It probably wasn’t the first time I’d been licked in the face by a dog that had just been cleaning itself, but to have it pointed out by a rather too observant and vocal child was a new one on me.
‘Jack, calm down,’ said his father, in a failed attempt to stifle his chuckle.
Jack slapped his hands across his mouth as a reflex attempt at politeness, but realizing that Daddy thought it was amusing too, knew he wasn’t really in trouble and so the chuckling continued.
‘I do apologize for my son,’ the father said.
‘No, please don’t worry, it was very … funny,’ I replied.
The rest of the consultation proceeded uneventfully, but haunted by the child’s comment, I took a moment to wash my face after they had gone. As I was drying off, I heard the doorbell signalling the arrival of the sick ferret.
I heard them at the front desk, and then in a whirlwind a young couple burst through into my consulting room, the female member of the party clutching a towel, which presumably contained the ferret, in her arms.
‘Please, sir, you must do something, please, there’s something wrong with Freddie, I think he might be dying.’
She placed the towel on the table.
Reeling from the sudden invasion, I took a moment to regain my composure and then carefully unwrapped the towel to reveal a fairly recumbent large male sable ferret. The disturbance caused him to twitch involuntarily and then lift his head trying to stand. As soon as he found his feet, his head started gently swaying from side to side, so uncontrollably and to such a degree that when he tried to walk he lost his balance and fell over, face planting into the towel. Determined, he attempted it again with the same outcome, and then a third time. It was distressing to watch.
‘How long has he been like this?’ I asked. I had a moderate amount of knowledge about ferrets, but I had never seen anything like this before. The couple looked at each other, and then the man answered.
‘We just found him like it, he was fine this morning.’ He looked to his partner for confirmation.
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ she said quickly. Their behaviour was odd, and I couldn’t quite work it out. ‘Is he going to be all right? Please, do whatever you need to, he’s our baby.’
‘I can’t say for sure, I’ve never quite seen anything like this before in a ferret.’ Then, thinking aloud, I processed the sight before my eyes. ‘It’s odd, very odd, such an acute onset … maybe he’s ingested something, like some sort of toxin?’ As soon as I said it, it suddenly seemed to make more sense. ‘Does he live in a cage or does he just roam round the house?’
They looked at each other again, and then he answered. ‘Yeah, he has a cage that he’s in at night or when we’re out, but when we’re home we just let him loose. He’s very sociable so tends to stay in the same room as us, so we usually know what he’s got up to.’ This answer seemed to roll off his tongue more fluently, and this time he didn’t seek his girl-friend’s approval. They were hiding something, I was sure of it, but what?
‘So has he been out today and did you see him eat anything he shouldn’t have?’ I asked.
‘Um, well …’ he began.
‘Is he going to be all right?’ she interrupted.
Yes, there was definitely something odd here, I thought. A toxic ingestion seemed to fit the bill, but what? Chocolate could be a possibility, but he seemed too sedated for that. Grapes would cause an acute kidney failure and he would be sick rather than sedated. Besides, if it was something like that, why were they being so cagey? What could it be? It was almost as though he was drunk. I needed to probe a bit more.
‘I’m honestly not sure. If I knew what he had eaten, then it would give me a better idea. Can you think what it might be?’
‘Um, well …’ he said again.
‘Steve, you’ve got to tell him. Just tell him, he needs to know, and if Freddie dies it will all be your fault,’ she exclaimed.
‘Um, well, what it is, right …’ he began, ‘I went round to my mates, right, to play some computer games, right, and, um … I took Freddie with me, cos Jess was out and I didn’t want to leave him on his own. Anyway, we was playing Call of Duty and Freddie got into my mate’s rucksack which he had just left on the floor—’
‘He’s eaten marijuana,’ Jess exploded then, turning to Steve and unleashing a tirade. ‘I can’t believe you left your weed in your rucksack on the floor while you and Mike played your stupid computer games, he was bound to get to it, you idiot!’
‘JESS!’ Steve cut in, scared that she was giving away too much information. ‘It was my mate’s dope, right?’ he said with conviction, looking at Jess for backup, ‘I didn’t know it was there, did I?’
