Dropped calls and Droppings

You maneuver up the Sepulveda pass returning from the Valley for the second time today all the while wishing there were a way to connect your iTunes from the iPhone into the trusty 2004 Highlander as well as connecting to the vibrating seatcover with speakers near the headrest. You try to field a call from the Service. You fear the reception will fail as usual since ATT&SUCK lives up to their name. Dispatch tells you the caller has some questions about a home euthanasia. You gladly accept and connect to a caller who seems to have bypassed the operator with trickery and deception. She probes your attitude about THIS reason to put her dog down. The beagle mix they rescued is biting her family. You give the speech about how the dog needs to be quarantined for two weeks BUT you hear the beeping in your headset. Call Fail. THANK YOU AT&SUCK but then you call back the service to connect to the operator and have them reconnect and you are on hold reaching the top of the Pass when the operator comes on and states the woman just had questions and as you explain to the operator about the quarantine and other measures the DAMN BEEP ending the call once again-Thank you for using AT&SUCK, how may I DROP your call? And you revel over how primitive communications have become. Did you get the point across, you wonder?

Earlier in the day in surgery you remove a lead shot bullet from a cat’s skull. The cat is missing an eye from an “accident” years ago. In your mind you try to assemble the trajectory through the eye socket to where the shot now rests lodged in the tympanic bulla. No one ever bothered to Xray the cat when the good Samaritan first brought her in after being left for dead. At the other hospital they removed the damaged eye and assumed the cat a hit by car victim. Now in your care you have battled the chronic ear infection for over a year until finally after numerous suggestions you convince the owner to xray. Unbelievable, there the shot lay on the digital rad. White metal foreign body stuck in the bulla. You realize you can reach it fairly easily and surgically remove the problem. Which you do. The cat's ear is clearing so far.

If only all cases were this cut and dried…

[DO NOT READ FURTHER IF YOU SICKEN EASILY]

You head back through the Pass toward Sunset sitting still the late evening logjam. Your mind wanders. You study the 405 widening project the civil engineers have going with enormous reinforced cement walls holding the mountain open for the new stream of car lanes soon to come. You are still wiped from the early morning call. Monday morning, 3AM. The witching hour…

Bleary-eyed, you drive the 10 east toward Downtown LA straight shot smooth sail not that gridlock 12 hours ago no you are cruising in on the Downtown loft community: people with lots of pets without a vet. No one seems to want to set up shop. Not yet. But you have been Downtown many times and it’s always the same scenario. Downtown parking during the day is a HUMONGOUS hassle for the housecall vet. No garage is nearby best find a meter. You discover parking garages take no credit cards. And you never carry enough cash. However, the meter DOES take credit cards. The meter is always a long trek with a cart two plus blocks around the corner. But at night, Downtown is awesome for parking and live entertainment on the stage of life. You never know what human drama is about to unfold. You are never concerned for your safety. You count on the “911” part of your brand to command some respect which it does in other hoods. And this time a loading zone is ready and waiting for you, doctor. You buzz the intercom. The owner has to come down. She’s disabled film student and her A.D.D. service dog Sporty (not his real name) You recall opening up squirrelly Sporty’s stomach a two short months ago to remove a bunch of bones and plastic. Doggy-rooter being successful kept Sporty alive just so he could get in trouble repeat offender. The lovely young woman in a wheelchair greets you with that happy-as-hell-to-see-you-again-doc look. She is cough-retching, she explains, from the awful stench going on up in her loft. Great, you think.

You enter the Downtown Deco building that reminds of Gotham City. Retro elevator doors slide open and summon you in. On the way up the owner states that Sporty had diarrhea everywhere and there is blood. You enter the loft with its spacious floorplan and picture windows with their big-ass view of the city. You gaze across the room and notice the large plastic airline kennel. From what you can tell, looks like the kennel got caught in a shitstorm. It’s completely smeared inside with feces. She directs you to the bathroom where Sporty is. You anticipate the worst. A morose creature laying in his own waste. You open the bathroom door and are perplexed by a Sporty who greets you by leaping to get out. The bathroom is a horrific bloody shit swamp. You tie the dog and find him… dehydrated. You wonder what foreign objects he dined upon this time. Last time bones and the plastic from the crate are what you removed. You search the room checking for clues not breathing through your nose: a technique perfected over the years. You explain to the woman Sporty has to go back to the hospital for X-rays. But first you must tackle the lovely task of cleaning the airline kennel. You glove up. Scoop after scoop of poop. Spraying. Wiping. Gagging. Flushing. Sopping. Wiping. Washing. Etc. You fathom bathroom cleanup after a Dodger game is easier… Finally, Sporty rides in the kennel upon your rolling cart back to the loading zone. The woman waves good bye…

But you never find any foreign material, never find the cause. Probably was somebody’s sandwich. A piece of garbage resembling food that the Sporty dog loves to get. He is lucky this time. No surgery. You tell the film director to keep an eye on him. Keep him on the halter. We must control what goes into that mouth. Don’t we all?

