‘Wild child’ dog recovers from poisoning with help from the Veterinary Teaching Hospital
Molly Cobbs and Dirk Martin knew their rescued Boykin spaniel-mix, Nutmeg, was a special kind of dog. A homemade food bowl with "wild child" on one side serves as a daily reminder of her playful nature, a spirit that has brought joy to her family for nearly five years.
“She’s wide-open all the time,” Cobbs said. “She loves food and crumbs and will put anything in her mouth.”
That appetite for mischief nearly ended Nutmeg’s life.
After a family goat passed away, Martin faced a disposal challenge: Their Maryland property sits on a solid limestone base, making traditional burial unfeasible. Seeking an alternative solution, he cremated the remains on the farm, believing the intense flames would fully incinerate them.
Ten days later, as the couple hosted friends, Nutmeg slipped away to the burn pile.
Neither Cobbs nor Martin saw it happen, so they didn't immediately connect the incident to the dog's symptoms that appeared the next day.
"We walked her in the fields that morning, and she was fine," said Cobbs.
By that afternoon, the couple noticed Nutmeg was wobbly and her back legs were crossing. When her condition worsened, Nutmeg woke up from a nap, her legs unsteady, and began to wretch. When she finally vomited, it was a mix of bile and black, charred bits.
"I bagged it up and saved it, just in case," Cobbs said, a decision that would prove to be key.
After consulting with their local veterinarian about Nutmeg's concerning neurological symptoms, the couple was advised to make the four-hour trip to Virginia Tech's Veterinary Teaching Hospital for specialized care.
Nutmeg paddleboarding. Photo courtesy of Molly Cobbs.
Information is critical to emergency treatment
With the referral, the couple packed an overnight bag and began the drive at midnight. By the time they pulled into the hospital parking lot at 4 a.m., Nutmeg was unresponsive, erasing their initial sense of hope.
"We were pretty convinced that we weren't going to see her again," Cobbs said.
Nutmeg initially went to the neurology team for care, but her symptoms were not consistent with a classic neurological disease, so the emergency and clinical care team took over.
Michael Kato, assistant professor of emergency and critical care, knew that the owners would have key information to explain the dog's symptoms.
The sample of Nutmeg's vomit, which Cobbs had saved, provided a needed clue. The contents — charred animal protein — paired with the owner's explanation about the burn pile gave the team a tentative diagnosis of pentobarbital toxicity. But testing and analysis can take days to weeks to get results back, so the clinical team made treatment judgments based on clinical signs, history, and experience.
Pentobarbital is used to humanely end life when given by a trained professional. If taken accidentally, it can cause severe, unintended harm.
“We would not have been able to get to this diagnosis if the owners had not volunteered that information,” Kato said. “It shows how important these conversations are with the families. The more helpful information they can give us about their pets, the quicker our team can steer treatment in the right direction.”
The road to recovery
Kato and his team administered a decontamination treatment called intravenous lipid emulsion therapy, which binds toxins in the bloodstream so they cannot reach the brain and other organs. For Nutmeg, the treatment worked, and it worked quickly.
The first glimmer of hope arrived hours later: Nutmeg's leg twitched. It was a small movement, but for Cobbs and Martin, it was a sign that she was still fighting.
“I knew she was getting better when she was able to blink,” Kato said. “She was not blinking at all when I first met her, which was concerning.”
Soon, she was awake and eating.
“Dirk was texting and updating friends,” Cobbs said. “He told them, ‘I hope her stubbornness for living is as strong as her stubbornness for raiding cat food.'”
Just 30 hours after arriving unresponsive, her wild child energy was slowly returning. Through continued care, she was able to return home and is now back to her bouncy self.
A cautionary tale
Cobbs and Martin hope their experience will serve as a warning to others. Kato said he has only treated a few pentobarbital toxicity cases in companion animals, but this kind of secondary poisoning is a much more common danger for wildlife.
To help navigate this difficult topic, the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service provides guidance on how to safely handle the remains of a beloved pet. Even in an urban environment, a scavenging animal such as an eagle or hawk can become poisoned, as some organs can have especially high concentrations of the drug, according to the guidance.
Kato advised that anyone who chooses to bury a pet at home should follow all local laws.
“A big takeaway is that if you have to say goodbye to a loved one through a veterinarian who uses these drugs and you choose to bury your pet at home, make sure they cannot be accessed by wildlife,” said Kato. “And that includes water sources too.”
This case highlights the importance of consulting with veterinarians about safe disposal methods for any animals that may have received medications, as standard cremation temperatures may not be sufficient to neutralize certain substances.
To mitigate this risk, facilities like the Veterinary Teaching Hospital provide clients who choose at-home burial with a specialized, leak-proof, and wildlife-resistant bag to help prevent scavengers from accessing pet remains.
Cobbs and Martin said their greatest takeaway was their deep gratitude for the care Nutmeg received at the teaching hospital.
"You have the best minds, the best equipment, the best science," Martin said. "We're really grateful."
This story has been updated for clarity and to provide additional educational context.
