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Stayner and Queenie (A Boy and His Dog)

/ Dr. Christine McFadden / 3 Comments

On January 23, 2019 the Merced Sun Star newspaper printed a front page photo that showed both of the Stayner boys together in 1980, shortly after Steven Stayner had been reunited with his family. Steven’s story was remarkable. Steven disappeared when he was 7 years old, simply vanished from his neighborhood one day. It was 1972. Missing for over 7 years, he was reunited with his family only after his captor kidnapped a second child. Steven couldn’t endure seeing this child’s anguish and he hiked the little boy out to a police station. Although rarely mentioned, he also brought with him a dog. The child Steven aimed to rescue ultimately led to his own rescue. It was an incredible story, one that mesmerized the nation. This photograph, taken during the family reunification, shows Steven with his older brother Cary and their father, Delbert Stayner. The portent was only realized in hindsight : one brother, Steven, had saved a life.  Sadly, Steven died an untimely early death in 1989. Ten years later, in 1999, his older brother Cary Stayner was to gain notoriety for committing the unbearable murders of four women. Overall, a very grim and sad story for the family and the town of Merced.

This was a rare photo that captured both Steven and his older brother together, a moment in a time of celebration. But my eyes saw only the dog. Hey! What about Queenie? That’s a picture of Steven and his DOG! She’s right there, just to the side of Delbert Stayner’s elbow! A little black dog with tan legs, Queenie had been with Steven throughout the years of his captivity. She looks happy in this photo, bright eyed.         (Link to Photo from Modesto Bee Here)

I’m a veterinarian. Of course I noticed the dog. That and – I knew Queenie, knew them both, she and Steven. I knew them because I took care of Queenie at her life’s end. That was many years ago. Her importance was to Steven, her passing private. I share a bit of this story because in today’s world we talk about the “human-animal bond”. We use scientific methods to analyze the effects that animals have in sharing our lives. C’mon people – it’s simple : love.

Queenie. Steven was very young, only 7 years old, when he was torn away from home and family. Queenie entered his captive life early on and remained a constant throughout the years to follow. She gave him unwavering loyalty, and non-judgmental constant cheerful companionship. It is notable that when he left that night to return the little boy, Steven never considered leaving his dog behind.

I met Queenie and Steven in late 1982 or early 1983. She was very ill. The little dog looked thin compared to her bloated abdomen. Steven was very quiet. A polite young man, he desperately wanted to save her. I think, in many ways, she had saved him.

Queenie’s abdomen was enlarged due to fluid build up, a condition called ascites and often caused by liver failure. Back in the early 80’s, blood tests, ultrasounds and other diagnostic tests were not readily available in the Central Valley. Neither was overnight care. I lived in Turlock and commuted to my job in Merced that year. So I started Queenie on IV fluids and other medications and drove her home with me that night. I rigged her IV fluids first to my car door strap, then used a coat hanger to suspend them from a towel rack. She was a sweet dog, but had no energy left to fight her illness. Queenie passed away quietly in my living room at home in Turlock. Steven took her from me the next morning. Although no autopsy was performed, I believed she had liver cancer.

Although I saw Steven with other pets after that, we did not have a personal friendship and I lost touch with him over the years. The love that he and Queenie had for each other has stayed in my heart and I was touched to see her once again, that doggie laugh on her face as she forever follows the love of her life, Steven.

Christine B. McFadden, DVM

drmc@mcmenagerie.com

My Husband’s Hospital Vacation

/ Dr. Christine McFadden / 2 Comments

My first indication that text messaging had gone too far in my household was the afternoon I checked my phone and discovered the following message : “Just wanted to let you know. I thought I might be having a heart attack so I checked myself into the hospital.” It had been sent from my husband’s cell phone.

 

What you need to know were the events preceding this text message. My husband had taken our children skiing two days earlier. On this morning, he had done some moaning and groaning around the house. The problem is, I not only have to get ready for work myself, but I oversee care of the kids, the cats and the chickens before leaving. Getting to school on time is a mountain we climb every day. If it’s not worth opening your mouth to speak up about something, I’m not going to slow down long enough to start an inquiry. He knows where to find his Advil.

