WHEN my dog Otto was a puppy he behaved like an idiot, even for a Labrador retriever.
We haven’t been invited back to the Hamptons since the time he stole a cheeseburger from the hand of a child. Then he jumped into the pool, climbed out and shook himself off on the guests. That was probably forgivable. What came next joyfully vomiting pool water, grass and ground beef at the host’s feet was not.
I would like to say this behavior was atypical. But Otto was a spirited dog. He once toppled an elderly neighbor after he snouted her crotch too enthusiastically.
How I miss those days.
Now Otto is a slow-moving 9: X-rays show that he is arthritic, with swollen elbows. His orthopedist recently said he had a bulging disk. Despite every treatment known to modern veterinary science from glucosamine tablets to prednisone to monthly injections designed to protect the cartilage in his joints the only thing Otto throws himself into these days is our other dog’s food bowl.
Nobody is happy about Otto. A few weeks ago, he watched dejectedly as my husband and I set off on a hike without him.
Then, at the very place on the trail where Otto once rolled happily on the carcass of a dead mouse, we suddenly heard a rhino crashing through the bushes.
A crazy-eyed, burr-covered retriever emerged. We would have mistaken the dog for the ghost of Otto’s youth if not for its white, old man’s muzzle.
The dog’s owner appeared on the trail a few seconds later.
“How old is he?” my husband asked, absently picking a burr from behind the dog’s ear.
“Twelve,” the owner said.
“He’s in great shape,” my husband said.
“He used to be barely able to walk,” the owner said.
What helped relieve the dog’s arthritis and joint pain? Acupuncture, the owner said.
We were skeptical. “Otto would pull out the needles with his teeth,” my husband replied.
“No, it doesn’t bother them,” the owner insisted.
We watched his dog grab a 10-foot branch at the side of the trail and wave it dangerously, like a scimitar. Just like Otto used to.
“Any minute now, he’ll put out someone’s eye with that sharp tip,” I said wistfully.
The next morning, I Googled “veterinary acupuncture.” That is how I learned that this version of the ancient Chinese therapy that calls for inserting needles into specific locations on pets is gaining steam, even outside Northern California.
At Dogster.com, the online social network for pets that Otto joined last fall, I found a discussion on “Doggie Acupuncture: To Do or Not to Do?” A canine member named Bo had “asked” last month about whether he should try acupuncture. More than a dozen members described positive experiences for “severe breathing problems” and “spay incontinence,” including one case involving an arthritic dog named Sabrina who “doesn’t really enjoy getting the needles in, but she always feels so much better afterward.”
Maybe acupuncture was worth a try? Certainly a growing number of veterinarians think so.
“It should be considered in certain conditions, especially those that involve chronic pain,” said Vikki Weber, the executive director of the International Veterinary Acupuncture Society, which is based in Colorado and began sponsoring training in 1974.
Both Ms. Weber’s group and the American Academy of Veterinary Acupuncture, a trade association, have Web sites (ivas.org and aava.org, respectively) with searchable databases that list hundreds of trained veterinary acupuncturists worldwide.
The American Veterinary Medical Association, an organization that represents 76,000 veterinarians nationwide, does not keep track of how many of its members practice acupuncture and does not recognize acupuncture as a specialty.
“But we recognize the interest in and use of alternative modalities like acupuncture,” said Dr. Craig Smith, a spokesman for the association.
While no definitive studies prove the treatment’s effectiveness, Dr. Smith said, he recommended that pet owners who are interested in the procedure seek the advice of their veterinarians.
E-mail: Slatalla@nytimes.com
