Our first appointment of the afternoon belonged to Lilah. The pups were three days old, so it was time to measure their growth and do a post-surgery check on Lilah. Kay walked into the clinic carrying the pups in a basket covered with a towel. A skinny Lilah followed, her nose touching the bottom of the basket.
Allie tried to put Lilah on the scale without success. The German shepherd did not like Allie standing between her and the pups. She kept stepping off the floor scale until Kay held the basket over it. Lilah had dropped 12 pounds since her last check before whelping.
“Dr. Nelson will be right in,” Allie told Kay after settling Lilah and the pups in the cat room to lessen their exposure to dog viruses.
Five minutes later, Allie and I appeared, dressed in green surgical gowns. “Good morning, Kay,” I greeted her.
“Hi, Dr. Nelson, have you caught up on your sleep?” she asked.
“Not entirely, but I’m getting closer.” I opened Lilah’s chart to review her record from the last visit. “How is everything with Lilah and the pups? Any problems?”
Kay shook her head. “Lilah’s a great mom. I haven’t had to do much, other than feed her and let her out.”
“Well, let’s start with her then,” I said. Allie knelt by the dog, her hands around her head. When I petted Lilah’s back, she wagged her tail but kept all of her attention focused on the puppies. Allie pushed Lilah’s face toward me so I could examine her ears, eyes and mouth. When Allie let go, Lilah swung her face back to the basket. Her heart and lungs sounded great, no signs of any problems after the anesthesia. I had to pull up all of Lilah’s mammary glands on her right side to see the incision.
“Wow, these glands are pretty big,” I remarked.
Kay smiled.
I felt each one for firm or painful areas, finding none. Clear white milk expressed easily from each nipple. “OK, time for the puppies. I can’t wait to see them again.”
Allie took the basket from Kay and placed it on the examination table. I peeled back the towel to find four black-and-tan puppies sleeping in a pile. They looked like wood ticks, big bellies with short little legs attached. I froze, not believing what I was seeing.
“Where are the white pups?” I asked Kay. I felt my stomach jump into my throat. I stared at her. “You promised me.”
“It wasn’t my fault, Dr. Nelson,” Kay said. “When I got home that night, I placed all the pups with Lilah in her whelping box. When I woke up, the two white ones were outside the box…dead.” She patted Lilah. “Lilah did what you should have done,” she said with a smile. “Mother Nature knows best, Doc.”
Allie and I looked at each other in disbelief.
“I would like to perform necropsies on their bodies to see why they died.”
“Sorry, Doc, but I’m tapped out from paying for the C-section.”
“I won’t charge you for it. But I want to know what really happened to the pups because they were normal when I examined them.”
Kay looked at me, then Allie, then back to me again. Several times she started to say something, then stopped.
“Kay, it’s vital that we know what killed these pups. If Lilah did it, we need to make sure she doesn’t hurt these pups.”
“Not to worry, Dr. Nelson. I didn’t see any bite marks. Lilah would never hurt one of her pups.”
“Exactly. Which is why I’m concerned it might have been some sort of contagious disease. If we catch it early, we might be able to save the others. You need to bring me their bodies right away.”
“Sorry, but Bo already got rid of them,” she said. “I don’t mean to rush you, but I have another appointment at noon. Let’s get going.”
Allie held each of the four remaining pups, three boys and one girl, for their examinations. Lilah stood between us, eyes focused on each pup. If they squealed, she stood on her hind legs and tried to take the pup out of Allie’s hand. Thanks to Lilah, each pup had filled out since their last examination. Their ears stuck out from their heads now, making them look a little more like German shepherds. Because their eyes were still closed, they used their mouths to explore the world around them. The umbilical cords that Steve so carefully tied off before cutting were gone. Each pup had a small scar about the size of a pencil eraser left behind.
“Everyone looks great,” I declared, placing the last pup in the basket. “Because Lilah produces so much milk, and she now has only four pups, she is prone to developing mastitis. You need to check all of her mammary glands several times a day for pain and firm areas.”
Kay nodded as she rose from the exam room chair. She slung her purse over her shoulder and picked up the basket.
