Peanut Digger

D. E. Larsen, DVM

      Dixie opened the exam room door to check on Bill and Peanut Digger. We moved them into an exam room as soon as they came into the reception room.

Bill was a large man. He carried a few extra pounds on his massive frame, but his muscle mass had served him well in a lifetime of hard work. He was older, approaching retirement, and his hair, in a short crew cut, was graying. 

Peanut Digger was a Brittany Spaniel. Brittanys are the most hyper of all the Spaniel breeds. And Peanut Digger was the most hyper example of a Brittany Spaniel that I knew. He bounced off the walls the entire time he was in the clinic. If they were left in the reception room, there was total chaos by the time they were called into an exam room.

Bill was totally aloft to the chaos. He would just sit there, arms folded across his chest and feet extended and crossed at the ankles. Peanut Digger would continuously circle the exam room. Jump up with his front feet on the counter to check out the items there. Tongue out and panting, with saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth.

Peanut Digger would only slightly slow down when placed on the exam table for an exam or treatment. He was a good dog, he was just absolutely unable to calm himself.

“You know, Bill, we might be able to calm this guy if we neutered him,” I said.

“Neuter him! No way, in fact, I am planning on raising a litter or two,” Bill replied. “I bought a female Brittany a couple of weeks ago. She is already in heat.”

“You might have your hands full with a bunch of puppies running around,” I said. “What are you going to do is you can’t get rid of them?”

“Brittanys are pretty popular dogs,” Bill said. “I don’t think I will have any problems.”

The next time I saw Peanut Digger, it was to sew up a gash on his muzzle. It was a typical scene when I entered the exam room, Bill seated in the chair, and Peanut Digger going nuts. We wrestled him onto the exam table, and I looked at a deep wound on the left side of his muzzle.

“They don’t get along so well,” Bill said. “I think she wasn’t quite ready for his attention. She sure surprised him, I hope it didn’t ruin their relationship.”

“This is a deep wound,” I said. “We will have to sedate Peanut Digger to get it cleaned up and closed. I don’t think he will hold still for it any other way.”

“I don’t think he will hold still for anything,” Bill said.

“If we are going to sedate him, I will make you a deal on a neuter,” I said, hoping that Bill would reconsider that option.

“Oh no, we are going to get this litter of pups even if we have to resort to artificial insemination,” Bill said.

Artificial insemination in the dog was one of my worst nightmares. The problem was collecting the semen from the dog. People requested the procedure, usually because they could not get the dogs to breed naturally. So then they bring them to a vet clinic, a real relaxing environment for most dogs, and expect someone to collect the male dog via some form of masturbation. In my experience, it just didn’t often work. And with Peanut Digger, I could not imagine getting it done.

“I don’t think AI would be an option with Peanut Digger,” I said. “We will sew up this wound, then you keep them apart. Put them together once or twice a day, with some supervision. Maybe have her on a leash. When she is finally accepting his advances, you breed them every other day for as long as she will accept him. That usually results in a pregnancy.”

It was no small feat, getting an IV catheter into Peanut Digger. But once that was done, sedating him was no problem. We gave him some IV Pentathol and some gas via a mask. I shaved the wound with a straight razor. Wound healing in animals requires a close shave of the wound edge. If you can do nothing else, shaving the wound will do a world of good. After scrubbing the wound, I closed the deep tissues with a continuous suture of Dexon and then sutured the skin with Nylon.

A couple of weeks later, Bill was back with Peanut Digger to get the sutures out. The wound had healed well, there will be no scar once the hair grows back. Trying to get the stitches out was something else again. Getting the hook of the suture scissors under a suture was little like hunting birds, you had to anticipate where his nose was going be because holding him still was impossible. But we got the job done.

“The wound is well healed,” I said. “Did you ever get him hooked up with his girlfriend?”

“Sure did, several times,” Bill said. “We should have pups in another 6 weeks or so.”

“Give me a call if you have problems,” I said. “Most of these dogs have puppies with no problems.”

It was a few months later when I noticed Bill’s name was in the last slot on the appointment book.

“I don’t know if I am up to Peanut Digger this afternoon,” I said to Dixie. “I am already worn out.”

“You’re in luck, it is the litter of puppies for vaccinations,” Dixie said. “That shouldn’t be any problem. But he said there were 7 puppies.”

