Dumping Dusty

I have found that in life there are a lot of little tests. Sometimes I wonder if it is the way the big guy in the sky, (or wherever you think he is), entertains himself in his free time. Your first few years out of vet school force you to decide not only what kind of veterinarian you are going to be, but also what kind of person, what kind of community member and most importantly and most honestly, what you can live with yourself with afterward. I don’t intend to stand here on my soapbox and preach because I know how hard it is everyday.

My clients always say to me when I arrive to help let their pet pass on how this must be the most difficult part of my job. I know they say this because I know that for a pet parent the most difficult part of having a pet, or loving anything, is losing them. I am honest to a fault. And even at this, the most painful and emotional part of my relationship with my clients, I still tell them honestly that “no, unfortunately this is not the most difficult part of my job.” Not to diminish their grief, and not to sound cold and harsh, but the most difficult part of my job is looking into the eyes of a pet and knowing that no one else in the world gives a damn about them. This is the heart breaking most difficult part of this job for me.

The worst piece of advice I ever got from another vet came from a very competent seasoned person who is well respected and well known in my county. They told me that I “could never love a pet more than their owner does.” I know that this saying was used as the way for them to justify having to euthanize a pet that an owner cannot afford to treat. I thought long and hard about this. I tried to understand why they said it?, if they really believed it?, and if it was being said to me because they were trying to help me preserve my ability to continue practicing medicine in this sometimes very cold world.

Very early on in my travel with my newly minted DVM degree I met a man with a grey cat. He was here to euthanize his cat because the cat had urinated in the laundry basket. I interjected too quickly to see if he would discuss any part of this cats’ home life, litter box conditions, or anything to help me start to investigate why she was “urinating inappropriately,” that’s vet lingo for peeing outside of the box. He was not looking for a discussion. He was here to drop off and leave. I remember standing there, jaw open, heart dropping and thinking, “what the hell do I do now?” You see at this point in my fledgling career I worked for someone else. I wanted this job, and I wanted to do a good job. But I am a stubborn, strong willed girl. I acknowledge that I am terrible at compromising. I asked myself my bottom line question. “If I have to chose between being right and being kind, I chose to be kind.” I walked out of the room and down the hallway to the owner of the clinic. I asked him if I could “adopt a cat from a client?” He quickly said “yes”, thankfully didn’t ask any questions and walked away.

I walked back into the room and told the owner that I wanted to adopt Dusty and try to figure out why she was peeing outside of her box. The owner then told me that she wasn’t a very nice cat and signed over the parental rights of Dusty to me.

It has been six years. And sure enough she is not a cuddly sweet cat. And her litter box aim is not always perfect. But there has always been a reason that the urine wasn’t deposited in the correct receptacle. If her box isn’t clean, or if one of the other cats is harassing her, or if she can’t get to her box she pees outside of it. I understand and accept her. She has her own likes, dislikes, and tolerates very little. She reminds me everyday to be my own person, to follow my beliefs, to not sell my soul to anyone, and to always be kind.

I have never heard from her owner, and I am happy to not have to bear the burden of his intolerance.

Update;

Dusty passed away to chronic renal failure in March of 2013. She was a part of everyday of my professional career from vet school to her passing. She reminded me every single day why I do what I do, why I am so passionate about what I do, and to stay true to my vision, my calling, my passion, and not bend to others who can cast away a life without remorse.

It is not easy to stand up for a pet in the face of an owner who doesn't want to try to care anymore.

I cannot change them, but sometimes I can change the destiny of a pet. I try everyday.

Pudgie-sicle

So it is clear that we have a hard time, and fail miserably, when it comes to turning away a pet in need. One wintery dark evening a young woman and her friend came in carrying a large blanket swaddling, umm? I wasn’t sure, but  something. (Note to all you young vet s out there..Beware the swaddling patients. It is usually a very bad sign).  We put her in a room right away and investigated the covered mass. It turned out to be a young bulldog.  Bulldogs are supposed to be very heavily muscled, especially in the chest area. They are supposed to look like a body builder. Big broad strong shoulders and a wide front leg stance, a face that can stop a truck. Instead what I saw before me was a dirty, scabby, emaciated, lifeless pale almost dead pile of bones. She looked like she had been locked away from food, light, and care for a month, maybe more than a month. I knew there was a horrible story behind this dog. I just wasn’t sure if I was going to hear the truth, or if I even wanted to hear the story.

I had never seen this dog, or these owners, before. This is the first red flag.

