“Parvo Land”

/ Dr. Christine McFadden / 1 Comment

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She didn’t look like much. A tiny puppy weighing in under 6 pounds, all black with just a white tip to her nose, she seemed exhausted. She had been dumped off with her brothers a few days earlier and had the good luck to be rescued by a kind hearted man. After only 72 hours in her new-found home she was clearly very sick and about to test the generosity of her benefactor.

Today little “Callie” wasn’t playing, wasn’t eating, and had passed some pinkish tan diarrhea. We were all worried about Parvo. Sometimes I think Merced could be re-named “Parvo Land”. The Parvo virus was first recognized in the early 80’s, attacking mostly young puppies by settling in their stomach and intestines and sometimes literally causing the lining of their innards to slough out. Affected pups vomit, pass bloody diarrhea, become very dehydrated and often die. The virus drops their white cell count, the body’s blood cells that fight off infection, so the body’s natural soldiers to disarm the enemy virus are out of commission! Pills, antibiotics and such, don’t work against viruses. Once a puppy has contracted the disease, intensive support of their body systems and time are the only things that will help them live through it. No guarantees.

Parvo can be prevented by vaccinating young puppies, starting at 6 weeks of age. They need a series of shots, just like little kids, before their immune system has developed enough to fully protect them. Most puppies should have received 3 to 4 Parvo vaccinations (properly spaced) by the time they’re 4 months old- then they’re protected!

We didn’t know anything about Callie’s past, but guessed that whoever abandoned her probably hadn’t vaccinated her at all. We waited for her Parvo test to run, a simple fecal swab that can be run in-office in minutes. Her brothers were still playing in the backyard at home. The Parvo virus is highly contagious to other, unvaccinated dogs. We all knew that she might have been exposed to the virus by another dog directly, or indirectly by something as simple as a fly. The bloody diarrhea passed by affected dogs attracts flies, which then serve as “mechanical vectors” (they get right down and walk in it, spreading it around their little fly feet) and do what flies do – buzz around the neighborhood, spreading a little parvo with them sometimes. (Note to self : keep yard clean with frequent poop patrol and clean up. Fewer flies!).

Callie’s test was positive for Parvo. We felt defeated: she was so young, so terribly thin, not enough time in her new home to respond to regular meals and a warm bed. The chances that her brand new owner would spring for the intensive care she required to pull through was unlikely – even the most generous hearted rescue groups have been fazed by the unpredictable response to treatment by this disease and may put their hard earned dollars elsewhere into a more “sure thing”. There are no guarantees with Parvo.

Callie was fortunate – we had permission to proceed with hospitalization. Everyone dove in. She had a blood test to check her white cell count (a little low, it was under 8,000). Her little arm was shaved and an IV catheter placed in her vein. Her blood sugar was monitored, and a regimen of fluids to rehydrate and support her through the IV began. She received injections into her blood stream to stop her nausea, calm the pain of cramping, counteract against possible sepsis (secondary bacterial infections that take advantage when the white cell count drops and can cause death). The first 24 hours were neither good nor bad. Because she wasn’t given anything by mouth to eat or drink, her vomiting stopped, but the trickling diarrhea continued. She stayed cocooned in her little blankets in isolation. By Day 2 her white cell count was dropping – not a good sign. We fought on. On Day 3 her white cell count dropped under 1,000 and we predicted death and gave her owner the option to end treatment. Her owner allowed us to proceed against all odds. Callie hovered another 24 hours, my staff shaking their heads, miserable that we couldn’t just MAKE her better. And then the blood test showed her white cell count was up. We knew she had turned the corner, and just as quickly as she got sick little Callie began to rally. She ate a little food later that day. She came off her IV’s the next and just that fast, began to yip at us and gripe about being confined to a cage bed.

Callie’s brothers contracted Parvo, also, and survived. With  more time and a whole lot of Tender Loving Care (thank you, Jim) they grew into cute Border Collies. If we share the word of Callie’s story and get our puppies vaccinated there will be much less disease around Merced to spread to other puppies – and wouldn’t that be a lovely ending to the story?

