Your Pet and Your Friends

You have arrived at your destination says Siri in that pleasing yet authoritative tone where another friend's pet in trouble. Your friends give you keys to their place allowing you go in and treat their pet while they work. What are friends for? A vet friend is a great friend because he loves his friends animals like they were his own. Friends compensate friends by knowing who owes who a favor or dinner or whatever. It doesn't really matter. Good friends have each other's back. You are no different.  You are the best friend. The therapist. The guidance counselor helping your friends through all pet trials and tribulations giving the honest solution knowing there are no punches pulled when it comes down to brass tacks. They trust you, friend. With trust comes a lot of responsibility. To do the right thing. The correct thing.

Your friends rally around you when your pet is sick. The true friends do. They console and backstop you. They are there for you. Every good friend comes running to help. All the friends on a block in Huntington Park came running. They all wanted to help Diego (not his real name). It was a bath gone wrong. One friend tried dish soap. Another poured canola oil. All they made was a soapy oil dog salad right there in the tub. The poor chihuahua was screaming and writhing unable to get his foot from the drain.

 

One friend called Human 911 and the firemen came running. The brave folks in blue brought their tools but all four of them were no match for a flailing, screaming little dog.  You are summoned fresh off another housecall a mere hop skip and jump down the 110 fwy and arrive to find a cluttered one-room apartment with friends and firemen huddled around the poor dog. The owner is so glad to see you as you ask the fire folks to step back. You heavily sedate the trapped creature and in minutes Diego is out of pain and fear. You are able to manipulate him but are unable to manually remove the dog's middle toes from the drain. You employ the use of a chisel and hammer and are able to safely cut the brass cross that has entrapped his toes freeing him from the drain.

Fortunately there was minimal injury to the dog's toes from the entrapment. You reverse Diego's sedation and recovery is uneventful. You bid your farewell and thank the firemen and friends for their support. 

You doze off in attempts to finish this blog entry around 1:30AM this lovely Saturday evening (Sunday morning) hoping to join your family in slumber and that's when the Service calls. There is a sad woman on the phone who explains that her poor boyfriend's beagle hasn't eaten for 3 days and is in distress. She explains he has been suffering from a heart ailment and thinks the meds are no longer working or he's simply refusing them and that the time has come. She says that he is having a hard time making the decision. You agree to come help the dog out of misery on the other side of LA County that morning and arrive in good time to be greeted at the vehicle by the girlfriend's mom. "I am the dog's grandmother," she proclaims to you. You are asked if you will indeed check the dog out before proceeding and you assure her you will as she begs off as to not come in with you. You observe a bustling crowd of folks inside the fully lit modern home with a full parking area about it. The Service calls again and asks if you are near the housecall and you advise you are outside their door.

You are greeted by a lovely young girl who beckons you within. There are three young ladies and the dog's grandmother in attendance. The dog's owner, Jake (not his real name), greets you and is clearly slurring his words inebriated and you surmise is owed to the fact he cannot face his decision unaltered. The beagle, Yuri (not his real name either) is trotting about the kitchen as everyone observes him lap up water and sniff his food. The women all exclaim he's eating now. See? The love for the dog is effluent. Jake's attempt to guzzle liquor from the fridge are thwarted by the girls as they take the bottle from him. You inquire as to why you were called and Jake admits the dog has been sick for awhile and is not eating three days straight and he is sick of "water boarding" the dog's medicines everyday 'cause he hates it and is refusing now and he needs to go. One of the young ladies presents you with Yuri's 7 vials of pills and you are instantly reminded of your recently deceased father who had heart disease and his own arsenal of meds keeping him alive along with his dialysis treatment but Yuri is Jake's best buddy. 

