It was Sunday, August 21, 2022. I had watched the clock all night, sleeping only in 2-hour increments. I didn’t want to miss my window. I had called the emergency vet hospital earlier asking when the best time would be for me to bring in Mango, my almost 19 year old Chihuahua Rat Terrier, as I didn’t want to put her through the discomfort of waiting to be seen. I had been worried about her for a few days. She wasn’t herself. I didn’t know what it was though. She was eating, but waking up at all hours in the night…uncomfortable, staring at me with that look that painted the expression on her face “I’m trying to tell you something but you’re not getting it,” and then one weekend night, the night my regular vet wouldn’t be available, I saw blood on the bed where she lay. I looked her over. Not seeing any blood stains on her body, I opened her mouth. There was what appeared to be an infection around her tooth. This was the first sign I’d seen that week of what it possibly was.
The alarm rang, I hopped up, dressed and drove the 25 miles to the emergency vet. I was exhausted from lack of sleep from those previous worrisome days. After checking in, they told me one of the vets on staff would be out to see me. I sat in the waiting room anxious, hoping to just get some antibiotics for her that I could administer at home.
After waiting a bit, a staff member took Mango from me to see the doctor. *Dr Sprock was assigned to see Mango. Due to this hospital’s Covid policies, even though it was 2022, they wouldn't let me in the appointment with Mango, which I thought was utterly inhumane because pet owners know our pets better than anyone else.
Shortly after, Dr Sprock came out to the waiting room. When he began to speak with me, he was visibly agitated, impatient and rude. His stern demeanor was very intimidating. He told me that Mango wouldn't let him examine her so he wasn’t able to see inside her mouth. I felt I should leave due to his inappropriate behavior, but I ignored my inner knowing reminding myself to stick it out for Mango—to get the antibiotics she needed, so I swallowed my intuition.
He asked me when her last lab tests were. I gave him the lab paperwork and other paperwork I thought was relevant regarding her history. He shuffled them around, making exaggerated arm motions while he was doing it and taking only a few seconds to glance at the paperwork. He audibly sighed during our brief interaction (he literally spent less than 4 minutes with me) and asked me what I thought was wrong with Mango. I told him she appeared to have a tooth infection and that there was blood, and that I didn't know if she needed antibiotics or a dental.
Mango was overall healthy. Her activity levels were really good; she wasn’t on any medication, and she was happy and eating well. Mango walked a block every day, ate regularly, had regular bowel movements, was a healthy weight, & maintained her regular activity. She also served every Tue-Sat as a service dog in my sound therapy practice helping comfort children and adults who have ADHD, trauma, anxiety, and other maladies.
The only thing that was an issue the day I brought Mango to this hospital was her tooth infection. She was walking when I brought her in, peeing on her own, having bowel movements on her own, and so forth. And she was strong...evidently even strong enough not to let Dr Sprock look in her mouth. Additionally, he even told me to make a dental appointment to possibly remove the tooth, which I did for Thursday (four days after our visit).
Dr Sprock did not tell me any options other than he could give her intravenous antibiotics and fluids. I was hesitant because Mango didn't like needles, but she hadn't been drinking well due to the tooth, and she hadn't eaten for 8 hours because when I called the day prior to try to get an appt, I was advised by one of their staff not to give Mango food for 8 hours just in case they needed to do surgery. Because of that, I thought that maybe the fluids would be good for her; thus, I approved the intravenous antibiotic and fluids. I assumed the amount given would be just one day’s worth. I wasn’t told otherwise.
When they brought Mango back out to me after administering the intravenous medication, I went to pay and asked for the additional days of antibiotics to dose her. The receptionist said there weren’t any because Dr Sprock dosed Mango with a “5 day” timed release antibiotic. I didn’t even know a 5-day timed release antibiotic existed. That was not even in my wheelhouse, so I wouldn’t have even known to ask that question, and Dr Sprock never disclosed that to me. I thought he was giving a one-day dose. My heart dropped when the receptionist divulged this information about the dose given. I would never have approved a 5-day dose of anything to be administered at once to Mango. She was 18.7 years old, and even I know through common sense, that less and gentle is better with elderly dogs. I made sure she had the highest quality food and supplements. I spent a lot of money and time keeping her very healthy. Her body was super clean. The receptionist assured me it would be all right, but my inner knowing feared. I felt something wasn’t right.