Christine B. McFadden, DVM

drmc@mcmenagerie.com

A Helping Hand (Corneal Ulcers)

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Dr Mc Blog

May 14, 2014
“As I was saying, my daughter says that there’s something wrong with her eye. You see it’s kind of mattering and she keeps it closed pretty tight. My daughter gave me some medicine to put in it, but it’s not better, so she said maybe I should see you.”

“Ah”, I said, a trifle overcome. As I gazed at the little cocker spaniel quivering on the exam table I could only be grateful that at last they had sought professional help. She was a pretty little dog but today her head hung low, the eyelids of her right eye neatly pasted together. It looked painful. I had to place eye drops infiltrated with a local anesthetic into her eye before she would let me examine it.

And what an eye! The entire cornea, or outer clear layer that covers the eyeball, was fuzzy blue, a sign of swelling and fluid accumulation (corneal edema) between the thin corneal layers. At the center of the eye a small pit could be seen. This was an ulcer, a hole punctured in the eye by a sharp object – shrubs, cats, foxtails, a bit of trash caught by a face hanging out the car window? It was obvious, too, that the body had tried to heal itself : a fine network of thin vessels traced their way to the edge of the ulcer, to increase circulation and carry off infection cells. (This is why products like Visine are a no-no – constricting the blood vessels prolongs irritation, though the eye will look more clear). Fortunately the ulcer, though severe, was not very deep. A very deep ulcer that has almost pierced the eye will have a deep blue-black appearance and is called a descemetocoele, named for the last of the last ten thin corneal layers that prevent a dog’s eyeball from leaking all over his face. A descemetocoele ulcer often requires corneal surgery.

I applied a small amount of an orange stain containing fluorescein dye to the cornea and watched it turn green over the ulcerated area, outlining the extent of the ulcer nicely. An intact cornea will not take the dye.

I turned to the couple to discuss treatment, now satisfied that I knew the extent of the problem. As I opened my mouth the elderly gentleman hurried to fill me in on my options. “Now don’t you be suggesting surgery. My daughter warned me about those. Said she had a dog done once where they sewed the eyelid up and she could hardly get the medicine in.” Helplessly I asked, “But did it get better?” “Oh yeah, but my daughter didn’t like it.” “But”, I protested, “sewing the third eyelid (inner eyelid – dogs and cats have them, people don’t) up and over the ulcer protects it from further injury and keeps it from drying out. For a small ulcer it isn’t necessary but this has been going on for some time.” “No, ma’am”, the man held firm. “My daughter told me not to do it.”

Well, you do the best you can. The little cocker was given some antibiotic eye drops and some other eye medications, with strict instructions to return within 5 days. That eye took more than twice as long as most to heal, until it would no longer take up the fluorescein stain, and she would always bear a scar. The little dog felt much better, but the client had his own views. On our last visit he surveyed the eye with deep satisfaction. “Yep”, he said, “My daughter told me it was healing up just fine. I only brought her in cuz I knew you’d want to learn from this.”

Christine B. McFadden, DVM

drmc@mcmenagerie.com

Close Associations

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Dr Mc Blog

May 8, 2014

So you think it would be nice to have a veterinarian in the family? Sort of like deciding to take a family vacation by car, this sort of expressed wish is not made with a full deck. Close association with a veterinarian would bring you to your senses.

Veterinarians are lousy companions at dinner. First, I always forget that when someone asks me how my day went, they don’t REALLY want to know. I’m usually well into the second abscess or the ruptured intestine before I realize this, however, and by then I’ve spoiled someone’s appetite for the creamed soup. A veterinarian’s sense of humor is distorted, too. I’ve been at dinner tables where a veterinarian felt compelled to name the steak by its place of origin. Hard to feel the same about your meal after that. And those emergency calls that come so inconveniently! In my case, when invited as a guest, it seems someone always has a constipated kitten to discuss in vivid detail, usually on a phone adjacent to the dining room. Whispering about constipation can make people on both ends of the line think you’re weird.

