For the first three months I thought about changing his name to "Cujo the devil dog". A wild, crazy, biting thing, which really loved everyone and everyone seemed to love him. By six months old, he'd calmed down, was neutered, and had become a creative, intelligent, housedog. Always knowing which room of the house I was in, even when he was outside. When he wanted to come in, he would "tap" on the wall of the room I was in, then run to the door, knowing it would open for him. After all, he was a housedog. Not the show dog, like the Collies I was raising. Darby grew much larger than the "standard". I just called him my Munchkin Collie".
By nine months old, Darby started acting strange. Sometimes pacing like he had to go out but didn't. Sometimes he would stand close to the wall and appear to "fall" into it. I thought he was just nuts. It was soon after that he had a Grand Mal seizure, and I knew that all of those strange behaviors were in fact Petite Mal seizures. Darby had Epilepsy, and he had a very severe case. The frequency and strength of the seizures increased at an alarming rate, and not wanting to give up on him, a very dedicated and patient Vet and myself spent the next many months trying to get the medication right so Darby could have a quality of life.
After spending the entire month of February 1995 dealing with constant Petite Mal, and Grand Mal seizures, one right after the other for 28 days, we were both exhausted. And my heart was so broken watching what my little baby boy was going through. I brought Darby to the Dr. and asked for him to be put to sleep. Dr. Sue asked to try "one more thing". She had talked to her father, a retired vet, about an old fashion remedy used before the current Phenobarbital. Well, we tried it, and in 36 hours Darby's seizures were under control.
For the next 4 years, Darby seemed to have a life he enjoyed. Playing with his cats, bossing the yard full of Collies, guarding the air conditioning vents during the summer months. He was my heart.
On December 18, 1999, Darby died after a three-day illness, where his liver just "quit". Although a possibility, I do not wish to believe that someone poisoned Darby with Anti-freeze. All I know is at 6 1/2 years old, Darby was too young to die, and I was not ready to let him go.
Sleep well my baby. Keep tapping on the side of the bed at night to let me
know you miss me. I miss you......everyday.