Coated With Fur: A Vet's Life

by Kristen Nelson

  I returned to Steve, who sat frozen in the same position as when I left him. “I can’t believe she did that to me,” he said to himself more than to me. “She’s known me since she was a day-old kitten. I fed her.” He looked at me with a pathetic expression on his face. “I even cleaned her rear end.”

  I placed my hand on his shoulder. “It’s the drugs, dear. I told you some cats, especially ones with her attitude, wake up hallucinating.” My words were of no comfort. He wrung his hands together. “And who knows what she saw ... a nasty dog, a monster or maybe Scruffy.” I waited for a laugh, but Steve did not respond. He started to emerge from the shock. I made him promise that he would never try to hold another cat during recovery.

  Steve stood up and put his arm around my shoulder. “Yes, dear,” he replied.

  Allie appeared in the doorway with good news. Covering the cage worked great. Genny now slept peacefully. Steve readjusted his tie, put on his long wool winter coat and picked up his briefcase.

  “Hey, Allie, I keep forgetting to ask about Scruffy. How’s he doing?”

  “I saw him over Christmas. He’s huge. You wouldn’t recognize him.” The best news of all is that he stopped knocking things off the counter. Mike played with him so much he was too tired to get into trouble.

  “I’m glad to hear that he’s doing well.” Steve smiled at me. “Well, I better get back to work. Now that I’ve taken care of Genny, I’ll leave her in your hands.”

  “Don’t you mean that Genny has taken care of you?” I couldn’t resist.

  “I’ll see you at home,” he said. He pulled the car keys out of a pocket and kissed me on the cheek.

  Chapter 16

  Butch the Alpha Pup

  Dr. Nelson, your next appointment is a new puppy exam.” Allie smiled as she handed me the chart. “The little guy already weighs 30 pounds, and he’s only 8 weeks old.”

  I knocked on the solid door, two sharp raps to alert my clients inside before entering. A 30-something man sat in a chair on the opposite site of the room. A black pup with a white crest on his chest lay at his feet. The pup looked up at me while savoring the bootlace in his mouth.

  After introducing myself to Dan Arnold, I greeted the Great Dane. “And you must be Butch.” The puppy looked up at me without releasing the bootlace. The excess skin on his forehead wrinkled into rows that reminded me of a plowed field. He thumped his tail twice before focusing on the other boot. “Before I examine Butch, I need to ask a few questions,” I said. The man nodded.

  Dan purchased Butch from a Great Dane breeder south of the Twin Cities. The kennel’s contract required a veterinary examination within 48 hours of purchase. If the new owner failed to comply, the contract stipulated the kennel would not be responsible for any health problems discovered at a later date. Having paid more than $1,000, the man took the afternoon off work to make sure the pup was healthy.

  “Has he been vaccinated and dewormed?” I asked. Dan pulled a crumpled paper from the back pocket of his blue jeans. He ran it back and forth over the arm of the chair to remove the wrinkles before handing it to me. As I studied it, Butch wandered around the exam room. Bored with shoelaces, he looked for something new to chew on. He crawled under the man’s chair and emerged on the other side with dust bunnies on his face.

  According to the document, Butch needed another booster shot today. He also needed a fecal check for parasites. I made a quick note in the chart and handed the paper back to Dan.

  “The breeder already wormed him,” the new owner replied. “I’m not made of money, ya know.” Here it comes, I thought.

  I explained that while it was true that the breeder gave Butch three doses of a puppy de-wormer, there was no record of a fecal analysis. Without the test, there was no way to know if Butch had intestinal parasites. He could have been given an unnecessary drug. In addition, there is no perfect de-worming medicine guaranteed to remove every parasite. Without identifying a specific one, the breeder was just shotgunning.

  Silence hung over the room as I waited for a response. Dan gazed at me without blinking. Creases appeared around his eyes; his weathered skin made him look much older than he really was. “The technician mentioned something about heartworms. Will this test for that, too?”