And don’t forget: veterinarians aren’t trained to do much else. I may be able to place a metal pin in the shaft of a broken bone but don’t ask me to hammer a picture hangar into the wall. When someone talks about using a stud finder I automatically direct them to the local kennel club.

We’ve been known to bring sick animals home and plant them in the bathroom for observation. If the spouse forgets this in the middle of the night some unpleasantness may ensue. How many heads roll depends on whether the spouse stepped in the dog’s poop or just flat out took a flier over the darned thing into the nearest wall.

If you still think you’d like a vet in the family year-round, consider these stories: Much to her mother’s distress, I know a veterinarian (not me) who sewed up the hem on her bridesmaid dress with 2-0 suture using a simple interrupted pattern. And another who went to a Halloween party in a brown paper bag with plastic baggies of mayonnaise stapled to it – he was an abscess. Though veterinarians may not come home covered in grease, expensive 3-piece suits are also out and what they do wear is often covered in muck (I can be more precise). At the end of the day, many a vet feels as if they could substitute for the local fire hydrant.

And finally, what family would rush to take in someone who talks to animals (in public!)? This explains why so few full-fledged veterinarians are adopted – most of us started out in normal, unsuspecting families and by the time they knew where we were headed it was too late.

P.S. Both my mother and husband accept care packages.

 

Christine B. McFadden, DVM
drmc@mcmenagerie.com

 

Humor On The Job

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Dr Mc Blog

May 4, 2014

After years of working together my staff has a few stories to tell.

Like about the crazy cat that bolted from her carrier like a wild thing (“oh, I should have told you she’s never been touched before. We had to put her food in there to catch her….”) and raced across the hospital to seek refuge in the staff break room. And jumped up onto the microwave. Which was in use, warming up some hot cocoa. In her distress the cat released her bladder…which dribbled into the microwave…which smoked and fizzled….and smelled. Probably forever, we don’t really know. We threw it out that very day. Some things you just don’t try to fix. (Except the cat. We “fixed” her. She did great!).

Or the day I gave up Ostrich Practice. Ostriches live in large fields like cows. They aren’t trained to lead on halters, you’re supposed to wait until one comes up to the fence to bite you out of curiosity, grab its’ beak and swiftly pull a cut-off sweatshirt sleeve over their head – once blinded, they won’t move (I’m not kidding. I’ve really done this. Past tense). It was raining and very muddy, and this particular ostrich, though injured from a dog attack and “down”, struggled rather fiercely against the examination so that I had to straddle him for restraint. Among other problems the ostrich had lice and shared some with me. I stopped off at the clinic long enough to glare at my staff, cancel my morning, and go home to clean up. Good news? Lice are “species-specific” parasites, meaning an ostrich louse may be able to run around on a person briefly but it can’t live and breed on you, so once picked off you’re clean. This is true for all types of louse or lice.