Yuri-like beagle

You ask to examine Yuri and Jake carries him to his bed where you recognize the truth that Yuri is suffering. His respirations are 70 breaths a minute when 40 is normal at rest. He has that panicked look in his eyes. The look of low oxygen. His gum color is not great. Jake exclaims wavering that he wants to do it. You agree.  But there is dissent among the friends. They maintain that Jake should wait. He is in no condition to make a harsh decision. You explain to the women that Yuri's next day will be worse. They are not listening. Jake pleads with these women and a younger brother of Jake's pipes up and says "he is suffering and Jake wants to do it". But they don't want to hear it. You are in the middle of a great debate and defiance. You wish you never came out that morning. You are asked if people change their mind and you reply rarely does it happen. You advise the ladies with all due respect that the owner has a right to help his own dog out of misery. You even offer a trip to the emergency overnight clinic but are rebuffed since Yuri doesn't like going the the doctor anymore. He's been to 4 different doctors and really hates it. Jake, unable to stand his ground even with the backing from the attending veterinarian, is defeated by his friends who believe they are doing the right thing. They take the consent form from his hand and force him to sign the credit card slip for the emergency house visit alone. 

You apologize profusely to poor Jake and want to mention he should probably not have gotten toasted and that it ruined his credibility but you keep it as a thought. The anger against you from the others, however, is palpable your only crime suggesting that Jake was right and Yuri should not suffer without considering hospitalization. Sadly you leave the home and poor Yuri to suffer another day.

In the end Yuri's "friends" bring him to the local emergency clinic the following evening, apparently too sick to care about doctors, and passes peacefully. You chalk the whole experience up to the unpredictability of human nature and your variability of getting the point across to all the friends...

Picture Window

You walk into a room. The foyer. High ceilings. Marble for miles. Buddhas. For some reason there's a lot of Buddhas. Bathed in exquisite light. Buddhas in different poses along the long wide marbled corridor. Or maybe there's signed movie posters covering the high walls. Signed baseball bats in collector plexiglas cases. Ty Cobb signed his baseball card and it's on the wall. Babe Ruth signed a baseball in a case. Or maybe Wayne Gretzy's signed jersey and Muhammad Ali's gloves up there in the rafters.

You turn your head and there's a view. A view from a large picture window of the crashing waves on rocks below. Or the clear picture view of the canyon. Maybe the canyon is lit at night with a starscape of not-too-distant designer low-voltage home lighting emanating from the architectural marvels built into the carefully carved canyon walls each with a magazine spread looming out from that picture view. Or maybe the View is an infinity pool tabling the downtown skyscrapers that rise from that watery mirror steaming and ready for the pet owner to take a dip after a hard long day stacking cheddar.

You are led to the far room where the beloved family pet lays in trouble. The family seeking your guidance putting their faith in you making the call.  Does our beloved dog have more time? If so, doctor, how much time. Can we cure this? Will my cat ever be the same, doctor? Can you stop the pain. We don't want the animal to suffer pain. You have become the guidance counselor. The family therapist. Sometimes you feel as if you are suicide prevention. You give the pep talk. The smooth over. Take the position that the beloved pet would want her owner to have a happy life. To live on and enjoy the memory. But you are asked to fix things. To give us more time, doctor. But you have been through this thousands of times. You have recognized the inevitability of demise. A demise all too quick with our domestic pets who we encourage a foothold or clawhold into our frail hearts.

Yet you are trained to extend life and alleviate suffering. Pet lives are compressed. A day: a month. A month: a year. A year: five to ten years.  So try you must and try you do. You have your way of extending life and with reasonable quality. You give options and preach realism. You give hope, investigate and provide answers to questions. You remain vigilant to the changes in all parties concerned. You remain at the ready. You also must absorb the anger and the sadness in the room. You observe portraits, photos and memorabilia. You see the bed where they lay, the carpet tree they climb, the feeding area and the bathroom. The feed closet, the cat room, the dog cage, the dog yard, the run, the nice conditions and the absurd. The inhumane yet the acceptable conditions. The rudimentary and the insanely extravagant accommodations. The pet lives better than you, my friend. And that's the way it's gonna be. Or maybe the pet has a ridiculous existence that you later anonymously report to animal control.

