That Difficult Sample Collection 

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Gigi was resting on Betty’s lap when I entered the exam room. Gigi was probably a Chihuahua mix, and she was getting a little older, and she was now really overweight.

“Hi, Betty! How is Gigi doing this afternoon?” I asked. 

“She hasn’t been feeling very well the last couple of weeks,” Betty said. “And now she is starting to leave puddles on the floor. I noticed today, when I wiped up one of her puddles, that there was not a lot of color to her urine.”

“That sounds like there might be some problems,” I said. “Are these puddles small or large?”

“They are big puddles, and they seem to be occurring more frequently,” Betty said. “But you can see by looking at her, she hasn’t missed too many meals.”

“We are going to have to do some blood work to see what’s going on with Gigi,” I said.

“I am on a pretty strict budget for her,” Betty said. “Ralph is getting tired of putting up with her anyway, and then this morning, when he got up, he stepped in one of her puddles and almost fell. Needless to say, that didn’t do anything to endear her to him.”

“We are possibly looking at some kidney failure or diabetes,” I said. “At least, that is where we need to start looking.”

“Can you do that with just a urine sample?” Betty asked.

“Well, that would give a good glimpse at what is going on with her,” I said. “But Betty, I will be honest with you, collecting urine from an overweight female Chihuahua is probably one of the hardest sample collections we do. It is almost impossible to collect it with a needle without sedation. The minute we try that, when she is awake, she will become nothing but a snapping turtle with teeth. And any other method is just as difficult.”

“Can we collect it off the floor?” Debbie, my high school assistant, asked.

“That will work for this sample,” I said. “We can get a better sample later if we need it.”

“I think I can get your sample,” Debbie said as she scooped up Gigi from the exam table. “I’ll take her in the back. I’ll just be a minute.”

Debbie grabbed a syringe from the drawer and headed out the door.

“This might be interesting,” I said to Betty, who had a wry smile on her face.

Just as she said, Debbie returned after only a brief moment. She handed me a syringe of urine and set Gigi back on the exam table.

Betty smiled, “I see, one of the hardest collections you do,” she said.

We looked at Gigi’s urine. There was no glucose in the urine. The specific gravity was high enough that kidney failure was probably not the issue.

“Gigi’s urine looks like there might not be a major problem,” I said. “Have you changed her diet recently?” 

“As a matter of a fact, Ralph picked up a cheap bag of food at the store the other day,” Betty said. “Do you think that could do it?”

“I have seen that before,” I said. “If you’re on a limited budget, let’s change out the food to a prescription diet and watch her close for a few days. I will have Sandy give you an appointment for Friday, just to recheck her urine.”

“Will Debbie be here Friday?” Betty asked.

“You think I couldn’t get urine out of Gigi?” I asked with a smile.

“You said it would be hard, and she seemed to do it so easily,” Betty said. “Maybe you should be paying her more.”

“Maybe, I should watch her and learn how she accomplished the chore so fast,” I said. “But yes, we will make the appointment in the afternoon, and Debbie will be here.”

Betty went out the door with a small bag of Hill’s Prescription Diet W/D and instructions to put the cheap food in the garbage.

“Ralph won’t be happy with the price of this food,” Betty said.

“Have him add the office call fee to the cost of the cheap food, and he will think it is quite a bargain,” I said.

***

Betty came through the door on Friday afternoon carrying Gigi and with a broad smile on her face.

“I hope that smile means that Gigi is better,” Sandy said.

“The change in food solved the problem almost immediately,” Betty said. “But I thought I should still have her urine rechecked anyway.”

“I think that is all that Doctor wanted today,” Sandy said. “Let me see if Debbie can is available to get a sample.”

“That will be great,” Betty said. “I think she embarrassed Doctor Larsen on the last visit. Debbie got the urine sample in a few seconds, and Doctor Larsen had just told me how difficult it was going be to get urine out of my little fat dog.”

“Yes, I heard about it,” Sandy said. “And, you know, it takes quite a bit to embarrass the Doctor. Just a moment, and I’ll grab Debbie.”

I noticed as Debbie was carrying Gigi into the back of the clinic. I gave her a brief moment, then followed her back to the kennel room. The door was open, and I watched from as she set Gigi down in the middle of the room. 

