Coated With Fur: A Vet's Life

by Kristen Nelson

  “Hi, Trudy,” Frank said in a cautious voice. “How’re you doing, kiddo?”

  Trudy opened her eyes and wagged her tail once but remained in the same position. I opened the gate and stepped over the threshold. Frank stood outside, not sure if he should enter. I motioned for him to join me inside.

  “She’s awfully quiet for Trudy,” he observed, still standing outside her run. “I’ve never see her this still.”

  “Well, her abdomen is really bothering her.” I ran my fingers along her sides. She tensed her muscles. When I probed a little deeper, she burped and licked her lips. I waved him into the run again. In slow motion, he stepped over the threshold and knelt beside her.

  “Hi, Trudy,” Frank said with his fingers buried in the fur around her neck. He ran his hand down her back. Trudy lurched to her feet and circled to the back of the run. She stood with her rear facing us. Frank jumped to his feet and pinned his body against the concrete block wall. He looked at me, frowning. “Is she mad at me?”

  “No, I think she’s going to vomit,” I replied. Right on cue, Trudy’s abdomen began to heave. She wretched and deposited a large puddle of foamy material on the floor. The vomitus was a mixture of yellow stomach acid and bright red blood. One long string of saliva hung from her lips.

  “Oh, that’s nasty,” Frank said turning his head away. “I don’t know how you guys deal with that kind of stuff.”

  “We’ve seen a lot worse,” I replied. “Maggots, abscesses and ...” A strange gray-green color spread over Frank’s face. He placed one hand on the wall of the run and the other on his abdomen. “Are you OK, Frank?” He nodded but continued to look away.

  Vomiting caused by ulcerations along the gastrointestinal tract is a common problem with this kind of poison. It’s also very uncomfortable. The night before, I started her on cimetadine to block acid production and sucralfate to act as a bandage for the ulcers. She would feel better once they kicked in.

  Giving Trudy one more glance and with his hand still on the wall, Frank announced that he’d better get to work. He stepped out of the run and took a deep breath. “Please let me know if anything changes. I’ll be back to see her after work.”

  “Absolutely,” I replied. “We’ll see you later.

  Despite treatments, Trudy continued to vomit throughout the day. Her PCV dropped a little more but not to a life-threatening level. She felt rotten, and so did Frank. He worried about his partner. His dog’s bright eyes and mischievous spirit had evaporated. During his afternoon visit, he placed the rolled-up towel on her paws. She turned away without even sniffing it.

  Frank also worried about his job. Questions circled about his handling of Trudy. How did she come into contact with the poison? Did she grab a mouthful of rat poison while working a warehouse? After all, the stuff is used in many of the facilities they search for drugs. Perhaps Frank was not paying attention to her, and she managed to ingest some bait right under his nose. If that was the case, his career as a Customs Department dog handler was over.

  The next morning, the landscape crew was hard at work by the time I arrived at the clinic. Grass grew into a lush green blanket under the warm June sun. The smell of freshly cut grass filled the air. Light green buds appeared on the pine trees around the strip mall. I reveled in the sunshine for an extra minute before heading inside. I might not get outside again until after dinner, and I wanted to savor every minute I could.

  “I have some messages for you, Dr. Nelson,” Allie said. She followed me with a stack of notes in her hands. “Ben called to report that Sugar vomited once last night. She ate her normal breakfast this morning. I told him to watch her and call if she vomits again.” She shuffled that note to the back of the stack. “The Siberian husky pup you vaccinated yesterday got into the garbage this morning. The garbage contained chicken bones.” I stopped to look at Allie. “The owners will drop her off for X-rays around 10 a.m.”

  She handed me a business card with the official U.S. Customs logo on the front of it. “And Frank’s supervisor wants to speak with you.” I nodded and took the card.

  I grew increasingly concerned at Trudy’s lack of progress. Overnight, Trudy’s PCV fell another point. Her temperature was normal, but she couldn’t hold anything down. In my short career, I had already treated many cases of rodenticide ingestion. The patients always responded to treatment and stopped vomiting within 24 hours. I worried there was something else wrong with Trudy.