Within 45 minutes of bringing Mango home, she had a seizure & pooped all over in her bed. Mango had not been having any seizures prior to Dr Sprock’s medication injection that morning. I went to pick Mango up from her bed after this seizure, and she was limp. Her head was hanging down, and she couldn't even stand on her own.
Panicked, I called the emergency pet hospital and told them what happened. They said her reaction was not normal and to bring her back. I did, and Mango was assigned to see a different vet…*Dr Angelica, who told me, after examining Mango that Mango was now in palliative care.
I was stunned. “Palliative care?” I mumbled. Mango had been healthy overall and was walking when I first brought her in to Dr Sprock in the morning for a tooth infection before he gave her the intravenous medication, and now I was being told she was on palliative care. I asked Dr Angelica if she thought it could be the 5-day intravenous antibiotic dose that caused this situation. She immediately pushed my concern away and denied it was the medication and said she thought maybe it was the trauma of the visit. I thought her assertion was ridiculous and unfounded, as Mango had other vet visits—in just the last few months—that were far more traumatic than getting her mouth looked at, and after those vet visits, Mango had never seized after an appointment or stopped being able to use her limbs or all the sudden became in need of palliative care. The only difference between those vet appointments and this one was her getting intravenous antibiotic.
Dr Angelica said there was nothing I could do other than put Mango through a series of tests just to see what was going on. I wasn't willing to put Mango through that, especially with what had already gone on in that hospital with her. She was now so weak and feeble. And furthermore, I was being told by this vet that she wouldn't walk again, and it was just a matter of time. In fact, Dr Angelica gave me the name of a euthanasia service called Compassionate Hands in case I needed it later. I was devasted! I could hardly process what was happening.
I took Mango home and held her on my chest for over 4 hours, holding her for any remaining time. As I got ready to put her in bed with me, she had a grand mal seizure that lasted 45 minutes by the time we could race back to the emergency pet hospital due to where we live. The seizure never let up--it was as strong in the beginning of when it started as it was when it was finally stopped through an anti-seizure injection once we arrived again at the emergency pet hospital. It was like something was short-circuiting her.
Because the seizure was so long, when Mango came back to awareness, I could see in her eyes that she wasn’t really there; there had likely been too much brain damage, and she couldn't even walk anymore or stand on her own or go to the bathroom on her own since her first seizure earlier that day after the 5-day dose of antibiotic.
I knew Mango's life was over. We then had euthanasia administered; she passed literally within two seconds of having the needle inserted. I was inconsolable, hardly able to process what had occurred. In my incredible grief, a cry escaped from me that I’ve never heard, as though I’d had my limb ripped off my body without anything to numb it. It was a visceral release of such deep horror and pain. I started banging my head on the wall as I held her little, limp and lifeless body in my arms. “NOOOOO!””” I yelled out.
I screamed through my tears “Why didn’t I protect her better? Why didn’t I listen to myself? Why didn’t I listen to my soul that was telling me to leave, to take her and leave because the vet was such a jerk?” It was because I was tired, no…that’s understating it. I was thoroughly exhausted. A week of little sleep. I literally felt like I was in a haze, like twilight zone where everything is moving in a slowed down but out of body experience kind of way.
I took Mango’s lifeless body home with me so I could bury her in the little, pink silk lined casket I had purchased two years previously, thinking to have it on hand for the future since she was getting older. I laid her body in the tub on a towel and lovingly wiped it down with shampoo as though she were the most precious, fragile crystal and then lightly poured water to remove the excrement that had exited her body as I held her in her blanket on the way home. After I dried her, I held her in my arms all night unable to let go.