And now you have the Puppet cat to deal with…

Regular Mobile Vet Day in LA

You wake up to the sound of barking Standard Poodles since your daughter let them out to go pee at 7 AM nevermind you were up until 2 AM "working the business" and the squirrels were too much to keep silent about and you are still sore form two days of hockey in a row when you know your 50-oid body is on its downward arc but you still have to get up check the facebook page to make sure you are still relevant.

After the hot shower massage to reinvigorate you dress and grab the aluminum water bottle to fill with hot coffee since you left your Starbux mug at the office again and despite burning hand you check your mobile calendar and see it has morphed yet again to include more appointments criss-crossing the Greater LA area more than you'd like in a single day and you wonder when you will be able to get some more help.

Judy tells you that someone wants you to go earlier and that another pet owner wants you to come a little later but the in-house appointment wants you to be on time since she has an appointment she can't miss so you manage to freeway think in your head with the help of the mobile traffic map that you could easily hit Studio City and then slide down the 101 to downtown and help a dog you are 95% sure will need to be dragged down the 10 to your office where the in-house clients are waiting.

After a tearful goodbye in Studio City you proceed past the Capital Records Building and you notice the large red "W" suspended among the old Hollywood hotel logos like the Knickerbocker and you imagine that letter stood for your name and is taking its rightful place among the stars but you shake that off and join the red tail lights and slip off at Broadway only to remember how lovely it is to park downtown for a housecall.

You recall many a downtown home visit trudging the cart with the too-hard wheels across the uneven sidewalks since you had to park blocks away at a meter forcing you to set your iPhone timer giving you exactly 50 minutes to conduct your exam, diagnostics and treatment and be back to avoid the ticket so this time you have to park at the meter again since Joe's Garage does NOT take credit cards but the meter does (?).

After a bumpy stroll past puzzled business people, street people dog walkers and shop owners you arrive at the latest Office Loft residence and check in with the guard who knows exactly the unit for whom you are about to visit and taking the lift to meet a nice young woman in a wheelchair who has a dog barking in the bathroom.

The loft is very spacious with a nice view of other nice lofts and the woman tells you that the building is loaded with dogs for whom there is no local vet and as you ponder that issue you discover that the dog who is a service lab has chewed his crate and bones to shards and that's exactly what you know you will find when you open his stomach.

The woman reports "Dude" (not his real name) the lab has not eaten for 36 hours and has had nothing but vomit and diarrhea all over the place and you think that's no bulletin judging by the smell when you rolled your crap in and over his and then upon exam the chance that you were 5% wrong did not come to pass and soon you and the nice lady in a wheelchair are rolling Dude and your crap back to the meter in time to load him up avoid a ticket and head back down the 10 but not before some guy honks and says: "Dude" and you are wondering why he knows the dog and wow what a close knit downtown neighborhood where everyone knows each others dog's name but you realize he just was trying to get your attention to get your business card.

You finish the spay for the lady whose Uncle took his last pleasure drive through your old rail fence and roses and shrubbery then the little Asian designer dog is resistant to pain meds howls while you are trying to examine two nice schnauzers but can't hear the owner let alone the soft heart murmur in one of her dogs and of course the digital xray machine is acting up slowing you down as Dude sits in the cage awaiting bone and plastic removal by gastrotomy since his digital rads confirm the bones and the schnauzer owner eschews Animal Planet to watch Lifetime on the front room TV and you pine for the old developer and fixer tanks the used to have for radiographs and you realize you have become your dad.

Dude is spinning and Alex the tech is untangling the IV tubing after you had removed a large handful of sharp junk and sewed him up six layers from the inside and the young lady is happy and now you just need to find out what is making Dude so bored to ingest everything and it must be he needs more exercise when on the phone she tells you that you must've dropped your credit card you needed for the parking meter up in her loft and you tell her you will retrieve it later tonight since you have yet another tearful goodbye in Studio City and can swing back through downtown after you grab some legendary Italian food to go on the way there to end your starvation cause you forgot to eat

You enjoy meatballs and ravioli from heaven as you take the nighttime glance at your glowing red "W" once again and you wonder why it is so utterly common to go past the same route twice in a day and how odd ESPN radio is discussing how the Clippers are better that the Lakers right now and you say to yourself this all must be a dream and you drive down the 101 back to Broadway but this time it easy to park in the loading zone and get back your credit card in front of the nice lady lady who was so kind to roll out to the street and give it to you and you tell her Dude is doing well and you are heading back down the 10 to check on him

Your surgery patient a cup of bones and plastic lighter has spun an IV tubing web around himself since the sedatives and pain meds must be given again and you clean the doo off the Dude including the mystery piece of is it doo or is it barf sticking to the e-collar and as you write up his orders for tomorrow and his return trip back to Broadway you ponder when you will get some more help to really make this thing go wide since there seems to be so many nice people with a hard time bringing in their pets for healthcare you wonder how many suffer unnecessarily and how many you pass by on your way to Studio City or La Crescenta or Canyon Country or Lakewood and you come HOME finally after 1AM to two dogs of your own who need a walk only to bark at that one guy riding his bike past your house with the yard with half a new rail fence and shrubbery that woefully mismatches the old established side grown in with lots of experience in your dirt.