  “Oh, your first appointment is already here,” Allie continued. My watch read 8:45. They would have to wait while I checked on Trudy. In the treatment room, I found Genny sitting in front of the cages.

  “Genny, no,” I commanded. Her eyes widened as she looked at me. “Stop tormenting the patients.” She slunk past me out of the treatment room, carrying her stump high off the ground. From the expression on her face, I knew she’d be back again as soon as I left the room.

  Through the open door into the kennel area, I saw Trudy lying on a blanket. “Trudy, how are you doing this morning?” She thumped her tail twice. I walked into the kennel area, opened her gate and knelt beside her. Her tail continued to thump up and down in a slow, rhythmic beat. She raised her head and rested it on my lap. I ran my hands over her head and down her back. The top of her backbone protruded from the muscles of her back. There was nothing to pinch over her ribs. All of her subcutaneous fat reserves were exhausted.

  “Poor Trudy,” I cooed in her ear. She wagged her tail even harder.

  “This morning her weight dropped to 42 pounds,” Allie announced from the doorway with both hands on her hips. “Frank is really worried about her weight.”

  “That makes two of us.” I stood up and stretched my back. “I think she’s less nauseated today. She’s not drooling as much.” I stepped out of the run and closed the gate. “If you don’t see any vomiting by noon, offer her a little water.” Allie nodded. “Continue all the other treatments,” I said and headed toward the exam room.

  The 10 a.m. appointment cancelled at the last minute because the owners couldn’t catch their cat. I decided to use the time to call Frank’s supervisor. My hand shook as I dialed the number on the card. I always get a little nervous when I speak with government officials.

  “U.S. Customs,” a man answered.

  “Hello, this is Dr. Nelson calling about Trudy.”

  “Dr. Nelson, thanks for calling. How is our girl doing?”

  “Good and bad,” I replied. “Her PCV is holding strong, but she’s still vomiting.” Bongo screamed in the background.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  “Sorry, that’s a mad parrot. It’s time for her morning bath.” I closed the door to my office.

  “What do you think is causing the vomiting?” he asked.

  “Well, I think Trudy developed lots of small ulcers along her intestinal tract. Unfortunately, it takes awhile for these to heal. She’s getting two medications that should help. I hope ...”

  “When do you think she can come back to work?” He jumped in before I could finish. “We need her back ASAP. She’s our only drug dog, you know.”

  “That depends on Trudy, sir,” I said. “Once she stops vomiting, she’ll need a few days of rest to recover her strength. She should start with short shifts and work up to her normal schedule.”

  “So it will take about two weeks.”

  “That’s a good guess, but it really depends on Trudy.” Allie opened the door and waved her hand at me. “Do you have any other questions?”

  “Just one more,” he replied. “Any idea how Trudy got poisoned?”

  “I’m afraid not, sir,” I replied. “We might get a few hints as she progresses through her rechecks, but right now I really don’t know.”

  “Rechecks?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I replied. “Every three weeks, we’ll take her off the vitamin K1 for two days and recheck her blood. If it clots, she’s done. If it’s prolonged, we’ll continue therapy. Some poisons require six weeks of therapy.�
�

  “Great, that’s the last thing I needed to hear this morning.” I heard voices in the background but could not distinguish the words. “Take good care of Trudy, Dr. Nelson. Everybody misses her and wants her back as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll do my best, sir.” I hung up the phone and joined Allie in front of the X-ray viewer.

  “How did it go?” she asked.

  “Fine,” I paused. “He wants her back at work.”

  A film from the garbage-eating puppy hung from the clips. I scanned the chest area first, just in case something stuck in her esophagus or went down the wrong channel into the lungs. Then I shifted to the gastrointestinal system. An enlarged stomach protruded past her rib cage. Inside, gray areas mixed with bits of bright white material – what was left of the chicken. Thank goodness, the pup chewed the bones into little chunks. They should pass through her intestines without any problem. The relieved owners vowed to place a lock on the cabinet to keep the pup out of the garbage. This precocious youngster knew how to open the door with her nose.

