Coda

Sunday morning at the Emergency Vet office is never a fun experience.  People filled the waiting room, with animals needing assistance for things ranging from high fever to broken legs.  I came to the Conroe Emergency Vet Clinic to be with Arabella, our little distemper dog, in her last moments.

On Saturday, I took the little Chihuahua from a Vet clinic in the Woodlands to the Emergency Clinic since The Woodlands Clinic would be closed for the Memorial Day weekend holiday.  The dog's sponsor was willing to keep trying to bring Arabella around.  But after receiving an estimate that began at $1,400 with a high of $2,500, and no guarantees or end to the critical care (the estimate was good through Tuesday morning, when the EC Vet would close), the sponsor was forced into making that tough but familiar decision.

"Every time I started thinking about that bill, I'd get a cold knot in my stomach," she told me on the phone this morning.  "I'd spent so much already, and the dog wasn't improving."  I agreed:  it was time to stop, and do the best thing for Arabella.  I had already made it clear to the sponsor that  I would go and be with Arabella at the end since the sponsor was out of town and was handling the dog's treatment via phone and email.

So Sunday morning, instead of going to church, I went to a service of a different kind.  I took a little red collar that Arabella had worn, a pink squeaky toy that she had enjoyed and the softest fleece blanket I own.  At the  EC clinic, the staff was awesome.  Unfortunately, I don't have anyone's names, but every staff person, from the presiding Vet to the Techs and Desk Staff treated Arabella and I with the greatest compassion and respect.

I was ushered into an exam room.  I couldn't take Arabella outside (she was still shedding the distemper virus and would put other clients' animals at risk) but I spread the fleece blanket on the exam table, and when she was brought to me, I removed her Elizabethan collar and slipped a red dog collar around her skinny neck, because in my house, we never have "nekkid dogs"--every foster gets a collar.

She perked up and wagged her tail as I cuddled her.  I showed her   the small pink squeaky toy I'd brought her, and made it squeak.  She reached for it and took it into her mouth.  She didn't have the strength to squeak it, so when she dropped it, I squeaked it and gave it to her again.  She seemed happy and held it contentedly in her mouth (at my house she had walked around with that toy in her mouth, just squeaking and squeaking).  After about 10 minutes, the Doctor and Tech came in with the syringe of pink fluid.

One month ago, I had to put my own dog down.  It was chaotic and hard because my daughter panicked when the dog jerked as the needle went in.  This Vet didn't do a pre-sedate, but she was good at this procedure.  Arabella did tense and jerk once, but I was ready when her head flopped limply into the crook of my arm.  She went easily and fast.

Both the Doctor and Vet Tech were attentive and gentle.  They talked to Arabella through the entire procedure, calling her a good, good dog.  She was a good dog. A very good dog.

Squirrels + Dogs = Not a Good Idea

“Dug” the talking dog in the Pixar loses all focus when it comes to “Squirrels!”  And so do my dogs, especially my Miniature Pinscher, Taco. Today I went out in the backyard—it’s Spring here in Houston—and saw Taco sunning himself. Then I realized he was guarding something. His prize?—the back half of a dead squirrel.

Yipes! I rushed into the house for a hunk of leftover rotisserie chicken and performed a bait-and-switch. I got Taco inside, picked up the dead squirrel, and realized that we were missing the head and forequarters. Not to mention the guts. The carcass was cleanly cut and fairly fresh, with red flesh and a white spot of bone. No shreds or tears. I think this squirrel got caught in the community association mowers’ blades or perhaps was a dropped by the big black vultures that take care of the roadkill around here in the Piney Woods.

I scoured the yard, letting Taco out twice. Each time, he led me to more squirrel bits—two piles of guts. It wasn’t a fun job. A little later, the barfing and pooping began. Because it’s Friday and because we’re traveling to my folks this weekend, I decided to take Taco to my Vet. I use VCA (it’s a complicated story for another post), which is a chain vet. My dog’s regular Vet had called in sick, so I had a different doctor.