“And the puppies are due for their first vaccination at six weeks of age. I’ll give them a special vaccine that will start protecting them when the maternal protection subsides. If you give them the adult vaccine, it can cause problems such as blindness. Please don’t buy the wrong vaccine from your breeder.”
Kay smiled and proceeded to the front counter with Lilah by her side. Allie closed the door, then turned around to pepper me with questions.
“Lilah removed the white puppies, my foot,” she erupted, her cheeks flushed with color. “Lilah would never do that. They killed the pups! Those…”
“I feel the same way, Allie,” I said, cutting her off. Allie’s vocabulary became quite colorful when she was angry. “I never should have trusted her. I wish I could report her.”
“You should! These bad breeders need to be put out of business. Killing pups because they are the wrong color…”
“I would if I thought there was a chance for conviction. Remember, I’m the vet who reported the guy for killing cats. He was the first to get jail time in Minnesota.”
“Then why not report the Beaumonts?”
“Because I don’t have any proof,” I said in a higher-than-normal voice. “It would be my word against Kay, Bo and the breeder. Three against one, guess who wins?” I pulled the surgical gown off, rolled it into a ball and threw it against the table. “That’s why I brought up infectious disease and offered to do necropsies for free. I was trying to get some evidence to convict them.” My entire body shook with anger. “I’m guessing that one of them put the pups in a plastic bag and held it to a tailpipe. Carbon monoxide causes all the mucous membranes to turn a unique cherry red color that doesn’t change even after death.”
Allie and I stood silently, lost in our thoughts.
“That’s why she doesn’t want to bring them in,” I added.
“It ticks me off,” Allie said.
“Me too!”
Suddenly, the door behind me opened, startling both of us.
“Dr. Nelson, we have an emergency on the way, another seizing iguana,” Kim informed us. “It sounds pretty bad.”
Ten minutes later, and Kim was right, the iguana was critical. I opened the carrier door and pulled out the ailing critter. Its body was about a foot long with another two-and-a-half feet of tail. Instead of brilliant green, this iguana was more of a gunmetal gray. I could barely see the normal black stripes. The iguana’s head, legs and tail dangled lifelessly in my hand.
“Is it too late?” Allie asked.
“Not sure,” I grunted as I placed it on the table. “Kim, you said this iguana was twitching at home, right?”
She nodded. “The owner is out of town, and a friend has been caring for it. Yesterday, Mr. Rogers didn’t jump down off the perch to eat like normal, and he hadn’t eaten any of his food from the day before. When he hadn’t moved overnight, the friend looked closer and saw the twitching.”
The iguana felt cold, like cheese out of the fridge. I placed my stethoscope on the chest and listened for any sign of life. I closed my eyes, straining to hear something. After 45 agonizing seconds, I heard a thud. “Get me the calcium,” I ordered.
“Don’t you want to check his blood level first?” Allie asked.
“No, he can’t wait for the results.”
Allie handed me a syringe and a clear bott
le of fluid marked “calcium gluconate.”
“Get a tray of warm water,” I continued. “I want it around 90 degrees Fahrenheit.”
Allie hustled into the kennel area while I injected the lizard with calcium and warmed L.R.S. from a bag of fluids from the crash cart. “Come on, baby,” I whispered. “Stay with us.”
Allie filled one of the tubs used for soaking instruments with warm water, attached a thermometer to the side and carried it back to the treatment room. I placed the iguana inside with only its head above water. When a reptile’s body temperature falls, its entire metabolism slows down as well. The heart beats more slowly, reducing blood flow to organs and muscles. Until Mr. Rogers’ temperature returned to normal, he would not absorb much of the calcium into his blood stream.
“Why is this iguana so cold?” Allie asked. Animals with muscle fasciculations (twitching) usually come in with a higher-than-normal body temperature.
“I think his muscles are exhausted and can’t twitch anymore. Once that happens, death is right around the corner.” I slid my fingers under water to feel Mr. Rogers’ chest.
“Do you feel anything?” Allie asked.
I shook my head.
“Maybe we could add some…” Allie began.
