Pawcurious Vet Blog: With Pet Blogger and Veterinarian Dr. V

Question of the Day

Because there’s always an interesting misconception to clear up here at the vet clinic.

Every pet that has an anesthetic procedure at our clinic also has an intravenous catheter placed in one of their front legs. We leave it in until the patient is recovered, in case we need quick access for additional injections. We remove the catheter before the owner arrives, and place a small bandage on the arm which the owner is to remove at home. This is our standard discharge procedure.

I spayed a very cute little terrier today, who is owned by a very cute older couple. When their puppy was brought out to them, the lady asked, “What’s with the bandage?”

My tech reiterated the information that it was from the IV catheter and could be removed at home.

The lady looked at the bandage, then at the tech. “Don’t catheters go in the vagina?” she asked, in front of the entire waiting area.

Upon reflection, perhaps she was thinking of a urinary catheter- and in the world of dog anatomy, one does access the urethra through the vulva, so this is not entirely out of left field, I suppose. It would really make anesthetic induction a bitch, though. Get it? Haha! Yes, that one never gets old.

It’s all a matter of perspective, I suppose

Today I had an appointment with Dr. White. She is a human doctor.

I was lucky enough to find her in time for my second pregnancy. The doctor I had while I was pregnant with my daughter was all right, I suppose, but we didn’t have much of a connection. When I asked him if I, as a veterinarian, should get a Toxoplasma titer done, he laughed at me (who does that to a pregnant woman??) and shook his head as if I had asked, “Do I need to be worried about alien abduction now that I’m pregnant?” Not my favorite guy.

By the time I was pregnant with my son, I was ready for someone new. Dr. White is pretty much the most awesome OB on the planet. She’s a tiny little thing, with a big mane of brunette cougar hair, long acrylic nails that are usually airbrushed, and fuchsia sweaters. She totters in on platform flip-flops, snaps on some gloves, and chats away about her cats while doing whatever it is that she needs to do. Nothing fazes her.

She’s very interested in my job, and always has some question or another for me about her animals. Today, she was asking me a question about abscesses, and when I answered she paused, put her hand on the stirrup, leaned around my knee and said, “I don’t know how you do it. I would be SO GROSSED OUT!”

And I couldn’t help it. I laughed, a lot. “Right back atcha,” I said when I finally stopped guffawing. The last time I saw her she was complaining about a woman who had a poorly healed C-section scar get infected and dehisce, and Dr. White had to go in and scrub it out every day she was in the hospital. I mean, really. She deals with…well, you know, girl parts. Healthy ones, diseased ones. She pulls babies and their associated goo out of said parts. Day in, day out, people parts.

I know cleaning maggots out of a dog’s infected skin isn’t the greatest job in the universe, but I would take it over THAT stuff any day.

Good thing it takes all kinds, eh?

*Disclaimer- I just looked over this post and realized some of you conspiracy theorists are going to make huge and unfounded assumptions based on me writing a blog post about seeing my OB. I assure you this visit was of a mundane, non-pregnant, non-diseased nature.

It’s summer time at the vet clinic

If there is one thing that is ubiquitous in this field, it is dogs with itchy skin. While many vets shudder at the ever present itchy dog, I kind of like it. Lucky for me, since dermatology represents something like one third of all the cases we see. I don’t think it’s boring. I think it’s interesting. That being said, it’s not always the most complicated case on the docket. We’re not talking House, here. There are one or two scripts that play out over and over like clockwork starting every spring. The story arc is as steady and predictable as a poorly written sitcom.

What does this episode bring?

FLEAS: Another Dr. Barbie Presentation (cue laugh track)

Hi Mister Jones! We haven’t seen you for a couple months. How are things going with Betsy?

Well doc, it’s the strangest thing. Yesterday she was fine, and today she woke up and had no hair.

Overnight, you say? OK, let’s take a look. Is she on flea control?

No, but she doesn’t need it. We don’t have fleas. (cue laugh track)

OK Mr. Jones…I’m seeing a lot of scabs here, and actually, oh! Look at that. There are quite a few fleas on her as well.

That’s not possible. She must have gotten them in your waiting room. I’m telling you, those bald patches showed up overnight.

