Free At Last

Unfortunately today is a more somber post.

On Tuesday, December 5th, 2011, a particularly heart-wrenching case came in to us for an appointment. The patient was a blind cat that was fifteen years of age, brought in due to not eating for approximately two to three days. Upon arrival, the cat was open-mouth breathing - this is a behavior seen only in very stressed cats or those that are having difficulty breathing - which the owners chalked up to the car ride (the cat rarely left its home). Auscultation (listening) of lung and heart sounds indicated fluid in the thorax (chest), and radiographs were ordered to see if she had an enlarged heart along with fluid around her lungs.

During the x-rays, the cat began having trouble breathing. Another assistant and I were attempting to get a ventral/dorsal (vd) view - this means we were trying to get the picture to show her from her belly through to her spine so that her ribs all lined up over top of each other - when the cat began to panic and turn purple. During this panic, I was bitten on one of my hands before we were able to get her into the surgical suite to be put on oxygen therapy. Two minutes later, she passed away on the table from congestive heart failure (CHF).

This is not the worst part of the story. This poor cat was not up to date on any of her vaccines, including rabies. Because she bit an unvaccinated employee, the health department was contacted and they requested that the cat's head be sent off to be tested for rabies. As horrible as it sounds, currently the only way we have of testing an animal for rabies is to sample the brain tissue - this is where the rabies virus lives in infected animals - and that means beheading the patient.

For all the pain and suffering wrought on that day for those owners, I would truly like to say that I am sorry. I am sorry that your beloved pet was ill, and that in her panic for survival she lashed out due to instinct and it took away your ability to take her remains with you to bury her with your other lost pets. It was difficult to witness, and so I cannot even imagine the grief you are going through because of this incident. The most I can offer is the reassurance that she is no longer suffering. There is no congestive heart failure in heaven.

And so, in her honor, I am posting The Rainbow Bridge:

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

 
All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together.... 

Author unknown...

In parting words, I simply would like to remind owners to please keep your pets up to date on vaccines - especially rabies (it's the law, folks) - so as to minimize grief and stress should something like this occur.

Unexpected Expectations

Ok, I have to start by saying one thing: If you're into recreational drug use, don't involve your dog, cat, fish, parrot, albatross, or any other pet you may have lurking around your home (knowingly or otherwise). It simply comes down to this: just because you enjoy your high, buzz, or whatever you want to call it, doesn't mean your pet will. In fact, this could have dire consequences (surprise!). So, with all the holiday pancreatitis, foreign body obstructions, and ever holly-jolly hemorrhagic gastroenteritis (HGE) - it even comes in Christmas colors, just not the right shades or scent - why am I nattering on about drug use and pets? 

I present to you Exhibit A: On December 2nd, 2011 a four year old male pug was brought in for severe lethargy during our morning appointment hours. Immediately Dr. Paranoid orders our most complete chemistry panel of bloodwork, as well as a set of radiographs (x-rays, people). Upon reading the results of both, she orders a complete blood cell count (CBC), the results of which are rather boring as well. 

Just as our Tech O' the Day is getting ready to place an IV catheter - on the off chance that it may  help the poor pup feel better, as Dr. Paranoid lost the game of Stump the Expert on this case - the owner decides to 'fess up. The dog had ingested pot. That's right, folks, pot. Marijuana, chronic, Mary Jane, you got it. With her hands the owner shows the approximate amount the dog ate, which was enough to cover the palm of the average adult human being. And it gets better, too. 

From what the owner relayed, she was visiting from Michigan and had left her "prescription" on the coffee table to go get a drink before partaking. When she returned, the green was gone and the dog had that guilty look - you know how they do.

And so, after a few minutes research - and an unnecessary amount of the owner's money spent due to a case of severe Save My Own Skin syndrome - it was concluded that the pug would most likely spend the rest of the day, if not also part of the next, being very relaxed. Oh, and the owner was advised that he may be a tad extra hungry as well. 

Letters To Antagonists

Yes, it's been a while since I've had a direct rant to certain persons I've had to deal with in the real world and it's time once again to make some scathing remarks! So, let's get down to business, shall we?