To me, she had been the child I never had. She was with me almost 19 years, had been with me through my highest and lowest moments, saved me at a time when life was really hard, and had seen me through two partners. I knew the inevitable was coming…the moment when I’d have to place her casket in the ground and say goodbye. My friend, Sven, had agreed to dig a hole for her casket and we were planning a ceremony where I would write and share her life story with some family. I couldn’t bear to think about what was coming, and so I held on to her soft, limp little body like it was a childhood blanket I couldn’t part with.
I literally couldn’t stand waking up the next morning and facing reality. I prayed for her to show me she was still with me, and she did. She gave me three signs and a message. ** For a moment, I felt comforted, but then for days after her burial, I couldn’t think about anything except replay the trauma of what happened in my head and how I had failed her. It was complete torture. My inability to forgive myself for taking her to the emergency hospital was eating any moments of peace.
As I went back to work and started seeing clients without her, it was an unbearable reminder of how much I missed her. All my clients mourned her loss, and each one was very aware of her absence. She had been my little assistant for 5 years 5 days a week, day in and out. Not seeing her greet the clients and help me with their sessions was like I had lost my right hand. I did my best to hide the intense grief I felt, but once my day ended and my last client left, I was consumed with sorrow. I was living life but a significant part of my heart remained in the casket with Mango. The one thing I knew for sure was that I couldn’t ever get another little dog…my heart was too broken. I couldn’t imagine being able heal from her death because of the way it had happened.
Yet every day, Mango would show up in different ways…sometimes I’d see her still sitting in her bed; other times, there would be little signs that I knew were from her…a random heart on my walk, the tinkling of my wind chimes where there was no wind, the infinity symbol. Every night, I held her blanket in my arms imagining her lying on my chest, holding her little gentle body. Despite the signs I knew were from her and the knowledge that she was with me in spirit, I ached to have her in my physical presence, to hear her little nails click on the hardwood floor, to feel her soft fur and kiss her tiny face, and to have her sweet personality filling the house with joy again. What I would have given to have turned back the clock on that one moment I made a mistake.
I emotionally limped through each day as it passed. My brothers decided to cheer up my spirits and bought a plane ticket so I could spend my upcoming birthday in the Northwest with them. I was moved by their kindness and love and eagerly awaited spending that time with them to take my mind off the sadness and focus on the memories we had together since childhood. We made the plans. I would leave in three weeks, which would mark a little over a month since Mango’s passing.
Several days after those plans were made, I received a call from my beautiful 80ish- something friend, Cameron. She said she’d been out looking at all the shelters trying to find a dog like Mango because she missed her. I had no idea how much Mango had touched her. Cameron never had a dog before, just cats, and hadn’t had a pet for years. I was a little baffled by her determination given her physical unsteadiness at the time. She asked if I knew any other place she could look because the shelters didn’t have one like Mango. Uncannily, just a few days prior, one of my clients mentioned a rescue she supported called Meade Canine Rescue in Creston, CA. She said that she knew it was too early for me to contemplate getting another dog, but when the time was right, that they had many senior dogs available for adoption. I appreciated her sweet intention, but the thought literally made me shiver. I couldn’t imagine ever going through this heartbreak again. I didn’t want to replace Mango. I wanted Mango back.
I shared the rescue with Cameron, and off she went. Hours later, she phoned again saying she adopted a dog, Betsy. In the days following, I shopped with Cameron, helped teach her how to bathe Betsy, walk her, and show her behavioral tips. It was clear the two were falling in love even though I could see it caused Cameron anxiety trying to get everything right and making sure Betsy seemed happy. It brought some joy to me seeing a little dog again, but I felt ever loyal to Mango and her memory. Cameron kept me abreast of all the cute things, as well as some of the stressful things about Betsy, such as her worry in falling when she’d take Betsy out of the sink after her bath or the weight Cameron was losing because she couldn’t resist Betsy’s begging eyes. Cameron literally began hiding out in the bathroom to eat just to eat, which mainly became string cheese since it was fast and easy.