‘I don’t care, I’m not covering for you anymore. You let him eat your weed, you’re an idiot, a complete and utter idiot! Stupid man, you deserve whatever trouble you get – I don’t know what I see in you, and if Freddie dies I don’t know what I’ll do.’
Now everything made sense. I understood it all. This ferret in front of me was stoned, completely high! It was certainly a novel case for me. I remembered learning in vet school about the effects of cannabis on dogs, but not ferrets, though, logically, the symptoms and treatment should be similar. The key question that would determine his prognosis was how much had he consumed. If the taste hadn’t matched the intriguing smell and he had just had a nibble, then all would be good; he might sleep for a while, but should make a full recovery. If on the other hand he had properly tucked into the marijuana, then it would undoubtedly prove to be his last meal.
The domestic argument that had erupted in front of me was still in full swing.
‘Look, I’m not going to report you,’ I interjected, ‘I just need to know exactly how much he’s eaten and in what form, so I’ll know what his prognosis is and what we need to do.’
‘Well, Steve?’ Jess said, turning to him accusingly. ‘How much was left from your Saturday night with the lads?’
‘Don’t play innocent, Jess, you had some too.’ Clearly Steve didn’t entirely trust me and now if he was going down he’d make sure to take Jess with him.
‘STEVE, just tell him!’
‘All right, all right. I don’t reckon he had much. I heard the rustling in the rucksack, didn’t think much of it, and then remembered the grass, so I rushed to my bag and grabbed him out. He had some on his nose, but there didn’t look like much had gone from the pouch. I don’t think he was in there long at all.’
‘OK, well, that’s good. If you’re right then his prognosis should be pretty good, but he’ll need supportive care until the effects wear off. We’ll need to put him on a drip, keep him warm and monitor him.’
‘So he’ll be OK, then?’ Steve asked, starting to sound relieved.
‘Well, I can’t be completely sure, I’ve never dealt with this scenario before, but I know it is rarely fatal in dogs and it obviously depends on how much he’s eaten.’
‘It really wasn’t very much, I’m sure of it,’ Steve said, sensing that if Jess could be reassured that Freddie was going to be OK, then his imminent chastisement would be shorter lived.
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Jess now. ‘Just do whatever you need to for Freddie, he’s so precious to us.’
I printed out a consent form and discussed the cost of treatment. This was one of those occasions when the financial penalty could serve as an additional deterrent against a repeat episode in the future.
‘You can pay for it instead of your next stash,’ Jess said to Steve as she signed the consent form.
‘I’ll take him through and start his treatment. I’ll call you later with an update, but as I say, I reckon he’ll probably be here for a couple of days.’ I scooped up the bundle from the table. Jess leaned over and kissed Freddie on his head, which was just protruding from the towel.
‘This man is going to make you better, Freddie,’ she said, then, turning to me, ‘Thank you, sir, please look after him, I know he’s in the best place.’
&n
bsp; ‘We’ll do everything we can,’ I reassured her, and headed out into the prep room as Jess and Steve left, no doubt to continue their exchange in the car home.
Heather was busying herself repackaging surgical kits to go into the autoclave for sterilization. She looked up with a slightly quizzical expression when she saw the bundle in my arms.
‘Is that the ferret?’ she enquired. ‘What’s wrong with it? What are we doing to it?’
‘You’ll never guess.’
‘What?’ Heather asked as she cleared away, making a space on the table for me to put him down.
‘He’s stoned! Got into the owner’s cannabis supplies.’
‘You’re joking.’ Heather responded and burst out laughing, but then as I opened the towel and she saw his disorientated, ataxic stagger, added, ‘Poor little fella, what are his chances?’
‘Well, they don’t think he’s eaten very much so they should be pretty good. Dogs tend to do OK, but I’ve never heard of a ferret eating marijuana before. We’ll just have to see. He’ll probably be out of it for a day or two.’
‘What an idiot for leaving it lying around where the ferret could get at it.’