Then there was the episode of the Peach Parrot with diarrhea. A Moluccan Cockatoo weighing about 2 ½ pounds, “Peaches” was brought in because of the large puddles of poop she was passing, instead of the neat white and green droppings most birds have. Peaches was droopy and had lost weight, quietly squawking in pain when another puddle flowed out. She was ill enough that we hospitalized her while waiting for some lab test results to come back. Early the next morning I approached my patient in her incubator to see how she had fared overnight. Surprisingly, her bedding was clean. How could her diarrhea have cleared up overnight?  Hmmm. As much as I wish to see a strong response to treatment there was no real way to tell if the diarrhea had improved until I actually saw her droppings. Some birds will not go to the bathroom in their cage and will literally “hold it” until taken out in the morning.  I needed to see her fecal droppings. Hmmm. I examined the incubator floor again, noting a lot of cracked seed shells and some chewed up grapes. What goes in must come out, right? Now, I know a thing or two about birds and I know that most birds will defecate when picked up. So I opened the lid of the incubator, speaking gently to the bird while asking her to perch on my arm. I picked her up. Forgetful that the bird was fully flighted. Bird knew it. Bird took off. Peaches flew straight towards Jillian standing a few feet away. Jillian shrieked and dropped to the ground (anyone remember Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Birds”?). And, OF COURSE the bird flew right to her, landing on her prostrate back as Jillian buried her face in the floor (so the bird couldn’t pick out her eyeballs? Parrots don’t do that!). During the flapping and shrieking I attempted to reassure Jillian by yelling across the space “It’s ok, the bird’s nice!” (she was scaring my patient). Jillian remained (rather rigidly) face down, so I swooped over and re-perched the bird to return her to the incubator. Over my shoulder I heard a staff member assisting Jillian to her feet exclaim “Oh, let me clean that poop off!” I wheeled around and shouted “Wait! I need that!” Faces swiveled and stared at me. Dumbfounded, unbelieving silence. I faced them weakly. “I really need that sample” I begged, sort of inching my way towards the still crouched form of my employee. “Um, thanks” I said as I wielded a tongue depressor to obtain the desired sample.  To this day not a one of them glories in the case assistance given to help this bird. Jillian says she’s forgiven me but I noticed they moved the incubator far away from her work station.

Christine McFadden, DVM

drmc@mcmenagerie.com

Fatso

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Dr Mc Blog

May 1, 2014

Would anyone be interested in starting a gym for dogs? Instead of tight shorts and weight lifting equipment we could sponsor sequined collars and encourage exercises like the “biscuit stretch”.

In todays’ world the working dog is almost a thing of the past – the majority of our pets have only to fight their way out of bed in the morning to get to the food bowl. For many of them, grateful to get a daily walk, the widely promoted high protein foods are not necessary. An incessant bombardment of dog jerky and canine biscuits, table scraps and cocktail peanuts “rounds out” many a pets daily diet….and doesn’t do much for their health.

They waddle in. Some of the smallest breeds can still be carried in. A few you expect to see float in, sort of doggie balloons propped above toothpick legs like the carnival mans’ balloon-on-a stick. The owner usually aw-shucks, Doc, we just love her (or him) so much.

You’re going to love them to death.

Yes, dogs have problems like high cholesterol, fatty liver disease, pancreatitis, heart disease and joint degeneration (arthritis) related to obesity. The rise of diabetes mellitus or sugar diabetes  in dogs and cats has alarmed veterinarians across the nation and is believed to be partly attributable to overweight conditions. Every pet that comes in for an exam is now recommended to receive a Body Condition Score (BCS), meant to sound an alarm if the pet is too heavy or, rarely, too thin.

So let’s discuss fat. Fat is looking at your dog and not seeing the curvy indentation in front of the rear legs and hips that we call a “waist”. Fat is groping over your dogs’ chest searching in vain for a rib. Fat is obvious. Deciding on the correct weight for your dog is less obvious. I recommend to take a few pounds off and look at your dog. It can be that simple. One guideline is the ability to feel the ribs easily, with a thin layer of fat covering them.

How to take the pounds off? The secret will disappoint you: less calories, more exercise. On a weight reduction program your dog can lose up to 1 pound a week. Toy breeds may set a goal of 1 pound weight loss per month. Your veterinarian can guide you safely in this area. It is true that some dogs can suffer from thyroid gland disorders that predispose towards obesity. Some medications can cause weight gain as a side effect. Older dogs may have health problems that preclude dieting. For these reasons dogs with severe weight problems or on medication should be examined first by their veterinarian.

One of my favorite success stories was watching a 45 pound dachshund reduce to a healthy 22 pounds. She did require the aid of a balanced prescription reducing diet, but she came through with flying colors! She acted years younger, cavorting around, full of pep and energy. Her family was wonderfully supportive, despite an embarrassing incident. At the height of her diet, the owners of Greta entertained their minister to a small luncheon. Conversation flowed, congeniality reigned. Suddenly the jaws of the Dieting Dachshund lept out, snatching the ministers’ sandwich from his very lips. Just as quickly she disappeared again. Shaken, the good man left soon after. Word has it that she never repented.