 

I confess I felt more irritation than anxiety when I read the message. Really? I’d had a full day and no lunch up to that point. So I called him. He answered. He sounded cheerful. Enough hours had passed before I’d discovered his message that he could assure me that his chest x-rays, his blood tests and his EKG were all normal and he wasn’t having a heart attack. So why are you still there? I reasoned. Well, he rambled on, this doesn’t explain the pain. “What about arthritis?” I asked. Oh no, he assured me, I’ve never had arthritis here. It’s on my right side. I was driving myself to the golf course and felt pain in my right arm, so I pulled over and googled heart attacks. It said they would be on the left side, but I thought I should be sure. They’re going to run another test to see if I have blood clots. If it’s abnormal, I’ll stay for a CT scan.

 

OK, honey. I returned to my own patients. There was a cat that had been tumbled in the dryer for 7 minutes. She appeared dazed, with tiny bruises starting to appear on her skin where patches of fur were missing. She was a lucky cat; only last month, another cat had actually died in a similar accident. We began treatment for shock and started the cat on IV fluids.

 

It was closing time when my husband called. My test is abnormal, he said. “What’s the name of that test, hon?” D-Dimer. We use the D-dimer test in veterinary medicine. Platelets, the cells that help blood coagulate or clot so you don’t bleed out, will slowly break down after they’ve served their purpose. If your body is forming big blood clots where it shouldn’t, the by-product of platelet breakdown will be very high in the blood stream. The D-dimer test measures this level.

 

For a variety of reasons, I didn’t believe it. So while getting the kids squared away I researched the normal blood levels for humans. Armed with this info, I went down to visit my husband in the ER. He looked remarkably fit. In fact, he wasn’t feeling any pain, though he’d not been given any medication. I asked his nurse for the actual number on his D-dimer test. It was less than 200. I stared at the nurse. “But that’s normal”. Yes, the nurse agreed. I stared at my husband. “Who told you it was abnormal?” He frowned, concentrating. He wasn’t sure (What else did he have to do?). About then they came to wheel him down for his CT scan. They said it would be read that night. Forgive me my skepticism, but having assured myself that my husband was doing very well, I kissed him and told him to enjoy his scan. At this point I reflected that if they did find something wrong with him, it would not be what he’d gone in for. I slept poorly (despite my brave front). At 2:20 in the morning (5 hours later) my husband sent a text message that he had completed his CT scan but it wouldn’t be read until the next day.

 

I visited him on my way to work the next morning. He was cheerful and even complimentary on the hospital breakfast. They were going to run some more blood tests. I left him to it.

 

At work, my own patients were well. My dryer tumbled cat looked much better and was enjoying a hearty breakfast herself. Her bloodwork was excellent. By early afternoon I was discharging my patient to her ecstatic owner. Back at the human hospital, my husband had been leaked the information that he had a “non-displaced hairline fracture in his right rib”. My husband was now being offered an echocardiogram and had begun to call me every hour or so. I told him if he couldn’t relieve the babysitter by 3:30 to let me know. If he wanted to stay another night in the hospital that was on him. I was worn out.

 

Once he knew it was just a cracked rib, my husband felt lots better. I arrived home that night to find he had invited several people to dinner and cooked up a storm. Even better, he could go on his golf vacation next week.

 

I am SO grateful my patients can’t talk!

 

Christine B. McFadden, DVM

drmc@mcmenagerie.com

Castor the Police Dog

/ Dr. Christine McFadden / Leave a comment

There are many fine working dogs out there – cattle and sheep dogs, Guide Dogs for the Blind, Special needs assistance dogs, Bomb and Drug dogs, and perhaps one of the finest working groups, the Working Police Dog, or K-9 Cops, complete with their own badge. Hired on by Police and Sheriff departments nationwide, they are largely made up of German Shephard and Belgian Malinois breeds. I have had the honor of working with these dogs for over 30 years. Both local Police Department and Sheriff’s Departments have working dogs, used on the SWAT team, for school protection, building searches, drug deals and of course, criminal apprehension.

Astor was a beautiful sable shepherd. High strung, as so many of these dogs need to be to perform their job, ever alert, he suffered from stomach issues, and his spleen would swell to enormous proportions. We had just gotten in 4 new dogs at the Police Department, and one had already been rejected for a permanent lameness in the right shoulder and returned to the seller. This was at great expense and nerve wracking for the new program. To have problems with another dog was near unbearable. I said he needed to have surgery, to biopsy the intestine and spleen. It was late in the day when his handler came down to visit him in recovery. Though the individual police departments own the dogs, it is their Peace Officer Handlers that live with the dog and develop an intense bond. These dogs – and their handlers – were new to me and I knew very little about them. I was ignorant that even off duty an officer is expected to be prepared to respond to an emergency, so when the handler bent over in post op to greet his dog, I was most startled to note a gun in his waistband! I wondered if he’d planned to shoot me if the surgery hadn’t gone well! (He said no).

