So, every year I attempt some form of creative teaching enterprise at the kids’ school, and some years go better than others. This year, in a school I really like, I think things went well. I was asked to do a “veterinary science station” for the annual Science Fair, and I thought back to what I was excited about when I was a kid:
Playing with guts! And I thought to myself, I bet I could create a dog version of this anatomical model. So I went to Joann’s, bought a bunch of random attachments and fabric bits, and commandeered one of my daughter’s stuffed animals to volunteer to be my surgical model.
Step one: preparing the abdominal cavity
I chose a mottled red fabric for the interior of the dog, and sewed a pouch to contain the abdominal organs. After cutting open a midline incision, I removed a bit of stuffing then sewed in a zipper. (Do this before sewing the pouch in, or you’ll end up with the zipper seam showing.) Then you can sew the top ends of the pouch to the edges of your incision and voila!
Step two: making organs
You can go kind of crazy with this stuff, but I tried to hold myself back to the main parts (no spleen, pancreas, etc). All of the organs were secured to the abdominal wall with Velcro so they would remain in the right place but they could be removed if the kids really wanted to see what was in there.
I tried to keep the organs moderately accurate, but I was limited by my own sewing experience and what I had on hand, which is how I wound up with lavender sparkly kidneys and a two-lobed liver. For the bladder we filled a white balloon with rice. The kids don’t care too much about accuracy.
The intestines were a long tube of velour that I sewed and then had to turn inside-out. I didn’t think that one through ahead of time. I debated leaving it a giant intussusception but I eventually got it figured out with actual surgical tools. Next time, forget it.
In the interest of simplicity, the loop represented both the large and small intestine. I had some nubby yarn that I really, really wanted to throw in there as omentum but I held myself back.
The stomach needed to be fairly correct as a gastrotomy was going to be one of the two surgeries the kids could do. It’s a fleecy material with the nubby side on the inside (rugae! yaay!). I ended up using ribbon “stitches” sewn into the sides of the incision, which was a smart choice once the fifth graders started yanking on them full-force.
For the uterus, I sewed two red socks together at the toe (worked like a charm!) and bought a handful of small puppy toys. The ovaries were little white yarn pom-poms.
I sewed a snap into the tip of both socks to keep the “uterus” closed. I also put in a piece of stretchy rubber ribbon on both sides of the abdomen that the uterus held to with velcro but that was overkill with these kids so I didn’t use it. Feel free to use it for the vet student in your life, though- they’ll have to get used to wrestling with that thing.
By the time everything got stuffed in there it was actually a shockingly decent approximation for the surgical experience- you look in and think, what the heck am I looking at? So I made a legend as well.
With all of that in hand, as well as a bunch of gloves and masks we didn’t end up using, we headed off to the science fair.
Step 3: The actual test
We had a lot of competition at the science fair. Computer programming, dry ice, slime, rockets, frogs. Since the kids didn’t know they were going to be doing surgery until they came up and asked what was going on, they all freaked out a little and then said, let’s do it!
I used some of the radiographs readers shared with me. The pregnancy one was a big hit!
A small cardboard tube served as a trachea and the kids intubated with a See’s candy stick.
An old pillowcase with a rectangle cutout in the middle served as a surgical drape.
For the case where the dog was vomiting, we used our legend to try and determine what we were looking for (something big and pink.)
The kids got to pull out the assortment of items our patient ingested: a ball, a sock, a rock, and to see how they would lodge in the pylorus as there was no way they’d fit into the intestines.
I could easily have had two dogs going, but as I had to re-stuff the dog after every surgery I had my assistant prepare the surgery table while the next group waited.
Unsurprisingly, the c-section was a big crowd pleaser. We had only one person run off in horror when they figured out what was going on, and it was a dad.
I wrapped the puppies in saran wrap “membranes”. For the little kids who weren’t quite up to delivering a puppy, the bigger kids could hand them a puppy to wrap in a towel, remove the membrane, and stimulate them to breathe (you see one in the lower left corner). Worked like a charm.
Even the moms learned something, as in, “dang, that’s a big uterus.” Yes, it is.
The kids were all very concerned after to make sure the dog was closed and “woken up” after surgery was completed, all except the older boys who wanted to pull all the organs out and play with them. There’s something for everyone here at the clinic.
And the best part of the night were the kids who realized there were two surgeries and came back for more. Mission Minion recruitment accomplished!