You have seen a wide array of rooms. Some rooms with too many cats. Too many bathroom areas. Too few bathroom areas. Too much stuff. And stuff and stuff and stuff. Why do you have so much crap? Why are you keeping those 2000 VHS tapes of every movie since Casablanca? Do they still play? Do you even have a VCR? You have the 70 inch HD 1080p 3D super flatscreen over the fireplace. I'm sure you have every Netflix, VUDU, HULU, and all that stuff on demand. Yet you remain humbled. Humbled by the ability to enter these glorious rooms with nary a thought except for the well-being of that pet. The one you came to make things better for. The hero of the moment to those pet lovers you serve. And you know it by the look in their eye. And the look from the trusting eyes of the ailing beast.

October 31, 2011

You find yourself descending a steep unstable slope helping the owner carry his dearly departed dog to his grave. Lucas, (not his real name) the Shepard mix who, with your merciful help, had succumb to metastatic adrenal carcinoma,. The perfect Halloween scenario finds you carrying the deceased with his hearing-impared muscle man owner who is misdirected down the slope to the palm tree 20 metres below. You recommend an existing pathway below and carry the slinged dog in that direction under the unforgiving fall afternoon sun and down near the palm tree when you realize that the site was another location back up the hill that leads to scaling said dusty slope upward to the final resting place. Five pounds of dirt in your shoes later the pet is not adequately covered by earth shoveled by the man and you find yourself directing him with difficulty (since you only know pig-sign language) to rebury the dog and that erosion will soon unearth his dear Lucas and this is basically why it is not recommended to bury your pet except in a pet cemetery or have cremation and return of cremains but in the interest of cost-saving combined with the need for a traditional pet burial on one’s property the practice will continue much to the delight of roving wildlife and the chagrin of concerned citizens.

Eleven Eleven Eleven

Finds you busy all day back and forth through traffic cross town back again where you were last night up the treacherous hills of Franklin Heights to help a poor little dog with cancer and alleviate some pain. Today is the day to end the suffering and it is hard to let go of a friend who loved you unconditionally without argument or pretense with loving eyes always even when you scold her and yet you want a few more days or hours to hold your beloved in your arms never to let go but let go you must for the sake of your woeful friend and your own anguish. That is what you have come to understand all these years helping pets live as long as possible comfortably and to help them out of this world as comfortably as possible. You’ve experienced human suffering of a family member and the inhumanity of sustained “life”. People should have access to the humanity you provide for pets. But all this is in the back of your head as you drive through city traffic trying not to aggravate your neck and shoulder spasm by gripping the wheel too hard and trying to navigate the GPS as you yack with dispatch. You speak to the little dog in the back telling her she is the lucky one. She lived the life of luxury up on the hill overlooking the city with your beloved mom and human brother.

The day continues with the theme of re-visitation as you revisit the ivy-covered home of the novelist a nice lady with a propensity for daytime imbibing and multiple feline friends. She was told by her previous vet that her cool Orange cat Henry (pseudonym) is old and must be put down. You beg to differ that Henry simply has a snotty-nosed cold and is a bit under weight. The novelist is so thrilled that she found you and that you can actually provide medical care for her cats and not simply want to put them away when they are old and you explain the saying you once learned that “Age is not a disease” you can’t cure aging only disease and this reverberates with you personally since lately some of your contemporaries have fallen making you cherish each day and stay up as late as you can and live as many hours as possible. Henry is tested and treated and apparently unfazed as he looks at you sitting in his bedroom as if to say “what the hell are you doing?” You tell him telepathically that you will be back to take him to have his teeth done since two are rotten and a possible cause for his sinus infection but Henry pays this no mind and strolls away.

You head back from Toluca as the rain falls from an anemic storm whose bark seems much worse than its bite and has threatened the Southland like the ever-present threat of terror. And the GPS goes out in the Highlander with perfect timing as you kinda sorta know your way around Silverlake hills and need to take the non-freeway route back to the clinic to see the shaky Chihuahua cross but aren’t really sure if left or right on Sunset in the correct choice and traffic is crawling up your butt and you must make a decision or be scorned and ridiculed by the public and it’s not good PR to screw up in a branded vehicle; a decidedly counter-marketing move. You make the correct choice and eventually return to the clinic.

