can eat: and by degrees return to the ordinary mode of feeding.
The fainting fits create great alarm, but, if properly treated, they are very trivial affairs. An ethereal enema, and a dose or two of the medicine, will generally restore the animal. No other physic is needed, but greater attention to the feeding is required. Excessive exercise will cause them, and the want of exercise will also bring them on. The open air is of every service, and will do more for the perfect recovery than almost anything else. When the scarf-skin peels off, a cold bath with plenty of friction, and a walk afterwards, is frequently highly beneficial; but there are dogs with which it does not agree, and, consequently, the action must be watched. Never persevere with anything that seems to be injurious. If the mange breaks out, a simple dressing as directed for that disease will remove it, no internal remedies being in such a case required.
I cannot close my account of distemper without cautioning the reader against the too long use of quinine. It is a most valuable medicine, and, as a general rule, no less safe than useful. I do not know that it can act as a poison, or destroy the life; but it can produce evils hardly less, and more difficult to cure, than those it was employed to eradicate. The most certain and most potent febrifuge, and the most active tonic, it can also induce blindness and deafness; and by the too long or too large employment of quinine a fever is induced, which hangs upon the dog, and keeps him thin for many a month. Therefore, when the more violent stages of the disease have been conquered, it should no longer be employed. Other tonics will then do quite as well, and a change of medicine often performs that which no one, if persevered with, will accomplish.
All writers, when treating of distemper, speak of worms, and give directions for their removal during the existence of the disease. I know they are too often present, and I am afraid they too often aggravate the symptoms; but it is no easy matter to judge precisely when they do or when they do not exist. The remedies most to be depended upon for their destruction, are not such as can be beneficial to the animal laboring under this disorder; but, on the other hand, the tonic course of treatment I propose is very likely to be destructive to the worms. Therefore, rather than risk the possibility of doing harm, I rely upon the tonics, and have no reason to repent the confidence evinced in this particular.
The treatment of distemper consists in avoiding all and everything which can debilitate; it is, simply, strengthening by medicine aided by good nursing. It is neither mysterious nor complex, but is both clear and simple when once understood. It was ignorance alone which induced men to resort to filth and cruelty for the relief of that which is not difficult to cure. In animals, I am certain, kindness is ninety-nine parts of what passes for wisdom; and, in man, I do not think the proportion is much less; for how often does the mother's love preserve the life which science abandons! To dogs we may be a little experimental; and with these creatures, therefore, there is no objection to trying the effects of those gentler feelings, which the very philosophical sneer at as the indications of weakness. When I am called to see a dog, if there be a lady for its nurse, I am always more certain as to the result; for the medicines I send then seem to have twice the effect.
MOUTH, TEETH, TONGUE, GULLET, ETC.
The mouth of the dog is not subject to many diseases; but it sometimes occasions misery to the animal. Much of such suffering is consequent upon the folly and thoughtlessness of people, who, having power given them over life, act as though the highest gift of God could be rendered secondary to the momentary pleasure of man. No matter in what form vitality may appear—for itself it is sacred; it has claims and rights, which it is equally idle and ridiculous to deny or to dispute. The law of the land may declare and make man to have a possession in a beast; but no act of parliament ever yet enacted has placed health and life among human property. The body may be the master's; but the spirit that supports and animates it is reserved to another. Disease and death will resent torture, and rescue the afflicted; he who undertakes the custody of an animal is morally and religiously answerable for its happiness. To make happy becomes then a duty; and to care for the welfare is an obligation. Too little is thought of this; and the fact is not yet credited. The gentleman will sport with the agony of animals; and to speak of consideration for the brute, is regarded either as an eccentricity or an affectation. This is the case generally at the present time; and it is strange it should be so, since Providence, from the creation of the earth, has been striving to woo and to teach us to entertain gentler sentiments. No one ever played with cruelty but he lost by the game, and still the sport is fashionable. No one ever spared or relieved the meanest creature but in his feelings he was rewarded; and yet are there comparatively few who will seek such pleasure. Neither through our sensibilities nor our interests are we quick to learn that which Heaven itself is constantly striving to impress.
The dog is our companion, our servant, and our friend. With more than matrimonial faith does the honorable beast wed itself to man. In sickness and in health, literally does it obey, serve, love, and honor. Absolutely does it cleave only unto one, forsaking all others—for even from its own species does it separate itself, devoting its heart to man. In the very spirit and to the letter of the contract does it yield itself, accepting its life's load for better, for worse—for richer, for poorer—in sickness and in health—to love, cherish, and to obey till death. The name of the animal may be a reproach, but the affection of the dog realizes the ideal of conjugal fidelity. Nevertheless, with all its estimable qualities, it is despised, and we know not how to prize, or in what way to treat it. It is the inmate of our homes, and the associate of our leisure: and yet its requirements are not recognised, nor its necessities appreciated. Its docility and intelligence are employed to undermine its health; and its willingness to learn and to obey is converted into a reason for destroying its constitution. What it can do we are content to assume it was intended to perform; and that which it will eat we are satisfied to assert was destined to be its food.
Bones, stones, and bricks, are not beneficial to dogs. The animals may be tutored to carry the two last, and impelled by hunger they will eat the first. Hard substances and heavy weights, however, when firmly grasped, of course wear the teeth; and the organs of mastication are even more valuable to the meanest cur than to the wealthiest dame. If the mouth of the human being be toothless, the cook can be told to provide for the occasion, or the dentist will in a great measure supply the loss. But the toothless dog must eat its customary food; and it must do this, although the last stump or remaining fang be excoriating the lips, and ulcerating the gums. The ability to crush, and the power to digest bones, is thought to be a proof that dogs were made to thrive upon such diet; and Blaine speaks of a meal of bones as a wholesome canine dish. I beg the owners of dogs not to be led away by so unfounded an opinion. A bone to a dog is a treat, and one which should not be denied; but it should come in only as a kind of dessert after a hearty meal. Then the creature will not strain to break and strive to swallow it; but it will amuse itself picking off little bits, and at the same time benefit itself by cleaning its teeth. Much more ingenuity than force will be employed, and the mouth will not be injured. In a state of nature this would be the regular course. The dog when wild hunts its prey; and, having caught, proceeds to feast upon the flesh, which it tears off; this, being soft, does not severely tax the masticating members. When the stomach is filled, the skeleton may be polished; but hungry dogs never take to bones when there is a choice of meat. It is a mistaken charity which throws a bone to a starving hound.