Here is the story I was told.  The women told me that they had just found her after being gone for a week. In that week we had been hit by two terrible winter storms. In total both storms had delivered over 3 feet of snow. They had found her in a snow pile left from a snow plow early that morning. She was almost frozen solid. She could barely move. Her physical exam findings were so bleak that I couldn’t even give the owner a guess as to how bad her prognosis was. I mean how do you say its worse than really bad? To make the already bleak picture worse, they had no money to pay for diagnostics, hospitalization, or treatment.  So very quickly she was signed over to our care.

We started to warm her up, drew her blood, placed an i.v. catheter, started to give her i.v. fluids and medications.  I left that night thinking that there was a very good chance that she wouldn’t be alive in the morning. As I queried the owner further she told me that she would often let her out and she would disappear for long periods of time. I was not sure why this owner thought that this kind of care was appropriate. I know that my not always so very well behaved dogs are never out of my sight. They left the clinic and I have never heard from or seen them again, (that pretty much sums it up. I went to a college whose motto was “deeds not words”). They never called to check on her, never came back to say thanks, etc., etc. Even though they said they loved her very much. Sad to say, but this happens alot.

Over the next two weeks she made a miraculous recovery. We ran blood every other day because every day we got the results back I said to the staff that it was soo horrible she shouldn’t have been alive yesterday. It took weeks for her bloodwork to get into the normal range. After 3 weeks of consistent i.v. fluids, antibiotics, and constant intensive care she started to develop a personality. She became a stubborn, strong, obstinent beast. It appeared that she never had any formal training in any area at all. She was not aggressive, or fearful, but she was rude and forceful. We were very concerned about finding her a home. It is especially difficult when I can’t give a foster parent any idea as to what kind of dog this is, and or if they will live any length of time. Any here interested in fostering her? I wasn’t, and I am a glutton for just about any dog.

Through a friend of a friend we found her a home. They love her very much and they understand her personality and her challenges. 

We have re-checked her blood many times since she was discharged.  It is perfect. She is physically and medically perfect.

toby's short life

I have shared a few stories so far. Most of them have had happy ending. But medicine is not a series of stories, it is a series of lives. Some live and some die. Most people think that it is the dying part that causes the stress, now don’t get me wrong, we all want to save all of our patients, but we accept that we can't. We all value life, how fragile and fleeting it is. I can’t speak for MD’s, but I will venture to speak for DVM’s, the really tough part is the acknowledgement that not everyone values life the same way. For many there is a monetary value that each pet represents. In almost every case there is some definable point where the funds run out in the treatment plan. It is something you have to accept. It isn’t easy to feel as if you can't present any treatment plan at all because there are no funds available.

To date, this is my best case example of this dilemma.

JarrettsvilleVet is open 7 days a week. We are open on Sundays on a walk-in basis where it is first come first served, or biggest disaster in the building gets to cut in line. At 1 pm, when we opoen, there is usually a small number of clients waiting at the front door. I usually work the Sunday shift. I like the fast pace, the never know what’s coming in the door suspense, and those 2 hours blow by. And best of all, everyone is so grateful that you are open, and understands the concept of there being no set appointments, so you can't complain, because we are running behind. The clients sit, wait, or chat with the other clients. For a free- for-all day it is really pretty stress free.  In the middle of one chaotic Sunday I saw a young mother and two children sitting on the bench in the reception area with a cat carrier. The kids played quietly and their mom sat quietly. They were the last clients to be seen that day. We usually have the clients met at the front door by the receptionist, who checks them in, quickly reviews what the client is concerned about, gets a basic medical history and then hands off their file to the examination technician who will go over these with the owner again in the exam room and perform a basic TPR (temperature, pulse, respiration), check weight, etc. By the time I get around to the file I have already gotten a pretty good assessment from the two employees that preceed me. For this particular client the chart read simply. “Cat. Attacked by animal 4 days ago. Owner has money concerns”.  I have done this job long enough to not base any opinions or make any decisions without looking at the pet, and talking to the owner. I have had enough charts read the same thing before only to find out later that a budget for one person can be very different for another. I once had an owner come in and explain to me that their budget for the care of their pet was $20,000. That’s a nice budget.

