Companion Animal Parasite Council Map
The Companion Animal Parasite Council provides a much clearer (and more up-to-date) picture regarding the risks our small dogs run of contracting Lyme disease in areas where we live or visit. The council harnesses experts in “parasitology, internal medicine, public health, veterinary law, private practice, and association leadership.”
I’m grateful for their work in defining the problem, although I (and most holistic veterinarians and animal nutritionists) would disagree with some of their encouragement regarding use of broad-spectrum pesticides.
How Serious Is Lyme Disease in Dogs?
When dogs DO become ill with Lyme disease, the result can be debilitating and life-threatening. And even when the symptoms are mild, the lengthy antibiotic treatment (usually thirty days of Doxycycline) often wreaks havoc on their GI symptoms. Since our small dogs become more easily dehydrated and lose weight rapidly, Lyme is not something to be casual about.
Having said that, however, many reputable veterinary websites indicate that Lyme disease in dogs rarely causes symptoms, is easily treatable with antibiotics, and seldom results in long-term complications. In fact, Cornell’s College of Veterinary Medicine reports that only 5-10% of dogs testing positive for Lyme will experience any symptoms.
As a result, many vets recommend against giving the Lyme vaccine to dogs.
That’s why, even though we live right next to the state where Lyme first reared its ugly Medusa heads, we never vaccinated our golden retrievers against Lyme. And, we didn’t vaccinate our Havanese either. But then two of our pups developed Lyme, in spite of careful tick control. And then I started worrying about the safety and effectiveness of the oral tick preventative I was feeding my retrievers, given that they’d developed Lyme anyway.
In a comprehensive 2023 overview of Lyme disease in dogs, researchers at the University of Veterinary Medicine and Pharmacy in Košice confirmed Cornell’s figure noted above: most dogs infected with this bacteria don’t show any symptoms (95%). Such lack of symptoms can, of course, allow the bacteria to spread to other parts of the body unnoticed. This can lead to more severe health issues, including joint inflammation (especially in the wrists), occasional fever, loss of appetite, tiredness, and problems with the nervous system. Dogs might also experience swollen lymph nodes near the shoulders or knees. Joint issues are the most common problem, and they can affect one or several joints, sometimes causing noticeable swelling and difficulty walking.
In rarer cases, infected dogs may show neurological symptoms such as facial paralysis or sudden aggressive behavior, or even heart problems like inflammation or irregular heartbeats, but these are less common and not well-studied. Some dogs might develop a serious condition called Lyme nephritis, a type of kidney disease that progresses quickly and is associated with immune system complications. This kidney issue, however, is less frequent than joint problems related to Lyme disease. The exact cause of Lyme nephritis isn’t well understood, but it’s believed to be linked to immune responses in the kidneys.
Why I Once Vaccinated My Havanese Against Lyme Disease
When it came time for Phoebe and Scout’s annual check-ups during the COVID lockdown, I suffered a fit of temporary stupidity. That June was kicking off what would be a banner year for ticks, I hated to be giving the girls internal tick medicine, I always minimize chemicals around the house, and I knew we’d be outside all the time this summer.
So, instead of doing the exhaustive refresher research I’m known for (and not in a good way; I drive my family crazy), I spoke briefly with our long-time vet about going ahead with the Lyme vaccination. And so, both Phoebe and Scout received the two-shot series.
I should have reviewed the medical research again first, and then asked my vet specific questions about the pros and cons of Lyme vaccine for small dogs. Had I done so, I would never have agreed to the shots. But, I didn’t do so. I blame my dangerous lapse in attention on other family health challenges and fourteen months of pandemic-brain.
Lyme Vaccine Side Effects? All Seemed OK At First
Just as with the two major COVID vaccinations, doctors administer the Lyme vaccine for dogs in two shots, spaced two-four weeks apart. (However, see note below, regarding new recommendations of THREE shots per year).
With the first shot in June, our vet chose the neck scruff as the injection site. While both pups seemed absolutely fine afterward, within a week, Phoebe developed a large swelling at the Lyme vaccine injection site. It didn’t cause her any pain, and I’d read this reaction could occur, so I wasn’t terribly concerned. We simply checked it daily. Okay, we checked it obsessively every time we touched her, which is a lot. But we truly weren’t all that worried. The swelling was diminishing by the day.