She took a quick step toward Gigi, stomped her foot and clapped her hands, and said, “Gigi,” in a sharp voice. Gigi was startled, and she immediately squatted and peed on the floor. Debbie picked up Gigi and soothed her as she bent down and drew the urine into a syringe. 

She jumped a little when she turned around and saw me watching.

“It works almost every time,” Debbie said. “Is it okay to do it that way?”

“That is pretty inventive,” I said. “I think we will be alright as long as we do it back here in private.”

Gigi’s urine was back to normal. I suspect that cheap dog food has a lot of added salt to enhance the flavor. And Gigi loved the W/D food.

Over the next couple of years, Ralph would grumble about the price, and Betty would always remind him about the expense of his cheap food. Gigi even lost a few pounds on the new diet food. So much so that I no longer called her a little fat dog.

Photo by Lucas Pezeta from Pexels.

A Day at the Track, From the Archives

D. E. Larsen

The late afternoon sky looked very threatening. The clouds were black and bellowing up to great heights. The Company G CQ was having difficulty getting the company to line up. Nobody was looking forward to marching to our night classes in the rain. Just about the time he was on his elevated stand and called the company to attention there was a large ‘Crack’ as a bolt of lightening struck a telephone pole in the middle of the company street. The corporal hollered “Dismissed” after half the company was back in the barracks. We would be a little late for class tonight. I had never seen lightning like this. Massachusetts was a strange land for a farm boy from Oregon. Maybe now, I could understand how Ben Franklin was interested in his electricity experiments. 

As the sky cleared our class started off on the mile long march to school. We were in class for the Army Security Agency at Fort Devens, Massachusetts. Tonight was to be the end of the first section of the course of study. Tonight the class would divide, some going into tactical equipment and the rest of us into strategic equipment.  Next week we would move to the secure compound for the remainder of our training on classified equipment.

At the end of the evening the instructor came up to me and gave me a 3 day pass. I had earned this for finishing at the top of the class in the first section. This was the weekend before payday, I tried to get it changed to the following weekend when I would have more money in my pocket but no deal, this is how the program is set up.

So Friday morning I took my pass and walked to the bus depot in Ayer. It was nearly 3 miles but I was in great shape. My funds were very limited. I purchased a round trip bus ticket so I would at least be able to get home. The Friday morning bus was mostly empty, very different from the chaos of the Saturday morning bus rides. I sat in the back and stretched my legs out. I would have to walk again when I got to Boston. I planned to stay at the YMCA; you could get a room for $5.00.

The weather in Boston was great. Still enough of Spring remained that there were blossoms on many of the trees in the commons. The streets were not busy in the mid morning so my walk was an enjoyable one. My mood changed when I got to the YMCA. 

“There are no rooms available tonight. I can reserve you a room for tomorrow night but for tonight I can only offer you a cot on the gym floor. The cot comes with use of the gym shower. It will be a full gym tonight. We generally have a couple hundred sailors sleeping here on Friday night. The fee is $1.50 for the cot and $5.00 for the room,” the clerk said in a manner suggesting that he repeated the speech many times during the day.

I paid the $6.50 and looked at my wallet. It was a good thing that I had eaten a large breakfast at the mess hall this morning because I could skip lunch today. Dinner tonight and Saturday night, maybe a beer or two and a couple other meals, it was looking pretty thin. I would probably be riding the subway or spending time in the USO for the only entertainment I could afford.

My Friday was just about that, I purchased a handful of subway tokens and then walked as far as I could down the Commons. The USO was not far from the Commons. Friday noon and I was about the only one there. There were a few donuts and some crackers available. I ate a couple of donuts and filled a pocket with the crackers and headed for the elevated subway stop.

There were two sailors waiting for the subway. They were in the same boat I was in. Payday came the first of the month, and for an E-3 that meant $110.00. By the last weekend, there was generally not much available. We boarded the subway together. These guys were typical sailors, thinking they had the best deal the military had to offer.

“What do you guys do?” I asked, as the subway pulled out heading toward Harvard. 

“We are on our last liberty before going to the Bahamas for a shake down cruise. Once there, the Captain says we get liberty every night for two weeks,” the talkative one answered.

“Shake down cruise? That sounds like you are getting ready for a big trip or something,” I said.

“Yes, we are on an ice breaker. We are heading for the Arctic Ocean and will be there for 6 months,” the sailor stated.