 I walked into the room. I could tell the moment I walked in that that little cat carrier held rotten flesh, necrosis, and maggots. Damn it, I hate maggots. I especially hate them on Sundays. Sundays are difficult because I have a staff of two, and a complete maggot extraction requires general anesthesia. That is always a two hour endeavor. And apart from all of that, it’s maggots! No one likes maggots. I asked a few questions before I ventured to look at the patient. I asked if they had other pets? The little girl, about 7 yeatrs old, happily volunteered that they had 2 dogs, and 4 cats. And Oh! To her delight she also now had 5 kittens. Shit, I thought, theres more where this came from. “Are they vaccinated?” “No”, the woman replied. I then proceeded to tell her how important it is to vaccinate for rabies, and how rabies kills everyone it meets along the way. I spared her from the rest of the discussion about other vaccines, flea and tick prevention, intestinal worms, etc. I was pretty sure I was going to go nowhere with all of that. Ok, I haven’t even opened tha carrier or my mouth yet. I opened the carrier. In it sat a 9 or so month old black and white, (we call them tuxedos) cat. He just sat in the back of the carrier peacefully with his big green eyes looking at me. I pulled the carrier into the light so I could see in the carrier better, and there it was. The wound that was making the stink. Once I assessed where the wound was, and that he was a nice kitty, I stuck my hand in to extract him. He came out esily and willingly. I asked the owner if she had seen his wound. She said she thought there was a cut on his neck. I produced exhibit A. The wound on his neck was the whole entire ventral (throat area) neck region. From almost ear to ear the entire throat skin, muscle, everything down to the level of the last layer of muscle that protects his trachea was gone. In its place was an army of very happy very healthy maggots. To make matters worse, this wound had obviously been there so long that those maggots had cleaned the tissue completely. And he was purring contentedly. He wasn’t in pain, he wasn't alarmed, he was just trying to heal the only way his body knew how. With a little help from his new friends. Once I showed the owner the cats neck she threw her head back in horror and gasped. I then asked her if the kids would be alright waiting outside. They went to the waiting area to color. I started to explain that this unvaccinated, unneutered cat needed a lot of care. She told me that she had spent the last 3 days driving to every clinic she could find to try to get someone to look at her cat. She said that everyone else had told her that the cat would require an examination fee. Apparently whatever their examination fee was she couldn’t afford it. I knew this wasn’t a $20,000 budget plan. I then asked her what her budget was. She said $10 was all she had. Ok, now I don’t want you to feel sorry for her yet. You can feel sorry for the cat at anytime. I told her that if I cut every corner possible, including donating my time, it would be over $300. Mind you he needed the following, FeLV/FIV test, surgery, neuter, vaccines, I was donating my services, and waiving the preferred pre-op bloodwork, i.v. fluids, hospital charges. It should have been about a $500 fee. I also told her that to euthanize him would cost $110. She looked at me again and said $10. But that she was starting a job next week and could maybe pay me back later. I have also done this job long enough to have learned that “later” is code for “never”.

Ok, to go back to my statement about felling sorry for her. This mother, in her mid twenties, had a tattoo from her wrist to her shoulder that had been “inked in”. At least that’s what my techs said it was called. I guess that measn that she had the first part of the tattoo just recently done. Where the outline of the artwork was donme, but you still need the coloing in part done. It was hard to miss the fact that she had a large tattoo, I had missed the significance of it “being underconstruction”. The techs told me that that tattoo could be purchased at a cost of about $800. Ugh! That girl has two small children. A tattoo? Really?

I feel that it is very important to offer options to owners. It is not fair to take away hope, and I cannot send a creature needing help into the world without trying. I hate being in this position. I hate standing there with an angel on one shoulder, (she’s wearing an outfit from Wal-mart), and the devil on the other shoulder, (and yes, she wearing prada, yes I like prada better than Wal-Mart). And I am head down in the middle swearing in my head again. Saying things like," damn it I can't take another cat in", "damn it I can't believe this cat has to die because your tattoo is more important", and "damn it, don’t cry infront of me". But what comes out of my mouth is; "your options are, leave here and your cat will probably die in a few days from infection, or, you can keep driving around trying to find someone who will look at him for $10, or you can sign him over to me and I will try to fix him and then try to find him a home".  Any guesses on what happened. She left crying, with her kids crying and an empty carrier. Ten minutes later his FeLV/FIV test came up strong positive for FIV.

 I see this disease a lot in intact male cats. They spread FIV like wild fire to other cats because they are all fighting for territory. SO PLEASE! neuter your cat at 6 months old. I knew that the kind thing to do was put him under, clean his wounds, try to fix the enormous defect, hope he wakes up, hope he heals, and then, try to do the impossible, find him a home with no other cats to an owner willing to accept the fact that he will probably only live a few years, if he is lucky. With a very heavy heart I did what I am supposed to do. I became the statistician. The scientist who knows that this disease will only go away when we take responsibility for it. When we take out the positive members of the colony. I euthanized him. He purred the entire time. And I felt so guilty. I hadn’t chosen to be kind, I felt like I was just trying to take the easy road. And Frost knows that given a divergence in the road…., well I fear that I chose the easy road.

