An anecdote I read years ago told the story of several people discussing work-related stress. One man insisted he had it the worst. He sorted oranges all day long, and as they rolled down the conveyor belt he was required to sort them by size, small or large. Moaning, he grabbed his head and shouted “It’s decisions, decisions, decisions! All day long!”

 

I feel you, man.

 

First, it was a Monday. I personally like Mondays, but there’s no denying that they can be thickly sprinkled with pets who became sick over the weekend – though not quite sick enough to push their owners into the expense of an emergency call. Second, of three possible veterinarians, I was the only veterinarian working. Fair enough. But that meant there was no back-up for extra emergencies or over-flow. Then again, my staff is awesome. The back bone of the clinic, they place IV lines, take x-rays, run blood tests and help deliver care to all our patients. THIS Monday was off to a good start because I brought in an enormous bag of tortilla chips for staff snacks. (I confess here that this was less a function of my affection for my staff – I treat with root beer floats or Hagen Daz ice cream bars – than that my husband purchased a Costco sized bag of chips. We’re talking enormous. He moved his cashews to another shelf and I think tossed a few cans of soup to wedge the bag into our cupboard. It barely closed. I told him we did not need a six month supply of snack chips and that it had to go). So we were READY!

 

One tech was sweating before 9, another thought labor pains might be starting, a third thought it was a good day to bring all three of her pets in for exams and vaccinations (she was off). A fourth brought in her limping Beagle for x-rays. On your marks, get set, GO! The dog that began with diarrhea now refused to eat and progressed to a barium study. The cat with bladder stones showed up for a cystotomy to remove them. Three cats and four dogs showed up for other surgeries. A dog who had seizured the night before came in. One of the foxes at the Zoo had an injured paw and the Swainson’s hawk was breathing open-mouthed, so they dropped in mid-morning. Both had to finish their exams under anesthesia. Among the scheduled office calls was a tiny poodle with allergies and an ear infection who might be having a negative reaction to her medication. We flushed and treated her ears then monitored her for reactions for several hours afterwards. She basked under our attention and if she went home and started shaking her head we never heard about it. The dog with the barium study needed follow-up x-rays every few hours. Blood test results from the lab flowed in regularly through our FAX machine. One cat’s test results were so abnormal I refused to believe it and asked the owner to present with the cat at 2 so I could recheck them. A long term family friend came in with her 10 year old cat that had lost 3 pounds and had an abdominal mass. The cat stayed for tests. A Dalmatian who had undergone eye surgery and a French Bulldog with a corneal ulcer were rechecked. I fielded a call from a distraught woman whose 15 year old cat had died. We had not seen the cat in two years. She wanted to know why it had died. We talked (mostly I listened). A litter of five newborn pups came in for tail docks. Two Siamese kittens with an upper respiratory infection came in. Instead of lunch I did surgery (I bring food). We had a rhythm going and stayed on top of things. By 2 o’clock I had finished the morning. All good.

 

But the cat at 2, whose only symptom was not eating, did indeed have really bad blood tests. She was hospitalized on IV medications with a grave prognosis. Another cat was back in after lab results showed he needed treatment for severe allergies. An adult Pitbull showed up as a “walk-in”, dripping blood everywhere. It came from his mouth. After many napkins and mopping up, I could determine only that it seemed to be near a mandibular premolar. We started tests for clotting times and blood disorders. Fleas and hay fever allergies are in full swing here in our Valley and I saw another Pitbull with a “hot spot” and a Labrador threatening to break out in one. I talked to the State Lab about avian tuberculosis in a swan. A cat that had been worked up for chronic diarrhea had gained 2 pounds (success!) and another family said good-bye to a beloved dog with cancer. A pet rat that I’ve been treating for a severe ear infection is not responding to the third course of medication (failure). It was close to 5 and the bleeding dog had not stopped bleeding. His clotting times were normal, so we took him to surgery, where I discovered a gum laceration just inside a back tooth. Using the laser we cauterized all the vessels and sutured the cut. Then we sat there for 5 minutes to be certain it had really stopped before he was awakened. It had. We woke him up. We took the last x-rays of the day (normal) and sent home the Boxer who had eaten a stuffed toy and obstructed. The enterotomy I performed to remove it was successful. One less IV line.

 

Unbelievably, two animals were completely normal and received vaccinations. I have no idea what to make of that!

