Living With Late Stage Degenerative Myelopathy – Arnhem’s Story

Trigger note: This post discusses degenerative disease, end-of-life considerations, and the emotional impact of caring for a dog with late stage illness.

At Curious Canine, dogs are never just dogs. They are partners, teachers, and family. Living with late stage Degenerative Myelopathy (DM) alongside Arnhem has brought that truth into sharp focus.

Arnhem was once a strong, active, vivacious dog. Powerful, capable, and full of quiet confidence. His body could carry him anywhere his mind wanted to go. Now, his mind is still very much Arnhem, but his body no longer keeps up — and that contrast is one of the hardest parts to live with.

• Every Day Is Different

Life with late stage DM is unpredictable, and Arnhem reminds us of that daily.

There are good leg days. Days when he can stand more easily, when his movement feels more coordinated, when he seems lighter in himself. On those days, hope sneaks in quietly. We take things slowly, celebrate small successes, and allow ourselves to believe that today is manageable.

Then there are the bad leg days. Days when his legs tangle or give way, when frustration builds because his body will not respond to what his brain is asking of it. These days often bring anxiety with them — not loud or dramatic, but heavy and lingering. Arnhem’s stress shows not in noise, but in stillness.

And his eyes tell us everything.

They are deeply expressive, and they change from day to day. Some days they are soft and present. Other days they carry confusion, sadness, or a quiet question: Why can’t I do this anymore? Those looks stay with you long after the day is over.

• The Physical Reality

Late stage DM brings constant physical demands. Supporting Arnhem’s weight, helping him stand, managing harnesses, slings, and safe surfaces is now part of daily life. Nothing is automatic anymore — every movement requires thought, timing, and care.

Simple routines take time. Toileting needs planning. Floors, weather, and fatigue must be considered constantly. And while his muscles weaken, his awareness does not. He knows when things are harder, and that awareness brings its own emotional load.

• The Emotional Toll — For Both of Us

Arnhem’s anxiety, frustration, and sadness do not exist in isolation. Our connection means I feel them too.

Living this closely with a dog in decline affects mental health in ways that are rarely spoken about. Everything becomes about him — his comfort, his needs, his mood, his safety. Decisions are questioned endlessly. Am I doing enough? Am I doing the right thing? Did I push too much today, or not enough?

There is constant emotional mirroring. When Arnhem is unsettled, so am I. When he is frustrated, I carry that weight. When he looks defeated, it is impossible not to feel it deeply.

The commitment is absolute. There are no days off from responsibility, no mental switch to turn it off. And alongside love and devotion, there is exhaustion, self-doubt, and a quiet erosion of emotional reserves.

This is something many carers experience, but few admit to.

• Quality of Life — The Hardest Conversation

One of the heaviest responsibilities of loving a dog with DM is continually assessing quality of life.

Arnhem’s disease is progressive and terminal. There is no recovery — only management, comfort, and dignity. This means regularly asking painful but necessary questions: Is he still enjoying his days? Are the good moments outweighing the bad? Is the effort required of him fair?

Quality of life is not about perfection. It is about comfort, security, emotional wellbeing, and the ability to find moments of peace. Some days, Arnhem still has that. Other days, it is harder to see.

Holding space for this uncertainty is exhausting, but avoiding it would be unfair.

• Saying Goodbye — Before It Is Time

With DM, you begin saying goodbye long before the final one.

You say goodbye to abilities, to independence, to the dog your dog once was. And yet, you continue to say hello each day to the dog who is still here — still loving, still trying, still trusting you completely.

The final goodbye is something no one wants to face, but loving Arnhem means being willing to make that decision when his world becomes too heavy for him to carry. Not when I am ready, but when he needs peace.

This is the last, most profound act of care we can offer.

• A Curious Canine Truth

Living with Arnhem through late stage Degenerative Myelopathy has changed me — as a handler, a trainer, and a human.

It has deepened my empathy, reshaped my understanding of resilience, and reinforced everything Curious Canine stands for: observation, compassion, ethical decision-making, and putting the dog first — even when it hurts.

There is no perfect way to walk this path.

Only a kind one.

And if today is a bad leg day, tomorrow may be different. If today feels unbearable, that does not mean love is failing — it means it is being tested.

This journey is heartbreaking, demanding, and deeply personal.

But it is also an extraordinary expression of connection, responsibility, and love.