A year later, Chopper joined the family. Beth thought Harley needed a pal while they were at work, so she surprised Larry with another Boston pup for his birthday. Despite his tough name, Chopper was more reserved than Harley. He never outgrew the baby carrier, which was just fine with him. He liked being close to his mom. When they rode, Chopper tucked his head inside the carrier whenever Beth went over 20 miles an hour. At first, they thought he was afraid of speed but then discovered the real reason — he did not enjoy the wind whistling in his ears. Beth found a knit headband that held his ears flat against his head. Of course, it was black.
In the exam room, Chopper and Harley were model patients. Each allowed me to examine them without assistance from either Larry or Beth. Chopper jumped a little when I vaccinated him, but that was it. I finished the appointment in record time and invited them to stop by for a visit whenever they were cruising the neighborhood.
“Nice dogs like yours are always welcome,” I said. “And I always have treats in my lab coat.” Larry and Beth grabbed their helmets, leaving the clinic the same way they arrived. As we watched them suit up, dad drove into the parking lot. The truck had barely stopped moving when he opened the door and headed for the motorcycles. My dad loved anything with a motor…snowmobiles, boats, airplanes, and most importantly, motorcycles. He owned two, a small dirt bike in Minnesota and a big road bike in Florida.
“Where’s the 9 o’clock appointment?” I asked, looking at my watch.
“Bill had to drop Mariposa off because Lizzy has an earache. He’ll be back to get her on the way home from the pediatrician,” Kim explained.
“Well, we might as well do her now,” I said.
“Shouldn’t we greet Gordon first?” she asked. “And help him carry in the tools to fix the sink?”
I shook my head. “No, he’s in hog heaven talking bikes and dogs with the Burnetts. We’ll have plenty of time to change her bandage before he’s done.”
Mariposa wiggled with delight when we approached her cage. The youngster loved all people, even overlooking my occupation as the vet. She dove into my arms when I opened the cage. Her splint hit my shoulder hard.
“Wow, that hurt,” I said holding Mari in both hands away from my body. “She can really pack a punch with that splint.” I handed her to Kim, who held her bandaged leg with one hand and Mari’s body with the other.
Hand-drawn butterflies and flowers covered the outer layer of Mari’s bandage. Instead of the typical stick figure child’s art, these images were drawn in exquisite detail. I identified a rose, caterpillars, sunflowers and a daisy. My favorite image was a huge blue butterfly drawn on the back of the splint. I wondered how Lizzy got Mari to hold still for the drawing.
“Pity you have to cut it off,” Kim said. “Her bandage is a work of art.”
“I’ll try to remove it with one cut up the side so Lizzy can save it if she wants to,” I replied. “But we better ask Bill first. He might not want his daughter playing with a used bandage.”
Kim kept Mari busy chewing on a dog biscuit for the entire bandage change. The swelling in her paw had decreased dramatically over the past week. Her leg looked like a toothpick with the hair matted down. Mari did not show any signs of pain when I palpated her paw. Her healing process was right on schedule.
“Hey, what are you two doing?” dad asked when he spotted Mariposa.
“Hi, Dad.” I didn’t expect to see you this soon. I thought you’d be out in the parking lot talking bikes for another 10 minutes.” I smiled.
“The dogs were getting antsy, so they had to go.” Dad wore tattered work clothes with brown boots that squeaked when he walked. “What’s wrong with this one?” He reached out to pet Mari’s head but she started to lick him instead.
“Mari has a broken paw,” I replied while adding the final layer to the splint. “Her owner stepped on her.”
“Oh, that’s easy to do,” dad replied, admiring Mari. “I’ve had several close calls with Peeper. It seems like they’re always underfoot.”
“How is Peeper after her dental?” Kim asked.
“Milking it for all the attention she can,” he answered. “Will Mari’s leg be OK?”
“Yes, I think she’ll make a full recovery,” I answered, tossing the unneeded bandage material in the drawer.
“Would you like to hold her?” Kim offered. Dad’s steel-blue eyes lit up with delight. He held her like she was a newborn baby. She licked his neck, hands, and anything else she could reach while her tail thumped his chest.