 

Christine B. McFadden, DVM

drmc@mcmenagerie.com

 

 

Believing that popular tourist attractions must have something compelling to continue to draw crowds, I happily pay to see the giant pig or the enormous snake at the County Fair. Never mind that I have some pretty big snake patients, I am always curious about the possibilities of extremes, from the biggest to the smallest. So it was a given that at some point I would cave and take my family through Ripley’s “Believe It or Not” Museum of artifacts collected around the world on his many trips. More than one museum is required to store his treasure trove, but this one is located right on the Wharf in San Francisco. I saw a mermaid created from the upper body of a monkey and the lower half of a large fish. I saw a stuffed two headed weasel and a real-life video of “Lizard Man” (a man who has tattooed his body with green scales and had his tongue surgically forked). Many of the animals and people were born unique due to congenital anomalies we commonly label as a “defect”, but they were celebrated in their time. I would like to think they found some enjoyment in being different.

 

Seeing these displays made me ponder the varieties of pathology and medical mysteries that I have observed and or heard about from other veterinarians over the years. How much more is out there? It’s mind boggling. I don’t recall any “Siamese twins” or animals conjoined together at birth. I have had a dog born with three kidneys. Pets born with three legs or half a tail are common. Some pet mutations become new breeds. This kind of genetic mutation must be odd enough to stand out (beauty is in the eye of the beholder) but not be deadly. Think of the Manx cat (no tail) or the Munchkin (short, crooked or chondrodystrophic legs like a Bassett Hound) or the hairless Sphynx cat.

 

“Cracker” was a great case. Found on Craig’s List, he came in for a puppy check-up just two days after he was purchased. Cracker was a beautiful silver and black Husky with thick fur and blue eyes. During this initial examination we noted that only one of his testicles had descended into the scrotal sac. This meant he would need to be neutered, both to prevent passing this undesirable trait on and for his health, as retained testes tend to become cancerous with age. Cracker’s owner stopped by the next day to pick up some deworming medicine and commented that he seemed to dribble urine constantly. I frowned and pulled them from the lobby into an open exam room. His coat did seem unduly wet. Wiping him down with paper towels I waited and watched. Drip after slow drip rolled onto the table. Uh-oh. There were several possibilities, none good, but I was most worried about an ectopic ureter. “Ectopic” means displaced and the ureter is the tube that runs urine from the kidney down to the bladder, where it’s stored until the animal chooses to urinate.  This ureter tube is supposed to empty directly into the bladder. Unless, of course, it loses its way and attaches someplace else, outside of the bladder, in which case the urine just rolls on out, drip, drip, drip as it is made by the kidney.

 

Cracker’s owner and I discussed this possibility. We ran some tests to look for bladder infections and check basic kidney function (normal). I asked her to monitor his leaking. On Crackers’ next visit for vaccinations she confirmed that he dripped regularly, without apparent control. By this time he had nearly doubled his weight (normal) and now I could feel a large lump in his belly. We turned to some special x-ray studies. A contrast dye was injected into his foreleg vein. As the dye is processed by the kidneys the normal kidney, ureters and bladder light up like a Christmas tree on x-ray film. If a kidney isn’t working it won’t light up. If a ureter is misplaced you may be able to see that also (tracing tiny ureters can be tricky). In Cracker’s case, his left kidney lit up – it was almost the same size as his head! Sent on to the veterinary teaching hospital at UC Davis, Cracker was ultimately diagnosed with hydronephrosis of the left kidney, which they removed. He had an ectopic ureter on the right kidney, which they fixed by re-attaching it into the bladder. And they removed the stray testis while they were in there. Phew! Believe It or Not, Cracker is 100% normal today!

 

Christine B. McFadden, DVM

Drmc@mcmenagerie.com

 

I used to work with this guy. He had an easy-going manner and was very nice to me when I was just starting out as a veterinarian. We had kids around the same age and met over soccer and baseball fields. So when I ran into him with his wife at a social event I was excited to visit with them and catch up. Beware your friend the veterinarian. Next thing I knew I was sucked into “The Salmon Project”!

 

The Pacific Chinook Salmon is a fish native to the waters of Merced County. It shares a prominent place in Native Americans’ folklore and was a large part of the diet for tribes along the river tributaries from the Central Valley throughout Northern California and up to the Pacific Northwest. The salmon spawn in the cold waters high in the mountains. Female salmon lay a nest, or redd, each female laying over 3,000 beautiful coral pink eggs. The adult Pacific Chinook salmon die after spawning and become needed food just as winter impends for local bear, Bald Eagles, fox, and other wildlife. The adult fish have travelled from the ocean back to the river of their birth (they come in through the delta, and work their way north or south depending upon specific birth locale). These fish bring valuable nutrients from the ocean which are deposited along the riverbanks of their birth home, greatly enriching the soil. Isotope tracing demonstrates that ocean-based nutrients have been found in diverse crops such as wine grapes grown in the Napa Valley.