“By the end of 6 months, 2 weeks of liberty will be a distant memory,” I said.

They were a little quiet after that and exited on the next stop. I rode the subway to the end of the line, got off and caught the first car heading back to Boston. I had a few dollars to spend on a hamburger and maybe a beer in the Combat Zone. Won’t be much of Friday night on my budget.

The Combat Zone seemed more hype than anything, just a bunch of drunken sailors getting ripped off. It didn’t occur to me that this was going to be the same bunch that I would be sharing the gym floor with in a couple of short hours. I entered a bar and stood up to the bar. The barmaid was prompt, checked my ID and wanted to know what I wanted.  

“How much for a beer?” I asked.

“You have to buy two,” she said. “Two beers cost $6.00.”

That was too rich for my wallet. I went across the street and had a cheap hamburger for dinner. From the restaurant window I could do a little people watching. Sort of felt sorry for the sailors.

I walked back to the YMCA. It was across the street from the Boston Gardens. I had not noticed that on my first trip there. I was not impressed, it did not look like it did in all the pictures. It was sort of dark and dingy. 

There were cots set up covering most of the gym floor. I picked up my blanket, pillow and sheets from the janitor manning the storeroom.

He was correct on every count. I picked a cot in the middle of the room and I could hear guys coming in all night long. The good thing was I was one of the first in the shower. I got my change of clothes from my bag and decided to leave the bag in the locker until I could get into my room. I made a short walk to a little restaurant I had noticed last night. It would cost a couple bucks more than the YMCA breakfast but I had just about had enough of the sailors.

My Saturday was not much different from Friday. I rode the subway, walked the Commons and dropped by the USO. The USO had some sandwiches on Saturday and it was packed with sailors. I headed back to the YMCA in the afternoon and checked into my room. Not much, but private and quiet. I took a little nap. I would have to find a place for dinner and beer when I woke up.

On Sunday morning I ate breakfast at the same little restaurant and bought a Sunday newspaper to read. Maybe I could figure out something to do. After breakfast I sat on a park bench with a bunch of old men.  One guy was watching me pretty close. As I read the paper an ad jumped out at me. Suffolk Downs was racing horses today. That was great, I thought, as I counted my assets.

I had my bus ticket home, two subway tokens and $2.50 cents. Not much to go to the races on, but that is what I am going to do. As I stood up, the old man raised a hand to me.

“If you are done with that paper, can I have it?’ he asked.

I tossed him the paper and headed for the subway. I knew nothing about horse racing but I knew animals and I would think I could pick a good horse once in a while.

The subway on the way to the track was packed. I stood the whole way. The subway car was filled a quite a group of characters, but at least, not a single sailor among them. When we came to the stop at the track the whole group poured out of the car like a small army with a mission. I followed the group to the gate. Admission was 50 cents, I had not figured that into my budget. Now I was down to  $2.00 in my pocket, one subway token and a bus ticket home.  This might be a short adventure.

I scoped everything out, they were just bringing the horses into the paddock for the first race. I went down and watched them close, picked my horse and headed to the $2.00 show window.  There was my last $2.00 gone. I went out and watched the race. My horse won. I went to the window and collected $5.40. That was easy, I thought.

The next 4 races were the same.  I watched the horses in the paddock, picked my horse and bet $2.00 for him to show. In each race my horse won. By now I was not rich but I had nearly $30.00 in my pocket. I went and bought a hot dog and a beer and headed over to the paddock for the 6th race. Confident now that I was a master at picking winning horses, it was time to change strategy a little. 

In the paddock was the best horse I had seen today.  A big black horse with long legs, he stood a good 2 hands above the other horses. Without any hesitation I went to the $10.00 window and bet him to win.  I was going be rich after this race.

This horse took off and my horse left the field in his dust. On the back stretch he was probably leading by 20 lengths. I was excited, counting my money now. He came around the last corner and his legs began to flail. He acted like he was having trouble staying on his feet. His lead evaporated as first one horse and then another passed him like he was standing still. Finally the race was over. He did get across the finish line, dead last, so much for my new strategy.

For the remaining 5 races that day, I returned to my $2.00 bet to show. Each of the next 5 horses I picked won. This day at the races, I picked 10 out of 11 winners. I left the track with $78.00, almost a small fortune for a GI in training. I was very content on the bus ride back to Ayer. It was dark when I arrived. Unlike Friday, there was a large group of guys getting off the bus and heading for the base. There was even a bus to waiting to take us to the base.