You know the rest of the story—nothing you can’t throw money at. The first estimate was about $450, including a premium blood panel. The examining doctor was concerned about pancreatitis, but I vetoed that call. Taco has eaten all manner of things in the 10 years I’ve had him and has never had anything worse than a regular gastrointestinal upset. I brought him in to see if we needed to purge his gut, and to find out what prophylactic measures to take against Leptospirosis, a bacterial infection carried by squirrels and threatening to dogs. We settled on a less expensive blood-fecal-urine panel, along with a pain injection (my normally stoic dog was hunched and groaning and certainly not his bossy, nippy self) and then added an anti-nausea injection after he hurked up in the car before we could get out of the parking lot. I have the pain meds from a different visit, and so went home with antiobiotic (Metronidazole) and another drug to slow the loose stools. The bill was about $275 by the time we were done.

Taco is groggy from the pain meds and I’ve stashed him in a crate with comfy blankets. Hopefully, his system will settle down and we'll get a clean report on his bloodwork. We’ll take some Science Diet ID along with us before we put him back on regular food. I’ll touch base with his regular Vet, plus I’ve already talked to a Vet Tech friend just to make sure I wasn’t over-reacting. I suppose I could have played “wait-and-see” but I chose not to do that.

Squirrels are fine for chasing, but not good at all for dogs to snack on.

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Top Photo:  "Dug" from the Pixar Movie, "Up"
Bottom:  Taco on the prowl for squirrels.

Are You Ready for Your Next Pet Emergency?

Emergency situations with animals are easier to deal with if you have taken some time to plan ahead. If you own a pet—dog, cat, horse or other domestic animal—you’ll probably experience at least one emergency first aid situation during your pet’s lifetime. The Pet First Aid & Disaster Response Guide by G. Elaine Acker (2007; Texas A&M Press for Pets America, Austin) is a slim book that should be every pet owner’s pet-specific first aid kit.

What? You don’t have a pet-specific first-aid kit? Check out the list provided in this booklet and modify a human-specific kit or create one of your own.

Divided into two parts, the book covers basic animal first aid—how to put on a muzzle (the time to practice this on a dog is BEFORE an emergency), how to assess and stabilize an injured animal, and how to transport or move an injured animal. This is not a book designed to replace a veterinarian or other animal care-provider, nor is it a fully comprehensive first aid manual. Instead, the book alerts pet owners to the types of situations that can trigger animal emergencies—at home, at the dog park, on vacation, or during an evacuation.

The second part focuses on disaster tips learned from events such as Hurricane Katrina (which was a wake-up call to thousands of pet owners across the United States). This is the most helpful part of the book in my opinion—pet owners need to consider what they will do if life gets “lifey” and stuff happens.

The book has room to record vital pet information, but on the down-side, the pages are printed on that slick, non-tear paper that doesn’t take ink without smearing. You could photocopy the pages or use them as a guide to create your own forms.

Order direct from Pets America.org (a group dedicated to informing the public about pet first aid issues and working with agencies to develop pet-friendly emergency response procedures for use during disasters). You can also order from Amazon.com. The cost is $14.95, and proceeds go to the group’s efforts to support disaster efforts.

With Hurricane Season around the corner, this book should be in your go-kit.

Corn Cobs & Dogs Don't Mix

A week ago, my Mom’s dog, Bella, a Jack Russell mix, got hold of a piece of corn on the cob and scarfed it down.

My mom said she saw the kernels in Bella’s poop, but couldn’t find any cob. Meanwhile, Bella seemed fine—eating, playing and pooping normally until the Sunday before Memorial Day, when she began to vomit. The vomiting was unproductive, although a small nub of corn cob came up. But worse was that the dog was struggling so hard to purge her gut that her vomit was streaked with blood.

A trip to an emergency vet clinic in downtown San Antonio (south of where my folks live) along with Xrays and fluids showed an obstruction. Today, Bella underwent a surgery at my Mom’s regular vet clinic to open her gut. The surgeon removed two large pieces of corncob from her stomach. Fortunately, the cobs hadn’t entered the intestinal tract, or the surgery would have been far more dicey. As it is, Bella should be home from the animal clinic by Thursday, and is expected to make a full recovery.

The vet told my Mom that corn cobs are one of the most common obstruction items removed from dog guts—dogs love ‘em but corn cobs won’t split up or digest. And as a breed, Jack Russell Terriers like Bella often show little loss of appetite, which is an early symptom of blockage.

So, during this summer’s grill fests, keep a sharp eye on those corn cobs—the bill for this unplanned snack stands at $2,500.