I explained what had happened. ‘Naturally he thought the bag was a good hiding place and then couldn’t resist the intriguing smell!’
‘Unbelievable. So what’s the plan?’
‘Drip, put him somewhere dark, warm and quiet to minimize any stimulation, then it’s just wait and see.’
‘OK, he can go in a cat kennel with a heat mat. We haven’t got any cats in, so it’ll be quiet and I’ll put a towel in front of his cage.’ She started getting things together.
‘Perfect, thanks.’
‘Have you got anyone waiting?’ she added.
I double-checked the computer screen in the corner of the room. ‘Next one is in ten minutes.’
‘OK. Yellow intravenous catheter, I assume? Hartmann’s or saline?’
‘Yeah, yellow and Hartmann’s, 250 ml.’ The catheter colour indicated size: generally speaking, pink or green was for dogs, blue was for cats, and yellow for kittens, small puppies and, in this case, ferrets.
With all the equipment laid out and the drip line set up, Heather held Freddie and extended his front left leg which I clipped and cleaned before gently inserting the intravenous catheter. In a normal awake ferret this procedure would have been a virtual impossibility without being savaged multiple times, but Freddie put up little resistance. I connected the Y-piece, then taped and bandaged it in place.
‘Did you weigh him? What fluid rate do you want?’
‘No, sorry. Maintenance should be fine, he’s not dehydrated, but won’t be able to drink anything until he recovers.’ A maintenance rate was an animal’s daily fluid requirement. Under normal circumstances, for a small animal like a ferret it was estimated to be 60 ml per kg of body weight per day.
‘OK, there are scales in the cat ward so let’s take him through and then I can set up his cage,’ said Heather, picking up Freddie who was still in his towel bundle. I grabbed the drip stand with the bag of fluids connected to the drip line, which ran through a pump that could accurately control how much fluid was administered per hour, and we headed into the cat ward next door.
With Freddie settled in a darkened cage, complete with a heat mat, several towels for padding to stop him inadvertently banging against the walls in his stoned stupor, and connected up to fluids, I returned to finish my consulting list.
The rest of my afternoon cases were less unusual – an itchy dog, a hamster with a lump, a couple of dog vaccinations, a cat with a flea allergy and an egg-bound chicken – and with these completed, I was able to return to check on Freddie. I crept into the cat ward trying not to make a sound for fear of overstimulating him. Tiptoeing up to his kennel, I gently drew back the towel to assess him. I could hear what sounded almost like a high-pitched wheeze. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark, but when they did, I could see Freddie lying on his front, face planted into the towel, nose squished to one side, legs sprawled out, and I realized the noise I was hearing was him snoring. He looked very sweet, but was completely and utterly out of it, in a comatose stupor.
And there he stayed for the next two days, barely moving, snoring soundly, occasionally rousing slightly to the sound of a cage door opening as cat patients came and went, or in an attempt to acknowledge his owners when they came to visit him: seemingly content, in some weird, chilled-out drug-induced ferret dream.
I arrived at work on the morning of the third day to news from the night duty nurse that he seemed to be waking from this prolonged doze. I wandered in to check on him and indeed he was, wide awake and exploring his cage for an escape route.
‘Morning, Freddie, did you have a good siesta?’
‘Should I offer him some food?’ Julie asked.
‘Yeah, that would be good, he certainly seems awake enough to eat.’
‘What shall I offer him?’
‘Cat food would be best, a pouch of something.’
Julie returned moments later with a small bowl of food. As she opened the cage door, Freddie’s reaction was extraordinary. Even before she had placed the bowl down, he virtually launched himself across the cage, face planting in the bowl and devouring every morsel in seconds and then frantically circling the cage looking for more.
‘I think he’s hungry,’ Julie commented drily.
‘I presume that’s what they call the munchies.’
‘Hilarious. Shall I offer him some more?’
‘Yeah, why not, let’s go with the same amount again.’ This time Freddie was climbing the cage door in eager and obsessive anticipation of a further food source when Julie returned. It was hysterical to watch him once again, with no decorum or delicacy, immerse himself in the bowl of food, snorting as he devoured it.