I opened the exam room door to the most unbelievable commotion. There was Bill, seated in the chair as usual. And then there were seven Brittany pups, all males, running wild around the room. Seven male puppies, what are the odds of that. And every one of them was an exact replica of Peanut Digger.

Peanut Digger times 7, shouldn’t be any problem.

Photo by Anna Kimbell on Unsplash.

Too Many Legs

D. E. Larsen, DVM

   I pulled through the open gate to the pasture. It was early evening, the weather was great, one of those early spring days that we see in the Willamette Valley. Bright sunshine, no wind, and pleasant moderate temperatures, probably in the high sixties. This was the type of day that I see myself skipping school to go fishing.

  I could remember Mel’s words on the phone, I was just hoping he was correct.

   “Doc, this is Mel, out on Pleasant Valley,” Mel said into the phone. “I have a heifer down out in the pasture. She has been down and straining for a couple of hours. I don’t think she can get up. I left the gate open for you. I have to go to work. I would appreciate it if you could take care of her. Just leave a note in the mailbox when you are done, I will call you in the morning.”

   These heifers often became wild again when a strange pickup showed up with a stranger driving. Just to be safe, I got out and closed the gate. I could still hear my Grandfather.

   “It is a lot easier to close the gate than it is to wish had closed it,” he often said.

   I pulled up to the heifer, she made no effort to move. I could see front feet and the calf’s nose sticking out of her vulva. It looked like a normal position, it must be a large calf.

   I got out of the truck and poured a bucket of warm water. I put a rope around her neck. There was nothing to tie it to except my truck. I had learned that lesson a few years earlier. When a cow is tied to the truck, she goes in a circle on the end of the rope. This usually means she collides with the side of the truck somewhere. That typically leaves a big dent.

   Today I tie the rope to her front leg, bringing the foot up close to her neck. I think that should keep her from getting up long enough for me to get control of her. After I have her restrained, I tie her tail out of the way with some twine. And then prep her rear end.

   This is a Black Baldy heifer. She is black, with a white face. Usually, these cows are crosses between an Angus and a Hereford. They are generally good cows. The crossbreeding provides some hybrid vigor. 

  This heifer is young, less than 2 years old. She looks like she should be large enough to deliver this calf.

   I put on an OB sleeve and applied a lot of J-Lube. I ran my hand into the vagina alongside the calf. First on the right side and then on the left side. Everything felt fine to me. There appeared to be plenty of room in the pelvis, and the calf was in normal position. The calf was still alive.

   I thought we just needed a little traction on the calf, and it should just pop out of there. I put my Frank’s Calf Puller together and seated the breach across her hind legs below the vulva. I hooked the feet to the puller with a nylon OB strap. Then I started jacking the calf out. 

   There was minimal progress, and then it came to a solid stop. I applied a little more pressure, nothing. These calf pullers were sort of two-edged swords. They did the job easier, but they also allowed someone to put too much force on the calf. This was dangerous to the survival of the calf. It was also hazardous to the tissues and the nerves of the momma cow. The idea was to put no more pressure that two good men could apply. That was sort of a learned skill.

   I stopped and unhooked the calf and set the puller to the side. Then I gave a quick wash to the vulva again. I explored the birth canal again, bare-armed this time just so I don’t lose any sensitivity due to the plastic sleeve on my fingers. I could not feel anything that would be a problem with this delivery. 

   I hooked up the calf puller again and put tension on the calf. Then, I pulled the end of the puller down, so it was putting a downward pull on the calf. This would also make the breach put upward pressure on the calf. This did a couple of things. It gave the calf a direction of travel as if the cow was standing. This also elevated the calf in the birth canal. The pelvis was a little wider in the upper portion of the birth canal.

    I was thinking that I was putting too much pressure on this calf. But I gave a little more pull down on the end of the puller. It was close to vertical relative to a standing cow. I was about to stop when I detected a slight slippage of the calf. I gave one more little pull on the end of the puller.

   The calf suddenly came out, almost as if it was shot from a cannon. Landing on the ground, the calf shook his head. At least he was still alive. The heifer groaned a little, but I sure she was relieved that the calf was out of there.

   I went over to look at the calf. He was holding his head up already. And then I saw the problem. This calf had an extra set of legs coming out of his back just behind the shoulder blades. These came up out of the back and folded back along the back. They just added enough extra depth to the chest of the calf to make it a tight fit for the birth canal.