“Such a nice girl,” he whispered to Mari.
“We need to get back to work now,” I told dad. “Put her back in that cage when you’re done holding her.” I pointed to the bank of cages behind me. In the cage next to Mari’s, Snowflake rested on a bed of towels. He was now strong enough to lie in a sternal position like a sphinx. When he heard a strange noise, he opened his eyes to check it out.
“When is Snowflake going home?” I asked Kim.
“I told the Olsons’ to come at 10 and Al to come at 10:30 for Guacamole,” she replied. “I wanted them to wait until Steve got here so he could take care of reception.”
“Good thinking. Allie is rubbing off on you.”
Kim nodded and smiled.
“Speaking of Guacamole, how is the little stinker?”
“She’s not a stinker anymore,” Kim defended her. “Once she removed the chew tabs, she hasn’t touched this bandage. She also let me treat her by myself and even ate a little spinach.”
“My apologies to Guacamole. I wonder why she quit chewing on the wrap?”
“Maybe it took her awhile to accept it,” Kim said. “Or maybe she likes purple.”
An iguana with a color preference, I thought.
“Maybe. See you later, Dad. I’ve got a morning full of appointments.
For the next two hours, Kim and I worked as a highly efficient team to treat all of our patients. When Steve arrived, Kim gave him the front desk while she helped with appointments and discharged patients.
We were actually ahead of schedule until a new patient came in at 11:30. Steve and Kim helped the owners carry a Siberian husky into the exam room. Luna couldn’t breathe. According to her owners, Ned and Elise Hoffman, she was breathing fine the prior evening. Ned reported that the only weird thing about Luna was her habit of clearing her throat. She would lower her head while making a loud guttural sound but never brought anything up. She also hacked a lot while eating and after exercise. Elise assured me this had nothing to do with the breathing problem because she had been doing it for two years.
Luna laid on the table, her head extended in front with her mouth wide open. Kim stood at her side, holding an oxygen mask over her face. During inspiration, Luna’s chest heaved mightily to suck in air. When her chest had expanded as far as it could go, she held that position, fighting for oxygen like a human trying to drink a milkshake through a straw. When her muscles couldn’t hold the position any longer, her ribs collapsed down to their normal size for a split second before starting the process again. Her body lurched forward with each breath.
Based on my physical exam, I suspected Luna had a life-threatening condition called laryngeal paralysis. During inspiration, nerves stimulate the muscles of the larynx to open the arytenoid cartilages and vocal folds. After the breath, the muscles relax to close the opening to the windpipe to prevent saliva or food from entering. When nerve function is interrupted, the arytenoid cartilages remain in the closed position, making it impossible to breathe.
During my years in practice, I had observed this disease in two different groups of dogs. The first consisted of elderly hunting dogs, especially Labradors, greyhounds and Irish setters. All of these dogs also developed severe muscle atrophy of their rear legs. I suspected some sort of degenerative process, possibly arthritis, was impacting the nerves.
The second group was made up of young dogs from the following groups: Siberian husky, bulldog and Bouvier de Flanders. Although the disease was l
abeled “congenital,” I suspected a genetic cause because it seemed to run in certain lines.
I explained the condition to Ned and Elise. “Your dog needs emergency surgery. “I’m going to have to refer you to the University of Minnesota teaching hospital. Although I’ve assisted on several of these, I’m not comfortable doing the procedure because it is very difficult to get a perfect tie back. Too much, and the dog suffers from aspiration during eating. Too little, and the dog can’t breathe. Unfortunately, the surgery will be expensive, but it is her only hope.” I looked into Luna’s eyes and petted her. “She’s really suffering.”
“Luna is a great dog, and we want to do everything to save her,” Ned replied.
“Yes, I want the best for my baby,” Elise added.
I left the room and grabbed the phone in our pharmacy. The U of M was evidently hopping that day. It took 15 minutes and a bit of creativity for me to reach the intern on duty. The intern promised to keep Luna in an oxygen cage until a surgeon arrived. I walked back into the room with a triumphant look on my face, hoping we could soon get lasting relief for this poor dog.