 

You can see the little fish eyes inside their eggs just before they hatch! I know this because California Fish and Game sponsors a classroom project “Salmonids in The Classroom” which teachers and volunteer Science Lab parents can attend. In exchange for listening and learning, you receive 30 salmon eggs in January to hatch, raise and release back into their designated river bed.

 

It is one thing to sit over a glass of wine under a shade tree with classic rock playing in the background while you discuss the benefits of teaching nature to small children. Save our earth and all that. Your mentor talks enthusiastically of setting little minds on fire with a burning desire to learn more! You imagine yourself as carrying that spark of fire to the cavemen (9 year olds). You can feel the glow from the reflected flames. A second glass of wine and why not? You beg to be included in this adventure. It is quite another thing to physically prepare (during the Holidays!) to mother 30 salmon eggs over 3 months and to safely escort them to rain-swollen rivers where you tearfully, thankfully wave them off and wish them well (except for poor little Grey Goose. Or was it Slushee? You don’t question how the kids knew which of their named 30 eggs didn’t survive).

 

They required an expensive chiller unit for their tank. Sunlight hurt their eyes. Their gravel had to be boiled free of impurities. We calculated the days until the eggs would hatch (like many another baby, they paid no attention and were tardy by two days) and we danced disco to the awesome You Tube film about the salmon life cycle, with music set to “I Will Survive”. We followed politics – if you voted “Yes” to legalize marijuana it could be argued that high mountain growers wouldn’t divert water to their (illegal) crops, drying up necessary small creek beds that fed the tributaries needed for salmon – too little river water allowed warmer water and the eggs wouldn’t survive; no water, well, then no salmon. We followed newspaper coverage of the Water Wars between ranchers and fisherman, Farmer vs Conservationist. They both had good points. Who is safeguarding YOUR future? Who decides what’s most important? Who survives? We learned about the dams, built long ago, that prevent salmon from attaining the upper reaches of their native range. Watershed, anadromous, Native American history. We talked about extinction.

 

We learned how the newborn “alevins” live off their yolk sac, which sticks out below like a funny belly. Once they’ve absorbed the sac they are “buttoned-up” and called fry. We taught baby fish to eat. And then it was time to say good-bye. Of the 3,000 eggs laid by one female salmon, 300 are expected to hatch, 100 are expected to make it to the delta as 2 year old smolts, and 50 out to the ocean, from which one or two may return 2-5 years later. They return to the cold waters of their birth in an ever-awesome process of renewal and birth. Thank you, Dr. Jim Correa and the folks of Fish and Game for an amazing life experience.

 

Christine B. McFadden, DVM

drmc@mcmenagerie.com

Lunch table eavesdroppers get what they deserve when trying to overhear conversation among a group of veterinarians. Like most groups of people, vets search for common ground : they talk shop. One-up-man-ship takes the form of gleefully recounting horror stories of the bloodiest surgery, ugliest tumors, biggest bladder stones and the exploding abscess. Not an aperitif for most lunches. Back in the day when we local veterinarians covered our own emergency work at night we often cowered at the ring of the telephone, never knowing what might be facing us at the other end of the line. I still recall in vivid detail the late night phone call from a distressed turtle owner, claiming that their pregnant turtle was egg bound and insisting that no price was too great but that the turtle needed a C-section NOW. (Yes, egg bound turtles can happen. Yes, surgery is possible, using a sterilized striker cast saw to penetrate the shell, boat fiberglass to close it back up.) The man was persistent and very pushy. Irritated at his manner I became a little short, at which he immediately switched his focus to my “snippy temper”. I took a deep, stormy breath and before I could reply I was startled to hear him break into a deep belly laugh. It was Dr. James Barger, a colleague with a wicked sense of humor. He was also the one who took one look at the Christmas sweatshirt from my mother, customized with a duck and the vet hospital name and said, “She got that right! Quack, quack, quack!” Hmph.

 

But perhaps you aren’t eating lunch and we can talk about abscesses. What IS an abscess? First off, it starts as an infection. If bacteria has entered the body, say by a puncture from a cat’s claw or a dog’s tooth, the body responds. In self-defense it sends white cells to do battle and get rid of the bacteria. An accumulation of dead white cells and bacteria plus some cell fluids becomes a creamy yellow or grey goo we call pus. When the pus pools in a pocket under the skin or in a body part we call that an ABSCESS. Tissue swells around the abscess or pus pocket, turning red. Pressure builds and it can be very painful. Gravity works against healing, as the pus will infiltrate down an arm or leg, tunneling under the skin. If the pressure is very high the skin covering the abscess may rupture, leaking pus everywhere.