It’s been entirely too long since I’ve posted, and for that I apologize. I’ve been terribly busy
responding to nastygrams depositing my checks from Big Pet Food sneering at plebians going to a continuing education conference this past week, and what a week it was.
Like many of you, I read the Indy Star’s expose about the loose strings of pharmaceutical companies (or, in internet conspiracy parlance, Big Pharma) at continuing education conferences such as the one I was going to attend, and also like many of you, I was surprised. And excited. I had no idea this was what I had to look forward to! I thought I was just plunking down a couple grand in fees, airfare, and hotel for a measly week of polishing my science know-how, and here’s this whole seedy underbelly of riches I had no idea existed.
I arrived in Orlando for the North American Veterinary Community Conference with 16,000 of my closest friends energized, ready to be plied with jewels, cash, and cars. Kind of like The Price is Right, but with drugs.
In the past, I’ve wandered the exhibit hall for a breather in between talks, taking a peek at the new products on the market. Sometimes the companies would give us candy, or pens- enough to get us to stop by and familiarize ourselves with the product, but not enough to justify actually changing how we practice medicine. I would have done it anyway. Because becoming familiar with new products is, you know, what we’re supposed to do.
I wanted to start my day with one of the storied free food lectures, hoping to begin my morning with roasted pheasant and perhaps a fluffy souffle. Then I learned you had to get up at 6:30 and the most they could guarantee was that the food was “hot,” so I passed and had a Kind bar instead.
“All we need is cantaloupe and these vets won’t know what hit them.”
After a few am lectures about respiratory distress, where the speaker (and every other one at NAVC) carefully informed us about their financial ties- or lack thereof- to the topics of their talk, I hit the exhibit hall in search of fortune.
Somewhere past the forceps booth and to the left of the lasers, a long line started to snake through the aisles and out into the halls. Whatever they were giving away, that had to be good.
“Excuse me,” I said to the woman at the end of the line. “Is this where they’re handing out free cars?”
“No,” she said. “This line is for Build-a-Bear.”
“This huge line is for Build-a-Bear?” I asked somewhat incredulously. The three men in front of her turned around and to a one muttered something about little girls at home. It’s cool, guys. Everyone likes Build-a-Bear.
“Where’s the contest where everyone wins something?” I asked, and they directed me over to the east hall, where a bored looking woman instructed me to spin a ‘wheel of parasites.’ I won a chapstick with a picture of a tapeworm on it.
As I continued to wander, I heard some grumbling from around a corner, where four people were congregated around a woman clutching a big bag. “Where’d you get that?” they asked her, and she pointed to another long line snaking through the hall.
“Is that the jewelry line?” I asked.
“No,” they said. “This is for the stuffed Olaf.”
“Like Olaf from Frozen?” I asked.
“Yes,” a woman replied, “but you have to be careful. They’re really hard to get. You have to go through a screening process.”
“What sort of screening process?” I asked.
“No one knows,” she said. “All I know is that they keep turning people away who don’t own practices. I think they sell some sort of financial services. It might involve an application and a credit report.”
“I’ve tried three times for an Olaf,” said another woman. “They’re not very nice about it.”
“Isn’t Frozen kind of old news anyway?” I asked, but that was apparently not the right question to ask.
Dispirited, I walked into the booth of a large pharmaceutical company. “If I listen to your spiel,” I asked, “What do I get?”
“Information,” the rep said, pulling out a sheaf of papers.
“No car?” I asked, disappointed. “Or a trip somewhere?”
She dug into her pocket and pulled out some mints. “I have these,” she said, then brightened. “Or a pen! Do you want a pen?”
“I’m OK,” I said. “I think I just need something to drink.”
“They have coffee over by that pet food display,” she said. “I think the line’s down to 15 minutes.”
By this time, the line for the Build-a-Bear had disappeared, and in exchange for giving a journal my email address, I was presented with a small, naked bear.
“We’re having a contest tomorrow for some scrubs,” the booth person said.
“For me?” I asked. “Or the bear?’
“For the bear.”
After an hour or so of this, my tally of freebies was as follows:
-One naked bear
-A bedazzled lanyard
– 15 pens
-one urine container filled with yellow candy (this was actually my favorite)
“Why do you think these lines for all these freebies are so long, do you suppose?” I asked my friend Kristen. “Are we that hard up for stuff we’d wait for half an hour just for a chance to win a free ipad?”
“You’re veterinarians,” she said. “Of course you are.” Touche.
