The first three things I do when my alarm goes off at 4:30 a.m. are start the coffeepot, check my blood pressure and prepare breakfast for four pet pigs. Nancy, Harry and Peter are easy keepers, but Otis, who is elderly, fat, ungainly and a bit disadvantaged, needs a little TLC. I chop up apples to add to his feed, and he gets a meatball with carprofen for joint pain. After I serve the others, I sit shotgun in front of Otis’s condo and keep his spry mates from poaching his food before he licks his platter clean. This spring, his home got an air conditioning unit.
I’m a senior citizen, and my pets mean everything to me. There’s a special place in my heart for like-minded clients. Here are their stories.
A Sticky Situation
My mom loved animals, and it rubbed off on me. She was on continuous supplemental oxygen at the end of her life, which entailed having an oxygen concentrator in her bedroom closet and a long plastic cord that enabled her to move independently around her apartment. The two young cats she loved had a penchant for chewing on and puncturing the cord, making it harder for her to breathe. I spent one long afternoon wrapping the entire thing with electrical tape so she could continue enjoying the cats.
Mother was particular about her home, and it seemed she had the carpets professionally cleaned constantly. One afternoon, I stopped by with my bulldog, Raymond, on the way home from work. He proceeded to defecate a respectable pile on her plush white carpet. Mother adored Raymond, but she also loved her furnishings. I braced myself for an angry explosion, but, to my surprise, she rolled her eyes and smiled with a “Whatcha gonna do?” expression.
A Rough Ride
Roberta (not her real name) is a longtime Marina Animal Clinic client with a Yorkie named Bob. He has a roller coaster of health issues, most recently heart disease. On a recent visit for a checkup and bloodwork, Bob’s lungs sounded harsh and a little congested, and his tongue was transiently purplish in hue. His abdomen looked bloated. When I recommended chest radiographs, Roberta skeptically asked, “What’s that going to show?” Her deadpan demeanor and frankness belied that she was crazy about her dog and afraid of what the X-rays might tell us.
Realizing this, I told her the radiographs could help determine the stage of Bob’s heart condition. Still, I felt more compassion for Roberta than annoyance that she wasn’t following my recommendation. Roberta is more interested in results than explanations.
Bachelor Buddies
Snookie is a 12-year-old Jack Russell terrier whose owner, Robert, brought him in because Snookie staggered around and collapsed the night before, then lay motionless for some time. “I thought he was having a stroke,” Robert recounted with concern, adding that the terrier had been eating poorly for about a month and a half and was coughing a lot.
I briefly regarded the two as I thought about what he said. Robert and Snookie are a couple of senior bachelors who get frequent visits from Robert’s daughter.
Listening to Snookie’s heart drumming out a Grade 4 of 6 murmur, I told Robert we’d better take chest radiographs. They revealed an enlarged heart pushing on the trachea. My heart went out to my client, for whom Snookie is a cherished friend and companion.
I stifled my emotions and explained Snookie’s heart condition. Robert listened attentively and followed my treatment protocol compliantly. Medication can buy quality time for Snookie, but I empathize with his dad, who depends on me for guidance and to shoot straight about the little dog’s prognosis.
Plan B
Making my way through the treatments of hospitalized patients one morning, I came to Velda, a bright-eyed red dachshund cheerfully wagging her tail. Her hospitalized owner was on life support, and the caretaker brought Velda to Marina for boarding and to find her a new home.
Rehoming a geriatric wiener dog isn’t the simplest task. I put myself in the owner’s place and imagined being disabled and having no relatives to step in and care for my dog kids.
As I drove to work on my birthday that year, I decided Velda would be a gift to myself. She was a dignified little old lady, and she brought me lots of joy, not the least of which was knowing she ended up with someone who would keep loving her.
Goodbye
The black Scottie with the big belly on the exam table was Kathy, and she was Gary’s walking buddy. He said Kathy was, in reality, his late wife’s dog. Now, it was just the two of them.
Kathy had become increasingly lethargic in recent weeks, and Gary said he noticed her abdomen seemed bloated over the past two days. He smiled bravely and told me he had cut their walks short lately because Kathy tired easily.
I radiographed Kathy’s chest and ran a complete blood count and serum chemistry panel. As I suspected, her heart was enlarged, but more concerning was her packed red blood cell volume of 13%. That’s blood-transfusion territory, and images of splenic neoplasia skittered wickedly through my mind. I fitted a 20-gauge needle onto a 12-milliliter syringe and eased it into her bloated abdomen, withdrawing a full volume of frank blood. Sadly, I had my diagnosis.
My heart ached for Gary when I told him he was about to lose the companion who had comforted him through grief and loneliness. Watching him struggle to maintain his composure while I euthanized Kathy, I knew better than to try to hug him or offer consolation that would fall flat.
He held the stoic expression of a man who believed he would appear weak if he bawled over a dog like a baby in public. But Gary’s appearance didn’t fool me. I walked to the back of the clinic and bawled like a baby.
WHAT’S IN A NAME?
Nancy, Raymond and Kathy are easy-to-remember pet names. Not so with some of the names that Nationwide classified as “wacky” in a report on the company’s insured animals. They include ChugChug Pickles (a dog), Skullcrusher (a cat) and Midsize Sedan (an exotic pet). The complete list is at go.navc.com/4c2IEuI.