Three weeks later, I was headed to the Northwest when I received a call from Cameron who was crying. When I asked what was wrong, she said ,” I can’t keep her. I want to but can’t. I’m a nervous wreck, and I’ve lost 10 pounds. I don’t know what I was thinking getting a dog when I’ve never had one.” I assured her that Betsy was happy, but she was distraught. “I can’t keep up what I have to do to care for her. But I feel so bad. I wish I could, but I can’t.” Betsy was quite active.
I said, “I have no doubt they’ll take her back. Let me call my client and let her know what’s going on.” Before I made the call, I felt empathy for both Cameron and Betsy. They both clearly loved each other, but she was too active for Cameron’s age. For a moment I contemplated if I should take Betsy, but realized as much as I wanted to save Betsy from returning to the rescue, I couldn’t. My heart was shattered still. It was too soon; I really didn’t want another dog again. What I’d experienced with Mango was just too painful.
My client called the Rescue, and they picked up Betsy the next day. Cameron was heartbroken. She loved Betsy. But I assured her that she had given Betsy the best 3-week resort vacation ever, as Cameron had purchased many very nice things for her and treated her like a princess.
My time with my brothers was glorious. I was distracted with nieces and nephews and family time, helping to ease my uncomfortable grief. When I returned home, I was grateful to be informed within a few weeks that Betsy had been adopted again and was with a person who adored her. Everything had worked out, and I thought that was the end of my interaction with Meade Canine Rescue.
Within a short time, I saw that same client again, and she asked if I’d be willing to partner with a business downtown that I had a connection with to do a howl-a-day adoption drive for the dogs at the Rescue now that I was familiar with the Rescue. I agreed, spoke to the other business owner and told my client to have the Rescue send me the pictures of the dogs, and I’d create the social media flyers that could be posted by the other business.
At the same time, brewing in the background of my personal life, my friend, Melanie, asked me to send her a few pictures of me and Mango because her mom, Sheryl, who was in her 80s, wanted to paint a picture of us to memorialize Mango. I sent her some photos. On October 20, 2022, Melanie brought the painting that Sheryl completed. It was beyond beautiful, and I was absolutely moved by it. I hung it on my wall that night. The scene in the painting was from a photo that captured a moment of me and Mango looking into the water at Franklin’s Pond in Paso Robles, CA. In the photo I sent to Melanie, both of us were looking into the water, not at the camera. Yet in the painting by Sheryl, she had turned Mango’s head for some reason to stare at the viewer. I wondered why. And then I looked at the eyes. They weren’t Mango’s. Mango had dark brown eyes. The eyes on the dog in the painting were lighter brown with a golden rim. Despite liking the painting so much, I was bothered by the eyes because they weren’t Mango’s, and I tried for 5 weeks to find my dark brown marker. I wanted to make them the right color. I never could find the marker though.
During these weeks, another friend, Veronica, shared with me that she felt Mango had something more to tell me and she wanted to get me a reading with her psychic friend, Martha, who she’d grown up with. Veronica said Martha was the real deal. I told her that that was ok, that I felt Mango’s presence each day, and that I’d see her show up in my spiritual sessions with clients. I thanked Veronica, but told her no. She insisted. She finally said, “I’m going to buy you a ½ hour session. Please use it. I really think there’s more Mango wants to tell you.” I obligatorily agreed that I would. She bought it and sent me the link, but I delayed for several weeks even making the appointment. She kept on me…”Did you make the appointment yet?” I admit I felt a bit annoyed. I was still struggling. I wasn’t ready for someone to tell me something that likely wasn’t going to be true about Mango. It was overwhelming to me to consider that conversation in the grief space I was in. After enough proding from Veronica—because I knew it was out of love—I gave in. I made the appointment or Nov 10, 2022.