After a long day of lectures and wandering, I had worked up an appetite, so I set out in search of the free feasts. I searched every corner of the hotel, and couldn’t find a single one. I realized everyone must have gone to the free rock concert instead.
“Free concert?” I said, intrigued. Maybe there was some credence to this Indy Star thing after all! “Who’d they get? Dave Grohl? Bruno Mars?”
There was a long pause as my friend flipped through the conference brochure. “38 Special,” she said.
“38 Special?” I replied. “Are those guys still alive?”
“Apparently.” Pause. “My dad’s gonna be so jealous. He almost took a cruise with them last year.”
Hungry and alone, I went to my room at 10 pm and decided to order room service. After 15 minutes on hold, I placed an order for a Cobb salad and was told it would be an hour and a half, because shutting ourselves in our rooms alone with our papers is apparently a popular choice for veterinarians. I’m so predictable.
On the fifth day of clinics, my ref lab sent to me:
4 Gastric grommets
3 Dead Pens
2 Blown up Gloves
And a linear Foreign Body!
As you probably know, I have a bit of a complicated relationship with the PTA moms. Not moms in general, mind you, just the small subset of Pinterest loving, glue-gun wielding domestic lifestyle experts whose expectations I can never, despite my best efforts, seem to live up to. It doesn’t matter what school we’re at, it happens every time. First it was the art project/pooper scooper incident in kindergarten. Then it was the Have a Very Agro Valentine’s Day episode. And now it’s crudite, crudite that torments the soul.
It started simply enough: an email asking for volunteers to bring in food items for the teachers this conference week. I looked on the sign up sheet and put my name next to crudite: veggies and dip. Easy, I thought, a quick run to the grocery store for some carrot sticks and dip and done.
I forgot where I was.
(Not two weeks ago, I found myself in the midst of a malestrom for the fifth grade Halloween party when all the room moms got together and asked the parents to bring in food. I asked my class parents to bring in pretzels and fruit. The other moms showed up with cookies shaped like rotting fingers with almond nails and jelly blood, and eyeball eggs with veins hand-painted on with food dye. My pretzels were shoved under the table.)
So now, a few minutes after signing up for the veggie tray, I received an email instructing me to be creative! which is always concerning. To illustrate her point, the organizer included this helpful photo:
As to what our vegetables should aspire to be.
Now at this point a normal person would laugh and say, “OK, lady,” and bring in a tray from Costco, but unfortunately I still have the sin of pride to contend with on a regular basis, so I instead spent the afternoon standing in line at the grocery store watching YouTube videos of Martha Stewart blanching asparagus. Three hours of cursing later, with piles of peeled burnt chestnuts and carrot shavings dripping out of my hair like Jackson Pollock on a bender, I came up with this:
This is the dogged tenacity that makes people like me get through vet school even when all indicators point to the “why?” factor. We can’t explain it. We just have to.
I shared this with my friends, and they all got a good laugh out of how silly it was, and then later in the day my friend in Ohio sent me a link and said, “See? You’re not alone.” It was a photo of some artfully arranged food items a group of mothers had arranged for their teachers.
It was, upon further inspection, a photo from my very school from earlier in the day. It had already made the Pinterest rounds and ended up in Ohio, where my friend saw it and sent it to me as an example of Moms Gone Styled. I scrolled through it, looking for my contribution.
Notably lacking? The crudite. They were apparently so lackluster as to have not even rated a Facebook photo, and when I returned to pick up the dish I found they had been shoved in the corner in order to make way for some gluten free turkey wraps with hand-whisked dressings in, of course, Mason jars.
At this point, even a not quite normal person would just give up, which is theoretically what I should do, but it’s become clear to me I live in a parallel universe where I am destined to almost-quite get it, over and over and over, but not get it entirely. This is why I am a veterinarian, the almost-quites of the medical field.
So you know what? I’m embracing it. This afternoon I decided to go on a Pinterest binge and make a little Pinterest and dog-friendly crudite platter my way. Hope you enjoy it.
A bright autumn day, full of promise and gently whispered secrets amongst best of friends, calls for sustenance.
Lovingly hand-extruded kibble, with ingredients sourced from local artisans in an organic human-grade facility in Portland by men with bushy beards. In a Mason jar.
We end our afternoon in the garden of delights (it’s water friendly succulents! We’re eco friendly here in drought-parched SoCal) with hand-cut carrot bones from the local CSA, mint from the garden, words of wisdom from the dog sketched in canine-friendly peanut butter hand ground at Whole Foods. And of course, no pet garden of delights would be complete without the coup de grace:
nitrate free ham roses.