Shaky Suzie Shiver (not her real name) has been shaking with jerks and tremors for 36 hours now and it’s either the longest “seizure” on record or she got into a toxin or has a liver shunt or is hypoglycemic or…she jumps at noises like a Strychnine poisoning but has not fever and no history of exposure. You rack your brain and temporarily calm the tremors with some valium and run some tests only to find dehydration but could she have gotten into your chocolate, flea spray, household product, your marijuana, anything on the street but the owners come back uniformly: not that they know of. You place your bet on epilepsy and wait it out and look for a pattern. After the valium wears off you expect a phone call about now.

Nothing yet.

Or yet.

The hope for dinner with the family is quickly squashed by a call from the Service that a dog got her collar stuck on her leg (WTF?) and there’s blood everywhere and can you hurry at 6PM on a Friday night back to Fairfax and Beverly? No problem you think as you ask for an hour and you suggest the throw a heavy blanket on the dog to prevent further self-trauma. What a strange circumstance you think how does a dog get its collar stuck on her leg? You marvel on recent things that entrap a dog like the marrow bone around the lower jaw or the dog that got his leg stuck in a table. No this was a totally new entrapment. You arrive after an arduous traffic-filled drive to find a bloody scene and a dog on the ground contorted with her rear leg pulled forward and the neck downward. Somehow the choke collar was stuck but you could not tell since Betty (not her real name) the mini-Aussie was in pain when she moved cause when she was calm and still she was oK so nobody makes any quick moves. The owner and her two friends assisting stood idly by trying to help by petting Betty unsuccessful attempts to muzzle her were aborted in favor of slipping her an injectable anesthetic. The poor owner in her attempts to free her pet from bondage had sustained several nasty bites from her frightened little girl that are sure to hurt for several weeks as with you are too well acquainted and as it turns out the blood was all human blood. You could not find a cut on little Betty but what you did find was the clasp of the leash clasped over Betty’s Achilles tendon and still attached to her collar. The choke chain was so tight you could not release it off of her neck but forced to cut the chain with the handy dandy pruning shear you used to cut the marrow bone off the Shepherd’s mandible which works like a charm once again now allowing you to unclasp the dog’s Achilles

Yes you are a hero to these owners and that they had no other alternative than you to save Betty tonight Friday and you bid them adieu. You pull off with a growling stomach to cross the city this time by freeway less crowded to find your cooled tin-foiled dinner on the table and the family all done for the night. But you had to write it down before you forget and the stories blend together in a blurry continuum of never-ending rescue missions.

ATTACK WEEK

You build a summary of a strange week of animal on animal attacks:

1. Akita on Doxie
2. Raccoon on Cat
3. Akita on Sharpei mix
4. Cat on Cat
5. Coyote on Terrier

Sausage Baron’s Dog Takes Bite of Wiener Dog

You respond to a call on Venice Boardwalk: a small dog has been attacked by his roommate dog. The poor woman moved in to a vacant room and has been also forced to share the apartment with a young male Akita. She had even mistakenly thought her doxie could be the new little Mascot for The Sausage Baron on the Beach. But no no no. The Baron’s dog would not have it and you are assigned repair duty. The shaken ex-new roommate tells you this is not the first time that Jordan (not his real name) the chewed up Dachshund has been tasted by the Akita who lives above the Sausage Empire with jewels intact simply protecting his territory from any would-be new cute little “Mascot” with any designs on being favorite to the Baron.

You stabilize and transport the victim to the clinic for surgical repairs and hospitalization and this where the trend begins and a new character also emerges

Rocky Raccoon

A beautiful early morning drive to the Far Continent as you call it owing to the fact that every destination in Palos Verdes is 8 miles from the freeway a painful tragedy of civil engineering flaws in the system and you end up on the bluff overlooking grand ocean cliffs and Donald Trump’s golf course with ridiculous vacant estates down below. It is here you find the lovely caretaker of animals indoor and out and she asks you in and she leads you past picture window sweeping views and into a room to a cowering little Torti under the bed.

