“That was cool!” he exclaimed.
With the stethoscope back around my neck, I finished the examination. Captain looked great. I could not find any problems. I opened a drawer and pulled out two dog biscuits. I asked Blake to promise he would take good care of this precious bundle of fur.
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Blake answered while crossing his heart with his hand.
I smiled in response and placed one biscuit on the table. The pup sniffed twice, then clamped down on the treat. Brown crumbs fell from his mouth onto the table. He vacuumed those up then looked at me for more. “You like treats, don’t you, hot stuff?” I said. Captain jumped up and grabbed the black tubing of the stethoscope. I quickly freed it from his jaws. Small indentations from his baby teeth covered the black tubing, but none penetrated to the interior. “No more treats for you if you grab my stethoscope. That is not a puppy toy.”
A loud crash reverberated from the waiting room, followed by footsteps. Five seconds later, we heard Allie yell the word, “No!”
“What was that?” Jennifer asked.
“Sounds like Scruffy got into trouble again.” I laughed. “He’s a stray cat that needs a home.” I looked at Jennifer. “Would you like to adopt him? Perhaps Captain needs a brother?”
“Yeah, Mom, Captain needs a brother,” Blake repeated. He held his mother’s hand and looked into her face with pleading eyes.
“Oh no, one puppy is more than enough right now. Between working full time and taking care of you, I don’t have time to do anything else,” she replied. She promised to mention Scruffy if she ran into anyone who wanted a cat.
Since his arrival at the clinic, the emaciated kitten had doubled his weight. Scruffy had morphed into a handsome boy with a mischievous personality. He loved to knock things off the counter, including plastic tops from the syringe cases. Once they landed on the ground, he batted them through the clinic like hockey pucks. We found them under chairs, in the bathroom and even behind the dryer. Allie hung a syringe case with medical tape from the front of his cage. Scruffy spent hours on his back, pawing the toy. He loved hearing it clink against the bars.
After his first bath, Scruffy worked hard to keep himself clean. He spent hours each day grooming his coat until the white sparkled. He kept each hair in place, using his paws to reach the tough areas. His attention to cleanliness bordered on fanaticism. He loved being clean!
Scruffy’s confidence grew with his stature. He prowled the clinic like a king surveying his territory. His life was perfect ... well almost perfect. If only Genny would play with him. He wanted to wrestle with her in the worst way, but Genny would have nothing to do with him. The precocious teenager did not want to share her territory with any other cat. She considered herself superior to all, including me. She despised Scruffy for not acknowledging her preeminent position. In her mind, he was lower than dirt. Not just any dirt, mind you, but the filthy kind found on Minnesota roads once the snow melts.
With patience, most cats adjust to living with others. They work out boundaries of behavior and space acceptable to everyone. Besides being an orphan with a limited understanding of feline etiquette, Genny’s physical condition challenged her ability to deal with Scruffy. She limped around the clinic on her left back leg, carrying her stump in the air. Often, she lay on her side, giving her good leg a rest. With only three legs, she was no match for the young and fully mobile Scruffy. The situation was clear. The first animal to join the family takes precedence. So with heavy hearts, Allie and I put the word out. Scruffy needed a home of his own.
The week before Christmas, Mike Kinney, a friend of Allie’s, stopped by the clinic with his girlfriend Theresa Hoffman to meet Scruffy. Allie took the couple to Scruffy’s cage. He found himself locked up again after knocking the appointment book off the counter. When Allie withdrew Scruffy from the cage and put him on the table, he immediately jumped onto Mike’s shoulders. The cat purred and rubbed his face against the young man’s beard. Mike laughed and petted him with one hand. Scruffy responded by licking his ear. Allie pulled Scruffy off and put him on the table again.
“I’ve never seen Scruffy do that before,” she commented. “He really likes you.”
Mike beamed. “Why do you call him Scruffy? He’s a really handsome cat, not at all what I pictured from your description.”
Allie explained that Scruffy’s nickname was due to his appearance when she found him. His new owners could change it to whatever they wanted by coupling Scruffy with the new name for a while. When he caught on to the combination name, they could drop the nickname. Based on her observations of him in the clinic, she thought he was an intelligent cat. He should catch on without any problem.