 

Although the opening of an abscess for drainage is one of the first orders of treatment, it is desirable that this be a controlled opening, or lancing, of the wound. Skin that ruptures will be torn and jagged and cannot easily be sutured into a cosmetic closure. If the skin on the surface has been stretched too long it may suffer from pressure necrosis and when it finally breaks open so much skin is dead that only a big hole is left. There is no skin to close over it. This could require skin grafts in future to heal properly.

 

Surprisingly, pus itself may not yield the bacteria causing it when cultured. This is because so much of it is dead cells. Lightly scraping the walls of the abscess will yield best results. Although many abscesses do not require cultures for treatment, a culture to identify the bacteria that caused the infection will also identify the antibiotics best chosen to fight the infection. This is very important when dealing with a chronic infection or an unusual presentation.

 

The placement and size of the abscess will determine if it requires minor or major surgery. Drains to allow further guided leakage of pus from the body may be placed, to be removed after several days. A culture may have been taken. Once the abscess has been opened and cleaned out an antibiotic is administered, without waiting for culture results. Cultures require growing the bacteria, separating individual strains if more than one type of bacteria is present, identification of each bacterial type and antibiotic sensitivity or resistance testing of each, a process of 3 to 7 days. Medication can then be modified if needed. Phew!

 

It sounds so clinically neat, written in little letters on a page while you enjoy another cuppa. Reality is they are smelly, messy gooey messes spewing from rotting body parts and oh! Lesson learned. Don’t eavesdrop on veterinarians!

 

Christine B. McFadden, DVM

drmc@mcmenagerie.com

I knew we had a problem when she asked if perhaps I had a different birth date? I frowned, considering my options. No, I confessed, I had only the one birthdate. Apparently the pharmacy who has been filling my families’ prescriptions for well over 15 years was thrown for a loop when my new insurance company recorded an incorrect DOB (date of birth). Never mind that my name, address and most of my face (I am ageing, it’s true) still look pretty much the same as they did last month and last year. Sigh. Heaven forbid the person doing data entry into the computer over in the Philippines might have made an error. I’m still not sure what documents I’ll need to dredge up to prove that I am, in fact, still me.

 

It is helpful to know who you are. A few rock solid facts to stand upon boost your self-confidence. Seemingly small things like knowing your mother’s maiden name or where you attended grade school are comforting on days when the world seems topsy-turvy. I don’t know what animals rely upon when they sense their world swimming out of focus, but from observation I think they take comfort from the voices of the people they love. It always comes back to “home”.

 

“Pixie” is a chocolatey- colored mixed breed dog, about 35 pounds in weight. She has weathered a few health issues and requires regular medication but she is a cheerful dog and quite devoted to her owners. She helps in small tasks on the family farm. I suspect Pixie would love to be a part of the Merced Farmer’s Market on 16^th and Canal Saturday mornings when local farmers showcase their fresh produce but she’s had to stay home. I suppose Pixie kisses might compete with the peaches or sweet potatoes for sale.

 

It was late in the day. Almost time to head for home when the receptionist paged back to ask if we could see a sick dog. I said yes, though not as enthusiastically as I might have a few hours earlier. But when I walked into the room and saw Pixie I was glad I had stayed. The little dog was crouched low on the ground, her head tilted to the right. For a brief moment she unfroze, and as she tried to move her legs scrambled wildly underneath her and she lurched crazily from side to side until, frightened, she froze again. Wow. As an assistant steadied her, talking in calming tones, I quickly reviewed her recent medical history. She had been treated for an ear infection several weeks earlier in the right ear.

 

Pixie tried not to move during the exam. It was clear that she couldn’t make sense of her world and felt completely unbalanced. She was ataxic, wobbling like a drunk person whenever she tried to move. Her loss of balance created a side effect like motion sickness. Pixie vomited all over. We examined deep into her eyes and down each ear. A small amount of brown fluid sat on top of her right ear drum. Her heart sounded normal and she did not have a fever. We checked her electrolytes and ran some other blood tests, which were normal. Pixie’s tentative diagnosis was Vestibular Disease, secondary to an inner ear infection of the right ear. The vestibular system, part of the inner ear, monitors movement and helps to control balance.