Rocky (real name because of her nickname) plays a game of chase me here and there down the stairs up again and into the bathroom. She is snuffling snorting through her nose. You find Rocky has been bitten in the face mostly likely by a raccoon judging by the story of our caretaker, the puncture wounds into her sinus. You picture a curious cat nosing up to a cowering raccoon outside since the raccoon enjoy cat food as much as the next wild animal and the pickens are getting slim much like the look of the coyotes.

Rocky heads 8 miles out from the Far Continent back to Metropolis and the clinic to be radiographed, surgically repaired, and hospitalized. She is a lovely little cat as it turns out and a staff favourite.

You grow quite fond of her during her stay in her own private suite and your office. She is even more of a joy on her SECOND round of hospitalization…but that’s a later episode as ATTACK WEEK continues…Standby Rocky.


You erroneously assumed that a couple fun hours with the family at the bowling alley could go by without the service summoning you again. You ask the caller to hold while you gutter two balls not distracted at all by this, the third attack, this time dog on dog.

The Sticky Goo of A Power Grab While Owners on Vacation

It’s a typical struggle of young vs. old, strong vs. weak, Akita vs. Sharpei Cross, owners-on-vacation variety of attack. The caller is your neighbor who was roped in as dog sitter while the previous dog sitter has a medical emergency of his own. Now you come to understand the Sharpei is under the house and was attacked LAST NIGHT. You envision wounds starting to fester and the dog going septic aka bacterial blood infection when you hear the dog is not eating. You inform your family of a shortening of the evening of bowling ending on just one single game once again they all painfully acquiesce and head back to your SUV.

You arrive at the dark residence to find a frightened bloodied Sharpei/Shepherd mix Agatha (not her real name) being consoled by your neighbor Patty the defacto dog sitter. You calmly examine Agatha and sedate her and soon she is calm and carefully whisked off by you and Alex the Tech to the clinic for some surgical repair and hospitalization.

Agatha look-a-like

You are rudely reminded while suturing and debriding a Sharpei that the cut edges of this breed’s skin is like a sort of “goo”, or sticky gel. Most unusual. In fact, certain of the small lacerations and punctures have automatically glued back together by the goo. You piece the dog together and place drains and keep Agatha at the clinic in her own suite. Yes lodging in the same suite as Rocky Raccoon the previous attack victim.

The previously aggressive dog has becoming quite loving here in her safe environment where she stays to heal her housing situation up in the air. Can she return to the hostile home with the young Akita or should she find a new place to live? Was the balance simply upset by the extended leave of the owners on vacation as you have found to be a verified phenomenon. The owners may have created a power struggle and their absence triggered a power grab by the Akita since they certainly must have punished his outbursts against his elder aunt Agatha the shear disrespect has raised the owners ire leading to reprimand after reprimand of the juvenile mush dog creating further imbalance. The stage was set by PREVENTING a natural pecking order to occur. If the Akita is meant to be dominant then it should be so.

You discharge the damaged, yet recovering Agatha who jumps for joy to see the returned vacationing owners of the dogs. They admit scolding the Akita for attempting to dominate the previous Alpha Agatha. But the change would have happened and peace restored quickly and naturally if it weren’t for owners’ (although well-meaning) interference of the process and the damage may have been avoided or at least postponed for awhile. Can’t we all just get along?

Marauder Cat Disrespects Territory of Beverly Hills Cat

After the third ATTACK you fully accept the arrival of the FOURTH in the series when a frantic previous client calls and is in need of assistance getting the cat into a carrier and to the vet. Instead you offer a home visit to assess and treat on site or transport with sedation as needed.

Upon arrival to suburban Beverly Hills, you exit the vehicle in the driveway to meet the worried owner and both look down on the ground between the adjacent neighbor driveways to find multiple tufts of fluffy white hair and both surmise that we are standing on the battlefield where BOOTS (not his real name) stood his ground and made a stand on the border. The woman proclaims that the marauder cat should know better and not have entered her cat’s territory. It’s a rule of catdom, she espouses. You beg to differ. Cats who spend anytime outdoors are at risk of getting into a fight, hit by car, catch a virus, some deadly and so on.

You extract the poor, shredded kitty from (where else?) under the bed with kindness and sedation. The owner continues to maintain that the marauder should respect poor Boots’ land.