  At noon, Allie offered Trudy a small amount of water. It had been 12 hours since her last vomiting episode. She sat up on her haunches and wagged her tail. Allie held the bowl under her nose and dipped her fingers in the clear water.

  “How would you like a little drink, Trudy?” The dog looked at the crystal-clear water but did not drink. Allie dipped her fingers into the bowl and splashed the water around. Trudy watched but didn’t move. She seemed to want the water. What was holding her back? Allie raised her fingers to Trudy’s lips and let water drip into her mouth. Finally, the dog began to lick the water off of her fingers. Gradually, Allie moved her fingers closer and closer to the water’s surface until Trudy drank right from the bowl. Her bright pink tongue lapped up the water.

  “Good girl,” Allie praised her. Trudy leaned into Allie’s side. Water dripped from the dog’s lips onto Allie’s leg. She giggled as she brushed the drops off her scrubs. “Good girl,” she repeated. “You’ll be back at work in no time.”

  Chapter 26

  Fourteen Puppies

  The first appointment of the afternoon belonged to Abby, a black-colored Labrador retriever. Two days earlier, Abby had given birth to 14 puppies in just three-and-a half hours. From 2 to 5:30 a.m., the experienced mom grunted and groaned to deliver all the pups. Today Abby needed a postpartum exam, and her babies needed their dewclaws removed.

  “Congratulations, Abby.” I reached under her chin and scratched the new mom’s neck. “And to you as well, Jan. I’m sure it was a long night.” The slight women nodded. Abby stood by Mrs. Reeves, anxiously eyeing the box on the table. Inside, her puppies slept under a blanket.

  “Yeah, we’re pretty proud of her,” Jan responded. She smiled and pushed her sun-bleached bangs out of her face. A metal barrette held back the rest of her hair. She wore a blue button-down shirt with dogs embroidered on the front and back.

  “So, how do you want to do this?” I asked. “The puppies first or Abby?”

  “Start with Abby, and then I’ll take her out to the truck when you work on the pups.”

  I nodded and knelt down by the mother. She stood at attention and focused on the box while I examined her. Once in awhile, she snuck a quick glance at me or her owner. I spent a lot of time examining her abdomen, mammary glands and vulva. Everything seemed normal. Milk flowed freely from each gland.

  Fourteen is an awfully big litter, even for a large dog like Abby. Right now she probably could produce enough milk for them, but that would change as they grew. In addition, Abby did not have enough nipples to nurse all the pups at one time. Dogs have 10 nipples. The most aggressive pups would nurse at the upper third, fourth and fifth glands. The less dominant would fill in the rest of the spaces, leaving the submissive pups without a place to nurse. Jan supplemented the litter with puppy milk replacer three times a day. I doubled that amount and recommended removing the dominant pups at regular intervals to allow the little ones to nurse.

  Although Abby came through the pregnancy in great shape, I worried about her now more than ever. Hypocalcemia or low calcium blood levels, can occur during lactation. If the levels fall too low, seizures occur. I recommended supplementing her diet with cottage cheese and feeding her a mixture of canned and dry puppy food. Having extra calories and calcium would help her avoid any problems.

  “Well, she looks great, Jan,” I said as I offered Abby a dog biscuit from my pocket. She ripped the treat out of my hand, her teeth grazed my fingers. She wolfed it down in one gulp without chewing. I broke the next two in half and placed them on the floor.

  “When do you want us back?” Jan asked. She snapped a lead onto Abby’s collar.

  “I thought you were going to stay and help me with this?” I’m sure my face reflected my surprise.

  “No, I hate it when you remove the dewclaws. Abby and I are going to get a cup of coffee.” She looked at Abby. “We’ll be back in 30 minutes.”

  Inside the box, the puppies’ bodies morphed into one large pile of fur, paws twitching as they slept. Several of the smaller ones sucked on the blanket with their bright pink muzzles. Others grunted as they searched for a better spot in the group. With their eyes and ears sealed shut, they used their paws to feel their way around.