“He opened his eyes,” I said, cutting her off. I took him out of the water bath and placed my stethoscope on his chest again. Every 30 seconds, I heard a thud. I returned him to the water. “His heart rate is picking up!”
Allie raised her hands and wiggled her hips in celebration.
“Would you please tell my next appointment, I will be there in a minute? I need to call Mr. Rogers’ owner.”
“His number is on the top of the chart,” Kim said.
Chapter 30
Farley the Basset Hound
“Is Mr. Rogers going home today?” Allie asked with a syringe in her hand. When the iguana saw it, he crawled closer, opened his mouth and started to lick. “Wait until I actually give you the meds, you goof,” Allie said. She squirted the calcium drops onto his tongue. Mr. Rogers licked faster, consuming every drop. Allie let him lick the syringe after the medicine was gone.
“It depends on the weather,” I answered. “His owner is scheduled to land at 5:30, but who knows. Ned said he would call us with an update later today.”
“It’s getting really cold out there,” Kim informed us. “I’ll bet the temperature has dropped at least 15 degrees.” She shivered again.
In the main room, Genny lounged on the counter next to a stack of records. Radar sat on the floor below her. Both tails twitched in unison. Radar wanted desperately to be Genny’s friend. Genny wanted no part of him.
By 4 o’clock, snowflakes fell from the sky, turning Minnesota in a large snow globe. Businesses shut down early. WCCO interrupted its normal programing for parking restrictions while snowplows cleared the roads. The phone rang with clients rescheduling appointments. Kim left for home first since she opened. Allie stayed another five minutes to load the autoclave before heading out as well.
I sat behind the reception counter, writing records and returning phone calls while I watched the snow swirl through the lobby windows. Genny sat on the windowsill, her stump hanging over the side. When the wind shifted and drove the snow into the glass, she jumped up and pawed at it. Radar laid on the corner of the counter, the toes on his front paws touching the edge. In this spot, he could greet every person who walked in the door. He would sniff their hands, then head-butt them when they weren’t looking. Most people never noticed that his eyelids were permanently closed.
When all of the records were in the done pile, I stood up and stretched. Radar did the same. “Come on, kids,” I told Radar and Genny. “It’s time to tuck you in.” I walked in back, grabbed a can of food from the fridge and headed for their room. Radar stood by his bowl before I opened the can. Genny rubbed on my legs. I filled each bowl with extra food just in case the storm made me late tomorrow. “Sweet dreams, and no fighting, you two,” I said before closing the door.
“How are you, how are you?” Bongo called as I walked in front of their cages. I poured some extra food into their bowls as well before covering them for the night.
“See you tomorrow,” I said. Bongo answered with a wolf whistle.
In the treatment room, Mr. Rogers laid under his UV light in the incubator. He greeted me with a head bob. I replaced his leftover spinach with fresh. He walked over to the bowl, ate one leaf and burped. “Only one more night at Camp Minnesota Veterinary Center, then home to your family, Mr. Rogers,” I told the iguana. “Your dad will be here tomorrow. Sweet dreams.”
The next morning, Steve and I arrived at the clinic at 8 a.m., surprised to see a well-plowed parking lot and a swept sidewalk. According to the radio, the snow stopped falling around midnight, and the strong winds never materialized. The army of snowplows cleared the roads and streets in record time. The only challenge we faced was getting out of our townhouse community. The snow removal service started on the other side of the development.
After settling in, Steve and I attended to morning chores. Steve took the cats while I fed the birds. Normally, Kim or Allie would have taken care of everyone, but I gave both of them the day off. Since there were few appointments on the book, I thought Steve and I could handle it alone. It would be like last year, when Steve and I worked Saturdays without a technician.
When the chores were done, Steve turned his attention to updating the books while Genny helped me clean out my in-basket. She sprawled across my desk, leaving me little room to work. Every time I moved her to the side, she moved right back.
“Genny, you are such a helper cat,” I teased. She looked up at me with her bright green eyes and meowed. I loved having the chance to spend time with her even if I wasn’t getting much done.