P.S. Nina's Not a German Shepherd

At my clinic, Jarrettsville Vet Center, do a lot of work with rescues.

It comes from my roots in pursuing veterinary medicine and my deep belief that you should use your talents and abilities to pay it forward. I strongly believe that we are all responsible for the world in which we live in. The more you contribute the better all our lives will collectively all be. I rarely look inward, it makes you jealous, bitter, and defeats any productive purpose. It's not about what I take with me, for me, it’s about what I leave behind.  So if I can help I jump in.


Very early on in the ownership of JVC I was approached by the former owner, the beloved, Dr. Wilson, and asked if I was interested in meeting with a German Shepherd Rescue volunteer? 

I remember him muttering something to the effect of “the smell of new meat”. I was sure that he was referring to me, and the rescue was the predator in his inaudible euphemism. 

I was excited about the opportunity to join forces with a rescue group. I thought it would be a marriage of the best of both worlds. I could help pets who really needed me, feel like I was giving back, and at the end of the day I didn't have to look for a home for them. After all, I had already come to a resolve that this job isn't about the money. 

I met with a few of the Mid-Atlantic German Shepherd Rescue volunteers later that week.

Now that I recall that first meeting I remember Dr. Wilson also passing on a few other pointers to me. He said such things as; “You know German Shepherds can be aggressive, you might want to think about whether the staff can handle them?” and, “You know you are opening the hospital up to disease if they come from a shelter,” and lastly “Why wouldn't you pick a breed like labs?”. 

Well, I thought, I guess because Lab Rescue didn't come to me? And, besides, I grew up with a great sweet protective German Shepherd, and I am not afraid of German Shepherds. (Ahh, ignorance is bliss).

A few days after our meeting, (which really consisted of nothing more than a handshake, and introduction, a tour of the facilities, and some quick jots of prices), the first German Shepherd arrived at JVC. Actually the first two dogs arrived at JVC. One qualified as a German Shepherd, the other was clearly using the definition very, very loosely. 

This second dog is the point of this blog.  That second dog was a Rottweiler. Albeit, a mangey, hairless, scabby, emaciated Rottie. She was found in the same home as the GS, in Puerto Rico, and by the grace of the goodness of the saviors who found her, given a companion departing plane ticket. Her name was Nina. 

Now lets go and review our geography; JVC is in Northern MD. Maryland is far, like really far, away from Peurto Rico. About 2000 miles far. (I didn't put it in the navigator, this is a guess. But you get the point). I don’t really understand how they landed at our facility? But, there they were. Our first rescues. 

I was shocked and appalled when I saw them.

I am always amazed at how resilient and forgiving a dog is. They will lift their head and wag to greet you, even at the precipice of doom, despair, and death.  She was the poster child for the t.v. info-mercials about animal cruelty and neglect that I still can't sit through. Actually all of those mangey, hairless, crusty dogs almost always have the same problem. You, (yes, you), can diagnose them on sight. Feed them, apply flea and tick control, treat for superficial mange, (aka scabies), skin scrape for Demodex, look at the poop, and control the itch without destroying the gut. Remember, that a dog that is fragile on the outside is also fragile on the inside, (but now I am giving away part of the story).  

We started our treatment plan. It included multiple medicated baths per week, oral antibiotics, oral gastro-protectants, ear cleanings, and a high quality recovery diet. 

Everyone got really attached to Nina quickly. Being a veterinary care provider for many of us is a maternal calling that evolves and takes over the most primitive part of our brain. It is soo deeply seeded in human beings that it can convince us to make irrational decisions. The DVM inside of me placed her odds on survival at less than 50%, but the staff was rooting for her and I was afraid to publicly admit my defeatist odds.

One of the reasons I believe that the rescue groups are an important part of our JVC family is that we get to spend long periods of time with these rescued pets. It reminds us on a daily basis that every animal is an individual.  It keeps us from putting up a justifiable, all too common defensive mechanism that becomes a shielding emotional shell and just seeing them as a “thing”. I don’t ever want any staff member to see our patients as just a 'dog', 'cat', etc. Should you ever  become the patient confined to a hospital bed at the mercy of being cared for by someone else, you will want to feel like an individual. A unique complex person who matters. 

About 1 week into Ninas treatment and stay with us, she became very depressed. Her belly was very tender and she was reluctant to eat. If you could coax her into eating she vomited it all back a short time later. 

