From duck blind to briar patch, hunting dogs are experts at getting into trouble. Barbed wire, hypothermia, and altercations with wild animals or other dogs are constant threats, and any one can sideline your hunting companion in seconds. Savvy hunters avoid these situations when possible, carry first-aid kits in their vehicles, and have their veterinarian’s phone number on speed dial.

Yet there are dangers in the outdoors that make that barbed wire fence or ornery porcupine look like playground hazards. The list sounds like something out of a bioterrorism novel: blastomycosis, Lyme disease, cyanobacteria poisoning. All of these unseen pathogens are common to certain hunting areas, and each one can sicken your four-legged hunting partner in days, hours, or even minutes. In some cases, the dog never recovers.

As the nights turn cool and we look ahead to the fall hunting season, there’s little doubt the coming months will challenge your dog’s training and physical stamina. But autumn can also be the ultimate test of your dog’s immune system, at a time when gun dogs are fully immersed in nature’s giant Petri dish. By recognizing the early warning signs of some of these field-related illnesses, and getting prompt medical treatment, you can salvage more than just your hunting season; you could very well save your dog’s life.

Blastomycosis
“Oh no,” I said, watching my dog limp into the farmhouse kitchen. “Not again.”

It was the fourth day of a week-long hunting trip to North Dakota, and my black Lab, Gunner, had been performing well. Until, that is, he woke up with an extremely tender paw--almost the exact same condition that had led to a diagnosis of Lyme disease the previous year.

This year the swelling was much more pronounced, more like a case of elephantitis than simple inflammation. A quick examination revealed a slight lesion on the front pad, with no particular soreness in any of the toes or joints. Convinced it was a simple puncture wound, probably caused by wheat stubble, I applied some antibiotic cream and gave Gunner a few days of rest. He, in turn, spent the days watching soap operas, eating leftovers, and getting sicker.

A week later I was standing in front of a pharmacy technician, holding my credit card in sweaty fingers. Gunner was at home, his foot badly swollen and unable to bear any weight. The swelling and small lesion wasn’t from wheat stubble; a trip to the vet had revealed his lameness had been caused by the fungal pathogen blastomycosis, commonly called blasto.

“You must really like your dog,” the pharmacy technician said, ringing up my $220 purchase, which would last a couple weeks. Gunner would need six month’s worth of Sporonox®. I, in turn, would need to get a second job or sell a few shotguns.

There was little choice in the matter; left untreated, the blasto fungus would slowly migrate throughout the body, turning tendons into mush, colonizing the lungs and creating the interior lesions that often cause a deep, hacking cough. (They’d eventually affect the brain, too, but in Gunner’s case they might give up after a few months--I’ve been searching unsuccessfully for his brain for almost five years.)

A diagnosis of blasto is sobering, and the really scary part is there just isn’t much you can do to prevent it. There is no vaccine, and simple avoidance is tough; blasto fungus thrives in marshes, swamps, and the rich dander of forest floors. This is also prime habitat for gamebirds ranging from geese to woodcock, which leave their scent mingled right in with the blasto fungus.