Before I begrudgingly got on the phone appointment with the psychic, Martha, I asked my friend, Veronica, if she had shared anything with her. She told me she hadn’t. I told myself, “Don’t say anything; just listen and only confirm if it’s correct.” Martha began to tell me I had just lost someone very important, that it was a pet…a dog. I confirmed. She went on to tell me details about Mango that were spot on…the color of her blanket, the type of bed she had, that she was my assistant in my sound therapy business and details about the ways in which she used to help me: greeting my clients, sitting on their laps, and so on. I still wasn’t convinced yet that Martha was the real deal. But then Martha began to tell me how Mango died—details that only I had known and hadn’t shared with anyone—lke the blood I found on my bed from her mouth before taking her in to the emergency vet.
I started to cry without letting Martha know I was crying. She kept talking saying that Mango wanted me to know that she was bringing me another dog. In that moment, I spoke up. “NO! I don’t want another dog. Mango, I don’t want another dog. Please tell Mango I don’t want another dog. I’m not ready. I’m not over her.” I protested so vehemently that Martha said, “Ok…let me move on to some other things, which she did, which were details about my dad and that he had Mango with him. Again, she told me details only I knew. I was starting to believe Martha was the real deal. I felt the presence of Mango and my Dad were there with us on this call. With just a few minutes left in our 30 minute session, Martha then said ,” I’m sorry but before our time ends, Mango is insisting that I tell you this. She’s bringing you another dog, and you will know it’s from her. She’s saying ‘Same family. Same family. Not the same litter, but the same family.’ You are going to know without a doubt it is from her. There are going to be things about this dog—details—that will only make sense to you and Mango.”
I thanked Martha, and we got off the phone. My face was stained with tear streaks. I had written down in my journal everything Martha had mentioned during our session. I re-read the words again: “She’s bringing you another dog, and you will know it’s from her. She’s saying ‘Same family. Same family. Not the same litter, but the same family.’ You are going to know without a doubt it is from her. There is going to be things about this dog—details—that will only make sense to you and Mango.” I started crying again. I felt the truth when Martha was telling me; I think that’s what scared me most. When I re-read it, I knew without a doubt it was true, but I wasn’t ready. My heart was still in shambles. I told myself despite knowing the truth…”If I don’t share it with anyone, it won’t come true.” And so I didn’t. I didn’t tell a soul about the details of the reading.
Four days later, I was downloading the pictures on my computer from Meade Canine Rescue to put them in the flyers I had created. I clicked on one and then another and then another. And then I gasped out loud. It was like I was looking into Mango’s eyes. It was Mango. I felt her spirit undeniably in this little dog’s picture occupying my computer screen. It was also a blonde, orangish Chihuahua Rat Terrier. I started to sob hard. For a moment, I felt she had returned to me physically. I looked at the name…Louis. Not L-E-W-I-S, not L-U-I-S, but L-O-U-I-S. Mango would know that that spelling was significant to only me because the partner I was with back then (almost 19 years ago) when we had adopted Mango in San Bernardino County was from St Louis. I knew it was a sign from Mango. Then in the description about Louis, it said “Old Soul.” That’s what everyone used to call Mango…an Old Soul. Again, another thing between her and I. The description also said that Louis had skin issues. Mango also had skin issues when I had adopted her—something only she and I would know. It was the most magically scary moment I’ve ever experienced. Even though all of these signs were right before me and true, I was terrified. I still didn’t feel ready to take on this little dog. I closed my laptop immediately. It was too much to contemplate.
Only days later did I tell the partner I was with. She said “We have to go get him.” I said, “I don’t know. I’m not ready.” She said, “You have to. It’s a gift from Mango.” I knew she was right. I knew something special happening, yet I didn’t want to receive it because I felt consumed by my heart break.