  I explained that heartworms actually live in the heart, so a fecal check, which finds parasites living in the gastrointestinal tract, would not identify them. Mosquitoes transmit juvenile heartworms from animal to animal with the bite. The immature worm swims to the heart and matures into an adult –̶ hence the name heartworm. Every year, we take a sample of blood to check for this parasite. Since Butch was a pup, he would begin heartworm prevention right away without the test. Once a month, he’d think he was getting a treat.

  “I wanna get Butch everything he needs. I have big plans for him.”

  “Errrrrrrh,” the pup cried. He lay on the floor with his nose pressed into the crack between the door and the threshold. His nostrils flared. When nothing happened, he scratched the door with one paw before looking up at us. Something smelled really good on the other side.

  “I think he agrees,” I responded.

  “I’m gonna use him as a stud dog,” the man said, looking into my eyes with a smile on his face. “He comes from champions, you know.”

  “Wow, congratulations.” The hard part for an experienced vet faced with this news is to sound genuinely amazed. Every new owner of a pup registered with the American Kennel Club regales me with this statement.

  “Alright, Butch, it’s time for your exam. Please put him on the table, Mr. Arnold.”

  “Call me Dan.” The man placed one hand under Butch’s chest and another around his rear end. “Come, buddy. It’s time to see the doctor.” He lifted him up onto the table and sat himself down again.

  “Hi, handsome,” I cooed. Butch looked up at me from the middle of the table. He seemed uncomfortable on the slippery surface. “Let’s take a peek at you.” I placed my hands on the top of his head and rubbed his neck. Butch wagged his tail and reached up to lick my lips. I turned my face to the side, allowing the pup to lick my chin instead. The unmistakable smell of puppy breath washed over my face.

  I lifted up each ear and peered into the canals. Butch sat still until I inserted the tip of the otoscope into his left ear. He spun his head around and gave me a warning look.

  “Would you mind putting a hand on him for this?” I asked the owner. Dan rose from the chair.

  “You hold still, Butch.” The pup looked at him, then allowed me to thoroughly examine his ears, eyes and nose. I pried open his mouth with my fingers. Baby teeth with sharp points lined the upper and lower jaws. Pieces of dog chow stuck in the corners of his mouth. All of the teeth meshed with each other in perfect occlusion. Now my hands also smelled like puppy breath.

  “So far, so good,” I stated and removed the stethoscope from my neck. I cleaned a piece of fur from one of the tips before placing them in my ears. Butch leaned forward. He placed his mouth around the metal bell and tubing of the instrument. “Oh no, you don’t,” I said. I removed it from his powerful jaws and placed it on his chest, right behind the left front leg. The scarred tubing, no match for sharp teeth or strong beaks, reminded me of other close calls with dogs, cats and birds. My last stethoscope only lasted a year before a parrot sliced it in half. With my tight budget, I hoped this one would last longer.

  “Lub, dub. Lub, dub.” The sounds echoed in my ears. “Lub, dub, lub, dub.” His rhythm was regular and strong. “Lub dub. Lub dub.” Each beat sounded sharp, no whooshes or clicks to indicate a problem. I replaced the stethoscope around my neck and motioned for Butch to stand. Dan hoisted the pup to his feet. The pup grunted and tried to sit down again. “Point his rear end toward me please,” I instructed.

  I placed both of my hands on Butch’s abdomen and applied light pressure with my fingertips, just enough to feel the organs below. Because Great Danes have large chests, they’re prone to an emergency condition called bloat. To prevent i
t, I advised Dan to feed several small meals per day as opposed to one big one that distends the stomach. I also recommended no exercise for at least one hour after eating. Dan nodded with squinted eyes. I continued to probe Butch’s abdomen with my hands. “His spleen feels good, but he’s got a lot of gas in his intestines.”

  “What does that mean?” Dan asked in a concerned voice.

  “Well, it could be normal for him. It could also mean that he’s got worms, or his food doesn’t agree with him.”

  “I’ll bring in a fecal sample as soon as I can.” I smiled, amused by his changed perspective.

  My right hand moved back to Butch’s scrotum. It sounds elementary, but one of the most important aspects of a purchase exam is to confirm that both testicles are present. During development, one or both testicles may become trapped inside the abdomen, a condition called cryptorchidism. Dogs with this condition are disqualified from the show ring. I felt two large symmetrical testicles in the scrotum. “But I’m glad to tell you that Butch has all of his equipment.”

