Jesse's mysterious illness

The morning started like any other.

• The crisp scent of pine on the air.
• The faint rustle of leaves underfoot.

But as I glanced toward cabin number one, I felt a chill crawl up my spine.

I had an inexplicable sense

that something wasn’t quite right.

The other three tail-wagging residents bounded to the window, their eager faces pressed against the glass,

But Jesse was nowhere to be seen.

My heart sank.

“Jesse!” I called, my voice echoing in the stillness.

A moment later, her golden head rose into view.

But instead of her usual spark, her eyes held a dullness that made my stomach twist.

She rested her chin on the windowsill and gazed at me, her tail lying motionless behind her.

That wasn’t Jesse!

Not the vibrant, ever-curious dog who loved leading us down forest paths, her gentle nudges steering us like an old cowboy directing cattle.

This was something else, something deeply wrong.

I hurried to the dog cabin, my boots crunching against the gravel.

As I swung open the door, Jesse’s body sagged against the floorboards.

She barely lifted her head when I knelt beside her.

The soft golden fur on her back legs was damp, and as I examined her more closely, I saw two raw, angry wounds near her ankles.

The edges were red and irritated, as if she’d been licking them for hours.

A knot of worry tightened in my chest.

“Jay!” I shouted toward the house.

He appeared within moments, his expression mirroring my concern.

Together, we coaxed Jesse into the house.

She moved slowly, each step labored as if the simple act of walking had become an unbearable burden.

We cleaned and dressed the wounds with care, wrapping them snugly to keep out dirt and debris.

Jesse, ever the perfect patient, lay still as we worked.

Her eyes fluttered closed, her breaths slow and deliberate.

It was as if she knew we were trying to help.

Once the bandages were in place, we decided she’d stay inside where she could heal without the commotion of her kennel mates.

For a few days, things seemed to improve.

Jesse’s calm demeanor returned, and she resumed her gentle trots to the door when it was time to go outside.

But then, like a dark cloud creeping back after a brief break in the storm, a fever began to climb.

Her once-bright eyes dimmed again, and she started to struggle with her legs, moving stiffly, like an elderly dog weighed down by decades of wear.

“She’s only two,” I whispered to Jay, my voice tight with worry. “This doesn’t any make sense.”

By the time her fever hit 103.4, it was clear we couldn’t manage this on our own.

Jay loaded her into the Chrysler Pacifica, the engine humming softly as we began the hour-and-a-half drive to the vet.

Jesse lay in the back, her golden fur glowing faintly in the dim light.

She didn’t whine or shift; she simply lay there.

Her chest rose and fell with steady, fatigued breaths.

With every inhalation, her legs trembled and shuttered.

At the clinic, the vet’s face darkened as she watched Jesse shuffle through the lobby.

Even the gentle wag of her tail—her way of reassuring the world that she was fine—was absent.

After a thorough exam, including: blood tests, x-rays, an ultrasound, a test for leptospirosis, and Lyme disease, the vet frowned.

“Nothing obvious,” she murmured. “Her blood work is off, but not in the way I’d expect for an infection. Her white cell count isn’t elevated, which is unusual for a fever like this.”

I gripped the edge of the counter, frustration bubbling in my chest.

“Then what’s causing this? She’s deteriorating before our eyes.”

The vet shook her head, her eyes betraying a hint of helplessness. “The x-rays and ultrasound showed nothing at all out of place. For now, our only option is to start supportive care. We’d like to keep her here overnight to give her a saline drip to eliminate her dehydration, administer pain meds, and give her antibiotics to try and reduce her fever.”

That sounds so helpful, doesn’t it?

Until you realize that no one would be there with Jesse after hours.

Leaving Jesse at the clinic without supervision during the night would have been like walking away from a piece of my soul.

Jesse turned her head to look at me as the techs gently caressed her paws.

No.

Jesse was not going to be alone in this condition.

She needed constant supervision.

We opted for pain meds and antibiotics to go.