You saw it first here, folks. I’m waiting on sponsors for a YouTube tutorial but I think a ham bouquet is a lovely thing.
I am training for a half marathon.
I thought about training for a full marathon, but then the reality what that was like the last time I attempted it kicked in and I remembered that oh yeah, I don’t like to run. I think you can do a full marathon once when you don’t like to run, just to say you did (Rock n Roll 2001 for me), but after than there’s really nothing to prove other than, “oh yeah, this hurts.”
A half marathon though, is doable. Still not fun, but manageable. I have decided, along with my friend from the gym who I kind of hate because she keeps inviting me to things such as “Summer Boot Camp!” and “Half marathon! It’ll be fun!” and I keep saying yes, that should we complete this without killing ourselves, maybe, just maybe, we will try and tackle a triathlon before our 40th birthdays.
Do they let people leisurely triathlon these days? All my competitiveness gets used up in my professional life so I have none left over for this.
Anyway, the point is I am doing this and it’s a grind, but I keep remembering that health is a gift and blah blah blah; I’m training with a group because it’s the only way I will drag myself out of bed at 6 am for the long Saturday runs.
Brody doesn’t come with me on those. He can manage shorter distances, but he’s made it clear he’s not yet ready for anything over 3 miles, tops, despite his summer cut. I appreciate that.
This Saturday I ran (‘ran’?) 9 miles, which sounds alternatively fantastic and psssshaw depending on where on the running spectrum you fall. To me, this is the longest distance I’ve done in a single day since I staggered off Mt Meru a few years ago, and that was because I had to since there was no oxygen up at the top.
I’m hunched over because I couldn’t straighten up, not because I voluntarily felt like standing that way. Teri is hanging on for dear life.
So after 9 miles, at the end of which I realized my entire body was numb from the waist down, I came home and sat on the floor to stretch. Soon enough I was laying on the floor, like one of those crime scene outlines.
020 0120 7141 023 0123 7173 Small is Beautiful Floor Black Still Life, by Steve James on Flicker
I began to appreciate why dogs do this, this splat sort of positioning. The wood was cool. Soon I melted and became one with the floor. Why don’t I do this more often? I wondered, and when my daughter asked me why I was doing that I realized it was not really possible for me to make it onto the couch at that particular moment.
Brody was excited I was in his domain, plopping down nose to nose and looking at me like, “Hey! What are you doing here?” He stared at me for a while, and then I decided I needed to stretch if I ever was to have hope of standing up again.
It went about as well as you’d expect.
Dogs don’t understand why we would come into their territory for any purposes other than play, and Brody was having none of it. He laid on my foot, licked me in downward dog, and dumped a soggy tennis ball on my stomach when I tried to stretch out my hip. It’s clear I’m not alone in this.
Dogs are awesome at many things, but sitting quietly by while you sit on the floor and bend into weird shapes is not one of them. If you’re going to goof off, they figure, might as well let me in on the fun.
Anyone else have a dog who simply won’t let you on the floor by yourself?
Let’s face it, the game on Sunday ceased to be interesting about 15 minutes in so there was more interest than there normally is in the advertisements. There were some hideous ones. There were some OK ones. There were some great ones. Here, in no particular order, are some of the animal ads that graced the screen during our annual American paean to commercialism.