  I studied Dan’s expression. I don’t read all men correctly, but Dan seemed like the type who would appreciate acknowledgment of his dog’s male virtues. “And I must say, he is very well endowed.” A huge smile spread over the owner’s face. He patted the pup’s side with pride oozing from every pore. I don’t know why this matters so much to guys, but it makes their day when I offer a distinguished medical opinion that their dog is a stud. I finished the exam by flexing both of Butch’s hips and knees.

  “Just a quick vaccination, and you’re done,” I said.

  “I want to get his ears fixed,” Dan stated. “Do you do that, Doc?”

  “No, I don’t.” I squeezed a few drops of rubbing alcohol onto the skin over his right shoulder. “I’m not a fan of ear cropping. I think he looks great just the way God made him.”

  “But I want to get them done so I can show him,” Dan replied.

  “Then I would call the breeder for a recommendation. I don’t know of any veterinarians who perform ear crops.” I handed a dog biscuit to Dan. “Do not give it to him until I tell you to. Just let him sniff it.” I retrieved a syringe filled with pink solution from the drawer beneath the counter, held it upright and flicked the side with my finger. Air bubbles collected in the neck of the syringe. I pushed the plunger in, releasing a pink mist into the air.

  “Are you ready?” I asked. Dan nodded. “Show him the cookie.” While Butch sniffed the cookie, I moved the syringe toward his skin. “OK, Dan.” I scratched the skin with my fingernail. As Dan handed him the biscuit, I pierced Butch’s skin with the syringe.

  “Grrrrrrrl,” a deep growl emanated from the pup, illustrating that the vocal cords were in fine order. The biscuit fell out of his mouth onto the table. I jumped back, pulling the needle out of his skin but failing to inject any vaccine. Young pups often cry when I vaccinate them, but I never had one growl.

  “Knock it off,” I ordered. Butch looked up at me without blinking. I returned his stare. For a full minute, the two of us stood frozen in time, staring at each other, neither of us willing to submit. “Your pup needs an attitude adjustment,” I whispered to Dan without looking away. “If it’s OK with you, I’m going to show him that I’m the boss by holding him on his back until he looks away.”

  “No, I like his attitude. I don’t want no wimp at my house,” the owner said.

  “You don’t understand, Dan. Butch growled at me.” My eyes remained locked with the puppy. “That’s a bad sign. We need to nip this behavior in the bud while he’s small. With the size he’ll have, he could turn into a real monster.” I held Butch’s gaze as I spoke. “Please let me show you some techniques for improving his attitude.”

  “Ah, alright,” Dan stammered. I put down the vaccine and placed both of my hands on Butch without looking away. In one quick motion, I pinned him on his back on the exam table. Butch struggled for several minutes. Loud growls rattled from his throat. His body thumped the table as his legs flailed in the air.

  “No,” I ordered. “No!” My hands ached as I continued to hold him on his back. His front leg caught the bell of the stethoscope and ripped it off my neck. It flew through the air and crashed to the floor.

  “Let him go,” Dan said.

  “Not until he gives up,” I grunted in reply. My back ached as well. “I cannot let go until he looks away.” I could feel Dan’s glare on the back of my head.

  I continued to stand over the pup, staring into his eyes. After three minutes, Butch relaxed and finally looked away. “Good boy,” I exclaimed releasing my grip from his neck. He rolled over and panted. “Good boy,” I repeated. I scratched his back and looked at Dan. In pack behavior, staring is considered a provocative act. If Butch behaved like this with an adult pack member, the dog would grab him by the throat and pin him to the ground to teach respect. If Butch still refused to submit, he would face more serious consequences.

  I rotated my shoulders and stretched my fingers. “Now let’s try this again.”

  Dan stood next to the exam table. Butch snuggled into him without making eye contact with me. Again, I cleaned his skin with alcohol. “Ready?”

  Dan nodded as he put his arm around Butch. “Let ‘er rip.”