Mike’s girlfriend Theresa was concerned about Scruffy’s health, wondering if he’d suffer any long-term problems. Allie explained that Scruffy’s blood work looked great, so we thought he would be fine. He tested negative for feline leukemia, feline immunodeficiency virus and feline infectious peritonitis, the three most common infectious diseases in strays. He’d already had his first set of vaccinations and had finished his medicine to get rid of intestinal parasites. “If you adopt him, Dr. Nelson said she would give him his last set of shots and neuter him for free on one condition.”
“What’s that?” the couple asked in unison.
“You have to call us with updates and bring him back here for his shots.” She petted the cat. “We’re really going to miss him.”
With his sweet personality, handsome appearance, heartbreaking story and award-winning performance, Scruffy captured Mike’s heart straight away. It was a perfect match. With his girlfriend’s blessing, Mike decided to adopt Scruffy on the spot.
“Can I take him with me now?” he asked, holding Scruffy in his arms.
Allie recommended later in the week, after his neuter. That would give Scruffy time to heal and Mike time to catproof his house. Mike reluctantly agreed. He kissed the cat goodbye and put him back in the cage. When Scruffy’s feet hit the cage bottom, he spun around and tried to jump back into Mike’s arms. Allie was too quick and managed to close the door. Foiled by a wily technician, Scruffy stood on his hind legs and reached through the bars with his front paws to touch Mike’s arm, meowing pitifully.
“Don’t worry, pal; you won’t be stuck here much longer.” Mike petted him through the bars. “You’ll be home for Christmas.”
Chapter 13
Oscar the Parrot
Thank you for fitting Chiffon in on such short notice,” Jerry Cummings said. The man looked worn out, like he’d been through the wringer and barely made it back. “Her regular clinic is already closed.”
“No problem,” Allie answered. Reindeer decorated her scrubs. The one on her front pocket had a red sequin sewn over its nose. She studied the new client sheet Jerry had completed. The little Maltese fit in the palm of his hand. She was current on all of her shots and heartworm protection. Jerry brought her in for an examination of her rear end. The 5-month-old puppy cried when she defecated. The owner thought she needed her glands squeezed.
Jerry peeled Chiffon off his shoulder and placed her on the scale. She danced on it for a minute before settling down. Her little body tipped the scale at two-and-a half pounds.
“If it’s OK with you, I’m going to put you two in the cat room. I haven’t had time to clean the dog room,” Allie explained. “It’s actually a better exam room because of the aquarium.” She opened the door and escorted the pair into the room. It had the same color scheme as the dog room – sky blue on the bottom and white upper walls. The only difference was the border – kittens with balls of yarn instead of hunting dogs and decoys. The corner of the room featured a 20-gallon aquarium. Inside, four small gold angelfish swam from side to side. I was told angel-fish don’t fight unless they pair up, so I bought five for the tank. Within a week, one fish was missing. Some pet store clerks are more knowledgeable than others.
Jerry showed Chiffon the tank. The pup touched her nose to the glas
s, and all the fish scattered except one. The biggest swam straight toward the pup, flaring his fins and acting like a raging bull elephant. Chiffon barked twice, but the fish held its ground. This fish was fearless.
“Now, I just have a few more questions before Dr. Nelson comes in to examine your dog.” Allie looked at the info sheet again. “I can’t quite make out what you wrote here. Who is Chiffon’s owner?”
The man nodded. “Yes, I know it’s a little confusing,” he said. “Chiffon belongs to my daughter.” He took a deep breath. “My daughter, Julie, is very ill. She can’t even leave her house anymore. I decided to get her a dog to see if that would lift her spirits. She always wanted one of these little yappers.” He looked down at the white ball of fur in his arms. Chiffon looked like a fluffy snowball.
He explained that Chiffon found her new home a little overwhelming at first. The medical equipment terrified her. She barked every time a monitor beeped and ran for cover. The tall hospital bed presented another problem. Chiffon was too small to jump onto the bed. Jerry bought a carpet-covered ramp for her and placed it by the bed. Chiffon learned to run up and down the ramp for a treat. Her playful spirit was a breath of fresh air for the bedridden woman. Chiffon gave her a reason to live.
