My husband and I adopted a three-year-old Keeshond from the Humane Society. We named him Rembrandt. Beautiful, sweet animal who loves everyone: adults, children, babies, cats, other dogs, ferrets . . . Remy has never met a stranger.
A month after we got him, I came home and found a puddle of blood in my front hallway. I'm standing there, looking at it, wondering if the new dog ate one of the cats or something, and Remy walks in. He sneezes, and blood flies everywhere. I realize that his nose is bleeding profusely, and I can't get it to stop. I bundle him into the car - which he bleeds all over - and rush him to the doggie emergency room. The vet and her assistant are giving him shots, squirting stuff up his nose, all manner of things, and he's snuggling on them the whole time. Remy doesn't care HOW you pay attention to him, as long as you pay attention. By the time they decided to admit him to the hospital overnight, the exam room looked like a slaughterhouse. The bleeding just wouldn't stop. I'm pretty sure they expected to call me the next morning and tell me my dog was dead.
Turns out that his previous owners had brought him to the Humane Society covered in ticks. He had been dipped and was clean when I got him, but he had contracted tick fever and no one knew it. Tick fever damages the body's ability to clot, and weakens the walls of the blood vessels. One good nosebleed, and POOF! The dog exsanguinates.
The vet managed to stop the bleeding and save Rembrandt, who is now almost eight and still with us. The bill was huge, but we paid it gladly, thankful to know that we had such a skilled and resourceful vet on hand. They're also good enough to let us make payments if one of our pets is sick at a time when we're short on cash. Love those folks.