Due the severity of the injuries and multiple locations you decide it be best to bring the cat in for repairs under gas anesthesia at the clinic. Boots hangs out with you for the day and is released in the afternoon without an E-collar that you had advised. You’ve come to accept people’s personal dissent with certain veterinary standards like neutering before puberty or rejection of antibiotics or corticosteroids as well as the rejection of post-op recommendations. But fortunately Boots leaves your sutures alone. And returns to his chaperoned visits within the high-walled-in backyard with his mom and only looks longingly now and then through living room picture window overlooking the front lawn formally known as his territory.


Coyote Loses Silky Meal in Shocking Fashion

Sunday comes around and a full day of family fun and treatment of the attack victim in-patient, Rocky Raccoon who has survived a Raccoon chomp to the face and has now revisited your clinic due to an adverse reaction to a certain anti-inflammatory and must repair his kidneys with IV fluids etc but now the day has ended or has it you think as you lay your head down tentatively upon a cold pillow just as the Service buzzes the iPhone. You snap to coherence for the consult with the frantic owner. His little dog, Ty (not his real name) was attacked by a Coyote and they need you to come finish off the poor dog. The owner describes the lack of breathing or shallow breathing and the condition improves with his every word and now the dog is sitting up and how weird it was that he looked half dead and you explain he was actually in shock and has snapped out of it and the owner sees blood and implores you to come.


Webster (not his real name), the urban coyote

You arrive bleary-eyed at the Los Feliz estate the housekeeper motions you inside the property gate that swings closed behind. You are greeted by an energetic Aussie and bulldog that lead you up the steps into the house as if they know you are there to help their wounded friend. The mom and dad of the house greet you and lead you to the fallen Ty cowering in a dog bed in the hallway. You give the pup a painkiller after determining his stability and surmise that several deep puncture wounds in the neck are in need of surgical attention. You wrap Ty’s neck with bandage materials and padding as the dad explains that the coyote had grabbed the dog by the neck with his collar in his mouth as the horrified housekeeper was screaming all the while and thereupon reaching the gate the coyote must have received a nice jolting shock and dropped Ty. You come to understand the victim dog, as well as the other pets, are equipped with a shock collar associated with Invisible Fence surrounding the property. Thus, Ty is saved by the electronic collar which the coyote broke off and dropped in the yard.

You transport Ty back to the clinic for repairs where he mends over the next few days finally going to the confines behind the Invisible Fence and its previously unforeseen additional level of protection. And so ends ATTACK WEEK… till we meet again

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…

There's No Place Like a Home

You enter the backyard of two dogs that have been fighting. It's just their house now. Then you hear about the manchild who lived there in Florence on his mother's good graces and has left his dogs at the boarded up house. But he did leave a dog house for the dogs. And a garage. The mother comes to feed the dogs every day for the son. The son bought another house in another neighborhood but he didn't want those dogs. They have been fighting and he doesn't wanna DEAL with it. The dogs fought over chicken his mom brought them. You and Tech creep further into the backyard to find one of the dogs cowering inside his house. You catch the characteristic whiff of infected bite wounds. Kona the Akita (not her real name) is real bitten up. Terrible thing. You and Tech have to rope and pry her from her wood house in order to help her. Tech finds the other dog, a Mastiff, wagging her tail inside the garage. She's got cuts on her head, but she's gotten the least of it. The mother tells you how the son is not very responsible. He told her that it was her fault that they fought. Now you have to take the dog to hospital and Kona's not feeling so hot but will after the pain shot you gave kicks in.

On the drive back to the Westside and a stop at Critical Care to hospitalize Kona you reminisce about all the homes you have been to and all the diverse living situations for pets in their owner's environment. From the girl who lived in a closet with her cat, to the toy dog running down the long corridor that is the bathroom/dressing room - powder room in some Starlet's mansion. Pets seem to adapt and adopt to their owner's and their surroundings. They make do with the space that they have. They don't pine for more space and find their place in a huge space. Pet's don't seem to mind the clutter you often discover upon entering their domain. They simply make their home in the junk around the junk through the junk. You tell Tech the story about the guy with two Great Danes (since passed away) and about his business, sport or pastime rescuing cats and their offspring. They live and breed within the junk pile. The wall of stuff dividing the room: chairs entwined with boxes and a BIKE and garden tools and a kitten comes out of there running through your legs out the door.

