Libby, From the Archives

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Our fascination with Silver Persians started in Enumclaw. The clinic had a client who raised Silver Persians and shipped kittens all over the country. She even had some international clients.

She lived in a large house. The people lived in the upper stories, and the cats, I don’t know how many, lived in the basement. When a litter of kittens was ready to ship to their new owners, the lady would bring them into the clinic to be bathed, fluffed, vaccinated, and whatever was needed.

These kittens were essentially feral. They had almost no human contact in their large basement living space. We always had to give them a small dose of ketamine so they could be handled.

“How many cats does Audrey have?” I asked Ann as she was bathing the last kitten.

“I’m afraid to ask,” Ann said. “We send out nearly a dozen litters a year. I have no idea what her basement must look like.”

“I’m not sure I would put up with this kind of work,” I said.

“It pays the bills,” Ann said. “You wait. When you have your clinic, you will have your share of cat ladies. They are everywhere.”

“How much does Audrey get for these kittens?” I asked. 

“She sells them for seven hundred dollars plus expenses,” Ann said.

“That is unbelievable,” I said. “That’s a month’s wages or a lot of people.”

“I think most of the people she sells these kittens to don’t have to worry about the money,” Ann said.

“I wonder what they think about paying that kind of money for a feral kitten?” I asked

“They probably can’t find kittens of this quality anywhere else,” Ann said. “And kittens this age tame down quickly.”

When Audrey came in to pick up her kittens, she had another cat in a carrier.

“I got this cat back,” Audrey said. “I sold it to a lady in London, and after its six months of quarantine, she could not get it tamed down. If you want to neuter it, you can have it. It is too old to sell, and I don’t have a situation to tame him down.”

I was quick to take her up on the offer. That evening, I neutered the young cat and declawed him at the same time. I taped his hind feet and took him home.

At the house, he was okay when he was in a box, but put him in an open room or try to handle him, and he would go wild. After a couple of days, we returned him to the clinic. Ann kept him in a cage for several months, and he tamed down and became an excellent clinic cat.

After moving to Sweet Home, we were excited when our babysitter, Jean Light, offered us a Silver Persian cat. Her mother had been given this cat by a friend who could not keep it. We were happy to accept Libby.

As a young cat, she fit into our household perfectly. It wasn’t long before the thought of having Persian kittens became a topic of discussion. Another friend, another Ann, offered us the use of a Persian tomcat that was being cared for by the local humane society.

We borrowed the tomcat when Libby came into heat, and our learning experience began. Libby was all claws when the tomcat showed her any interest.

“What are we going to do?” Sandy asked.

“Give her a few days, and nature will take its course,” I said.

The rest of the day and that evening, we were treated to any number of catfights in the living room. The other cats in the house were upset, also. This tomcat was not the most sociable individual.

That night, sometime after midnight, I woke with what I first thought was a headache. This tomcat had peed between the headboard of the bed and the wall. The odor was overwhelming. Sandy woke up shortly after I was awake.

In many cases, this would be no problem. One would just have to move the bed and clean up the urine. In our case, the process was a little complicated. We slept on a waterbed. It was a major operation to move the bed, even a couple of feet.

“What are we going to do now?” Sandy asked. 

“I think we are going to sleep on the hide-a-bed for tonight,” I said. “I can get up early and drain the waterbed mattress. Then we can clean up the mess and refill the mattress. I think we will position the bed a little further from the wall this time.”

The next day we cleaned up the mess and returned the tomcat to the humane society.

We learned that Libby found the wondering tomcats much more to her liking. A couple of months later, Libby gave us a litter of long-haired kittens who would grow into beautiful cats. Libby’s kittens became popular, and we allowed her to have several litters.

In her last litter, we kept a couple of her kittens. They were large fluffy cats named Chester and Howard.

After that last litter, I spayed Libby. 

After her spay, she became much less lovable. She hated to be groomed, to the point of being nothing but claws and teeth when someone would try to brush her.

Her hair would mat, and once or twice a year, she would make a trip to the clinic. I would sedate her and clip her hair coat, and she would go home mostly bald. Her hair coat would come off in one piece, like a sheep’s fleece.

As time went on, Libby became more and more antisocial. She began to live away from the house, only coming by for her meals a couple of times a day. She would spend the rest of the time in the neighbor’s small barn.

She started to have urinary tract infections, and medicating her was a monumental struggle. We would have to keep her in the clinic for weeks at a time. She would almost run to her barn when we would bring her home, and it was not long before her urinary tract infections progressed to kidney failure.

