Despite veterinary science's best efforts there remain times when the cause is "undetermined".  Frustrating for owners and veterinarians alike, these cases often end in tragedy because no proper treatment can be administered.  This page will tell the story of those Tollers that have had undetermined diagnosis.

My husband, Ryan, and I had Kayla for 11 months. During that time, Kayla was happy and healthy, and rarely paused for a moment. She was full of life 90 percent of the time (the 10 percent was when she was sleeping); therefore, we knew something was wrong on a cold Thursday in February 2000 when Kayla seemed listless and uninterested. We monitored her that Friday, and by Saturday, when her behavior did not improve and her appetite ceased, we took her to the vet. Our vet, at the time, ran several tests, and finally chalked Kayla’s behavior up to a slight Urinary Tract Infection. We were given antibiotics and were sent on our way.

By Sunday, when Kayla’s condition had not improved and she became interested in sleeping only in our closet, we took her back to the vet and encouraged them to run MORE tests, all the while insisting, Kayla’s behavior was uncharacteristic. The vet ran further tests and took blood samples. This time, he found her to be dehydrated. She was given a fluid pack and after a few hours, we were sent home once again.

During that Sunday evening, Kayla had, what I believed, was her first and only seizure. Monday morning, I awoke to find her once again, in the closet, and once again, uninterested in food, water or even going outside to use the bathroom. At this time, I noticed that she seemed unable to turn around a look at me when I called her name – as though she had significant pain or discomfort in her neck and back. Once again, I called the vet but was told I should give the medicine at least 72 hours to “kick in.”

Kayla’s condition never improved, and on Tuesday, when Ryan and I came home from work, she was dead. We had her body autopsied and eventually her remains were sent to the University of Georgia’s school of veterinary medicine for further analysis. After an agonizing month of waiting, we received the results: The cause of death was undetermined.

We had been in communication with our breeder during this time, simply because we knew the Toller community was a relatively small one and that breeders needed to know the status of their dogs – especially if one became ill or died. As an act of good faith, the breeders told us they would be breeding the same dam and sire again and that they wanted to give us a pup from that litter. Excited at the idea of having one of Kayla’s sisters, Ryan and I jumped at the opportunity and began to wait.

In the spring of that year, we learned that a litter was expected in mid- to late-summer. We were thrilled, as new parents would be, and began to make preparations. Early that summer, Ryan and I moved to a new house, in a new city, in a new county. I should also mention that because we did not know what had caused Kayla’s illness, we got rid of all of her toys, leftover food and other items. We wanted a fresh start with the pup we would name: Mustang Sally.

We picked up Sally in late summer 2000. We brought her into our home and quickly began spoiling her. She received her vaccinations on time, and per our vet’s instructions, she was kept inside until her vaccinations were complete: No trips to the Chattahoochee River, which practically runs through our backyard, and no trips to PetSmart until the cycle of vaccinations was complete.

One Wednesday, in October 2000, we noticed that Sally was not acting her normal self. She seemed restless and unsettled; as nervous parents, Ryan and I moved quickly and brought her to the vet. She was diagnosed with a Urinary Tract Infection and given antibiotics. We chalked this diagnosis up as the reason behind Sally’s inability to learn to use the bathroom outside instead of on the carpet. Looking back, however, I’m not sure her inability was the result of the UTI or something more serious.

Her condition seemed to improve greatly, much to our relief, but on Sunday of that same week, she suddenly took a turn neither Ryan nor I ever imagined. Saturday night, she was unsettled and did not get much sleep. Once again, our nervousness kicked in and on Sunday, we brought her to the emergency vet (this would be the first of THREE trips we made to the emergency vet that Sunday). The vet ran tests (standard tests and some blood work), and told us she was fine, but that we should check back with our normal vet that Monday. We took Sally home, relieved but still on alert.

Within the hour, Sally suffered her first seizure and began to suffer from a staggered walk and seemed, at times, incoherent. She bumped into walls and seemed unable to walk straight. We rushed her back to the same emergency vet hospital, but demanded to see a different veterinarian. The veterinarian watched Sally and ran more tests. All came back negative, so he chalked her condition up to a reaction to the UTI medication. He switched her medication, sent us on our way and told us to contact our normal vet in the morning.