   Doing a quick exam of the calf, his hind legs were paralyzed. A lot of effort for the momma cow, all to no avail. Now, what to do. There is nobody home, Mel is at work. I don’t know if I have a phone number to reach him. In any case, it will involve a trip back to the office to make the call. 

   It would be interesting to know just what is going on structurally with these extra legs. I might see if Mel has any interest tomorrow. I am sure Mel would concur that this calf has no future. Leaving him until tomorrow will just add more stress for both the calf and the momma cow. I take a deep breath and make the decision to go ahead and put the calf to sleep now.

   I draw up 10 ccs of Sleep Away and give it IV to the calf. He is gone before the injection is complete. I return to the heifer and check her birth canal for any injury, it seems fine. I give the membranes a little tug, and they come out with little effort. I instill 5 grams of Tetracycline powder into her uterus because of the extended labor.

 Now to see if she can get up. I untie the rope from her foot and take it off her head. I stand back and give her a swat on the rear. She jumps up with no problem. She only glances at the calf before she heads off to the far end of the field.

  I pull off my coveralls and pour a fresh bucket of water to use to wash up with. Sandy wanted me to stop at the store for a couple of items. I was going to have to hurry if I was going to make dinner.

  I left a note for Mel, saying that I will talk to him when he calls in the morning and letting him know the calf is dead in the field. In the note, I tell him real briefly that the calf had 6 legs, that was why the heifer needed some help. I also tell him that the calf was paralyzed and that I put it to sleep.

  I stop at Thriftway for a loaf of bread and a gallon of milk.I much prefer Thriftway, for their service, but also their community support. It is great to have a locally owned, large grocery store in town.

  I find it a little odd that people are avoiding me in the store. Maybe it is because I am almost running to get things and get checked out as soon as possible. But I make it home just as Sandy is getting the kids sat down for dinner.

  Sandy gasps as I am putting the milk into the refrigerator.

  “Did you go to the store like that?” she asked.

  “Like what?” I say.

  “You go look in the mirror in the bathroom, and you wash before you come to the table!” Sandy says in a firm voice.

  I look myself over in the mirror, and I don’t see anything that I would consider unusual. I know there have been times when I have missed blood in my hair and the like, but today I don’t see anything.

Sandy comes up behind and touches the back of my elbow. I raise my arm and look at the back of my elbow. There is a large glob of thick mucus and blood covering the back of my arm and elbow. No wonder I was avoided in the store.

Photo by Klaus Hollederer from Pexels.

Ali

D. E. Larsen, DVM

I first met Ali in the Fall of 1976. He was a German Shepherd. At that time, almost all German Shepherds were great dogs. Ali was a large, black and tan male. He was well behaved and a reliable member of the family.

Gene had called me because he was concerned that Ali was vomiting. It was troublesome more than anything else. He was not vomiting all the time, but usually a little bit every day. Gene was worried because he would bring shaker balls home from the mill, and Ali loved to retrieve those balls. 

“Shaker balls are larger than a baseball,” Gene explained. “I don’t know if he could swallow one of those or not.”

“You wouldn’t think so,” I said. “But, I guess we could try to see if they would show up on an x-ray.”

“They probably are just fabric and maybe some rubber,” Gene said.

This was before the clinic was open. I was limited to house calls and a mobile x-ray unit designed for a horse’s leg, rather than the abdomen of a large German Shepherd.  

I got a picture. Ali was a great patient. It was an awkward setup, but he tolerated it well.  I had Ali lay under the x-ray unit that was suspended from a stand. Not many dogs would put with that without some sedation. It was not a problem with Ali. I often found that large dogs, with a lot of self-confidence, were much easier to deal with when the situation was unusual than a hundred little dogs who were afraid of their shadows.

I looked and looked at the film. There was nothing I could see to suggest a ball in his stomach.

“If you are concerned, we could do exploratory surgery,” I told Gene.

“Well, as long as the vomiting doesn’t get worse, I guess we will just watch him for now,” Gene said.

“We might try to change his diet to canned food and feed in smaller meal sizes, several times daily,” I suggested. “If you get concerned, we can do surgery at any time.”

The diet change almost solved the vomiting issue. Ali would now vomit only occasionally. Gene was no longer worried, and we would talk only on an occasional basis.