These scabs are looking pretty chronic, to be honest. You might not have noticed them until today, but I bet she has had them for a while. All that black stuff is what we call flea dirt. I actually see a few tapeworm segments as well, which indicates that she has ingested fleas while she is grooming herself. So we should get you an antibiotic for that skin infection, a dewormer, and some Advantage*.

*(product placement)

Can you just tell me what you’d give to her? Maybe write it all down for me? I have some leftover antibiotics from my other dog that died last year, I get dewormer at the feed store and I get Hartz at Costco. So I don’t need anything from you.

…..Or maybe you have some old expired stuff you could just give me? (cue laugh track)

(Mr Jones looks at camera and says witty catchphrase, gives a thumbs up):

I take it from your expression that’s a no.

(cue laugh track)

Woo hoo, kinda

Southwest Airlines is allowing pets on board!* Finally!

*-must fit under your seat
-no more than 5 per flight
-cannot go in cargo
-counts as your carryon
-$75 per pet
-cats and small dogs only

In other words, this is great news for….uh, Paris Hilton. And cat owners who want to take Fluffy to Vegas for the weekend. Oh well. It’s a step in the right direction.

I only help small dogs from now on

I don’t know why, but in my current neighborhood I always see dogs running around. I’ve never lived somewhere where it is this common. I’m not in the boonies, either- this is a densely populated suburban area where there are lots of cars zooming around, and it always scares me to see a dog trotting on the side of the road.

They are owned dogs. I know this because I always stop and take them home. I can’t help it. I keep a leash in the back of my car for just such an occasion. I do it because I’ve been on the receiving end of Dog Vs. Car in the emergency hospital, and I prefer to avoid that whenever I can. The kids are used to Crazy Mommy pulling off to the side of the road and coaxing some dog or another into the cargo area of the car, and detouring to drop it off at its house. They will grow up thinking most people do this kind of thing.

I know Nutmeg, in fact, by name. Nutmeg is an escape artist who gets out at least once a month. Their owners have a gate at the end of the driveway, with the bottom 2 feet covered in chicken wire, and somehow the dog still makes a break for it on a regular basis. The last time it happened the family had left their dogs in the care of a 12 year old neighbor, and when she opened the gate to let Nutmeg in, the other dogs ran out the gate and down the road, and in her panic she dropped Nutmeg, who also took off. So we had to herd the dogs, her on foot, me in the car with the children- who thought this was great fun. Poor girl. I hope they paid her well.

On Saturday, my husband and I were coming back from a late night on the town when we noticed a dog looking confused in the middle of the road, blithely staring into our headlights. Because I was in the car, my husband pulled over (I don’t kid myself on that one) and I tried to coax the dog into the car. He panicked and sat down stubbornly, so I had to lift him in. Did I mention this was a bulldog? Bulldogs are not like other dogs. They are made of the same material as black holes, super dense substances heavier per square inch than concrete.

We then located his house, where I apologetically rang the doorbell at midnight to make sure the dog was safely returned. Thankfully the owner was grateful, as I imagine that could have gone either way. No matter, the dog was safe, and I was happy.

Until the next morning. When I picked up the bulldog, I forgot he was a bulldog, and lifted him like I would, say, a poodle. The next day my back knotted up like a Miller’s knot (that’s an inside joke for you vet types- you’re welcome) and I spent the day downing Aleve, bemoaning my existence and cursing the fact that my husband doesn’t keep a dang leash in his trunk like any respectable dog type would.

I had a flashback to senior year of vet school, when I lifted an 80 pound lab onto a table by myself and the chief clinician- a man in his 50s- looked at me in wonder and then said, while holding his lower back, that that was not the best idea. In retrospect, I concur.

When Daddy’s away, the kiddies will play….

My husband was out of town all week at some sort of conference thing. Although I miss him terribly when he’s gone, I also admit there is a flip side to having the place all to myself for a few days. No arguments over the Tivo. I can watch all the reality TV I want. Eat whole wheat pasta and/or risotto without getting any grumbling. Reprogram the car radio to all top 40. The list goes on and on.

Emmett and I decided to make the most of it.

A little port to set the tenor of the week will do.