Photo by Sheri Hooley on Unsplash.

A New Antibiotic

D. E. Larsen, DVM

New drugs were often exciting, and some of them allowed veterinarians to change the way they treated a group of diseases.

One problem in cattle practice was getting drugs into an animal in an adequate dose and for a sufficient period of time. We had a penicillin that would give us two days of therapy with one injection. Still, we often needed a longer duration of action.

I was always somewhat cautious in using new drugs. I liked to see others use the medicine for a time before I jumped on the band wagon.

“This is an antibiotic that will cure pneumonia with one dose, in many cases,” Fred said as he handed me a new bottle of Micotil 300.

Fred was one of my favorite drug salesmen, and he visited the clinic regularly. He always stopped by once a month and sometimes twice. He lived in Albany, and we were near the end of his day, so his visits were usually in the late afternoon.

“I know, you don’t really want to use it until it is on the market for a time,” Fred said. “This stuff is new, and all these new drugs are a little expensive, but I wanted to show it to you. It will change the way you treat pneumonia in the cow.”

I took the display bottle from Fred and started reading the label as he continued his spiel.

“With one injection, you get blood levels that last for three days at a high level before they start to fall,” Fred continued. “The levels are still at a therapeutic level at five days. So when you factor in labor saved by not handling the animal once or twice a day for injections, it isn’t so expensive. And that doesn’t even consider the stress on the critter from being run through the chute.”

“Fred, I am reading the label, and there looks like there is a major warning here,” I said as I pointed out the boxed warning on the label.

“Well, that is probably a significant warning,” Fred said. “But you are such a fastidious doctor that it probably isn’t anything you have to worry about.”

“It says that accidental injection into a person can be fatal,” I said. “I would call that a little more than significant. I am an old farm boy, you know, and I don’t think there is a cow alive that I consider being worth my life.”

“I knew you would be worried about that,” Fred said. “I have a few bottles that I can give away. I will have them send you one. You can just put it in your truck, and you will have a time to use it sooner or later.”

I never responded to Fred’s comment, I would guess he had a card on me, and he had me pegged pretty well most of the time. He always has some product that he figured I would try. But this drug was probably not one of those.

Several weeks later, Sandy was checking in the supply shipment, and she came to this bottle that was not on the invoice.

“I don’t know what this is,” she said as she showed me the bottle. “It is not listed on the invoice. Do you think it is a mistake?”

I looked at the bottle, and it was that free bottle of Micotil that Fred had said he would have them send to me.

“It’s a new antibiotic,” I said. “Fred said he would send me a free bottle. That is about seventy dollars, our cost, for that bottle. And if you inject yourself by accident, it will possibly kill you.”

Sandy carefully set it on the counter.

“What do you want me to do with it?” Sandy asked.

“I’ll take it and put it in my truck,” I said. “It can outdate there, probably safer than in here. If it got knocked off the shelf and broke on the floor, someone might get an exposure.”

Sandy pushed the bottle back against the wall.

It was probably a year later when Ted called with a sick bull.

“Doc, I have little Brahma bull that is pretty sick,” Ted said. “My problem is he is wild as hell. I have had him for several months, and he still charges me every chance he gets. I don’t know if I can get him in the chute or not.”

“I can get out at the very end of the day,” I said. “Give me a call if you can’t get him caught.”

“That will give time to catch him,” Ted said. “I should be able to get him into the corral, and if I get him in early, I will just put him in the crowding alley and let him stand there.”

I pulled up to Ted’s barn at almost about five-thirty. I could see the young reddish Brahma in the crowding alley. Ted was waiting at the chute, and he looked tired.

“I hope you give this guy a big shot, Doc, because I can almost guarantee you that I am not going to be able to get him back into this chute,” Ted said.

“You need to move your water trough into the corral,” I said. “That way, he will get used to coming in there, and that will make him a little easier to catch.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Ted said. “If you get him back to well, I am going to send him to the sale. I am too old to deal with this guy. He is not only wild, but he is mean. And he isn’t even a year old yet.”

The little bull was fighting us through the rales of the crowding alley. When he finally got to the chute, he was running full speed. Ted slammed the headgate closed and made a perfect catch. The little bull bucked and bawled.