We would take care of the dehydration on our own by constantly syringing water into her mouth, forcing her instinct to swallow.

Hoping for the best, but expecting the worst, we walked Jesse back to the car, helped lift her body into the back, and drove home.

For weeks, we fought to stabilize her.

Hourly fluids by syringe around the clock kept dehydration at bay, and her spirits occasionally flickered with hope.

But then new symptoms emerged—tremors, drooling, a tight abdomen, and a deep stiffness that seemed to grip her entire body.

She was wasting away before our eyes, yet a second set of tests remained inconclusive.

It felt like a cruel, unwinnable battle.

Speculations abounded between Jay and me.

“What if it’s an autoimmune disease, like the vet mentioned?” one of us said.

“But not all of the symptoms match for any autoimmune disease we knew of,” the other would counter.

“What if it’s early onset cancer that’s spreading throughout her body?”

At the sound of that suggestion, I imagined I felt lumps in her throat near her thyroid and behind her elbows.

But, then I was never sure they were lumps because everything feels different when a dog loses its body fat so rapidly.

One late night, as I sat researching anything that could explain her symptoms, I stumbled upon something chilling:

The venom of a black widow spider.

The symptoms fit like puzzle pieces snapping into place.

Lethargy, tremors, stomach cramping, stiffness, vomiting—everything Jesse had endured.

The absence of elevated white blood cells suddenly made sense.

Her body wasn’t fighting bacteria, it was succumbing to poison.

The realization hit me like a bolt.

Jesse must have unknowingly laid on the spider in her kennel, its venom piercing her skin in two precise strikes.

Black widows seek dark, quiet places, and a cedar dog cabin fits the bill perfectly.

The spider’s venom has wreaked havoc on her system, mimicking an autoimmune disorder but with none of the other telltale markers.

Armed with this revelation, we adjusted our care for Jesse.

Pain management, hydration, and careful feeding have become the pillars of her recovery.

The prognosis, we learned, is hopeful but slow.

Recovery from a black widow bite can take many months.

It has now been three and a half months, but there are signs of improvement.

Jesse is drinking on her own, walking a little further each day, and eating with less hesitation.

Her tail even wags faintly as she lays in her favorite spot by the couch.

Jesse isn’t fully out of the woods yet, but hope burns like a bright flame.

She remains the shining light she had always been—loving, compliant, and trusting us completely to see her through this trial.

With every small step forward, she reminds us why she is the heart of the Toy Story Litter.

She isn’t just a survivor.

She is a fighter with a golden spirit.

I know deep down, she will make a full recovery.

Jesse is coming back to us, one paw step at a time.

No matter what lays ahead, we will walk this road together.

Black Widow spider bites can be deadly to humans, but there is an anti-venom that greatly reduces the effects of the deadly poison.

Curiously, anti-venom treatment is not really an option for dogs.

In most dogs, the Black Widow anti-venom causes severe anaphylactic shock, so the treatment often does more harm than good.

Luckily, most dogs fully recovery on their own.

By treating the symptoms, like dehydration, fever, pain, and anorexia, there is every reason to believe that Jesse will return to normal.

If you would like to learn more about Black Widow Spider bites in dogs, I found the following article to be especially helpful:

https://www.petmd.com/black-widow-spider-bite-poisoning-dogs

Yes, Jay and I do have an extermination plan for the dog cabins.

We physically saw five Black Widow spiders on our property throughout last year,

Including one in our RV!

So we must take measures to make sure we don’t have an infestation on the rise.

Where there is five this year,

there may be millions next year!

We’ll keep you posted on Jesse’s recovery.

She is sleeping now on her doggie bed next to the couch.

Have a great Wednesday, everyone!

Jennifer Stoeckl is the co-founder of the Dire Wolf Project, founder of the DireWolf Guardians American Dirus Dog Training Program, and owner/operator of DireWolf Dogs of Vallecito. She lives in the beautiful inland northwest among the Ponderosa pine forests with her pack of American Dirus dogs.