No booze for the dog, since he’s on steroids and all. Speaking of that, he’s due for his prednisone. Here’s the peanut butter….but where is….can’t find a spoon….

Spoon? We don’t need no stinkin’ spoon.

This is seriously a huge pet peeve of my husband’s. Sorry dear. It had to be done.

Look at how happy it makes Emmett. Dogs are so easy to please.

Well Emmett, it’s off to work. I think your dad forgot you have to come with me when he decided to switch cars for the week. I know you haven’t been in it before but that is mostly because it’s so new. Try not to drool too much on the seat.

Let’s amuse the staff with your balancing act, OK? I’m fresh out of doggie donuts so we have to play with non-edible items. Don’t eat them.

Seriously. No eating them. I’d never live this one down.

All right Emmett, you’re off the hook. Hang tight while I see a few rooms…

Oh, playing the “I’m sick” card, are we? How many bites of chicken did you just get? Half the SANDWICH? Amber, I’m sending him home with you and let YOU deal with the gas.

Ahoy!

I had a very nice new client today who brought his recently acquired puppy in for vaccinations. Tagging along were his roommates, two scarlet macaws. I was, to say the least, a bit apprehensive when I looked into the lobby and saw two large macaws perched on his shoulders like mini-feathered Sphinxes, but as long as I wasn’t expected to actually do anything with them, I was happy to have them visit.

If I didn’t have confirmation from my co-workers that I was in fact seeing this, I would have thought I was hallucinating. The birds, aside from an occasional ‘SQUAWK!’ were pretty silent. The owner didn’t mention or acknowledge them in any way. They were just kind of there, like accessories. We’re in a pretty suburban area, and macaws are a pretty unusual bird to own around here, so this was a first for me.

I kept trying to decide how to broach the topic- “So hey, what’s up with the birds? You auditioning for Pirates IV?” but I never nailed the opener, and by the time I thought I had a good approach, I was done looking at his dog. So off they went, leaving me to wonder from whence they came, and where they were headed next.

Call of the day

Phone rings. My tech answers:

Tech: Hello, this is XXX Clinic, how may I help you?

Kid: Do you have tapeworms?

Tech: ….uh, not personally, no….what do you need exactly?

Kid: So, well, we’re doing a scavenger hunt and we need to find a tapeworm. I’ve already called 12 other vets and no one has one they can give me.

My tech agreed to loan the kid a tapeworm from one of our plastinated displays on the promise of its safe return. When the kid showed up, she asked who the heck would have assigned these kids to find a tapeworm and the kid replied, “My biology teacher.”

I think that teacher is insane. Other than pestering the local veterinary community for help, how the heck are kids supposed to find a tapeworm? Hunting down stray cats and looking under their tails for the telltale proglottid segments? Eating some undercooked pork and hoping for the best? I simply can’t fathom the idea of sending 12 year olds on the loose trying to find something that may potentially infect them with a parasite. I guess that is why I am not a biology teacher. That’s just gross (and I say this as someone who has my bachelor’s in the subject and loves biology.)

I’m concerned word will get out that we have a stash of tapeworms and the rest of the class will come knocking tomorrow.

Bittersweet moments

We had a busy weekend. Someone had a third birthday party, which meant a lot of fun. And cake. And boxes and trash, too. It was worth it.

Everyone pitched in that afternoon to get the place cleaned up. And by everyone, I mean my husband and I, since the kids had too many new things to play with to be able to concentrate much on helping. They took off into the front yard with Emmett.

What’s this? Past the detritus, I mean.

Yup. It’s Emmett under a trash bag.

The kids have a close relative who underwent chemotherapy this year. One of the things she used quite a bit was her chemo blanket- she’d always be wrapped in some sort of warm covering to ward off the chill.

I haven’t told the kids that Emmett is sick- it wouldn’t accomplish much, at this point, but those big shaved areas on his legs are hard to ignore, as is the fact that he comes to work with me several times a week now.

This is the first time I’ve ever seen my kids give Emmett a ‘blanket’.

They are more perceptive that I give them credit for. I always knew they were sweet, though.

Conversation of the day

First, the phone call: “My cat has red bugs. What are they?”