 

Vestibular Disease is seen in older dogs and cats. Most of the time there is no known underlying cause and no advance warning before onset of symptoms. Overnight a pet will suddenly become unbalanced (ataxia), often with a head tilted oddly to one side, which in turn may make the pet circle in that direction. Many feel nauseated. Some will have an odd jerking motion to their eyes, called nystagmus. The condition mimics a stroke or a seizure disorder and is quite terrifying to observe. Once other conditions have been ruled out the prognosis for Old Dog Vestibular Disease is quite good, with most dogs recovering within a few days. The head tilt may be permanent but your pet will adjust and navigate just fine.

 

Pixie was certainly frightened and miserable the night she came in. She required IV fluids and medication to stop her vomiting. We also started treatment for the suspected inner ear infection. Overnight Pixie improved dramatically. She walked cheerfully out of her cage the next morning and demanded breakfast! Pixie went home that same day and with any luck (and all this rain) will grow some fine peaches this spring.

 

 

Christine B. McFadden, DVM

Drmc@mcmenagerie.com

Here’s a good question : How do I stop my cat from jumping onto my countertops and kitchen table? Personally, when asked this question I fall back upon the old fashioned remedy of placing aluminum foil around sites I wish to safeguard from our cats predation. This preserved a seashell collection and a plant or two for me when we had a house full of kittens. We only had two, but it seemed like a herd of elephants rampaged through the halls nightly – wherever did Carl Sandburg come up with the poem, entitled  “Fog” : “The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over the harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on.”? Like toddlers, kittens are only quiet when they’re up to no good.

 

Cats do not like to walk on aluminum foil. It moves and crunches and they don’t like its shiny reflection. It is a decent, cheap deterrent readily found in most kitchens, never mind that it does little to improve your homes’ ambiance. Or feng shui. I’ll bet it doesn’t make the list when decorators consider feng shui. Foil wraps around ledges and conforms to odd shapes like the base of expensive vases (which our toddler broke anyway, neatly solving both the cat concerns and any airs we had hoped to put on about it). Moving on, there is also the oils in orange peel, a strong deterrent to the sensitive cat sense of smell. They avoid places covered in orange peel. This one I rarely mention, because who peels citrus every day just to keep their cat away?

 

There are new, innovative objects out there to try now. Rubber kitchen mats with raised spikey bumps will make a counter surface un- cat friendly. I don’t find it any more attractive than foiI. I was unhappy to find that there are some mats that give out tiny “static sensations” – sounds to me like tiny electric shocks – which can be laid onto couches etc and respond to “activations”. Whoa there! No, no, no!

 

There is a motion-sensor odorless spray that sets off when your pet (and presumably you) are near – the spray is meant to startle the offender. Be careful here – you could find yourself jumping into walls if you forget where you last set the darned thing. The sprayed gas is harmless. They said so. And there’s another fabulous gadget that rests on a firm surface (not the bed). This sensor picks up surface vibrations and screams for 2 seconds. May I just interject here that I turn off the automated cat box cleaner every night before bedtime or otherwise I would never get a full night’s sleep. The very thought of something screaming haphazardly has my nerves on edge just writing about it.

 

But wait! I have come across something ingenious! A double-sided sticky tape that comes in tape rolls or sheets. You press one side against the couch you’re trying to protect from use as a scratching post, peel the protective backing off and voila! Your cat will HATE getting his or her paws sticky! I’ll bet this does work. Although they claim the tape doesn’t leave residue, I noted they also mentioned (see the fine print) that it can damage “certain” surfaces – like wood, leather, microfiber, painted surfaces, vinyl and wallpaper. Oh. And I don’t advise anyone to lean against it wearing nylons. Or silk. Or, well, probably anything. Goodness knows what children would do to it. Stray hair would be a magnet. That said, it might work.

 

So why do cats scratch the furniture? The most commonly believed reason is to mark their territory, as they have scent glands on their paws. Mine, mine! It’s no accident it’s also your favorite recliner – your cat loves you and is staking its claim on you and your fabulous pettings. Scratching will also help shed the outer nail sheath – unlike dogs, cat nails do not grow out continuously, but new sheaths form under the old, which is shed about every 8 to 12 weeks. By scratching a nubby surface they pull off the outer covering which has outgrown its blood supply. The new nail is tiny and comes sharply pointed.

 

And why do they jump onto countertops in the first place? Curiosity, for one. Seeking food. Their predator-prey instincts tell them to observe their surroundings from the mountain top, the better to be away from other predators and to search their own prey. The view is always better from the top!