We went to the Rescue. I asked right away to see Louis. As I held him, the volunteers kept bringing other dogs to me, thinking that maybe one of them were a better fit given Louis’s overall physical state. But they didn’t know what I knew. I knew I was adopting him that day. I had no choice. I wasn’t going to reject Mango’s gift. He resembled her almost perfectly.…reminding me of Martha’s comment “Same family. Same family. Not the same litter.” Louis was a blonde, orangish Chihuahua Rat Terrier—just like Mango. Except Louis had lighter brown eyes with a golden rim—just like the painting Sheryl gave me weeks ago hanging on my wall.
Louis was a mess. They called Louis “Old Man” at the Rescue because of a significant limp, which made him sort of whined from discomfort, and his skin looked red and sore from the pustules and where the fur was missing and he smelled musty, like the pages an old book. I had my work cut out for me.
I told the owner of the Rescue, I wanted to adopt him. She seems a little shocked given the many other dogs available who were in better shape. I asked how much I owed. She said if I were willing to adopt him and take on his issues, I owed nothing. I mentioned to her that I had to go to visit my family out of town for Thanksgiving, and then I’d come back to pick him up when I returned, as I knew I couldn’t take him with me in the condition he was in.
When I returned home from the Rescue, I went to the painting that Sheryl made me. As I started at it, I got goosepimples all over. All those weeks ago, Sheryl intuitively tapped in to what was about to take place in my life. There was no doubt now in my mind that the dog she had painted—that stared at the viewer rather that the water—was Louis. It wasn’t Mango. She painted Louis’s eyes perfectly. And when I looked at the painting now with this new understanding, the painting was foretelling. All along, the painting was telling me, “I’m Louis, and I’m coming, which is why I’m staring right at you.” I understood in that moment why I had not been able to find my dark brown marker. This painting was another sign of this monumental moment, this gift from Mango, and another confirmation that this was meant to be.
I began to feel less afraid. I thought that I would be able to resolve Louis’s skin issues with a better diet and herbs for allergies. But I was wrong. When I picked him up after Thanksgiving, I transitioned him to a better diet, which he loved, but I spent week after week bathing him multiple times a week, having to do daily loads of wash with his bedding and my bedding and everything he laid on each day, and applying herbal creams and adding herbs into his meals. He was in a lot of pain also in his hind area. I took him to the vet several times for test after test. One showed a MERS resistant bacteria. We tried yet another antibiotic and a steroid—though his medical history of his time in the shelter and the Rescue revealed he’d already been on about 4 different antibiotics and anti-fungals with no success.
Louis’s overall discomfort made him lash out at me in many bites over the course of these weeks. I had never owned a dog before that bit me. He didn’t like being touched or handled. There were many mornings when his hind end was extraordinarily sore that he would literally walk on his front legs with his hind legs in the air as though he were a circus performer doing a complicated handstand. One night, he was in deep pain and went into the red zone, biting my thumb viciously hard when I tried to apply an herbal ointment on his skin. When I went to pull my throbbing thumb away, he was still attached to it, his body literally dangling in the air, like a 10 -pound salmon hanging from a hook. All his bites were accumulating on my fingers. I had seven Band-Aids at one time decorating them like fashionable rings. Several times, I had to re-attach my separated skin with super glue to avoid stitches. Though I understood his anger was out of pain and tried not to take it personally, the wounds hurt, and I was becoming more and more frustrated, falling into desperation as nothing was working long term.
One day after being bit yet again, I looked at him in tears and left the house on foot to take a walk down the street. The tears streamed onto my face like puddling raindrops running down a glass window. “Why? I screamed out. Why did you send him to me, Mango? I can’t heal him. I’m miserable. He’s miserable. Nothing is working. I can’t do this. I can’t do this.” I sobbed. I was oblivious if any of my neighbors could hear me, and I didn’t even care at that point. I was exhausted. I had spent nearly all of my free time for three months applying different solutions to heal him, and none worked. I was becoming isolated. I had stopped doing as much with my friends because this project “Louis” had become all consuming. If I didn’t keep up on his skin, it’d worsen. There was no resting from what he had. I walked farther and farther. I cried harder and harder. Then I heard a voice come into my mind. It was sweet, young and feminine—what I would imagine Mango’s voice would sound like if she had been able to speak. I felt it was her, and she told me “Try on him what you’ve been doing on people.”