When it came time for shot two in the series, I spoke briefly with the vet tech about Phoebe’s swelling, and when she assured me the scruff bump was common, I handed the girls over. They seemed their cheerful selves immediately afterwards. I hung out with them for over an hour at home in case they had a delayed allergic reaction. There was none, so I headed out to the grocery store. Had I known of the significant risks, bulleted below, I would never have left her.
Vaccine Adverse Events More Likely in Small Dogs
- According to a 2005 study published in JAVMA, reactions within 72 hours of ANY vaccination are exponentially more likely in small breed dogs.
- Neutered dogs are 27% to 38% more likely to suffer reactions.
- And, adverse events are 37% to 64% more likely to occur in dogs ages 1 to 3 than in dogs 9 months or younger.
- That left our two-year old, ten pound, spayed Scout at vastly increased risk of an adverse reaction. And we had no idea.
I summarized these bullet points about small dog vaccine reaction data from “Adverse Events Diagnosed Within Three Days of Vaccine Administration in Dogs” published in JAVMA, Vol 227, No. 7, October 1, 2005.
My Stupidity Led to Scout’s Screaming Pain
When I returned from my errand and parked my car in our stone drive, I received my first warning that all was not right with the world. The girls know the sound of my wheels crunching the surface, and they have never, ever failed to bark a particular greeting.
That afternoon, though, I heard silence. Because I immediately jump to “my family is dead” in any even marginally unusual circumstance, my panic started before I opened the car door. If they weren’t barking, they were kidnapped or worse.
I rushed up the walk and could see Phoebe on her hind legs, her little face peering out the windowpane. That part was normal. What wasn’t normal was her panicked look and the silence. I fumbled to open the door, my fear rising when Scout still didn’t appear. I rounded the corner and felt initial relief when I saw her, standing in the hall.
But her back was arched and her entire body shook uncontrollably. Dropping to the ground, I reached to scoop her up, and she screamed. Scout doesn’t scream. She’s a tough little pup and not prone to dramatics.
It didn’t take long to determine the source of her pain. I placed her gently on the floor, but her back left leg, where she’d received her injection, just hung there, unused. When I attempted touching it, she cried. We called our vet’s office, and they said “some small dogs do have these reactions.”
More Than Mere “Side Effects”
I mentally berated myself. I may also have mentally berated my beloved vet. Why didn’t I know this? Why hadn’t I stayed longer to monitor Scout, and why didn’t they send me home with a warning about the Lyme vaccine side effects? Here I was, a good thirty minutes away from veterinary care, with a suffering pup who literally couldn’t walk. They’d instructed me to go get baby aspirin, and that Scout “should be better in an hour or two.”
She wasn’t.
For the next forty-eight hours, Scout endured significant pain. In the first twelve hours after the vaccine, she became unable to walk. That night, in the middle of the night, she woke in screaming agony.
The next morning, Scout still wasn’t walking. I had to carry her outdoors to potty, and she’d stand there trembling, looking at me in misery.
The next morning, although I knew it was our vet’s surgery day, I called, insisting on bringing Scout in. They complied, examined her, assured me “this sometimes happens,” and sent me on my way with gabapentin, “if I thought she needed it.”
Well yes. Yes, I did think she needed it. Why would I allow her to continue with such obvious, severe pain?
By the end of the second day, Scout recovered fully from her Lyme vaccine side effects. But I haven’t. I’m still taking myself to task for failing to protect her from unnecessary injury, no matter how temporary. I’m all for short-term suffering when the payoff is good (as in, let’s all get vaccinated against COVID, be sick for a day or two, and save the world). But I am NOT okay with letting my pup suffer even momentarily for a vaccine that may or may not work.
Experts Are Split on Lyme Vaccine
According to some pretty impressive experts, the Lyme vaccine for dogs is one such questionable vaccine.
Of six diplomates convened by both the European and American Colleges of Veterinary Internal Medicine, THREE of those six experts suggested the Lyme vaccine for dogs lacked (1) sufficient proof of long-term immunity and (2) objective studies to justify its recommendation.
Why, oh why, hadn’t I uncovered that recent information from the Journal of American Veterinary Medicine before Scout’s shot?
Six Strong Arguments Against The Lyme Vaccine for Dogs
In working to update this article about Lyme vaccine side effects in small dogs 2024, I again scanned veterinary journals and university research sites.