Christine B. McFadden, DVM

drmc@mcmenagerie.com

My Own Christmas Holiday Moment…

/ Dr. Christine McFadden / 1 Comment

So I’ll tell you how it all happened. This morning started with frozen water in my chickens’ feeder. I’m in a hurry (always), so I punch through the ice with my tippy fingers so Goldy and pals can have a drink and then hurry out to the car. My fingers are cold and hurt. The workday starts at the Applegate Zoo. We’re working in the deer pen today, a beautiful crisp, clear – and frigid – day. The new baby fawn is a dark chocolate color and in good health. But what with one thing and another I am running late. And my fingers are still very cold. So I suggest to my assistant, Tim, that we stop at the local Starbucks for a hot chocolate. What I’m late for back at the Clinic is mostly elective surgeries, so at worse I work through my lunch hour – no pets health is adversely affected. And I’m going to be chastised for being late regardless of whether I’m 15 minutes late or 25 minutes late. AND I’m very cold – did I mention that?

So I track down the local Starbucks. Find a parking spot RIGHT IN FRONT of the store! Lucky! Uhh-oh – no money. But handily I have Tim with me, and I beg for a loan (my treat, of course!).  Tim kindly agrees to cover me and in we go. Where I have to explain to the over-worked young man behind the counter that I don’t drink coffee (or frequent Starbucks) but I need something hot to warm up and do they have a hot chocolate with a hint of coffee flavor – decaf! – please? He authoritatively recommends and orders something for me, continuing on to explain and detail some drivel about taking a customer satisfaction survey after our order, with a bonus (!) coupon for some future visit. It involves computers. Fat chance. I’m not returning any time soon.

Tim places his order. That will be eight dollars and thirty cents. Tim hands over his card. Which doesn’t work. Twice. Uhh-oh. I mumble something about credit card payment over the phone? (I can call the Clinic, have someone go through my purse, call them back with my card number…). Nah, they’ve heard that scam before. I duck my head down and start to step out of line. But the nice young man behind the counter waves us down the aisle to pick up our order. What? He tells us the drinks are on him. WHAAAAT?

I assure him we will return to pay – he assures me that’s not necessary.

Our warm drinks, handmade (!) are delivered into our waiting hands. My fingers are instantly grateful. Ahhhh, warmth! With profuse thank-you’s, we slink out (thief!)… casually exiting the store to walk over to our, uh… Jag… and drive off.

Back at work, I fish a $20 bill out of my purse. This guy was extraordinary! I send Tim right back with the money and I jump into work. Tim returns. Apparently when he walked into the store to give our offering, the young man tried to refuse it. Tim insisted that he accept, saying he couldn’t return to work otherwise. He handed over the bill – and as he turned to leave, ran smack into a display shelf, knocking it over and sending a hundred items flying (Non-breakable! Luckily!). The portable shelf disintegrated into bits of pegs and plastic. Tim began to try to gather everything up. They asked him to please leave. Apparently we’d done enough for one day.

Thank you, Adrian of Starbucks! I was going to try to find that customer satisfaction form… but that requires a receipt… which you don’t get when you don’t pay for your drink. Instead, may I wish you a Merry Christmas! From my warmed fingers to your warm heart!

Let’s talk PDA’s…

/ Dr. Christine McFadden / 1 Comment

Dr Mc Blog

So back in 2003 I started to date this guy that had been an attorney, and was now doing the family law judging in town. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I had happily stereotyped lawyers a long time ago, and though I even knew a few I’d call friend and neighbor, still… you know what I mean? But this man was genuinely nice, we’d been introduced through mutual friends, and on this particular evening he had invited me to a very nice Italian restaurant north of town. We muddled through a few topics during the appetizer, and just as the soup and salad course arrived it became difficult to overlook an overly affectionate couple at the next table. I shook my head and looked away. My date re-focused my attention on him, saying with enthusiasm “we need to discuss that!” I shook my head again, dismayed. “Discuss what?”