"Crap," I thought, "here it is, the consequence of having hit her hard with all of the medications she needed to fight all the disease she was carrying." 

I took an x-ray and my fears were confirmed. She had fluid in her abdomen! 

I looked around at my staff. They were now crying and cuddling with her on the floor. I told them that I had to open her up to see why she had fluid in a place it didn't belong. I knew that she probably had perforated something organ somewhere. 

They asked me what I was hoping they wouldn't. “Will she live?” 

I was honest and told them that "I didn't know?" 

I knew she had been just barely holding on since she had arrived. I knew that if I didn't open her up she would be dead by morning. Within a few minutes she was under general anesthesia belly up on the surgery table and I was gloved, gowned and taking deep breaths. Under that gloved, gowned green shroud I whispered that "I wanted to be doing this in another  zip code." I didn't want all of those teary eyes watching me,,, as if I wasn't worried enough? So much for building bonds with the animals, now I have to feel responsible for breaking hearts too?  

I made a ventral mid-line incision into her abdomen. In the laymen’s terms we call it a stem to stern incision. Or, medically, from xyphoid to pelvis. It is essentially the longest abdominal incision that one can make so that you can really get your hands in there and inspect everything completely. The leak can be a pinpoint and there is a lot of stuff in the belly to root through. Ever try to find a hole in a tire? How about a hole, in a hole, in the dark, while your patient is rhythmically heaving up and down as they breathe?

When I opened up her belly the first thing that I saw was free floating ingesta, (or her stomach food and juices). We suctioned out the fluid and started our tedious inspection of her internal contents. 

Sure enough the stomach had a large perforation in it by the pylorus (bottom of the stomach). A few layers of suture and the hole was closed. I moved on to check the rest of her abdomen. Everything else looked remarkably good. She was doing well through the anesthesia and the inquiring heads stopped poking in with worried tear stained faces. She was almost out of the woods and the clinic was returning to its normal busy day hum. 

Like every veterinary hospital the staff has its own internal public announcement system. The surgical technicians are very good at keeping the news wires flashing, which I much prefer that they provide than me. I need to concentrate when I am in surgery. It is the only time I am not talking and multi-tasking.

Nina made it through surgery and she recovered quickly. We had to taper her medications back significantly. Which let her remaining scabies residents have a little fiesta again. We whacked them hard a month later when her body had healed enough to go back on her mite killing meds. She stayed with us at the clinic for about 6 months. It took her scarred over taxed body that long to recover. Needless to say over that time she became an integral consistent part of our team. Many of our clients got to witness her recovery first hand. She was a fixture behind the receptionists area. When it came time to place her in foster care one of our receptionists applied to adopt her. She had nursed her, cared for her, walked her and hugged her through 6 months of treatment, recovery and care, and she was attached. We all were.

Nina lived for 5 more years and thrived. She was loved every day. She reminded all of us that life is full of miracles.

I want to thank MAGSR for bringing Nina home from Puerto Rico even though she was obviously not a German Shepherd. They brought her to us, paid for 6 months of care and then let her go home with the person who loves her most in the world. Amazing things happen everyday,  and sometimes they happen right under our roof.


Nina in the early days of recovery:

At the clinic keeping a dog recovering from surgery company.

Nina at her new home;

Nina and her mom.

Nina smiling a big Thanks!

If you would Like more information on the Mid-Atlantic German Shepherd Rescue 

If you would like to learn more about Jarrettsville Vet 

If you have any pet related questions you can find a whole bunch of helpful people to answer them at Pawbly, or follow me on Twitter @FreePetAdvice.

Bella's New Legs

I have told you about Animal Rescue, in New Freedom, Pa, already. The founder of Animal Rescue is Grace. She is compassionate, generous, and incredibly through all the abuse, neglect, and terrible cases she has seen she still keeps plugging along as kind and generous as ever. She is one of the most incredibly strong willed people I know. Grace has faced the most jarring sides of cruelty for a long time and yet she still answers every phone call with a smile and a hello. 

One day I got a call from Grace.  She was at BARCS, (the Baltimore City Animal Shelter) and they had told her that there was a small young white pit bull that had been surrendered to them because her legs were crooked. BARCS stated that they were not capable of the care she needed to “fix her”. Grace was there to pick up another dog when they had casually mentioned the "crooked dog". Grace wasn’t interested in trying to place another pit bull. You see in inner city Baltimore next to dime a dozen cats, there are a nickel a dozen Pit Bulls. 