 

Christine B. McFadden, DVM

drmc@mcmenagerie.com

A rare opportunity arose the other day to involve innocent bystanders in matters that neither involved nor interested them and I dove right in. You gotta love people who help. Ask, and they rise to the occasion. So when my first call of the morning was with a lovely young Chinese- speaking woman, I turned to one of my staff. I knew that her mother spoke both Mandarin and Cantonese in the Chinese language and FINALLY I had opportunity to make use of this! I love languages. At work we cover Spanish and Portuguese fairly well with a little of French thrown in. But Chinese! Now THAT was above and beyond! Excited, I asked Monique to get her mother on the phone. Mother and daughter were obliging and soon sing song words were flying through the air interspersed with dog panting. The discussion about ear care was well under way when Monique looked down and whispered to me, “look, he’s bleeding.” We both stared at the floor. No one had mentioned bleeding. A few pinkish droplets were scattered about. Where was it coming from? We had barely touched the dog. I wiped his drool and mouth with a paper towel. No. Looked at his teeth and toenails. Nope. Practically turned upside down to look under his tummy at his private parts – yes! The quick list of differentials for causes of blood in the urine included prostate disease, bladder infection, bladder stones (or uroliths). He was young to consider cancer, but no list is complete without it. And suddenly, there I was, deep into conversation with a woman I’ve never met, directing her to translate information about prostatic disease into Chinese, over the phone, to a woman she’d never met. It was many hours later before I realized that many English speakers aren’t too sure about the prostate and maybe my Good Sam translator wouldn’t know the word in Chinese? Not to mention I’d asked to discuss a potentially “intimate” subject, as in veterinary medicine much is compared and related to human medicine for better understanding. What if she’d told the client that the dog had hemorrhoids of the prepuce? (Which is impossible.) You get my drift. It has given me much to think about. Mostly that MYOB (mind your own business) is always a good idea and that I could have written the word “prostate” down and hoped the owner would find a good dictionary. I owe Monique’s Mom some flowers. Ooooh!

 

But back to that prostate. Only one “r”, thank you. ProstRATE is to lie down flat on the floor and it’s easier to say. ProSTATE is a gland found only in male pets. Unneutered male dogs often suffer from diseases of the prostate gland. The prostate in the dog is about the shape and size of a walnut. It sits below the bladder and makes fluid that develops in response to the hormone testosterone. If a dog is neutered at a young age his prostate tissue doesn’t develop and the dog is at very low risk of having problems there. For adult dogs, increases in testosterone may cause the gland to swell- and that hurts! The swollen prostate bumps up against the colon and traps it against the pelvis – your dog cannot have a bowel movement and may become severely constipated or strain to produce ribbon-like feces. He may walk hunched up. Sometimes the gland becomes infected or worse, develops cancer. You may see blood in his urine and he may strain to urinate or just drip blood and urine. Neutering is always part of the treatment plan to provide relief because the gland will shrink in the absence of testosterone. I am glad to say that for the dog in question the outlook is favorable. No infection was present. He was given anti-inflammatory medication and surgery recommended as soon as possible, as it takes roughly 60 days for testosterone levels to fully drop. Relief is on its way!

 

Speaking of helpers, I have a friend who’s a nurse. Sometimes she scowls and declares “R.N.” does not stand for “refreshments and narcotics”! I about laughed myself sick the first time she said that. Sounds to me like registered nurses get all the fun. If anyone has something equally great for “D.V.M.” please let me know. A “Doctorate in Veterinary Medicine” sounds a bit stuffy.

 

Christine B. McFadden, DVM

drmc@mcmenagerie.com

Cesarean Section

 

Well, I’m not sure who delivered the first baby of the New Year, but I got to deliver the first puppies! Three little girls, all delivered by Cesarean Section! Happy New Years! And preceding them was yet another C-section, safely delivering ten – yes, 10 puppies- to a young mother dog, Zoey, who weighed only 26 pounds before she got pregnant. Wowzers!

 

I tried to look up the origin of the name “Cesarean or Caesarean” and found a long-winded tale that led me to two conclusions : it was NOT named after Julius Caesar, and we really don’t know from whence the word evolved , except that the Latin word for “cut” is “caedare” and that under Roman law (during the life and times of Julius Caesar) a dead or dying woman was supposed to be cut open to remove her baby. The mother was not expected to live. Grim. It was not until the 1900’s that C-section surgeries were practiced with a reasonable expectation of both mother and child surviving, helped greatly by the discovery of antibiotics and anesthesia and boosted by basic hygiene on the doctor’s part and the sterilization of equipment. Most of the history I dug up related to people.