Libby did not survive long once she had kidney failure. I felt she was happy as a mother, and she lost her social self when that was taken away. Her legacy was in the beautiful kittens that survived many years beyond her.

Photo by Bianca Vogt on Pexels.

Dinner is in the Oven, From the Archives

D. E. Larsen, DVM

One of the most enjoyable things about veterinary medicine is the people you get to know and the trusting relationships that develop with those clients.

One young man was telling me about the first few weeks of his marriage. He was a logger, a choker setter to be exact. Anyone who knows anything about logging knows that these young choker setters work for a living. They burn a lot of calories during their day’s work, and they need a good meal to replace those calories in the evening.

Anyway, this young man was in love with this gal. They got married and took a few days off work for a short honeymoon on the coast. A few days was probably more than he could afford, but that is what happened.

A few days later, he brings his cat for shots. After the exam, he asks, “Doc, do you have a few minutes to talk,”

I have never understood how veterinarians become counselors. Still, people often seek our advice of problems far removed from veterinary medicine.

“Sure, I have some time, just don’t ask for marriage advice,” I reply.

And then he starts in on a long story.

“We got home to our new apartment on Sunday afternoon last week,” he said. “We had it pretty well ready to live in, but we needed to go to the grocery store. I needed lunch stuff for the morning, and we needed food for breakfast and dinner.”

“I was a little concerned when Susie filled the shopping cart with items from the freezer case,” he said. “Mostly justTV dinner type stuff. But, you know, Doc, I had a lot else on my mind, and I just figured she was going to make things easy for a few days.”

“I got up early on Monday morning, I made my lunch. Look in the refrigerator, there were no eggs or bacon. I just figured I would stop at Molley’s for a breakfast sandwich,” he explained.

“I got home in the middle of the afternoon. showered and shaved,” the young man continued. “I greeted Susie when she came through the door.”

“I am as hungry as a bear,” I said.

“She acts a little alarmed,” he said, ” but with that little twinkle in her eye, she says, “Okay, I will get dinner going right away””

“Doc, I sat on the couch and turned on the TV as she was busy in the kitchen,” he said. “In what seemed like no time at all, she is back from the kitchen and curls up beside me.”

“The timer is set,” she said. “My grandmother said it would be easy.”

“That seemed like a strange comment,” he said, “but I was engrossed in other thoughts.”

“It wasn’t very long, and the smoke detector goes off,” he said.
“Those new things were more of an annoyance than anything. We ignored it for the moment. Then there was real smoke billowing out of the kitchen.”

“I jumped up and ran to the kitchen,” he said. “Susie called the fire department.”

“They said they were only a couple blocks away and would be there in a moment,” he continued.

“When I got to the kitchen, there was one hell of a fire in the oven,” he said. “I looked for a fire extinguisher. Hell, I didn’t know what to do.”

“All of a sudden couple of firemen burst through the door,” he said. “They opened the oven and doused the flames.”

“What the hell were you cooking?” the fireman asked.
“Sue was peeking around the corner,” he said. “She says to the fireman, ‘Just a couple of TV dinners.'”

“Doc, the fireman looks in the oven and then he looks back at Sue,” the young man explained, “with as straight of a face as he could muster, he says to Sue, “You are supposed to take them out of the box before you put them in the oven!”, I thought I would die.”

“I tell you, Doc,” the young man said, “she can’t boil water.”

“Well, you obviously didn’t marry her to have a cook,” I replied. “That old wive’s tale, about the way to a man’s heart, is through his stomach, that was made up to use in polite company. I guess you already know that you are going to be doing the cooking.”

Photo by Kristin Vogt on Pexels.

Smoke’s Fracture, From the Archives 

D. E. Larsen, DVM

A slight fog hung low across the moist grass as the early morning sun evaporated the dew. I always liked these sunny spring days that were intermixed with wet showery days.

There were cars already in front of the clinic when I arrived.

“We have a full morning, and Ed is waiting for you to return his call,” Judy said when I walked in the door. “We already have a couple of people in the exams room, but Ed sounded frantic.”

“Did he give you any idea of his problem?” I asked.

“You know these guys,” Judy said. “They only want to talk to the doctor.”

I stepped into my office and called Ed.

“Ed, this is Doc. What do you have going on?” I asked.

“Doc, thanks for calling me back,” Ed said. “I’ve been sitting here shaking. It’s Smoke, my young gray gelding. He has a broken leg. And he is in a hell of a fix. He can’t lie down, and he can’t walk. I don’t know how long it has been since it happened. I just found him this morning.”

“Are you sure it’s broken?” I asked.