Allie took a thermometer out of the drawer. “OK, I need to take her temperature, and then I’ll get Dr. Nelson.” Jerry held the dog with her rear end toward Allie. She lifted the tail with one hand to insert the thermometer with the other. With every attempt, the pup squealed.
“I’m not sure if she’s acting, or if something is really wrong,” Allie said. “I think I’ll let Dr. Nelson take her temperature.”
Allie held Chiffon for the examination while Jerry relaxed in the chair. I started at her head and worked toward her tail. She looked great until I got to her hindquarters. The area on both sides of her anus swelled out from her body. I put on a pair of gloves and gently pressed on the area. It felt soft and squishy. The next thing I noticed was the small size of the dog’s anus. The diameter was the size of a pen, about half as big as I expected. I inserted the tip of the thermometer through the opening. It felt tight, not elastic like a normal anus.
“Well, I’m afraid Chiffon’s problem is more severe than full anal glands,” I explained while removing my gloves. Allie cleaned the rear with a moist paper towel. Chiffon’s anus was very small, making it difficult for her to defecate. She had to push with all her might to force the stool through the narrow opening. The pushing put extra pressure on the muscles around her anus. Eventually, they gave out, and hernias formed.
“What can you do for her?” Jerry took the dog from Allie. “It would kill my daughter if something happened to her.” No pressure here, I thought. I recalled the retired woman who told me I “had to save her dog” because it was the last living connection to her husband. They picked him out together at a nearby shelter. A month later, her husband died. Lucky for me, the dog had something I could treat. I dread the day he develops something I cannot.
“I need to do a contrast study of the area to confirm my diagnosis,” I explained. “If I’m right, I will refer you to a specialist for surgical correction. In the meantime, I’m going to put her on a stool softener called lactulose. It will make it easier for her to defecate.”
“Can’t you do the surgery, Dr. Nelson?” Jerry asked. “You are so gentle with little Chiffon, I would feel more comfortable if you did it.”
I shook my head. “That is so kind, but it will be better for Chiffon if I refer her out. Fixing those hernias and opening up her anus requires a surgeon with a lot of experience. I have assisted on enough of them to know it is something for an expert.” I smiled at Jerry. “But the good news is that I believe we can make her better. So tell your daughter not to worry.”
“Too late,” he replied.
We made arrangements to perform the barium study the next morning, on Christmas Eve. In the meantime, he would give Chiffon the medicine and page me if she had any problems. While he paid for his visit, Jerry placed Chiffon on the lobby floor. She ran in ever-expanding circles around his feet. Genny sat above her on the counter. Normally, she would hop into the back, away from the annoying youngster, but today, she stayed put. While Allie helped Jerry, Genny crept to the Christmas tree on the counter. The miniature ornaments fascinated her. She batted at a gold bell and waited for Allie to respond. When she didn’t, Genny grabbed the ornament in her teeth and high-tailed it for the back.
“Genny,” Allie shouted. She looked at Jerry and shrugged. “That’s the fourth ornament she’s grabbed today. I can’t wait until we put that tree away.” Jerry smiled, happy that Chiffon couldn’t jump onto counters or he’d have a similar problem.
“See you tomorrow,” he responded and walked into the crisp Minnesota air.
The next day Jerry dropped off Chiffon at 9 a.m. sharp. Much to my relief, her medical condition was not as severe as I feared. When the last film hung from the X-ray viewer, I felt a lot better about Chiffon’s condition. While she was out, I passed my gloved pinky finger into her anus and palpated the area. Her anus was bigger than I thought, and the hernias were smaller. I couldn’t wait to tell Jerry. Although she still needed surgery, her chances for a complete cure were good. I dialed Jerry from the treatment room to share the results.
“Oh, that is good news. My daughter will be so happy,” he commented. A loud scream echoed through the clinic. “What was that?” he asked, alarmed.
“That’s Oscar,” I replied. “He’s a very unhappy Severe Macaw.”