Most of the dogs have German names, as many were and still are imported from Germany. Their commands are given in the German Schitzhund or obedience training language. Handlers lucky enough to be assigned a partnership with one of these dogs will spend weeks learning the cues and training required while forming a deep bond. You see, these dogs can go where a person cannot. These dogs serve as the first line of defense when things go bad. No one wants to lose a dog – but better the dog than a Peace Officer. The K-9 Cop can mark a perpetrator in a crowd and run him (or her) down. Once the fleeing person stops, they will stand still, not biting unless the person resists and provokes a bite. They can be sent into buildings with cameras on their backs to locate the offender. They can smell or hear where someone is hidden.

Castor was a Malinois from the Sheriff’s Department. He passed away naturally some years ago. A very “sharp” dog, he was a holy terror when he came into our clinic. He growled at all the staff. He was not walked during his brief stays, as we customarily do with all boarding pets. Except….Castor loved me. There was no rhyme nor reason to it. I poked him with needles, gave shots, drew blood. No problem. At first I wondered if I resembled the handler’s wife, but once I met her, blonde, petite, beautiful, sadly I knew that I did not. Whatever the reason, I was grateful. Castor had many arrests to his name, but my favorite story was the guy swimming in the canal to elude capture. His handler sent the dog, knowing if the guy made it to the far bank he might get away. The criminal decided to drown the dog. Castor took matters into his own hands, simply wrapping his jaws around the only body part he could reach – his neck. The man surrendered.

In the United States Air Force, fighter pilots are accompanied by a “Wingman”, another fighter plane which flies off the right wing and just behind the lead, whose job is primarily to protect the lead by “watching his back”. Our Canine Corps of Peace Officers serve as “Wingman” to the officers they shadow.  May we be humbled by their gifts and grateful for their service.

Marijuana Toxicosis

/ Dr. Christine McFadden / Leave a comment

Now it is possible that some of you may succumb to the same little habit I am guilty of: reading the popular magazines while standing in line at the grocery store. Never buying them, of course. This is where I follow the stars (we aren’t talking astronomy here) and gather knowledge of my fellow human beings. Consider it human resource research. It doesn’t take many pages for me to feel that I have gleaned everything of interest that one of these magazines might offer, so imagine my surprise when I came across an entire page devoted to the subject of: “What’s In My Bag?” It is actually believed to be of interest to American readers to know what a Hollywood actress might carry in her purse. I am stuck on that: who cares and why? First, I decided to look in my own purse. I have one, though I rarely carry it.  Wallet, ID, keys. A pen. Sometimes I have actual money in there, sometimes not. I cannot imagine this being of interest to anyone else. Even potential purse snatchers have divined that it’s not worth their time.

Now, if I was going to be interviewed for a magazine with full page glossies, would I lie and embellish all that? You bet. Do people really carry extra shoes, whole bottles of water, and apples in their purses? Why don’t THEIR apples bruise after being jostled in a bag with shoes all day long? Are those shoes… gym shoes? Ewww. Is it possible that I am the only person in the world who doesn’t carry protein bars as their snack, sweetened preferably with honey or agave or stevia leaves, no white sugar please? Help! These women have no need for gym class – their purses are “free weights”. Crunches, curls, lunges -just lift and press that purse. The possibilities are endless.

One item missing from these lists of “What’s In My Bag” are marijuana products. Ooops, did I just say that? Hollywood has a bit of a rep for extreme partying, for a lifestyle of too many pills, alcohol, and drugs. Now that marijuana has been legalized in California I thought someone’s “Bag” might be the first place it would show up. So I’m happy they’ve shown restraint. I’m not very happy about marijuana, legal or not. Legalization has opened up a host of dangers for my patients, mostly the dogs.  As a veterinarian, I am appalled at the people who, through carelessness or on purpose, allow it to be shared with their pets. Over the years I have cared for several dogs that were “stoned”. Marijuana-laced brownies or other food items were usually the culprit, but about half the time the item was shared with the dog because their owner was high and thought their dog should be allowed to experience the same “joy”. The reason I saw the dog was because even in their fog, the owners recognized something was terribly wrong and sought emergency care for their pet.