We took Sally home and she continued to suffer the same neurological problems: a staggered-like walk, bouts of incoherence and seizures. That night, fearing something worse might happen, we took Sally to a brand-new, state-of-the-art, vet hospital in Roswell, Ga. We explained the events of the past four days (our previous trips to the vet that day, the UTI diagnosis), and we concluded the explanation with, “We don’t care how much it costs or what you need to do, but please come up with a reason why our dog is so sick.”

Sally never came home to us.

I called the vet throughout the course of the evening on Sunday. You have to understand: Sally was three months old and only about 18lbs. This was my child, and she was sick, alone and scared. And so were Ryan and I. Her condition did not change throughout the evening, and on Monday morning, her case was turned over to Dr. Derek Duval, a veterinarian who ironically worked with our normal vet, Dr. Kathy Hanson at Powers Ferry Animal Hospital. Immediately, he began to run tests (the usual – radiographs, blood work, urinalysis, etc.). All came back normal, and Dr. Duval’s initial suspicion was Porto systemic Shunt Disease. He performed the test for PSD, and told us the results would be back on Wednesday and that we needed to wait.

Later on Monday, Dr. Duval found that Sally’s protein levels were unusually high. He was concerned, but again, thought we needed to wait for the results of the PSD tests. Ryan and I – and our families – visited Sally that day at the animal hospital, and when I saw her, I immediately fell to pieces. She had an IV in her paw and was wearing an Elizabethan Collar. Her walk was still staggered, and she continued to shake uncontrollably. It was a nightmare watching a dog suffer that was so small and so helpless. I was comforted by Dr. Duval and his team. His bedside manner was compassionate and his level of knowledge was truly impressive. At no time did I think he moved too slow or acted outside the best interest of Sally.

That Monday night, Sally suffered more seizures. Concerned about the seizures and the high levels of protein, Dr. Duval wanted to perform a Spinal Tap, but was concerned about  administering anesthesia to a dog that MIGHT have liver disease. At approximately 7 a.m. Tuesday morning, Dr. Duval and I spoke about his concerns, and it seemed as though we were in a Catch 22. We needed to get the results of the PSD test before he performed the Spinal Tap, but time was not in our favor, and it did not seem as though we could not afford to wait to perform the Spinal Tap.

Dr. Duval said he could run a test – that morning – which was similar to the PSD test that would indicate whether Sally was suffering from liver disease (it wouldn’t confirm PSD but it would rule out liver disease). If the test came back negative, he could go ahead and perform the Spinal Tap. He ran the test and within the hour determined that it was safe to perform the Spinal Tap. Sally continued to suffer seizures throughout the morning and was given Phenobarbital. Dr. Duval performed the Spinal Tap, and it too, came back negative. I spoke to Dr. Duval throughout the morning on that Tuesday, and he kept me informed of Sally’s condition. He explained to me that Sally should come out of the anesthesia by around 2 p.m.

At 1:30 p.m., I spoke to Dr. Duval, who informed me that Sally showed no signs of waking up. She was still unconscious and was now not breathing on her own. Both Ryan and I left our jobs and went straight to the Animal Hospital. I’ll never forget walking into the Emergency Room only to find our puppy on a table with three vet techs taking turns squeezing air into her lungs. Dr. Duval explained to us that if Sally did not awake by 4 p.m., that it was highly probable that whatever had caused this was likely running its ugly course. So, we waited.

At 4 p.m., we made the decision to put Sally down. Prior to doing so, we told Dr. Duval to take whatever live samples he needed (tissue, blood work, etc.) so that we could, again, send them to the University of Georgia. We held Sally and stroked her tiny body and whispered to her while Dr. Duval put her to sleep. Dr. Duval performed the autopsy within the hour, and again, came up with no firm diagnosis. He said he found the back of Sally’s brain to be almost entirely liquid, but could not draw any definite conclusions. We were confident the University of Georgia could.

After two months of waiting, we heard back from the University of Georgia, only to come up without a diagnosis once again.

We were strongly encouraged by Dr. Duval to seek an alternative breeder, and today, in January 2002, I am thrilled to say that I am the owner of a happy and very healthy 13-month-year-old Toller named appropriately: Frog Hollows Alexandria the Great.

Nancy for Kayla and Sally