Pit Bulls get a very bad unwarranted rap, and they pay for that bad reputation with their life. If you end up at the pearly white gates and they give you the option of being re-incarnated as the nicest, happiest, sweetest dog in the world, but you have a pit bull package say "No!". Most of the world will condemn you and the odds of being forgiven, or given a chance despite the face you were born with, is slim. Did you know that in some places in the world there is such a thing as breed bans? It means that if you end up in one of these places and you are a Pit Bull you are to be euthanized if your owner doesn’t come forward for claim you in the allotted time. It is a hot debate in the animal world. Here is my assessment of the debate. Color doesn’t decide whether you are less of a human, and breed doesn’t decide whether or not you are a danger to society. The man behind both of these determines what kind of soul you will become. I have known the nicest Pit Bulls in the world, and a man that will kill for fun. Don’t judge a book by ts cover. And in the famous words of one of the most famous dog trainer in history, Barbara Woodhouse, “there are no bad dogs.”

Let's get back to Grace’s call to me... She told me that there was a very nice young white female Pit Bull that had been surrendered. Grace said that she couldn’t take her, but she wondered if I could help? She knew that we at Jarrettsville Vet had a soft spot for Pit Bulls. She knew I had one, and that a few of my technicians did too. I told her to put her in the van and I would take a look at her. Grace brought Bella to the clinic a few hours later.

Bella’s original name was “Twister” some kind of cruel joke, so sad, so mean. We changed it immediately. She became Bella. She was about 3 months old. Her bowed front legs spread far apart from her chest and she needed the wide stance to stay upright. In veterinary medicine we are taught to grade everything by a scale system. On a scale of 1 to 4, 4 being the worst, her legs were a 4 plus. She looked like she had ridden a horse cross-continental since the day she was born. It almost defied what you thought was possible. Her legs were so bowed that after a few days with us we noticed that she was developing sores on the lateral (outsides) of her feet and she could barely bend her legs. She was  pitiful to look at, but, was furious about  tail wagging, kissing, and tried with all of her might to get to you just to say "hello." Her will to be a love-bug was not stopped by her inability to get anywhere. 

We ran our basic blood work, checked her for any possible cause of congenital problems, took x-rays, and crossed off all of the possible reasons to give up on her. After she came up clear for everything we could test for we began the daily challenge of trying braces, splints, and contraptions to try to get her legs to start to grow back into normal.

Everyone asked me what I thought her diagnosis was? I told them all what I honestly thought was the truth. I think that she was kept in a cage so small that she couldn’t stand up. I say this because she didn’t have any sores on her feet when she arrived. She had no evidence at all that she had walked. It is almost to difficult to imagine that you could be deformed because you weren’t allowed to grow.

She stayed behind the front desk for a few weeks. We often have a foster dog, cat, (or two or three), behind the desk to help socialize them, and help identify any behavioral problems they may have. Its sort of like speed dating. We can learn an enormous amount about a pet when we throw a lot at them quickly. In that time our clients saw her go through a few generations of splints. In the end the one that worked best for her was PVC pipe cut in half length-wise and applied in clam shell fashion to her bandaged legs. This brace helped remind her bones which directions they were allowed to grow in and they gave her the much needed support to stand up and walk. Within weeks she was almost standing up straight on both front legs. She started jumping and running and acting like the puppy she was at heart.

Today the only remnant of deformity remains as a thickened carpus, (she has bigger than normal bony wrists). She is and remains one of our most loved dog, and we use her story many times over in reminding clients that sometimes a truly unbelievable miracle can happen. Sometimes modern medicine is merely determined don’t give up and try over and over again medicine. PVC and vetwrap medicine.

She is living with Laura now, one of our Technicians. Bella is one of the smiling Pit Bull faces in the pictures below (she is the all white one).

If you would like to read more on Denver Colorado or breed bans please see the following link

www.denverkillsdogs.com/index.html

Update, February 19, 2014.

The technician who adopted Bella brings her to work every so often for a visit. Bella was at the clinic yesterday demanding attention, begging for some ball play, and in general acting like the puppy she will always remain. She is a bright, happy, energetic girl, with a soft heart, a sweet smile, and a larger than life love for everyone!

Thank goodness we saved this little girl from this...

Being a part of so many pets lives has taught me a few valuable lessons; 

1. Never give up on a pet with a drive to survive. They will amaze you.

2. Never walk away from a case because no one else wants to try.

3. Surround yourself with people who believe as strongly as you do that love can cure the ailments of the world.

4. Share a story of inspiration at every chance you get.

If you have a story of amazing pet experience to share please join us at Pawbly.com. Or visit all of us at Jarrettsville Vet in Jarrettsville Maryland.

I am also on Twitter @FreePetAdvice.