A pet affected by marijuana toxicosis will exhibit a host of neurological abnormalities. Dogs may become so agitated they appear manic, drooling, dilated pupils, constant vocalization and walk uncoordinated. Seizures, coma and death may occur. There is no ready test at present to detect marijuana levels in a dog, so we must rely on the owner’s honest history if we are to help their pet. That said, there is also no true antidote – we must watch the dog suffer the effects, which we try to minimize and flush out the drug with IV fluids, oral charcoal, sedatives and  sometimes enemas. The active chemicals in marijuana are stored in body fat, broken down in the liver and exit the body in the feces. It can take 24 miserable hours or longer for your pet to recover. Some trip. I am not impressed.

Years ago, fatalities related to marijuana exposure were rare. Most pets ingested only small amounts of a natural plant, containing a relatively small amount of the primary psychotropic chemical THC (tetrahydrocannabinol). That is no longer true. You see, in developing medical-grade marijuana products they have synthesized and concentrated the most potent chemicals in marijuana. Pets that ingest these medical-grade products have a much higher risk of toxicity.

The American Veterinary Medical Association (AVMA) is undertaking research to see if there are any medical benefits to the non-hallucinatory, non-psychotropic chemical CBD (cannabidiol) that is also found in marijuana. Could it be part of a treatment plan for problems such as arthritis in pets or epileptic seizure control? At this time there is little scientific evidence on this subject. Legitimate research has been hampered by the fact that while many State laws have legalized restricted uses for marijuana in people, the Federal Laws have not changed. Until the safety and risks of CBD products have been studied there is little advice on the subject from veterinarians. In the meantime, PLEASE prevent exposure of your pet to any THC / marijuana products !

Christine McFadden holds a license to practice veterinary medicine and surgery. She has cared for the family pets of Merced at Valley Animal Hospital for more than 30 years. Send questions or comments to drmc@mcmenagerie.com.

The Water Cycle

/ Dr. Christine McFadden / Leave a comment

Kids say the darndest things! This year “The Water Cycle” is being taught in Science at the high school, which came to my attention when a story was relayed to me the other night.

rainboots

It had been raining, and the young man was quite anxious. “It’s raining!” he exclaimed. “Yes, yes it is,” his teacher agreed. Drawing closer, he whispered, “Do I smell like pee?” Backing up, his teacher stared at him. “What are you talking about? Of course not!”

The student went on to explain his thought processes. He fully understood the Water Cycle and its importance to Earth’s replenishing and sustainability of its water sources. Taking it a step further, he reasoned that all the animals urinate outdoors – dogs, cats, horses and cows, bears and raccoons, all the wild birds, even the insects and fish. Well (his eyes widening), all that urine must leach into the soil and evaporate just like water! Which meant it was now returning to earth and raining urine on his head.

Having never thought this through to this degree I stopped to ponder these ideas, searching for merit. His teacher, I might add, did no such thing. She told him the clouds filtered out impurities and the rain was clean and he could retake his seat. He was most relieved. I was impressed at her quick-witted response. This is where the scientist in me gets bogged down. This is why I’d be a lousy teacher.

So, the Water Cycle, in its simplest form, explains how water covers 71 percent of the Earth’s surface. This water cycles through several steps: It evaporates into the atmosphere, where it condenses into droplets that form clouds and later falls back to the earth as precipitation (rain, snow, hail, sleet), which is collected or returned to our oceans, lakes and land.

Next, urine from mammals is composed of about 95-percent water plus some other compounds, including urea. Urea contains nitrogen. This fact is very important to a different science lesson, the Nitrogen Cycle. Nitrogen is necessary for all life as the building block of protein, which both plants and animals need to grow. Nitrogen is the most important nutrient that plants get from the soil. The soil receives this nitrogen in two ways – nitrates come from animal solid waste like manure. From liquid waste like urine comes urea. Another way nitrogen is acquired is through decomposing into the soil.

Birds and reptiles are uricotelic (I wrote this whole story so I could prove I know that word), meaning their urine waste is in the more solid form of urates (that white stuff in the bird’s droppings) than liquid urine. It’s simply how their non-mammalian rudimentary kidneys function.