  I pulled the cap off the needle. With my left hand, I grasped the skin over the pup’s right shoulder. On command, Dan gave Butch a biscuit. With my right hand, I pushed the needle through the skin. Butch turned his head toward me. A piece of cookie fell on the table. I stared back and shouted “No!” He looked away, and I injected the vaccine without incident. When the biscuit was gone, he nuzzled Dan’s hand for more.

  “Sorry pal, you ate them all.” Dan started to lift him off the table.

  “Wait a minute. I want to play with him a little to make this a good experience.” Dan stepped back from the table. I placed another dog biscuit in front of the pup. He studied my face for a minute before sniffing the treat. “It’s OK, handsome.” I smiled and scratched him on the rump with both hands. Small pieces of dandruff rose to the surface of his coat. I smoothed the hair and brushed them off.

  Butch grabbed the treat. Two chomps later, it was gone. He licked the table, leaving a wet patch where the treat rested. “See, it’s not so bad to come to the vet.” I cradled his head in my hands and looked into his big brown eyes. “You get lots of treats.” Butch glanced briefly at me before turning his attention to Dan. I scratched him again and placed him on the ground.

  “When do we have to come back?” Dan clipped the leash onto Butch’s collar and put his hand on the doorknob.

  “He needs another vaccination in three weeks.” I put the pup’s chart on the table. “And I want you to start obedience training with him right away. He needs to learn that he is not the boss.”

  Dan smiled and opened the door. “We’ll see you in three weeks.”

  Chapter 17

  Puppy Hit by Car

  March in Minnesota is a tease. After months of darkness and cold, Minnesotans are ready for winter to end. Warm sun melts snow into slushy piles. Patches of dried grass appear here and there. At 5:30 p.m., the sky is still light enough to drive home in daylight. A zillion degrees below zero gives way to the balmy 30s. People leave their hats and scarves at home, reveling in the warm temperatures. Then, insidiously, the temperature plummets as an arctic air mass descends from Canada.

  During an especially warm day, Butch returned with Dan for his second set of shots. The pup walked into the clinic with each ear bandaged into a tight roll. They flopped back and forth with each step. Butch weighed in at a hefty 46 pounds. His feet were enormous; they didn’t fit his body. He left muddy footprints the size of a saucer all over our waiting room.

  Due to his behavior during our first encounter, I took extra time with Butch during this visit. I used a chew toy to distract him throughout the physical. Before the vaccination, I looked into Butch’s eyes and rolled him on to his side to re-establish my authority. He glanced at me for a few seconds before decidin
g to submit.

  So far, things were going well. I gave Dan some cookies and prepared the syringe. Butch ignored the cookies. He studied my every motion with an intensity that made me uncomfortable. He did not take his eyes off of me. When I reached for his shoulder with the rubbing alcohol container, Butch looked into my eyes for a brief second before turning away. I wasn’t sure if he was acknowledging me as superior or simply sizing me up for later. He remained still when I injected the vaccine.

  “Butch is going to be a big boy, even by Great Dane standards,” I told Dan. As I rubbed the area where I had injected the vaccine, the puppy continued to watch me. On the table, his head was almost even with mine. “How’s his training coming?”

  “Great, he hasn’t had an accident in over two weeks. I caught him peeing on the carpet once and that was it.” Dan grinned from ear to ear. “He’s a smart pup.”

  “That’s great,” I replied. I pushed a cookie toward Butch. He sniffed it, looked at me for a second and then gobbled it down. “How about obedience training? Did you enroll him in puppy kindergarten?”

  “No need to.” Dan grunted as he placed Butch on the ground. “I’ve been working with him at home. He minds me just fine.” Butch ambled over to the door and looked up at us. Dan took a leather leash out of his pocket. “Butch, come here and let me hook you up.” The pup stayed by the door and looked up at the handle. Dan walked over to him and clipped the leash to his collar.

  “Dan, I know I sound like a broken record, but you really need to get him into obedience training. Besides teaching him basic commands, the classes will help socialize him with other people and animals. It’s critical for giant-breed dogs to get good training as pups when you can still control them.”