“PDA’s”, he said.

I stared, riveted in place. My jaw literally dropped. Patent Ductus Arteriosus?!? He had my full attention while I marveled at the RANGE of this man. In seconds I was reliving my first case in vet school, which involved a mother goat and her kid. The youngster was born with a heart defect, Patent Ductus Arterioisus or PDA. The condition is not that uncommon in newborns of any species: an embryonic blood vessel that bypasses the lungs while circulating blood through the heart in the unborn fetus (no air to breathe inside the womb!), it is supposed to close up just before birth. If this particular blood vessel or duct doesn’t close completely, you can hear a swooshy abnormal heart sound, or murmur, in the newborn and most importantly, if the retained embryonic vessel is very large, it will continue to bypass the lungs and the baby may not receive enough oxygenated blood! This can be a life- threatening condition. Happily, most will close on their own within 2 weeks of birth. I still encounter this condition occasionally in young puppies and kittens, and have even had to refer tiny patients to cardiac surgeons for life saving surgery.

It is an intense situation when encountered- and here was my date, delving deep into such an intense subject on a first date!

“Wow,” I said, leaning forward, now fully engaged in this conversation, “What did you want to talk about, when have you encountered this?”

“Well,” he gestured, “on dates.”

“Dates? Your dates have had heart problems?”

“What?”

We were both now staring at each other- (remember, this is early days, when you still give the benefit of the doubt to each other- you know, he seems like he can walk and chew gum at the same time; she appears to be able to navigate a room without falling off her heels – you are charitable). But?!?

I waded in again. “Aren’t you talking about Patent Ductus Arteriosus? A heart murmur in newborns?”

The man who would become my husband glared back, “No, I’m talking about Public Displays of Affection!”

Silence again as we contemplated each other.

“Oh. I’ve never heard of that before.” I mumbled, ” What kind of public displays of affection did you have in mind?”

Never mind. The zest for the topic was gone, and we segued into other, safer conversation.

Christine McFadden, DVM
drmc@mcmenagerie.com

Summer Hiatus

/ Dr. Christine McFadden / 1 Comment

So all the plans for blogs, journaling and the excitement of a new web page were swept away – drowned, actually – in the wake of disturbance created by our new computer program! Indeed, summer seemed to get swept away. I have yet to find that computers are great time savers, though there is no denying that for retrieval of history they are awesome. As long as you input the data to begin with, that is. Oh. So having wrestled the new software into submission (we submitted, actually), we are now back at it. Hello, Blog!

And right there with us have been the chickens. So I conceived a wonderful idea (note light bulb over my head on your next visit): let’s get chickens! I have a small fruit tree orchard at home and am opposed to spraying pesticides and have noted over the years the slow but steady increase of insect varieties amongst my trees. Nothing terribly serious (until the cherry fruit fly moved in) but the trend was disturbing – I’m willing to share my fruit, but the bugs appeared to have their own agenda. And I’m not an entomologist! I’m saving my love for the pets! Hence nature’s little natural bug factory: chickens! Bonus: eggs!

Did you know they mail order day old chicks? They arrived at the post office safely, little peepers! A mixed variety of unusual breeds, all girly chicks because we only wanted “baking eggs” like you buy at the grocery store. No danger of cracking into the kind that might hatch… no need to traumatize children or ME. So we set up the little sweethearts and watched them GROW every DAY. It was amazing!

They got their own little coop and an exercise yard and fresh greens every day and… and… the incidental expenses can be overwhelming! But we really enjoyed our chicks in the Summer of the Computer and found their feathered baby antics quite soothing. It was a family affair – we took deck chairs out back to watch them. So I am now heartily recommending adding a few chickens to your yard – and once those eggs start coming, let me know if you’d like a few “baking eggs” – they’re a special kind that every family needs.