This is a very long-winded way of explaining that only the water from body wastes can evaporate into the air. All the “impurities” or other compounds are left behind to enrich our soil. Rainwater is essentially distilled water, free from impurities unless it picks up local air pollution/ dust or other debris as it returns as precipitation during the Water Cycle.

This is the most amazing win-win ever! So put on your galoshes and go splash in some puddles!

And have a great day!

Christine McFadden, DVM

Send questions or comments to drmc@mcmenagerie.com.

World Rabies Day

/ Dr. Christine McFadden / Leave a comment

 

Several years ago I wrote an article on Rabies (Merced Sun Star, June 2014), a viral disease carried from animal to animal and sometimes from animal to human. For both animals and humans the disease is considered a death sentence.  I recently came upon a series of articles in a veterinary journal and was sad to learn that the disease is still a serious threat in much of the world and that approximately 60,000 people die from this disease every year. Still.

 

Why do I take up the story again? Because it deserves to be heard and, most importantly, it is still a threat to you and your loved ones. A very real threat if you enjoy traveling to out-of-the-way places.

Rabies-outbreak-map-rabies-symptoms-rabies-dog-bite-1125644

Rabies is a slow-moving viral disease. It can affect any mammal, but is usually spread from one carnivore to another as the virus is passed in saliva by bites through the skin. Infection after contact with infected saliva on an open wound is a possible, though unlikely, mode of transmission. Once a new victim has been bitten, the virus slowly makes its way into the nerves and through the nervous system to the brain. This can take two weeks to 2 months or longer. By the time the rabies virus is present in the saliva, death is near. It is for this reason that when an unknown dog bites a person the dog will be quarantined for 2 weeks.  Two weeks is long enough to monitor the dog : If rabid, the animal will die. The dog’s brain can then be tested for rabies virus and the bitten person still has ample time to receive the anti-rabies protective vaccine.

 

Rabies has been found in the wildlife in and around Merced County. It is endemic in area bats, raccoons, skunks and foxes. You, the pet owner, have set up a terrific protective line of defense by the simple stratagem of vaccinating your pet dogs and cats. It is believed that by vaccinating 80% of a populations’ pets an effective barrier is created to protect people against exposure to the disease. In the United States more rabid cats have been reported to the CDC (Center for Disease Control) than dogs for several years. Vaccinate your cats! Vaccinate all dogs and cats older than 3 months of age. Keep them up-to-date.

 

There are a few island communities which have managed to keep rabies out or eradicate its presence : Hawaii, Great Britain, and Japan are three. You cannot easily take a dog or cat into those Islands. I applaud their high security. The regions most likely to have rabid animals that endanger humans are underdeveloped countries in Asia and Africa.

 

For the traveler to a foreign country, be aware that the dogs roaming the streets may be high risk for encountering rabies. The unsuspecting traveler may admire a puppy, letting it lick their hands. Food you carry could attract attention from a roving dog. Many of these countries have inadequate medical services for diagnosing rabies or offering post-exposure prophylaxis (prevention/ PEP) services.  Rabies prevention is not universally available. The more exotic your outpost, the higher the risk of encountering rabies. Of the 60,000 people who die every year, nearly every single case (99%) of human death started with a bite from an infected dog.

 

Whether at home or traveling, camping for a weekend or following your dreams of adventure exploring a foreign land, please take precautions. Enjoy wildlife, but don’t treat or keep wildlife as pets. They cannot be vaccinated against rabies and may have variable incubation times for rabies. Avoid attracting wild life to your home or campsite. Do not feed wildlife. Do not feed your pets outdoors, as this attracts wild life and strays.  Avoid animals acting unnaturally. Animal-proof your trash. Avoid stray dogs and cats. Stray animals may not be vaccinated and they run high risk of exposure and contact with wild animals that might harbor rabies. The message, Backpackers : stay away from unknown dogs and wild life. The life you save might be your own!

 

World Rabies Day is Thursday, September 28th this year. This day is sponsored by an alliance among the World Health Organization and many other organizations working towards the goal of eradicating Rabies deaths in people and animals by the year 2030. They are joined by the One Health Initiative, a group dedicated to promoting increased communication and joint action between physicians and veterinarians globally through the integration of human medicine, veterinary medicine and environmental science. Rabies is cited as a classic example of what “One Health” is all about, as the control of rabies in animals has reduced the death toll in people from that disease. Together, we CAN make a difference.