 

There is a miracle inherent in the beginning of all life. For a dog the average length of a pregnancy, or gestation is 63 days, for a cat 64 days. Like much in life, these guidelines are by no means guaranteed. If you know the days of breeding, you may start counting from the first date bred, but even then there is no way of knowing if ovulation coincided. Although ovulation testing is available to breeders through progesterone tests these are still relatively uncommon among pet owners. Knowing the due date becomes a matter of importance if you anticipate a planned C-section. For a pregnancy expected to last just over two months, each day counts. Surgical intervention several days early could go wrong very quickly, possibly delivering immature puppies that would not survive. So why would anyone PLAN on a C-section for their dog? Usually because they own a breed that has a large head which is too bulky to deliver naturally through the birth canal, like English and French Bulldogs or a Mastiff. Or maybe the dog has had a prior C-section. For the rest of the world whose dog underwent a C-section, the surgery was done because something went very wrong in delivery and the surgery was necessary to save the life of the mother. It is always hoped that the puppies make it, too.

 

As your dog nears her last week of pregnancy you have probably noted many changes. She walks slowly. Her belly may be immense and she eats small meals frequently. Her weight can increase by 20% (Zoey went from 26 to 34 pounds). If you follow her temperature rectally, morning and night, you may note that her temperature drops from around 100 down to 96 or 97 degrees – birth is imminent in the next 24 hours. The first stage of labor occurs as the mother dog begins to have small contractions while the birth canal slowly dilates. Your dog may be restless or whiney. The second stage of labor is when the puppies are actually born. Your dog will have strong contractions, you can actually see her abdomen tense and ripple. Often the first puppy will appear within 30 minutes. If your dog pushes like this for more than 4 hours without producing a puppy she needs to see a veterinarian. Statistically up to 40% of pups are born breech or bottoms first. This is ok. It is only if a puppy gets stuck in the pelvis and the pelvic bones of the mom press against the umbilical cord, cutting off the blood supply and oxygen, that a puppy may die.

 

Zoey’s pups were born on a Friday. Zoey is a fawn and white French Bulldog with little bat ears. This was her first litter, her breeding dates were known. We planned on a C-section delivery because she was a high-risk breed for surgical intervention. Her due date straddled a weekend, so we compromised and set the date for the Friday before. We were a little nervous because there isn’t a reliable blood test to tell you that the puppies are fully developed. We set the time at 11 AM, knowing from x-rays that she was expecting 10 puppies and we needed a bunch of people on hand for puppy care. Friday morning, however, the breeder called and cancelled. It was just too much of a gamble to risk those precious pups’ lives. I understood. With my calendar suddenly cleared I considered my options and thought : long lunch! Yessss! At 10 minutes to eleven I grabbed my car keys and headed out. As I passed the front desk they stopped me. Zoey’s owner had run a brief errand and returned to find little puppy feet dangling – Zoey had gone into labor! Secretly I believe Zoey overheard that phone call cancelling her delivery and said “enough is enough!” She had her heart set on the promised due date. They headed for the clinic. So at 11 am on a fine Friday morning Zoey had her “unplanned” C-section right on schedule and was safely delivered of all 10 puppies! I just now noticed I missed lunch that day.

 

Christine B. McFadden, DVM

drmc @mcmenagerie.com

On Dasher and Dancer, on Prancer and Vixen…..I have no idea if Santa’s reindeer develop hip dysplasia, but it’s certainly a problem for dogs of many breeds. The word “dysplasia” simply means abnormal growth or development. So hip dysplasia occurs when the ball and socket joint of the hip doesn’t form correctly. Hip dysplasia is considered hereditary. A common form of dysplasia occurs when the socket is flat. Instead of cupping the ball of the head of the femur (long thigh bone), the flattened socket (acetabulum) allows the femoral head to wobble. This instability makes it hard for the dog to walk properly. Over time all this sliding around wears down the joint lining. Irritated and inflamed, this is the beginning of osteoarthritis. Most people just call it arthritis. Severe cases can cripple a dog before it reaches its first birthday.

 

It is only one bone disorder recognized among developmental growth disorders of the dog. The most important factors YOU can control to prevent developmental orthopedic disease (DOD) is how fast and how heavy your puppy grows and the amount of calcium fed in his or her diet.

 

“Google” was a young German Shephard. Black and tan, he was the biggest boy in his litter and outgoing from day 1. His personality had driven him to fight for the most milk (the last two teats produce the most milk in a dog) and as he outgrew his mates he could ensure he received ample food.  During Googles’ visits for puppy vaccinations we monitored his growth, cautioning the owners to feed the Large Breed Puppy food. This food has fewer calories and a modified calcium ratio to promote gradual growth in very large breed dogs like Shepherds, Mastiffs, Labradors and Golden Retrievers. Gradual growth helps build muscle strength without overwhelming tiny bones trying to support fat bellies! “Butterball” pups are cute but may be more prone to orthopedic disasters.