Dear Mr. Nosenseatall,
I'd just like to say that, while you may be king of your castle at home, that doesn't mean you can rule the dog park with an iron fist and yet not help referee the four-legged heathens. I am well aware that your weimaraner is still just a puppy, however that does not excuse you from teaching him manners when it comes to playtime. Of all people there, I am one of the most aware of how puppies act. However, that also means that I am well aware of how the owner should act as well. I don't care if you do have a prosthetic leg, you are responsible for your dog that you let antagonize - of all breeds - a pitbull. My pitbull. It's really no wonder why Tyson kicked your dog's ass, if you think about it. He did the right thing, trying to get away from the reeree you call your dog when he'd had enough. But no. Instead your pup kept picking at him and you did nothing but watch when my dog was clearly getting upset. Tyson is a very tolerant dog, he lets my other two beat up on him all the time! Your dog pushed him to his limit, and then you got upset with me when I didn't get there, "fast enough," for your liking. News flash: I was on the opposite side of the park prying a woodchip from Keller's mouth and sprinted over to yours and my dog as soon as I realised what was happening. I DO NOT appreciate you getting in my face because I, "had the audacity to bring a vicious pit to the park." Audacity? Really? The park is for everyone, and your dog is the one that started it. If anyone should be upset, it's me. So hobble along, and try some obedience for your jerkwad of a dog.

To Ms. Signsdo Notapply,
It is, and has been for the entire time you've used us for your veterinary care, that you have no respect for what we do, nor do you care about our business hours. Every time we see you, you're here several minutes before we open, or several minutes after we close and each time you're more rude than before. I understand your fifteen year old maltese was sick, and I'm very sorry for your loss. That, however, does not excuse you from being a snot to the receptionist when she hands you your receipt and you see an after-hours emergency fee. Let me break it down for you: you walked in the door at 1801 - that's 6:01pm - and we were closed according to the signs listing our business hours (I'd like to point out that we have multiple signs, including the GIANT RED FLASHING ONE just outside of our parking lot). Not only that, but you came in for your dog to be seen, not to pick up medications or even from grooming or doggy day care. That means you are an after-hours emergency and thus you are charged as such. We also do not appreciate you doing this not only on a Friday night - it's ok, none of us that work there have lives or anything at home - but you also insisted she stay through the weekend, despite Dr. Husband AND Dr. Paranoid insisting that you take her to the emergency clinic for the dog's own health and well-being. Thanks. Now we have to watch your dog die slowly over the course of three days, hoping against hope that we could restore her quality of life before you call half an hour before closing yesterday to tell us you'd rather we put her to sleep and that you'll be there to be with her during it in forty-five minutes. 'Scuse me? But didn't we go over this on Friday? Oh, wait, silly me. The rules and policies obviously do not apply to you. Apparently your parents were beyond teaching you manners. More's the pity.



That's the end of my rant for today. I'd like to post an update to my menagerie, as we have a new member! That's right, the aforementioned Tyson is the newest addition to our home. He's a ten month old pitbull puppy, just chock full of lovin's and patience. He's also getting neutered today. =D

Panty Pate Anyone?

Ah, the week of Thanksgiving. Christmas commercials have been playing for nearly two months now, and it's only a matter of time before we're booked with emergency exploratory surgeries. In fact, it's already started early this year. The victim this week was a poor little pit puppy who decided that Mom's underwear looked particularly appetizing. Many times in large dog breeds this can be fixed with a hairball remedy gel (copious amounts, of course) and subcutaneous fluids to help get the bowels moving along. A good example of this is the Doberman that comes in and poops a sock every time we see her. This poor puppy was not so lucky.

After placing an IV catheter that morning, having her on fluids for a few hours, and poking her in the butt (ok, the thigh muscle) with morphine, she was taken outside to vomit - as morphine will most times make them do - as the surgery suite was prepared for her. Lo and behold the assistant that had taken her out came back in, grabbed a pair of gloves, and went back outside only to return with two of the three pairs the dog had swallowed covered in stool. Luckily for her, the fluids had caused her bowels to keep working which allowed for her to excrete the panties, the last pair of which she pooped out right before going home that day. Close call for a young pup. The owner, as of last update, did not want the underwear returned.

So what is our lesson here? 1) Underwear is apparently quite tasty, though not recommended for consumption. 2) Pets should be supervised, unless one wants to learn a $1000+ lesson. Youch!

Keller's Korner 2

At the behest of a few friends and family members that want to see updates of Keller, I have decided to post a before and after set of photos. Here in the first photo he is about six weeks old and sick with distemper. It was taken the first day I brought him home and you can see that he is napping, as he was postictal - meaning he had just had a seizure and was recovering from it. (I apologize for any inability to see him, as my camera has no flash and he's a black dog. I did my best, I promise!)

This second shot was taken back in late September, Drover's feet are bandaged - if you look closely on the left side you can see his purple bandage some - due to my idiot roommate taking him for a hike that was waaaaaay too long and his feet were raw from it. Keller is dutifully playing the best friend and comforting him while still managing to rock that bandana. Awwwwww. 