 

Christine B. McFadden, DVM

drmc@mcmenagerie.com

Photo Credit : https://www.express.co.uk

The Large Animal Vet

/ Dr. Christine McFadden / Leave a comment

 

 

Perhaps the title sounds misleading. A “large animal” vet develops a veterinary practice caring for the needs of livestock such as cattle (dairy or beef), sheep, goats and pigs. A “small animal” veterinarian like me is usually slotted into the care of companion pets such as dogs and cats. So when I examine a 200 pound dog, it is still a small animal and likewise there is often confusion about whom to call when the patient is a pot-belly/miniature pig. Not me.

 

The life of a small animal vet and that of a large animal practitioner are markedly different. One works almost exclusively indoors, dressed neatly, white coat in place. The other weathers life outdoors, facing extremes of blazing heat to icy cold, rain and snow. One always has a sink handy to tidy up. The other uses outdoor hoses more than they’d like. A dairy vet may check over 100 head of cattle in a morning and four “farm calls” make a full day. A small animal vet may follow the medical strands of more than 25 patients a day, winding through exams, blood results, x-rays and working in a surgery or two.  All juggle the demands of unexpected emergency work.

 

Being in an office most of the day, I rarely interact with my brother and sister large animal veterinarians. So when the pygmy goat from the petting zoo fell over dead I was unhappy, but proceeded to perform a post-mortem examination and sent tissue samples off to our regular lab. I had overseen the care of these goats for many years, but they were on the back burner when it came to my interest in the truly exotic Zoo collection. My concerns centered on whether or not the public might have fed something odd to the goat? (I’ll jump ahead here : No. The public did not harm the goat). I mulled over the problem but prepared to wait until the pathology report was finished sometime in the next week. And then another goat died.

 

I was unnerved. The goats were being closely watched and none had shown any outward signs of sickness. They had all lived for more than 8 years at the Zoo and had never, collectively, suffered a single injury amongst themselves. I immediately sought the expertise of a Large Animal veterinarian. The Goat Expert was on a dairy farm. The return call came in as I was finishing one surgery and about to start another. Gloves still on, I was staring at some x-rays

in-between these surgeries when they told me they had Dr. B on the line. Multi-tasking at its best.

 

I hurried over, snapping gloves into the waste receptacle and grabbing pen and paper. I introduced myself and LAUNCHED into a recital of my goat woes. I verified that he had goat experience? Yes. I gave him dates, genders, date of deaths, lack of lab results, still pending. I drew breath to spew forth another list of details and heard him gently respond, “Yes…. I think…. I might be able…. to help”. His measured tones were from a man used to the gentle rhythms of milking machines, contented cows swishing their tails, chewing their cuds. Da-dum da-dum to my staccato dop-dop-dop-dop-dop! I managed to squeeze in a few more hurried sentences (surgery! Waiting!) before he responded calmly, “I think I drive past your practice on my way up from this dairy….”. I opened my mouth. Closed my mouth. I could hear the clouds, feel the sunshine, almost see the shining black and white hides of the gentle Holsteins he surveyed as we spoke. It was all there in the rhythm of his speech. I told myself to stop yapping before he decided my goat problem would be too stressful for him to bother with.

 

An hour later Dr. Thomas Bauman drove up in a large truck outfitted for all manner of veterinary ministrations. He spent an hour and a half doing a post-mortem on one goat. He had a wicked knife and mulled over the cause of sand in the stomach. He felt it was too much. Did we feed on the ground? No. But little kids feed the Zoo goats oat hay pellets and they often dropped to the sand, with all the goats scrambling to get their share. Hmmm. He gave the problem his full attention and we submitted a gazillion samples to the State Lab, including an intact eyeball because it would be useful for trace metal analyses. The final answer was a copper deficiency in the feed, to which Pygmy goats are especially susceptible. Hay grown in the San Joaquin Valley is often deficient in copper. The salt lick fed at the Zoo did not have added copper because Alpacas are in with the goats and they are susceptible to copper toxicity (too much) if supplemented. So we now feed our goats little capsules of copper wire every six months and all is good. But sometimes I find myself wishing that I was a Large Animal veterinarian. Just so I could slow down and smell the …..never mind.

 

Christine B. McFadden, DVM

drmc@mcmenagerie.com