‘I think he’s feeling better, don’t you?’ I said.
‘I reckon so.’
We disconnected his fluid line before it fell victim to his hunger pangs, and then I called the owners.
‘Good news. Freddie has woken up and seems completely fine, so you can come and pick him up. Oh, and I must thank you for adding to my education. I had never really experienced the concept of the munchies before, but it’s safe to say that ferrets experience them too.’
Ferrets: fast facts
Mustela putorius furo: The ferret
Distribution: The ferret is the domesticated form of the European polecat, which is found across mainland Europe and much of Russia.
Names: A male is called a ‘hob’, a female a ‘jill’, and the young a ‘kit’. A vasectomized male is called a ‘hoblet’ and a group of ferrets is known as a ‘business’.
Life span: About 6–10 years.
Habitat: In the wild they are found predominantly in forests, but will be found anywhere that a food source of mice, rats, small birds, reptiles or amphibians exists.
Diet: Ferrets are crepuscular and obligate carnivores, consuming the whole of small prey including bones, feathers and fur. They lack a caecum so are unable to digest any plant matter.
Gestation: 42 days, with a litter of 3–7 kits.
Weight: 10 grams at birth, reaching 0.7–2 kg as adults.
Growth: Kits are born with their eyes and ears closed and completely helpless. At 5 weeks their eyes open and they wean, at 3 months they are independent, at 4 months they are both grown, but neither hobs or jills reach sexual maturity until about 7 months.
Body temperature: 37.2–40 °C.
Interesting fact: Jill ferrets are induced ovulates, meaning they will only ovulate when mated. A failure to mate causes a prolonged oestrus and the subsequent high level of circulating oestrogen causes a life-threatening aplastic anaemia. For these reasons, a male may be vasectomized to allow mating and thus ovulation to occur without breeding.
Conservation: Ferrets are abundant in number across the developed world, being kept as pets or in rural settings for ‘ferreting’ which involves sending the
m down rabbit holes to flush out the inhabitants into nets. However, their wild cousin, the black-footed ferret, is categorized by the IUCN as endangered. They were declared extinct in the wild in 1987, but a captive breeding programme launched by the United States Fish and Wildlife Service has allowed them to gradually be reintroduced into 8 western states. Now there are over 1,000 wild-born individuals across 18 populations. See: www.blackfootedferret.org.
13
GIANT PANDA
‘Summit meetings tend to be like panda matings. The expectations are always high, and the results usually disappointing.’
Robert Orben
As my driver negotiated his car through the bustling streets of Chongqing, I gazed out the window, mesmerized by the morning routine unfolding before me. A frail old lady wearing the iconic Asian rice hat, carrying two baskets of fruit on a bamboo shoulder pole. A motorcyclist weaving in between the traffic, visor raised, cigarette protruding, enjoying his smoke as he rode. The immaculately dressed schoolchildren proudly carrying their oversized rucksacks, each emblazoned with the latest Chinese cartoon character. A cyclist whose mouth and nose were obscured by a surgical mask in hopes of minimizing smog inhalation. A businessman impeccably dressed in his tailored suit, savouring the last morsels of his fried duck beak before entering the office to start his day.
It was my first visit to China, and even though I was now eight days into my trip, these vivid daily scenes were still intriguing. I had visited many different countries, but never felt as much of an outsider as I did here. For me, this experience was the very definition of culture shock. People were still people, of course, children had to be educated, adults had to work, food had to be sourced and money had to be earned, but within those bounds everything was so unfamiliar, so different, so new. It was like being a child again, having to learn how to interact with people, recognize social cues and understand table manners. Then there was the food. Always game for new experiences, and having been brought up to eat whatever was put before me, I had resolved to do that on this trip. So far, I had eaten snake, chicken’s feet, cow’s rumen, sheep’s abomasum, pig’s caecum, eel, and pig brain. It had become a game for the Chinese colleagues I was working with to try to find a dish that I wouldn’t eat or would make me heave. So far they had failed, but I was starting to long for a pizza, fish and chips, or bangers and mash.
The Travelling Vet Page 19