Here he is at the age of five months, losing baby teeth, begging for attention and being the all around pain that all puppies are, yet we all love them for being so. He is, in fact, doing so well that next month he's scheduled to be neutered. Sorry, buddy.

I'd like to thank my coworkers for all the help and support they've given me while helping to raise this little guy and keep him healthy. Though he doesn't know it, I'd also like to thank Drover for assisting in teaching appropriate play and leading by example in obedience class - even if the only command Keller knows is "sit" no matter how hard we try to teach him others. And last, but certainly not least, I'd like to thank Chris for all the help, support, and dog park trips he's taken the boys on while I'm on shift at work. I don't know what I'd do without you guys!

A Chronic Case of the Oops

Recently we've been doing a lot of emergency exploratory surgeries - that's right folks, it's the holidays to 'tis the season for dietary indiscretion! The rise in these incidents has resulted in several interesting stories that are just dying to be shared. There's even one sitting in the back row waving its hand and whispering desperately, "Pick me, pick me!" You all know what I'm talking about, so don't pretend I'm crazy. Moving on:

Whose Could Those Be?
It's a blustery Tuesday night after hours. The clinic has been closed for thirty minutes, the only sounds a consistent beeping of the EKG and occasional murmur for a surgical instrument. Upon the metal table, the coolness of the steel buffered by a heating pad sandwiched hastily between two holey potty pads, lay a young female golden retriever. At the moment, Dr. Husband is diligently working a piece of material from a small incision made in the dog's duodenum. Grasping the cloth firmly in both hands, the veterinarian holds aloft his prize.

Dr. Husband: It looks like a....rather large pair of ladies underwear.
Technician: Uh, Dr. Husband? *points to the surgery suite's window*
Dr. Husband: *spies the rather large lady glaring in and whispers* Is that the owner?

Technician: Yup.


Severe Reprimands
 For those that know the owners of the clinic I work for, it is well known that Dr. Wife is difficult to upset. Her demeanor is consistently calm, cool, and collected. Even when angered, that is no true wrath except on extremely rare occasions. A great example of this happened upon a Friday night in midsummer. One of the golden retrievers they had recently spayed was brought in for severe vomiting and a lack of bowel movements. These two symptoms are consistent with a foreign body obstruction, and thus there we were an hour after closing. Dr. Husband has pulled what appears to be a collar from the bowels of his own silly dog, and asks for Dr. Wife to be called with the results of the still-in-progress surgery. This is the ensuing conversation:

Dr. Wife:  Did we manage to find anything?
Me: Yeah, it looks like she ate part of a collar.
Dr. Wife: Oh...Bad dog. Ok, well, have a good night! *click*

I Like The Berber, But In The French Cut
There are many days at my job when I can't help but wonder how animals manage to not only eat some of the things we find in them, but also enjoy doing so. One case was that of a pitbull that ate a few square feet of Berber carpeting, the diagnosis and decision to surgitate being made when she started vomiting most of it back up. After severing most of it so she could swallow it back down and allow us to remove it, we hurriedly prepped the poor pup for surgery, her parents watching worriedly over our shoulders the entire time. The clinic has an open door policy, meaning our clients are allowed to see any room in the clinic they please and are even welcome to watch surgeries on their pets, which this dog's owners elected to do. Dr. Husband has just removed the last of the carpet and is doing a last cursory check for any remaining pieces of the obstruction.

Patient's Mom: Thank God all she ate was the carpet.
Dr. Husband: *pulls one more item from the dog's bowel and unravels it for all to see*
Patient's Dad: Look, honey. Your good thong!

I love my job.

Her Way Or...Her Way

Most days that I come in contact with children - be it at work or on my own time - I find that children are getting away with more and more. A prime example is naming pets. When I was a kid - and yes, I am aware that this is going to sound like one of those infamous Grandpa's Tall Tales about, "The Good Ol' Days" - kids were allowed to name pets within reason. We were allowed to pick names like Fido, Princess, and Spike as long as they fit the pet. It was about finding their ideal name, factoring in personality traits and such. There was a method to it...somewhat. Nowadays? Things like this happen:

Client: Emma's not been feeling well lately, she's been going outside her litter box.
Dr. Paranoid: *comes in flipping through the patient's file* Hello, there. Hi, Emma...Oh, Emma's really a boy!
Client: *makes panicked ixnay Emma's an oybay motions*
Client's Young Daughter: Emma's a girl! If Emma were a boy, she'd have a boy name! Emma's a girl name, so she's a girl! *pouts*
Dr. Paranoid/Me: O_O;;
Client: She, uh, gets upset if you tell her the cat's male.