After several minutes of trying to figure out what the person was talking about, we told him to come in.

My tech went into the room to look at the bugs in question, which had been extracted from the cat and gingerly placed in a Tupperware bug habitat. “Those are scabs,” she told the owner.

“What do you know?” retorted the owner. “You’re not the doctor.”

So I go in, and confirm to the owner that yes, those look like scabs. I examined the pet and found a few small scabs, some pink skin, and zero bugs.

“No, they’re NOT!” the owner insisted. “I saw them running around.” He picked up the Tupperware, took off the lid, and shook it a little. “They’re moving! Look!!” and when I looked down, the little pieces of dead skin were floating around on linty balls of fur.

I showed the owner under a microscope that the things he showed us were flat, keratinized, and had no legs, mouth, feet, head, thorax, or anything that typical bugs would have. Then he announced that maybe he accidentally picked off a scab or something, but there were for sure some other things on the pet that were bugs.

It took a long time to convince the owner that maybe, just maybe, there was another reason the pet was itching beside the red bugs, but he still took a dose of Revolution as he was leaving since “that gets the most bugs.”

In memoriam

On this Memorial Day, when we’re honoring the men and women who have given so much in service of their families and neighbors, I’d like to also recognize the thousands of canines who have given the same.

Although dogs have been used in military actions for as long as someone has been around to record it, it wasn’t until World War II that the United States officially recognized the use of dogs in war through the creation of the “Dogs for Defense” program. Interestingly, the breeds initially used were limited to German Shepherds, Belgian sheep dogs, Doberman Pinschers, collies, Siberian Huskies, Malamutes and Eskimo dogs. While this program originated with the Army, many of us are probably more familiar with the later and more famous Devil Dogs of the Marine Corps.

Today, the Department of Defense Military Working Dog Program in San Antonio trains dogs for all sectors of the military, as well as bomb and drug detection dogs used in border patrol activities, airports, and other domestic capacities. Check out this photo essay of dogs in Iraq. A few things have changed over the years- I’m pretty sure I saw a springer spaniel in there amongst the German shepherds, Dutch shepherds Belgian Malinois that are the currently preferred breeds.

If you look around at the links I’ve referenced above, you’ll find some great sources of individual stories of dogs in each military campaign since WWI. Although I just spent the last few hours poking around to get an idea of the role of the canine in military history, I could easily spend days learning more. I’d do a disservice by trying to capture what they accomplished in this short post, but if you are at all interested I would encourage you to spend some time reading about the amazing job these dogs have done- as scouts, protectors, sentries, companions, doing jobs no human could with a steady determination.

In honor of the day, I ordered a book called War Dogs- the process of writing this post has gotten me very interested in this little discussed facet of military history. There is an unrelated documentary, also called “War Dogs“, about the dogs trained for combat during the Vietnam War. Unlike the well deserved retirements in the States earned by those dogs in other military actions, dogs used in Vietnam were not repatriated. At the end of the war, less than 200 dogs returned to the States. The “War Dogs of the Pacific” looks to be a more uplifting look at dogs in combat with some happier endings.

To those who have served our country, both human and non, thank you.

When I die…

Please let me come back as a dog that lives in Carmel.

I just got back from a most wonderful mini-trip to see a friend (if you read this blog from day one you would remember my mention of Candie from vet school) who is now an emergency vet up in Northern California. She mentioned that she has been to Carmel a few times and suggested we go grab dinner there one night and try to spot Clint Eastwood.

While I didn’t see Dirty Harry, I spotted a good 50 dogs in a one block radius- in and out of stores, wandering into cafes and boutiques, and generally living the good life. Doris Day owns a hotel up here- dog friendly, of course- and several of the restaurants not only welcome dogs, they have special menu items for them. Dogs in Carmel live better than my human kids. People up there probably spend more on them, too.

I haven’t ever really entertained the idea of vacationing with my pets, mostly because I don’t think big hairy Goldens are received the same way as, say, a Yorkie in a Gucci bag, but being up there made me think that maybe it can be done. I know pets are generally accepted more readily in Europe, but here in California seeing them out and about to this extent was a real rarity.

Anyone here ever vacation with their pet? How hard was it to be accomodated? Would you do it again?