You sleep very little that night and the kids act up and the dogs bark at the squirrels and the mowers and blowers go off you go back at it and in no time you are back déjà vu at ANOTHER DOGFIGHT where the poor victim lives 40 crooked concrete steps above the street and you know how this is going to end with a large body coming down and your tech is out of cell range and dispatch did not acquire this information and now you need to make a new Rule. After passing two cabled bark-lunging pit mixes outside the rescue woman leads you into her abode where you enter the cozy cluttered room and the strong odor of kennel bum rushes into your lungs but somehow you instantly adapt. The poor, hairy Wookie on the floor is a mess of pink water and wounds. You labor dripping sweat shaving the anesthetized beast and finding extensive bruising with internal issues as well as a lot of swiss cheese skin who’s holes you debride and reduce with proper drainage but no matter what you do this puppy’s going to heaven. The new rescue bumped off the old Chow King and took his place. You console the owner as she curses the new dog.

Before you know it is night again and this night’s dog horror show is going to be the topper. Cause it’s Saturday Night! Time to party down dogs. Who’s it going to be? Nevermind you just finished up your “last call” at 9PM in time for dinner under the tin foil to be heated in the micro. It’s time for the Main Event. You are waiting and drifting and leaning elbow on the laptop making ghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh till you jolt awake to the buzzing of the iPhone it’s the Service and there’s a dog fight. Unfarkingbelievable. How did you know? Everything comes in threes you know. Groggily you attempt to determine the situation. There are two labs. The original dog and the new dog. New D has been quite a sore thumb lately. He’s aggressive. Finally tonight, Original D took offense to New D fronting like that and gave him a beat down. You hear more of the story and you gather additional pertinent facts that New D has been aggressive towards the family and they are quite afraid of him. They are trying to find him a home good luck without extensive behavioral evaluation medication and the risk of bodily harm where’s Cesar Milan when you think you need him? You ponder the possibilities: a usually very loyal loving breed like the Labrador turns on owners and the odds of a sociopathic brain disorder become exceedingly good in this case. And as dispatch is unable to approve the owner’s payment the owner tells you that she’s calling you from OUTSIDE THE HOUSE. She can’t go back in. The New D is in such severe pain he won’t let her back in the house. She wants YOU to go in there the late Steve Irwin style and sedate New D and get him out of there but it dawns on you that Animal Control would be perfect in this instance and she takes your advice. Can’t we all just get along?

Inhumane Pet and Owner Living Situation

Every so often I come to a home to help a pet and end up wanting to help the human. Last week I visited an elderly woman in her 80's living in a small, albeit hip, Hollywood apartment. She was very hard of hearing and had poor vision, but was able to get around. I walk through the door and nearly had projectile vomit from the smell. The cat Tootles, was walled off behind a flimsy sliding door to the kitchen. There was literally feces everywhere. There was evidence that the cat had chronic diarrhea and was defecating under a counter, behind furniture and every other corner. I stepped around it and took a history. The woman was self-educated in holistic medicine and had self-prescribed a multitude of supplements that she takes along with a battery of pet products. Her diet consisted of different "natural" pet foods including Wellness. I have seen diarrhea in cats on Wellness alone, but there were so many things going into the poor skinny cat's body it was hard to determine the cause.