Christine McFadden, DVM

Pedicures For Pooches And Winged Critters

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Just a short note today. Had a bird in last week with nails curling back into his feet. We see the same problem in dogs, and to a lesser extent in some cats (cat nails grow differently- instead of continuous growth, they grow and shed the tips intact, with tiny new tips or sheaths underneath). So there’s always the question of HOW to trim nails, and sometimes WHY they over-grow.
For many dogs and birds, their nail tips may be lightly clipped with a “human” nail trimmer. If the nail itself is white, you may be able to see the pink vein inside and avoid cutting into it, or  “quicking” the nail and making it bleed. BUY yourself some “QuickStop” at the pet supply store, so if a nail does bleed you can stop it by simply pressing a dab of quick stop powder hard into the end. The bleeding itself isn’t a big deal – your dog or bird will not die! It may be more uncomfortable, and I think the styptic powder stings a tad, but sometimes it’s necessary to cut a nail back hard to get things under control.
If a birds nails curl, the bird may be unable to perch! I have also seen dogs that are nearly crippled by curled nails that turn their toes sideways and splay their foot apart! A proper pedicure (sans nail polish) is important to a pets health!
Older dogs with arthritis are especially prone to foot problems and benefit from regular nail trims and shaping. Dogs can develop fungal infections of the nail and weeping infections in the nail bed and tissue that surrounds the toe. Overgrown nails are prone to cracks, splitting, and fractures- which can be so painful that I recommend a mild anesthetic when we repair them (think about digging out a deep splinter!).
One myth I find aggravating on the pets behalf is that cutting a nail back slowly (in stages over a few days) into the quick, causes the vein to recede. The idea is that multiple trims will eventually get the nail to the desired short length without significant bleeding. Let’s walk through this idea (flip flops are fine, hiking boots not required). If you get a paper cut on your finger, it bleeds. The miracle of clotting platelets occurs. You stop bleeding. Within a matter of hours, even if you irritate the same site, it won’t bleed again because the little vessels have naturally retracted! Same with nails! Instead of torturing your pet with every-other-day trims, get it over with once, then maintain regularly!
Regular pedicures vary from pet to pet. Some may need monthly attention, others quarterly . Stay tuned for our soon-to-be-released YouTube how-to video on this subject! Guaranteed seriously good info and hilarious delivery!

Are We Communicating, Doctor?

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National Veterinary Technician Week

As a veterinarian I have been called upon to explore deeply into the human psyche. They never told me about this in vet school. My instructors cautioned against saying “oops” in the exam room, and pulling the ears too tightly on a pug-nosed bulging-eye breed of toy dog lest the eyeballs pop out (and yes, do you know it’s true? But I won’t tell about that one.). No, my teachers fell short in preparing me for the Late-Night-Emergency-Phone-Caller.

How would you respond to this call at quarter to eleven in the P.M., deep into REM sleep?

Veterinarian, “Hello?”

“Hello, Doctor? Meow, meow, meow. That’s what my kitty is saying. Meow, meow, meow…” (OK, I stopped counting. It went on for some time.) The voice on the telephone drew breath finally (one can only imagine her capacity under water), then queried, “Do you know what it is, Doctor?” I confess that I was at a diagnostic loss.

Then there was the time that an owner telephoned and wanted me to tell them if their pet was dead. The difficulty was that I had never seen their dog, and it was laying in their living room at home. Quoting a story from the “National Enquirer”, they were convinced that the pet was catatonic and might be buried alive. Convinced as they were, the question was surprisingly difficult to field. I’m ashamed to say that I finally told them to place the dog in a box and if it still hadn’t moved the next day or so I felt it would be okay to bury. Catatonic dogs were something else they didn’t discuss in vet school. It’s a subject I plan to take up with the dean.

Christine McFadden, DVM
DrMc@mcmenagerie.com