Then Easter Sunday came along. My folks were visiting us for the weekend. For whatever reason, Easter Sunday was a busy day for me for the first few years I was in Sweet Home. We woke up to a pickup parked in the driveway with a large sow in the back. 

“Doc, I am sorry to bother you on Easter Sunday,” George said. “My wife said I should come early, so I would be less disruptive to your day.”

I had pulled a pair of pants on and an old shirt and went out to talk with George in my slippers.

“I picked her up at the auction on Thursday,” George continued. “She can’t poop, Doc.”

“Give me a few minutes to get a few things and get something better on my feet, and I will get a look at her, George,” I said.

Looking her over, she looked a little full in the gut. On the rectal exam, her colon was a blind pouch on the rectal side. A lot of scar tissue was present.

“Things don’t go anywhere from this end,” I said.

“Makes me mad that someone would send her to the sale for me to buy,” George said.

“This sow apparently had a rectal prolapse at some time in her life,” I said. “Her colon is scared closed. It was probably poorly repaired when the prolapse happened. I can maybe open it with a trocar, but not without some risk, and it will not stay open for any significant amount of time.”

“Ah, I had a pig like that once,” George said. “A long time ago.”

“How did you handle her then?” I asked.

“I took her to the sale,” George said.

“See there, things sort of come back around, sometimes,” I said.

That brought that visit to a close. There wasn’t much to be done anyway. I guess the sow could be salvaged for sausage. Probably be okay if you were hungry enough, but I wouldn’t want to eat it.

It was well after dinner in the late afternoon when the phone rang.

“Doc, this is Gene,” Gene said. “Now I know there is a shaker ball in Ali’s stomach. We had the daughter and her family here for dinner, and after dinner, her husband and the boys were out throwing a ball for Ali. One toss was high in the air, he jumped up and caught it, and they watched it go down. He is sort of uncomfortable now.”

“My day tomorrow is already a disaster,” I said. “Maybe I should meet you at the clinic and plan to do the surgery this evening.”

“I don’t want to disrupt your holiday,” Gene said. “But if you are willing to do it this evening, that would be great.”

  “I can meet you at the clinic in half an hour,” I said.

Hanging up the phone, I turned to Dad. “Are you interested in going to the clinic and watching a surgery?” 

Dad, Sandy, I head to the clinic, leaving Mom home with the kids. Mom probably would have liked to go, but staying with the kids made up for her missing the surgery.

We were pretty well set up by the time Gene came through the door with Ali. We rushed through the check-in process and moved ahead with the exploratory surgery.

With Ali under anesthesia, and prepped for surgery, I made a five-inch incision on his ventral abdominal midline. It only took me a few minutes to be in the abdomen. I reached in with one hand and palpated the stomach. There was a large shaker ball, and then I felt the second ball also. Gene had been correct in his assumption all along.

I was able to externalize the stomach with both balls. 

With both large balls and just a small portion of the stomach hanging outside of the incision, Dad made his observation. “That looks just like a large scrotum and a couple of big balls.”

I made an incision in the stomach just long enough to allow me to express one of the shaker balls out. The first one, then the next came. The second ball had obviously been in the stomach for some time. All the fuzz on the surface was gone. That was the ball that had been there since last Fall.

I turned the gas off as I started to close. At that time, I had a Metaphane gas machine. Metaphane was an excellent anesthetic gas, but it had a prolonged recovery period. By turning the gas off early, Ali should be away by the time we were cleaned up and ready to go.

The closure was simple. I used a double layer inverting closure on the stomach incision, returned the stomach to its normal position. Then I used a routine 3 layer closure for the abdominal incision.

Ali was awake in no time after returning him to his kennel. We cleaned up the surgery room, and I gave Gene a call to let him know things had gone well, and Ali was awake and doing well. And he was happy about the fact that he did, in fact, have two balls in his stomach.

We started out the front door when for some unknown reason, I stopped and said to Sandy, “We have a lot of money in that cash drawer, maybe we should take it home.”

We had been in the practice of only making occasional bank deposits. I went to the cash drawer and took all the bills, I think about $1300.00. I left the change, which could have been close to $20.00. 

About 5:00 in the morning, the police called. Someone had broken out the glass in the clinic door and broke in. I got up and went to the clinic to go through it with the police. The only thing that was missing was the change out of the cash drawer.

Photo by Басмат Анна on Unsplash