I had to repeatedly exit the apartment to breathe and collect my wits. Part of me wanted to run and not come back. The other tenants seemed to know all about the crazy old cat lady but just accepted her. They must've remodeled the place around her. She claimed there was new carpet, but it still should be ripped out and replaced. The most confounding thing was the difficulty communicating with her. I had to shout into her ear. She was not stupid or even very senile. She was adamant about givng the cat supplements and assumed the problem was behavioral. She had a bevy of litterpans, some of which appeared to be aluminum pans (usually distateful to cats) and very little litter. She had stretched handle grocery plastic bags as litter liners. Not too comfortable. I finally got her to agree to run some tests on the cat who had rotten teeth, a poor coat and was underweight. Below is the actual letter I had to snail mail her (no email of course)

Dear Ms. Edwards (name changed):
The lab tests for Tootles (name changed) are in. The only abnormalities are an increase in muscle enzyme. The source is either the heart, the skeletal muscles or the stomach. It is possible there is heart disease. Further tests would be needed to determine this. She was negative for cat viruses and parasites. As far as her constant diarrhea and inappropriate defecation: I am very concerned that the multiple supplements you are giving are causing diarrhea. The food or any treats may also be causing chronic diarrhea. In any case my assessment of the cat is there is a chronic wasting disease or malnutrition. Here rear teeth are rotten and need extraction. This makes it difficult to eat. In addition, the manner in which you keep the cat box with plastic bags tightly lining the pan makes them unattractive and uncomfortable to cats. Small wonder she is pooping everywhere else.

I hope you can read, or have this read to you and understand up to this point. My recommendations to you are as follows:

I am very concerned about your living conditions. They are currently unhealthy and dangerous to your health and to your cat. In the interest of both of your health and safety, I recommend:
Board Tootles at the hospital and have her teeth extracted and given a controlled meal. If further diagnostics are warranted, it can be discussed. You yourself should temporarily stay at a hotel for a few days while your home is cleaned, disinfected with the possibility of installing a hard floor. Pergo is sturdy and relatively inexpensive.

Stop all supplements given to the cat. They are not helping and may be hurting, especially the high dose of vitamin C you’ve been giving. Digestive enzymes are not needed for unless there is a diagnosis determined by a veterinarian of pancreatic insufficiency.

The cat should be on a single type of food that is easily digested. Once the place is clean and the cat has recovered from the dental work and has shown normal stools, she can return to the home. First, she should have a large litter box filled with clumping litter. The liners are unnecessary and may hinder the cat’s desire to use the box. Get a plastic litter box. The aluminum pans are not well tolerated by cats. In fact we use aluminum foil as a deterrent for cat. Place the one litterbox in a quiet area (not the bathroom) perhaps in her “safe” area in which she has been defecating.

I am very sorry for the sad situation that you and Tootles find yourselves. I hope we can help. Please let us know.

Sincerely,
Dr. Steve Weinberg
911 VETS Home Pet Medical
1-866-491-1838

PS. I was able to speak to her about the letter and found her to be in complete denial and that the cat is improving. She wants to keep giving supplements and doesn't think the pans are a problem. My next step is to contact Social Services. Extremely frustrating situation that demonstrates again that the clinic veterinarian is handicapped by the inability to witness the living situation of the pet and owner and is probably fooled by the information given. But the housecall vet must get personally involved to help the pet and owner.

Big Dog on 2nd Floor...

...will eventually become a difficult situation. Mel (not his real name), the 110lb labrador mix still sporting his cahones, was slowing down on his walks in Sherman Oaks. His human dad was getting old himself and having back trouble of his own. The local veterinarian had found arthritic changes in his lower back and gave him a general pain killer (Tramadol, synthetic opiod). This was the day he couldn't make it up a long flight of slickly tiled steps. Today was the day Mel's back was to give out. Inauguration day for Barack Obama. The day the country was finally cool enough to have a black president. Mel was going down. His human dad hoisted Mel up those steps once more. Spine strain for spine faulter. On the housecall his lymph nodes were enlarged to accompany his testicular tumor, the main medical consequence of not neutering the dog. Use it or lose it. Either Mel's back went out structurally or a tumor of the prostate has invaded the spine. His dad and mom and other family members said goodbye and Mel was peacefully euthanized at home. And as I labored to give Mel his sleigh ride down the tiled steps I thought about how the sweet lab must have touched their lives. I was also very grateful I had pre-treated myself with Ibuprofen.

SOAPBOX:
Please neuter your pets. Please research why this is important. Please live on the first floor with a large pet if there is no elevator.

Thanks,
Dr. Steve Weinberg