  Allie entered the room with a surgical pack, two gowns and an assortment of other equipment. We washed our hands and slipped the gowns over our clothes to protect the babies. One by one, we examined each pup and then removed the dewclaws with a quick snip. Twenty minutes later, I breathed a sigh of relief when I finished with the last pup. Although I knew that removing their dewclaws would prevent nail injuries in the field, I still disliked the procedure.

  “Dr. Nelson, we’ve got a bleeder on this pup.” Allie held up a large male. “He needs a little more glue on this paw.” I wiped away the blood and squeezed one drop of blue tissue glue onto the area. We watched the incision for 30 seconds, and this time, the glue held. The beautiful black pup slept in Allie’s hand like nothing had happened.

  “I’m glad I’m not Jan,” Allie said as she covered the pups. “She’s in for some sleepless nights.”

  “Or Abby,” I added with a wink.

  When Abby and Jan returned, the dog ran straight through the door to her puppies. Jan removed the blanket and held the box down at her level. Abby sniffed each puppy from head to toe. She did not like the glue holding each incision closed. She rolled the largest puppy on his back and tried to lick all of it off.

  “No, Abby,” Jan scolded. She pushed Abby’s face out of the box and replaced the blanket. “You can clean them when we get home.” Jan picked up the box and headed out the door with Abby close behind. Animal moms are remarkable. She was not going to let those puppies out of her sight again. Allie escorted them to the parking lot.

  As Jan loaded Abby and her puppies into her truck, a car raced into the parking lot. Allie recognized the driver instantly. It was Paula Anderson, owner of Sadie and Maggie. Something must be terribly wrong for Paula to drive so fast. She always seemed to be the careful, meticulous type.

  The car squealed to a halt in the handicapped spot in front of the clinic. Paula threw open the door and ran to the passenger side where she picked up Sadie. Holding her head in an unnatural position, it appeared the cocker spaniel did not know which way was up.

  “Paula, what’s wrong with Sadie?” Allie asked.

  “I don’t know,” the owner said quickly. “She was fine when I left for work this morning.” Tears rolled down Paula’s cheeks. “But when I got home, she was like this. I think she had a stroke.” Her voice cracked.

  “Bring her right in.” Allie ushered her through the front door straight into the cat room. “Dr. Nelson, we need you now,” she yelled.

  Paula bent down and placed her beloved pet on the table. Sadie immediately tried to roll off, flinging her body to the side. Her legs pawed the air. Her eyes oscillated in their sockets – she looked possessed. Allie grabbed her rear legs and pi
nned them in place. Paula held Sadie’s head between her hands and cradled the body between her forearms. She put her face in Sadie’s fur and sobbed.

  “Oh dear,” I muttered as I entered the room. The words escaped my mouth before I could suppress them.

  “She was like this when I got home from work.” Paula was frantic. “She rolled herself into the wall and was stuck there.” Tears spilled down her face onto the table. “Did she have a stroke?” she whispered.

  “No, I don’t think so.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “I think she has a problem with her middle ear. Let Allie take her front end, OK?” Paula slowly released her grip on Sadie. Drawing the dog toward her, Allie placed one arm under the dog’s abdomen and the other around her neck, using a hand to hold Sadie’s head against her shoulder. Paula stood on the other side of the table, not knowing what to do.

  “See how her eyes are moving back and forth?” I asked Paula. I turned Sadie’s head to the side for Paula to see. “Her eyes drift to the right and then snap back to the left. See that?” She nodded. “This is termed nystagmus. It tells me that Sadie has a problem with the right side of her vestibular system.” I looked down her ears with an otoscope. Both canals were free of debris. The eardrums looked great.

  “Older dogs get idiopathic vestibular syndrome,” I noted. I continued with Sadie’s examination while explaining the condition to Paula. “The vestibular system is what gives us our sense of direction. Right now, poor Sadie doesn’t know which way is up. That’s why she’s contorting her body into these weird positions.”

  “Is there any hope for her?” Paula sniffled and blew her nose.

  “Yes, many dogs recover from this condition.”

  “Really?” For the first time, Paula looked at me with hope, not dread, in her eyes.