“The U of M is ready for Luna,” I announced and petted her again. “This is so sad when her breathing is this labored. We’ll help you load her into the car so you can get right up there. Here’s a map and directions.” I placed the gold paper on the table. The Minnesota Golden Gopher danced inside the logo on top of the page.
“We’ve decided we want to treat her medically instead,” Ned announced.
“Yes, give us the prescriptions for what she needs, and I will fill them at work. You may recall, I am a pharmacy assistant,” Elise added with a bit of zing.
I was flabbergasted. “Laryngeal paralysis is a functional problem, meaning the arytenoid cartilages are physically obstructing her airway. As I explained, surgery is her only option. Medicine won’t solve her condition, and she is suffering terribly,” I said, hoping to get the owners back on board with my plan.
“That’s ridiculous,” Ned argued. “There’s a medicine for everything. Isn’t that right, Elise?”
“Yes, there is. I am so sick of you doctors recommending unnecessary surgery. It doesn’t matter if they’re people doctors or vets, you’re all cut from the same cloth, and I’m not putting up with it.” The mood had quickly devolved from one focused on the patient to a professional turf war.
“Ya, all you guys care about is money,” Ned said. “What happened to your oath, Doc?”
“My oath states that I will use my knowledge to better animal health, and that is what I am doing. I’m not making any money by referring Luna; I am making less.” My voice rose. “I’m doing what is best for your dog, who is trying very hard to breathe.”
“Give me the scripts, Doc,” Ned ordered.
“Just look at your dog. She is slowly suffocating before your eyes,” I countered. “How can you watch the dog you love suffer like this? Treat her or euthanize her, but don’t let her die a prolonged death.” My indignation was evident.
“If you don’t give us the scripts, we’ll find another vet who will,” Elise stated.
“Every other vet will tell you the same thing I did. She needs surgery now,” I said firmly.
Ned grabbed the oxygen mask out of Kim’s hand and flung it against the wall beside me. “Come on, Elise, we’re taking Luna to a vet who cares more about animals than money,” he yelled. Ned picked up Luna and stormed out of the clinic with Elise trailing.
Kim and I watched them leave in utter disbelief. Kim rubbed her temples with both hands while I stood clenching and unclenching my fists.
“I’ll clean up the room, Dr. Nelson,” Kim said after another minute of silence. I nodded. My heart ached for Luna. I paused for a moment behind the exam table, trying to make sense of what had happened.
“Your next appointment is here,” Kim said in a voice filled with sorrow.
I turned around and opened the door behind me into the pharmacy/lab area. A long black nose appeared in the crack. “Ivan,” I whispered. “How are you, hot stuff?” I threw my arms around the handsome Doberman. When I stood up, he spun around and sat on my foot. I could feel his little stump of a tail wiggling through my shoe. Steve and Rich Harris stood by the pharmacy counter laughing at Ivan.
“Ivan’s been sitting by the door waiting for you for the last five minutes, Krissy,” Steve said.
“He really likes you,” Rich added.
“And I like him, too,” I said while trying to extract my foot from under his rear. Every time I moved it, he wiggled his hips to stay in position.
“Ivan, come!” Rich commanded. Ivan looked at me before trotting over to Rich’s side. “He’s such a butthead sometimes,” Rich said while petting the dog’s head.
I threw Luna’s record on the counter and rubbed my forehead.
“What’s wrong, Sweets?” Steve asked. While I filled them in on Luna, Ivan explored the room. He started with the birds, staring at them while they napped on their perches. Even Romeo ignored the black nose at the bottom on his cage. Ivan checked the floor around the cages for something good to eat. He ignored the bits of broccoli and carrot thrown by the birds, but enjoyed several kernels of corn.
When the floor was clean, he wandered over to Genny’ door. Ivan viewed cats as live chew toys that needed to be destroyed. We always locked up Genny well before he arrived at the clinic to protect her. Ivan laid down on the floor by her door, sniffing at the bottom. Genny stuck her paw underneath, swatted his nose and withdrew her paw before he could bite. In the middle of their game of chicken, Ivan suddenly jumped up and ran into the treatment room. I heard nails clicking on the slick clinic floors, then growling.