The idea hit me with such power. “Could it work?” I wondered. I’d never tried it on dogs. I had been doing homeopathic detoxes on people for the past few months. The last pieces of how to utilize the detoxes with sound therapy and health issues had come together only after Mango passed. I felt that it was yet another gift to me. My tears stopped. I felt something I hadn’t felt for many months…hope.
I worked on Louis’s energetic body when I returned from the walk to get a sense of what dosing he may need and how often. I was looking at it as an experiment of sorts. I finally landed on the answer that his body seemed to align with—detox him once a week. And so I began. I made the dilution and began the application on his body. After a couple weeks, something was starting to change. He no longer had as many pustules. As each week passed, there was more improvement, but the skin issue wasn’t clearing totally. It was still returning but with less intensity. Maybe I had the potency wrong. I adjusted it and continued. After two and a half months, his skin condition was gone. I mean gone! It wasn’t returning. No pustules, hair loss, red skin, no fungus, nothing. I was blown away. It even helped remedy some of his back issue. He wasn’t walking on his front legs with his hinny in the air as frequently. And best of all, he wasn’t biting me due to pain anymore.
Now that he was less angry, I could take him for chiropractic care more frequently and swim class. He was a new dog. Happy—even silly. The fullness of his personality started to appear. He was super loving. I was stunned. It was a total 180 degrees from where he once was. We started to know each other on a deeper level, trusting and loving each other unconditionally. Louis and I lived in a new bliss. Louis was starting to heal my heart break from Mango’s death. She absolutely knew what I needed to heal. Louis and I continued this joyful way for approximately a year.
Louis Adoption 2022 Before and After
I decided that since he was doing exceptionally well, I’d have his dental done as I wasn’t able to have that done because of how much discomfort he’d been in since I got him. I took him near the end of April 2024 to the vet I’d gone to for 7 years who was a very good vet-- always open to my passion for alternative modalities even if he himself didn’t practice them. However, within a short time of the dental, Louis started to lose some of his fur again. He was sensitive to strong medicine. I had noticed in working with human clients that the more emotionally sensitive they were—especially sensitive empaths---the less helpful strong medicine was for them. It was like their constitutions just couldn’t handle intense medication. Gentle was better. Louis was that way, too, which is why I tried to avoid too much exposure to the strong medicine for him but in a dental, I didn’t have much control. I began to do the homeopathic detoxes on him again.
His skin again started to get better but before it fully healed again from the aftereffects of the dental, he fell off a bench in June 2024. He couldn’t walk on his front shoulder. I took him to this same vet for x-rays. I was concerned he’d sprained or broken something. Even though I’d been going to this vet for a long time, this time he acted different than in any previous visit. He told me there was no fracture or break but that he could see “something” in the bone. “Something?” I said. He couldn’t explain it exactly, but he began to use words like cancer and disease. I froze in fear. He said we needed to get an antibiotic shot into him immediately. I said no twice because it was the same shot that had created all severe seizures that ultimately took Mango’s life. He told me Louis would be fine, that he was younger. He kept pushing, filling me with more fear. I had been exhausted the past few days out of worry and a lot of work. I caved out of fear. The shot was given despite my soul telling me it wasn’t a good idea. I hadn’t yet learned my lesson of ignoring my inner guidance.
Within three days, Louis’s back literally began to bubble up and then burst into a bloody mess covering his entire back. The guilt I felt was extreme. I knew what was happening to Louis wasn’t good. I contacted the vet. He acted like that was just one of Louis’s previous skin outbreaks. I said “No…it’s not.” He has never had something like this with open, bloody wounds. And he hasn’t had a skin outbreak for over a year until his last dental. The vet seemed to be pushing me off. He told me just to use a wound spray. I did with no luck. Further communication and visits with him were equally fruitless. I could sense he wanted to pretend he was not involved in what happened. I felt the cold shoulder from him. Meanwhile, Louis looked like a bloody battle had taken place on his back. I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t know if it was a bacteria or virus at that point so I did general homeopathic detoxes on him, which seemed to at least keep him living.