At one minute before noon, a black Mercedes sedan roared into the parking lot. A man jumped out of the car wearing jeans, loafers without socks and a Packer’s sweatshirt. “Are you still open?” Ned Rogers asked Steve. “I rushed here from the airport as quickly as I could.”
“Yes, we’re still open,” Steve said. “I’ll tell Dr. Nelson you’re here.”
“Do you think she would have time to trim my dog’s nails?” he asked. “I asked the boarding kennel to do it, but they couldn’t.” He motioned to the car parked outside. A large basset hound sat in the driver’s seat. Nose marks covered the windows.
“Sure, bring him in,” Steve said. “I’ll get Dr. Nelson.”
“Hello, Ned, welcome home,” I said as he entered the dog room. “How was the flight?”
“Well, I’m here,” he replied. “And that’s all that matters. How’s Mr. Rogers?”
“Ready to go home.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because he tries to escape when I open the incubator. He was too sick to move before.”
“Woof, woof,” the basset hound barked. He sat at my feet, his tail sweeping the floor.
“Who is this handsome boy?” I asked.
“This is Farley,” Ned said with a smile.
I knelt down, placed one hand on either side of Farley’s face and petted him. He gazed at me with his big brown eyes. I noticed that Farley’s lower jaw protruded one inch past his upper jaw. I held his head up for a better look. Farley let me study his teeth for a moment, then licked my face.
“My, he’s a friendly guy,” I observed.
“Doesn’t have a mean bone in his body,” Ned informed me. “He loves everyone he meets, especially the ladies. When I’m out walking him, women always stop to pet him.” Ned beamed while describing his dog. “He’s a chick magnet.”
I smiled, still petting Farley.
“I’m not surprised. Who could resist those big brown eyes?” I pulled a nail clipper out of my pocket.
“Whoa, Dr. Nelson,” Ned cautioned. “Farley doesn’t like anyone touching his feet. He bit me the last time I tried. That’s why I can’t do it at home.”
“All right, let’s put hi
m up on the table, and I’ll get Steve to help.”
Ned took the hound’s front end while I grabbed the back, and we lifted the overweight dog onto the table.
“Steve, we need some help,” I called out, holding Farley on the table.
Steve appeared and wrapped his arms around Farley in a bear hug. I slid my hand down his left front leg. When my fingers reached his paw, he growled. When I tried to lift his paw off the table, he snapped. I jumped backward, dropping the paw. “Farley, no!” I scolded. He wagged his tail. I slipped a blue nylon muzzle over his face and tried again. This time, Farley started growling when my fingers touched his leg. He sounded so ferocious.
“Have you got him, Steve?”
Steve tightened his grip and nodded.
When I picked up his leg, Farley tried to hurl his body off the table. Somehow, Steve managed to keep him on it. For five minutes, we struggled with the dog without clipping a single nail. I let go of his paw and stepped back. We needed a new strategy.
“Does Farley have any food allergies?” I asked.
“No,” Ned replied.
I took off the muzzle to give Farley a break. His pleasant demeanor returned immediately.
“Would you like a treat, Farley?” I asked. I held a biscuit in front of his nose. He wagged his tail once and wolfed it down. “Ned, I want you to feed him treats while I try to clip his nails.” I gave Ned a handful of biscuits and picked up the nail clipper. “Are you ready, Steve?”
Steve tightened his grip and nodded. “OK, give him a treat.” I picked up his paw at the same time Ned handed him a treat. Farley froze for a second, deciding what to do. He wanted to bite me, but he wanted the treat more. He took the biscuit and growled loudly while I clipped the first nail.
“It’s working,” I said. “Keep shoving those biscuits in his mouth.”
Bassets have thick nails, great for digging in the dirt after their prey. Farley’s nails were an inch overgrown. When he walked, they forced his wrist into an abnormal position. I used the jumbo nail trimmers with extra long handles for leverage. As I clipped, pieces of nail shot through the air. The projectiles hit the wall and ricocheted onto the floor. Farley’s growls became less intense as he chewed treat after treat. His longer lower jaw made a perfect shelf for depositing a cookie.
Coated With Fur: A Blind Cat's Love Page 31