 

Google came from a conscientious breeder who had the parent dogs undergo special hip x-rays and certification from the Orthopedic Foundation for Animals (OFA). By screening x-rays at 2 years of age, the hips are rated from excellent to good or fair – or dysplastic. By only breeding dogs certified free of dysplasia the odds are greatly increased, though not guaranteed, that your puppy will be free of this disease. Another certification process used in the United States  is the PennHIP x-ray and evaluation. All dog breeds must wait until 2 years of age to undergo testing for OFA hip certification as that is when they have stopped growth and their hip joints are fully formed.

 

Google grew up to become a lovely dog. He benefitted from his owner’s experience with their older shepherd, “Blixen”. Blixen was pure black and had also been extremely big as a puppy. Before he turned two years old he weighed 100 pounds and his owner noted that he “bunny hopped” when he ran and was sometimes slow to get up. X rays were taken and a diagnosis of hip dysplasia made.

 

There are several surgical options to correct the malformed ball and socket joint found in hip dysplasia. Surgical remedy is offered depending upon the age and actual malformation of the individual dog.

 

For those who cannot pursue surgery for their dogs there are also many medical options available. None may be more important than simply keeping your dog as fit as possible. Keep him lean! There is NO PILL that will do as much for your dog as keeping him or her not-fat. Every extra pound places extra pressure on the joints that must carry it! Regular exercise will keep those muscles toned! Arthritis creates a vicious cycle: It hurts, so you stop walking your dog and he loses muscle mass. Strong muscle tone helps support joints and carry weight. Walking and swimming are two of the best activities to keep a dog of any age fit.

 

Medication therapy for hip dysplasia may include joint supplements, antioxidants, anti-inflammatory medications and/or straight pain medications (analgesics). There are many combinations of therapy available to help the dysplastic dog remain comfortable and mobile for many years. Happily, Blixen benefitted from a regime of diet and medication and together he and Google ruled the house for years.

 

Christine B. McFadden, DVM

Drmc@mcmenagerie.com

Thanksgiving 2016

Sooner or later a turkey is bound to fall off the truck. I don’t know how it happens nor why it seems to occur only at this time of year (turkey production is no longer seasonal), but there you have it. A large white domestic turkey (not to be mistaken for its brown-feathered wild brethren) falls off the transport truck between farm house and processing plant. And a Good Samaritan sees it by the side of the road, pulls over, and struggles to fit the somewhat ungainly bird into their back seat. Never mind the stray feathers and turkey, um, effluvium.

I am ultimately presented, as my patient, with a live, knobby legged Thanksgiving turkey who may have suffered some scrapes and cuts (once, a broken leg) but is often surprisingly unscathed by its ordeal and very much looking forward to its next life in the lap of luxury as a pet.

This is where two worlds collide – not so much Magical Beasts and schools called “Hogwarts” – but the pragmatic eye of the farmer versus the starry-eyed vision of the Good Samaritan.

Our farmers work hard. They put in long hours and worry over everything that can affect their crops or the livestock they raise, from rainfall to heat exhaustion. Will they get a water allotment this year to grow enough hay and feed for their animals? Once the hay is baled and the feed stored they wonder how many mice or squirrels will try to make off with it? Or what sort of unseen bacteria might introduce a disease to threaten their herd – and the farmer’s livelihood? It can be a dicey business and YOUR dinner’s success depends upon it.

Ah, therein lies the rub. The farmer is trying to feed you. The Good Samaritan is rescuing an animal in distress – worse, one that was on its way to certain death. And now they’re in front of me, asking to heal their injured turkey. More, often the G.S. is railing against a system where they abruptly come face-to-face with where dinner comes from.

I do my best. I come from farming stock, though I was raised in the city. My training has been thorough and I accept the farm-to-table process. I am personally unable to name an animal and eat it (we’re talking chickens and turkeys here, stay on track) but am capable of a guilty, wicked sense of humor when confronted with a situation like this, where I want to whip out my recipe cards and start murmuring, “wait, I have the perfect orange sauce right here.” May I hasten to add, No! I have never said this. I remain professional.

I have helped these turkeys. I patch up their scrapes, administer medicine, pinned that broken leg. And although never has one become a returning client, it always puts a smile on my face when my annual Thanksgiving bird arrives in our office as secretly I, too, root for the one that got away!

Post Script : For those who may have read a recent column : All three large-breed dogs who came in on harnesses this week tried to bite me. One wore a red harness, another brown with a pink leash! It’s true!

 

Christine B. McFadden, DVM

drmc@mcmenagerie.com