Weeks passed. After getting no solutions with that vet and not discovering through tests what the solution was, I took him to a vet specialist dermatologist in Santa Barbara on July 22, 2024. She was great! She saw the emergency of the situation and got Louis in right away. She ran multiple tests and found the answer. She wasn’t sure if the shot had been contaminated and had given Louis the life-threatening infection or if it got infected after the storm the shot created in his body that blew up his blood vessels on his back. Either way, there were only 3 antibiotics that the bacteria tested well for to clear it up. She said two were so toxic she’d never prescribe them, and the last one, I would have to wear gloves and a mask to administer it because it was found to cause permanent bone marrow damage in 1 out of 10,000 people. She said he’d have to be on it for 3-4 months. In horror, I said “what does it do to dogs?” She assured me most dogs tolerated it well. Then she said, “I’m surprised he’s still alive and has so much energy and a good appetite. Most dogs would have gone into sepsis with this. What have you been doing? I told her about the homeopathic detoxes. She said she wasn’t really familiar with those, but to keep doing it because it was working.
I got the antibiotic, and my hesitancy to use it was intense, especially after what Louis just went through with the antibiotic shot and the fact he’d been on a variety of antibiotics before I got him. I went within myself and started to pray and meditate about what was right for Louis. Again, I heard the same voice I had heard before that day I was sobbing down the sidewalk. “Now that you know the name of the bacteria, try to find a homeopathic detox for it.” I couldn’t find one that had the exact energy signature, but I was able to combine two that would be similar in energetic signature. I just wasn’t sure it would it be enough to be close but not exact. I did the dilution and began the homeopathic detox. After a week, the bloodiness was getting better. His appetite and happiness and energy still stayed good. I told myself as long as there continued to be improvement, I’d continue and as soon as I couldn’t’ see any additional improvement, I’d give him the antibiotic.
I was scheduled to return for a follow up to the specialist a few weeks later. Before that appointment, I had received a call from my previous vet—the one who gave Louis the antibiotic shot. They informed me he had passed away. He had been sick and didn’t know it. It made sense to me in that moment why he had acted so strangely during our appointment back in June and subsequent appointments thereafter.
When I took Louis into the specialist again, she noticed improvement as well. She thought I was giving the antibiotic. I didn’t tell her differently because I feared she’d try to convince me to change course. I wasn’t going to ignore my soul this time. I just let her assume. She told me to continue on the same course. I did. I continued with the homeopathic detoxes and not the antibiotic. By the next follow up, she said that she didn’t see any more of the organisms. I was elated. I continued to do what I was doing. The wounds were slow in healing though because they had been large. It took several months. And then by the 6th month, I stopped seeing improvement. Almost all of the wounds had healed but a couple small, stubborn ones. I kept with my promise. I began the antibiotic, and only had to use it for one month, not the 4 months that was prescribed. Louis suffered a mechanical, internal issue in his sphincter between his esophagus and stomach from that shot which he still deals with and that will be shared in the longer version of this story that I’m currently working on, but through homeopathy, Louis has survived it all and is thriving despite the comments from all the vets who saw who said he shouldn’t be alive given what he experienced.
Louis 2024 Medical Injury Before and After
When I look at pictures and videos of Louis during the past year, I’m stunned that he survived it as well. It’s nothing short of a miracle. A miracle that was wrought about by the Divine and Mango, a miracle that I can now share with others to help them keep pets alive and healthy. I invite you to click the purchase button below to start your pet’s wellness revolution and save you thousands of dollars over the course of your pet’s life.
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*Names have been changed
**This will be shared in the longer version of Mango’s and Louis’s story that I’m writing