I did somewhat of an exam, but it was difficult. The little bull bucked and kicked every time I touched him. He did have an elevated temperature, and his lung sounds were harsh. I couldn’t listen much because of his behavior.

“What do you think, Doc?” Ted asked.

“I think he has pneumonia,” I said. “I will give him an injection and leave you some more antibiotics to give him twice a day.”

I didn’t crack a smile as I waited for Ted’s response.

“If that is what it is going to take, just hold on, and I will get my rifle and shoot him right now,” Ted said.

“I was just joking, Ted,” I said. “I happen to have a new antibiotic in the truck that will probably do the trick with one dose.”

“That would be great,” Ted said.

“It is a little expensive,” I said. “But it will save you a lot of heartaches.”

I went to the truck, and it took me a little time to find the bottle of Micotil. I carefully drew up a dose for the bull. I gave him a dose at the high end of the treatment range. This one shot was all he was going to get. I read the warning before returning the bottle to its place.

“Ted, if you’re going to sell this guy when he’s well, I’ll make you a deal,” I said. “The drug company gave me this bottle about six months ago, and I haven’t used it because it is a dangerous drug for people. I have never seen a warning on an antibiotic that says it can kill a person if it is accidentally injected. It is supposed to work well in cattle, and one dose should be all his guy needs. I won’t charge you anything for this drug if you promise that I won’t have to see him again.”

“You have a deal, Doc,” Ted said. “I don’t think those ears do any good in this part of the country anyway. And if this guy is an example of their behavior, I think I’m done the breed.”

I reached through the sidebars of the chute to slap the young bull at the injection site behind his left elbow. He exploded as soon as I touched him, bucking and bouncing in the chute so hard that the chute rocked.

“This might be a fun injection,” I said. “I think we want to squeeze him as tight as possible.”

Ted leaned on the squeeze handle, and I stuck the steer with the needle. He exploded again, but I was able to complete the injection. When I pulled the needle out, he jumped again, and that is when it happened. I ended up with a scratch from the needle on my left forearm.

I looked at the scratch and swore, “Damn,” I said. “I knew I should have thrown out that damn bottle long ago.”

“Are you okay?” Ted asked.

“I think so. This is not much of an exposure,” I said. “But if you see me keel over, you might want to get excited.”

I walked over to the truck and poured a bucket of warm water, and scrubbed the scratch vigorously.

“Ted, I will give you a call in a couple of days,” I said. “This guy should be much improved by then. You can’t sell him for meat for thirty days, but as long as the buyer is aware of the withdrawal time, he should be good to go by the end of the week.”

“I would guess that there are plenty of people who would want him for a bull,” Ted said. “That was my thought at first. But I would guess he would pass his attitude along to all his offspring.”

“Behavior is inherited. In cattle, dogs, and people also,” I said.

“What are you going to do with the rest of that bottle?” Ted asked.

“It is going in the trash as soon as I get back to the clinic,” I said. “I told the salesman that a cow wasn’t worth a person’s life when he peddled it to me. My opinion hasn’t changed.”

“I would take it if you are going to just throw it away,” Ted said.

“Nothing personal, Ted, but the stuff isn’t safe for me, and it isn’t safe for you,” I said. “How do you think I would feel if you were injured by this stuff or died. No, it is going in the trash. Others can use it if they want, but not from my clinic.”

When I got to the clinic, I retrieved the bottle from the truck. I removed the cap with a de-capper that Fred had sold me, and I dumped out the contents into some paper towels in the trash and threw the bottle into the trash also.

“What was that all about?” Sandy asked.

“It’s that stuff Fred sent me some months ago. It is a dangerous drug, but I thought it would be perfect for Ted’s ornery bull,” I said. “I injected the bull and preceded to scratch my arm with the needle. That is the last time the stuff will see the inside of this clinic.”

Postscript:

In their warning to veterinarians, livestock owners, and health care providers, they reaffirmed that Micotil is dangerous and has no antidote.
In 2017 the FDA summarized that Micotil 300 had killed at least twenty-five people and hurt thousands over the years of its use. At least sixteen of the twenty-five deaths are suspected of having been suicides.

https://www.avma.org/javma-news/2017-11-15/fda-warns-micotil-300-dangerous

Photo by Helena Lopes from Pexels.