I was very concerned this ad was going to end up in some sort of abbatoir, or a rodeo, or any number of things we’d all get the sads from watching, so to see the bull go off to a life of studliness is a clean getaway, albeit a bit manipulative. And really, it’s just slight take on the typical “guy opens bud, ends up in pool with 500 supermodels” ad so I have to take some points off for originality. Grade: B-
Ian Up for Whatever
I would be thrilled to come across Don Cheadle and a llama in an elevator. I can think of few things that would entertain me more, except perhaps Bill Murray and an alpaca in an elevator. TAKE NOTE, BUD. Grade: B+
I just found this ad confusing. Were they in a pet store offering on demand breeding of designer breeds? Why is this Doberhuahua so angry? What dog show is going to let a non-recognized breed in? Why are their eyes so buggy and has anyone tested their intraocular pressure yet? Why is that one launching himself at a window? WHY IS HIS HEAD SO BIG?? I realize none of these things are relevant to the point of the ad, but I was so distracted by the million questions in my head I forgot to pay attention to what they are supposed to be advertising. Is there some horrible monster-tire bearing sports car hybrid Audi shoppers should be wary of? Is that the analogy? See, I’m still confused. Grade: C-
So close, yet so far away. I know I’m veering into “get a sense of humor” territory, but I really, really hated the kid riding the Mastiff. When you see someone like Steve-O doing something dumb on TV, there is an implicit understanding that most sane people would not do what he does. But riding dogs is the sort of thing undereducated parents encourage their kids to do EVERY day, with the results being something less than a bag of Doritos and something more like a trip to the ER and a euthanized dog. This commercial had plenty of material to work with without showing something so irresponsible. Grade: D
Budweiser Puppy Love
At least we can cleanse our palates with this one, puppy love at its finest. If I’m being honest, I usually despise this song, so kudos to Budweiser for making me get the warm fuzzies over a song I hate and a beer I don’t drink. That, my friends, is a good ad. Grade: A
So I was looking through old Brody photos for a Flashback Friday and found this one:
Which was awesome all by itself, and then I realized he was the perfect candidate for some captions. So I turned him into a Depressed Puppy Meme.
Hope you have a better long weekend than this guy! (If I recall the true sadness was not being allowed to chase my mom’s hellkitty around)
Feel free to make your own caption, they always entertain me.
This is what happens when you leave me alone in the first rainstorm of the year with a bottle of port, a pile of Dr. Seuss books, and a backlog of emails asking, asking, asking, asking for me to once again be a Nice Veterinary Writer/ Pet Blogger and do some more free work. Mostly, it’s just a silly Friday I need to Apologize to Dr. Seuss Once Again kind of post. I dedicate it to all of you who know this feeling all too well.
E-Mails and Spam
I’m Dr. V.
Dr. V is me.
That Dr. V!
That Dr. V!
She likes to write,
That Dr. V.
I do not like
to write for free.
So please don’t ask, love, Dr. V.
Would you write
for some treats?
I do not want to write for leashes,
I do not want to write for treatses.
I do not want to write for free,
So please don’t ask, love, Dr. V.
Think you might?
We are huge, with tons of fans,
But we can’t pay, still, think you can?
I do not want to please your readers
Or to help you sell your feeders.
I do not want to write for free,
So please don’t ask, love, Dr. V.
Feed it! Feed it! To your brood!
Could you? Should you?
For a book?
Read it! Read it! On your nook!
I would not, could not, for some food,
I know you think I’m being rude,
I do not want books to review,
My free moments number few.
I do not want to write for free,
So please don’t ask, love, Dr. V.
I know you like to cover puppies.
Here’s our product helping puppies.
Write about our site for puppies?
We value your advanced vocation,
So donate! For no compensation!
I will not, thrill not, about your puppies,
They’re cute, for sure, those little muppies.
But I too, have a job to do
And mouths to feed, and loans still new.
I do not want to write for free,
So please don’t ask, Love, Dr. V.
I sure do like that you respect,
My time and schooling, I detect
You value this as my career
And that I can’t be in arrears.
I do so like to write for fees!
I’m glad to do it. Love, Dr. V.
By now I’m assuming many of you have seen Denver the Guilty dog. If not, it’s worth it.
The behaviorists will tell you, over and over again: Stop anthropomorphizing your pets. They do not feel shame or guilt.
I don’t know about that. For all the protesting that dogs forget what naughty things they did 5 seconds after committing the crime, that these intelligent beings simply disavow all knowledge and memory of their actions and are merely responding to our own disapproval, I know of way too many dogs like little Denver above who seem to embody just the opposite.
“They are just responding to your disapproval!” is the standard line. But what if you aren’t exhibiting any disapproval since you had no idea a crime was committed? Brody is the king of tipping his hand. No matter how happy or excited I am to see him, if he’s done something wrong his remorse wracked posturing gives him away. In fact, that’s the main reason I know to go hunting for some destroyed item or eaten delicacy.
And with that, I present the sequel to the Hairy Hambone: GUILTY!
As you may have heard, this weekend marked the annual Comic-Con. What this means in practice is that over 100,000 of the world’s hardiest hardcore nerds descend upon our fair city, bringing with them their finest Storm Trooper costumes and zombie paraphernalia.
Each year my husband, a lifelong attendee, takes this opportunity to bring out his dusty boxes of comics from his youth to flip through them and figure out if any of them are worth anything. They never are.
In honor of this festive event, I am unveiling the very first Brody graphic novel: Introducing…