Merry Mis-Fortunes

I am reminded of the old saying “no good deed goes unpunished” almost everyday at work. I was especially feeling as if I should just hang my head low and not be nice anymore when I came into the clinic and was told as soon as I walked in the door that someone had left 2 adult cats in a cat carrier by the dumpsters.

The dumpsters are strategically placed beside the road that the clinic is on but hidden from view by a small number of evergreen trees. It is quick, easy, and inconspicuous to pull off of the road scoot into the dumpster area and drop an unwanted package. When I was told that someone had left their cats at our dumpsters I was livid. What the hell were these jerks thinking? They probably knew that if they surrendered them at the local county shelter that they would be euthanized, (see Darla’s Second Chance), and maybe they had called us already, and I am sure if they did we told them that we were all full at the JVC house, (I have a 4 adult cat limit), (I have never gotten down to that number). Or maybe they called the other local shelters and were told what we told them. There is no place for another adult cat here in Harford County, actually I don’t know of any place in the country recruiting adult cats (if they are then I smell something fishy). So maybe I did this to myself? Maybe it was an owner desperate but caring enough to have not left them at the shelter, or maybe it was the universe reminding me again “that no good deed…”. Either way I was still furious.

I said things to myself that consisted of the following. “Damn you, whoever you are, I don’t go to your house, or your place of work and dump my laundry, or my credit card bill, or my dirty dishes.” I don’t leave others to pay my way, to resolve my problems, and because it is a well known fact that I am a big giant softy, incapable of euthanizing a healthy animal I get your cats? I mean WTF? Ok, I know, I swear a lot. I swear a lot on the inside, and sometimes on the outside. I am Italian, and I spent 10 years at sea, it’s not my fault.

After about 10 minutes of venting at the messenger I finally made my way to the cage that held the two dump-ies. They were both obese, obviously middle aged housecats. We scanned them for a microchip (see Jitterbug Decides). Could anyone be dumb enough to drop off one of our own clients cats? We microchip for free , so just about every pet we take care of here is microchipped. Scanned for chip and found, No chip. Probably a good thing because I would have called Animal Control and reported them. You see it is a misdemeanor to dump an animal, and I already mentioned that I was mad!

The small community of Veterinarians keep a close eye on each other. We understand and protect each other. One of the biggest challenges to our profession is burn-out. It happens, a lot. It happens because we come into this profession because we want to make a difference. We feel compelled enough to make a difference that we go to college for at least 8 years, at a cost of over $100,000 and then get out of school to be made to feel like we should be running a non-profit. There isn't one day that we aren't asked for a discount, or told that this “cat really isn't theirs”, they are just feeding and housing it, etc., etc., It is soo hard to act like you don’t care because a client can’t, (or doesn't want to) pay.  This kind of crap causes burn out. I knew that most would have just forwarded "these two cats dumped on us" problem to the “appropriate authorities”, (aka the shelter). But me, nope I can’t do that. (please read section on burn out again, krista).

So naturally I did what I always do next. I gave them a complimentary physical exam, microchip, checked them for FeLV/FIV, vaccinated them, gave them a flea and tick preventative and placed them in their 2 week quarantine. Oh yeah, and of course we gave them a name. Merry and Mistletoe. (It was December we weren’t too creative).

It has been about 2 years. Mistletoe was adopted and Merry remains with us, on a constant diet, and always happy and safe. And a part of our JVC family. She has her own set of medical challenges. It happens with chronic obesity. She seems very itchy most of the time, we term it pruritus. She will groom herself to the point of looking "mangey". So we keep her on monthly flea and tick prevention. (the number one itchy thing affecting pets is fleas, so every itchy pet should be maintained on monthly flea and tick preventative, (and yes ask your vet for some recommendations, that stuff from the grocery store is dangerous and doesn’t work) year around. She is also on a special hypo-allergenic diet. It keeps her itch at a simmer.

She is still with us. You can find out more about her by visiting our website.
http://jarrettsvillevet.com/
Or by coming in to meet her in person. She is a torti, so she comes with her own set of issues, but then again, don’t we all?

To learn more about allergies
http://tinyurl.com/3bjlomh
To learn more about hypoallergenic foods

http://tinyurl.com/3d6f7lk

To learn more about obesity
http://tinyurl.com/3poqd3n


To learn more about Merry
http://tinyurl.com/3f6gxmn

Update, October 2013. Merry was adopted by a former staff member and lives a happy quiet life of ample time, affection, and doting. She has been maintained at a healthy weight on a single protein allergy diet. We are elated to have her find her own happy ending.