“Oh no, dad’s in the treatment room,” I screamed running out of the pharmacy/lab room. When I turned the corner, I saw dad pinned against the wall. The large Doberman stood three feet in front of him. Ivan’s ears were flat against his head, the hair on his back stood on end, and he snarled as he inched slowly toward father.
“Ivan, platz!” I screamed. “Platz!” Ivan stopped advancing but still bared his teeth. “Dad, freeze! Ivan, platz!”
Rich heard me screaming and ran into the room.
“Platz!” Rich commanded. Ivan instantly sank to the ground. I could swear a sheepish grin settled on his face. Rich snapped his leather lead onto Ivan’s metal choke collar. Ivan sprang to the heel position on Rich’s left side.
“Are you OK, Dad?” I asked. As a roofing contractor, I had seen dad in some precarious situations before. But I had never seen him so pale as at this moment. His hands trembled uncontrollably by his sides.
“Sorry about that, sir,” Rich said. “I hope he didn’t scare you too badly.”
Dad gave Rich half a smile but did not respond.
Rich looked at me for guidance. I pointed at the doorway and motioned for him to leave.
I walked up to dad and stood by his side. “I bet you’re awake now, Dad,” I quipped. “There is nothing like a snarling Doberman to get the juices flowing.”
Dad took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. He removed his glasses, his hands still shaking. He wiped his glasses with his handkerchief but did not say a word.
“I had a similar experience in New York,” I said, hoping to distract him.
During my internship at the Animal Medical Center, I was asked to vaccinate a working canine for New York Transit. As I quickly learned, there are no more fearsome dogs on earth than those that work for New York Transit. I opened the door to the exam room and made the ultimate rookie mistake…I looked into the dog’s eyes.
The German shepherd leapt over the treatment table, dragging two very strong law enforcement officers behind him. He pinned me against the sliding door with both front paws. I could feel his hot breath on my face through the leather muzzle. A kennel aide heard the angry barking and slid the door open to investigate. I fell backward onto my rear end with a thud. While the handlers held him back, the aide closed the door.
I was worthless fo
r the next hour because I couldn’t stop shaking. I kept picturing large teeth scarring my face before Steve and I got married.
“That dog is awfully mean, Kris,” dad finally said. His voice quivered. “You shouldn’t work with him. It’s too dangerous.”
“He’s actually a sweet dog,” I countered. “Rich trained him for protection work. It’s a German kind of training, which is why I screamed ‘platz.’ That means ‘down’ in German.”
Dad stared at me, still displaying the symptoms of shock.
“I told you to freeze because these dogs are trained not to bite if the person isn’t moving.” Dad refused to make eye contact with me. He cleared his throat and walked over to the sink. “I’m going to go draw Ivan’s blood so he can leave the clinic.”
“Close the door,” Dad ordered. Having been his daughter for so long, I knew it was an order and not a request. I closed the door between the treatment room and pharmacy/lab area. Ivan waited with Rich and Steve outside my office.
“I’m really sorry about that, Kris,” Rich apologized. “Is your dad OK?”
“I’ve never seen him rattled like this before. He’s still shaking.”
“I’m so sorry,” he repeated. “What can I do to make it up to him?”
“I think the best thing is to get you two out of here ASAP,” I replied.
Rich ordered Ivan to lie down on the floor. Steve wrapped his hand around Ivan’s back leg, just below the knee. The vein above his hock filled with blood, making it easy to see even through his black fur. Nevertheless, I splashed rubbing alcohol over the vein to make it stand out even more. One quick poke, and I had my sample. I hugged Ivan one more time before sending him on his way with orders not to scare anyone else today.
“He’s gone, Dad,” I yelled opening the door to the treatment room. Dad walked out carrying Mariposa in one arm and his thermos of coffee in the other.
Coated With Fur: A Blind Cat's Love Page 14