“Wow, I’m glad he doesn’t live with me.”
“Yes, he’s a real handful,” I said. Oscar squawked again. Even though he was a room away, he sounded like he was right next to me. Of all the birds I have ever worked with, he was the loudest. I quickly said goodbye to Jerry before Oscar could scream again.
The hands on Allie’s Star Trek watch read 4:00 p.m. when Jerry arrived at the clinic. After he paid the bill, Allie took him in back to see the films. In the pharmacy area, she stopped to show him the clinic birds. Besides Bongo, Windsor and Romeo, I also had a border canary I adopted during my internship at the Animal Medical Center in New York City. Then, there was Oscar.
“Which one is the screamer?” he asked.
She pointed at a large green bird with a red head. “Oscar can rock the rafters when he gets going. Dr. Nelson rescued him from a garage.” She looked into the bird’s cage. He perched on a natural branch that ran from side to side. He constricted and dilated his pupils in response to Allie but, thank goodness, did not scream. “You be a good bird, Oscar; I’ll feed you in a few minutes.”
“Good bird, good bird,” Bongo repeated.
“Which one said that?” Jerry asked. His eyes darted between the cages.
Allie pointed at a slightly smaller green bird with a yellow head and short tail. Bongo paced back and forth on her perch, upset that Allie was paying attention to Oscar instead of her. “Yes, Bongo is a good bird if you don’t scream like Oscar.” They laughed and walked back to the treatment room.
When Chiffon saw Jerry, she stood on her back legs and pawed the air with her front feet. Allie opened the cage and handed her over. The excited pup licked every part of the man’s face she could reach. Her tail whipped back and forth as fast as she could wag it.
“I think she missed you,” Allie said.
“Yes, it seems so.” Jerry looked at Scruffy curled up in a blanket in the cage below. “Looks like you had some company in here, Chiffon. What’s wrong with that cat? He looks kind of out of it.”
Allie explained that Scruffy was recovering from a neuter. She reached her finger through the bars and rubbed his forehead. He purred and closed his eyes. His new owner would pick him up on his way home from work. Allie then excused herself to feed the birds.
I motioned to Jerry to join me at the viewer. We looked at each film, one by one. I traced organs with my finger as I explained the images. Jerry listened intently with Chiffon perched on his shoulder.
Suddenly, Allie screamed from the pharmacy area. “Dr. Nelson, help!” Chiffon hid her face under Jerry’s. I ran by him without excusing myself. When I reached the pharmacy area, I saw Oscar’s cage door hanging open. My heart raced. I scanned the room, looking for Allie.
Inside my office, Allie stood on a folding chair. Oscar marched around the bottom of the chair with his wings out in full attack position. Every few steps he stopped and stared up at Allie with his beak open.
“What happened?” I asked, trying to stifle a laugh.
“He snuck out of the cage and climbed to the ground when I went to feed him. When I tried to put him back in, he chased me. I jumped on the chair to get away,” Allie said.
I held my lips together and closed my eyes. I knew she was really upset, but this was hysterical. The bird weighed less than a pound but had treed a human! Allie looked at me and knew I was laughing. “It’s not funny,” she continued. “Look what he did to my shoe.” She pointed to the heel of her shoe. Two deep V’s marked the rubber, compliments of Oscar’s upper and lower beaks.
I walked over to Oscar and stuck my hand in front of his chest. “Step up!” I ordered. Vets learn to always sound confident. Internally, anything goes, but to the outside world we are calm and in control. I was not the least bit certain this bird would obey. I had only been teaching him the command for about a week. Oscar lifted his left foot, placed it on my cupped hand and stepped up off the floor. I carried him back to the cage, still trying to suppress my laughter. Allie waited until I had completely secured the cage door before she descended from the safety of the chair. Jerry stood in the doorway with Chiffon in his arms, his mouth hanging wide open.
I explained that Oscar chose me for his mate since there were no female macaws available. As is common with birds, he considers everyone else competition for my attention. That’s why he attacked Allie. Oscar, The Jealous did not want to share me with anyone else. Jerry stood motionless, apparently still in shock.
Coated With Fur: A Vet's Life Page 10