Midnight, My cat the hyperthyroid kitty

My first husband left me with a broken heart and a bitter taste in my mouth, but he did love cats. I always tell my clients that a man that likes a cat is a good guy. So I guess I have to stand by that one. Anyway, back to my point of this narrative, he came home one day to our little shabby apartment with a very small handful of black fur. She was pathetic in every sense of the word. She was barely big enough to be identifiable. You had to search for ears to put the label of feline on her. Otherwise she just looked like charred dryer fluff.

What could I possibly say to him? He had pulled into the gas station by our apartment and saw a little black mass hiding in the tires by the repair shop. He went over to her, started to play with her, picked her up and inquired with the attendant as to whether or not anyone claimed her as theirs. He told me that they knew she was there, but they had no idea how she had gotten there. Because she was playing so close to the busy road he knew he couldn’t leave her there to be run over by a car. So, I return to my original question. What could I possibly say to him? I just loved him for caring, and doing exactly the same thing I would have done. At the time it seemed so kismet.

So she stayed with us; and is with me still to this day. She is now 19 years old. She has seen me through a lot of challenges. 2 marriages, 1 divorce, college the second time around, vet school, 3 residences, and 10 other cats.

At the ripe old age of 19 she has certainly got her own little quirks. Her favorite toy still remains the hand knitted hand-made wool mice stuffed with catnip. You will occasionally hear a muffled but high pitched meow echoing from the third floor. If you don’t know it’s her you will think a cat is warning you of an impending fire. It is alarming and almost unrecognizable. It makes me so happy to think that at 19 she still loves her toys. She started out very small and she grew into still very small. She was delivered to me in the palm of a hand and is still transportable by one hand only. She never did weigh more than 6 pounds, even in her glory years.

At age 16 she developed hyperthyroidism. It is one of the 2 big old cat diseases. The other is kidney disease. And just for any of you out there reminding me that I am missing another big old pet disease I say whole heartedly YES! The third is cancer, but I was being species specific. Cancer has no species preference. We vets use the saying quite frequently, “cancer does whatever it wants.” It isn’t what an inquiring, probing, unsure client wants to hear from you when you are trying to read the tea leaves for their pet with cancer.

The classic hyperthyroid cat presents to us as; “Hey Doc I think my cat has worms”. Ok, I recognize the bait, and yes, I bite. “Why would you think that Mrs. Jones?” “Because Doc, she eats and eats and still she keeps losing weight.” “Oh, well maybe we should check into that” I reply. It is important to remember that the acceptance of any diagnosis is always easier if every member of the team is a willing and active participant. A client is always more likely to help treat if you can help them diagnose.

 It is a more difficult task to assess an individual’s behavior if you are also watching 7 others concurrently. (Yes I do have 8 cats. No giggling please.) This is the dilemma of inquiring about a patients’ behaviors, actions, etc., in a multiple pet household. So I had to ask myself the same questions I ask my clients. Was I sure that she was polyphagic (increased hunger/eating)? Umm.., no, not really. But was I sure her small body was shrinking? Yep! Definitely. A blood test later my suspicion was confirmed, and thus began our greatest challenge. The twice daily oral pill administration. OMG, did she fight me. And OMG was I determined to have my own patient treated. it took along time before she understood that i wasn't trying to suffocate her, and after months of practice she now willingly sits, and swallows her pill quickly and easily. this is often hard to convince owners of. Patience and practice are the cornerstones of pilling a cat effectively. Please don't give up after your first attempt doesn't go easily. Always ask your vet to help you. We will show you as many times as you need us to. And you can do it, I promise you can.

A lot of interesting things have happened to veterinary medicine over the last decade. Two of the greatest achievements we have made are; One, the advent of flea and tick prevention, (no I don’t know what we did before them). And two, almost all feline products are going topical. Easy to do? Hell Yes! As effective? Hell No! (usually). But I appreciate and applaud the efforts, and the marketing strategy. Offer a client a topical at twice the price of the original pill and guess what they will choose 9 times out of ten, Yep, they are great money makers. Many of my clients now use a topical hyperthyroid gel instead of pilling. i would say it works 60% of the time. 

So it has been a few years of medicating the disease that’s eats away at her. I send the sentinel down her throat twice a day and the weight is holding steady. She still can be heard prancing around the third floor with a stuffed catnip mouse in her mouth. And me, well, I have a wonderful sweet longtime friend. And I guess I still stand by my thoughts on the “good guys” qualities.

If you would like to learn more about a hyperthyroidism in cats please see the link below;
http://tinyurl.com/3f6web4