“Oh, yes!” Ed said. “It’s just dangling, and it must hurt like hell. He cries out every time he tries to take a step.”

“What do you want to do with him, Ed?” I asked. “Depending on the leg and the break, the new vet school in Corvallis might be able to repair it.”

“No, Doc,” Ed said. “It would be hell just getting him over there. I just can’t see him suffering, Doc. I tried to shoot him. But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Can you come out and up him down for me?”

“Sure, I can do that, Ed,” I said. “I have people hanging from the rafters here at the clinic. How long do you think he can wait, Ed?”

“Doc, can you come now?” Ed asked. “Please. The wife is locked in the bedroom with her head buried in the pillows, and I’m a mess. I can hear Smoke squealing every time he touches that foot down.”

“People here can just wait, Ed,” I said. “I will be there as soon as possible.”

I grabbed a couple of bottles of euthanasia solution, three large syringes, and a couple of fourteen-gauge needles.

“Judy, I have to run out to Ed’s place,” I said. “When Dixie comes, you guys deal with people as they want. They can wait if they want or leave their pets. I will probably be close to an hour, but you know how that can go. It could be longer. You better get on the phone and reschedule everything you can that isn’t an urgent appointment.”

It was a short drive to Ed’s place in Holley, and I probably drove faster than I should have. Ed was standing at the gate to his pasture when I pulled into his driveway.

“He’s in the far pasture, Doc,” Ed said. “I think the ground is pretty good all the way out to him, and you can drive right up to him.”

“Okay, Ed,” I said. “Are you going to be okay to give me a hand? I didn’t have anyone at the office to bring with me this morning.”

“What am I going to have to do?” Ed asked.

“I just need you to hold a lead rope if you’re up to it?” I said.

“Okay, I can probably do that and just look the other way,” Ed said. “Let me open the gate, and I will get in and ride out with you.”

Ed’s hands were shaking as we drove out through the pasture. When we got close, I saw Smoke struggling to stay on his feet.

“Is Smoke insured?” I asked.

“Insured? Doc, he’s just a horse,” Ed said. “No, he’s not insured.”

Ed had fractured the cannon bone on his right rear leg. The lower part was just dangled. Every time Smoke tried to move and the hoof touched the ground, he would squeal. Smoke had genuine fear in his eye as I snapped a lead rope to his halter, and I handed the rope to Ed.

“Ed, there is no way to do this easy,” I said. “Lying him down is not an option. I will give him a massive dose of euthanasia solution, and he will be dead when he hits the ground, but it won’t be pretty.”

“I think I’m okay. Let’s just get it done,” Ed said. 

I filled two sixty cc syringes with euthanasia solution and retrieved a large twelve gauge needle from the truck.

“My bet is Smoke will rear up with this injection, and he will go over backward or more likely just collapse in a pile because that one hind leg won’t support him,” I explained to Ed. “Either way, as soon as the injection is done, you let go of that lead rope, and just him go.”

“Okay,” Ed said. “I guess I’m ready.”

“He might squeal, Ed,” I said. “Are you sure you can handle this?”

“Let’s just get it over with,” Ed said.

I leaned hard against Smoke to help give him a stable stance. Holding off his jugular vein, I slipped the 12 gauge needle into the vein. Then, with quick movements, I attached one syringe and then the other to the needle. With the large bore needle, I could push the plunger with ease. I emptied the two syringes in a matter of a few seconds.

I stepped back, and seeing Ed still holding the lead rope tight, I pulled it from his hands and let it fall to the ground.

When the drug hit, Smoke reared up and squealed loudly. When his right hind leg provided no support, he collapsed to his right hip and hit the ground in a heap. As I had promised Ed, Smoke was dead when he hit the ground.

Ed turned and walked several steps away. I thought he was going to vomit, but he was in control and came back in a moment.

“I don’t know you do it, Doc,” Ed said. 

“I’m a farm boy, Ed,” I said. “I learned many years ago that when there is something unpleasant to do, it is best just to get it done. No big fanfare. Just do it, and it is over. It is like a person dying. Everyone expects some profound last words. But that seldom happens. They just fade away.”

“What do I need to do now?” Ed asked.

“You can call the rendering company,” I said.

“I was thinking I would just bring the backhoe out here and bury my right here,” Ed said. “This is on top of a little rise, and it should be a good resting place for him. Do I have to talk to the county about that?”

“Not at this point,” I said. “It probably won’t be long before they require a permit and make you pay a fee. I know one family who has buried three Great Danes in their small backyard in the middle of town. One of these days, the bureaucrats will take control of that stuff.”

“Let’s go,” Ed said as he pulled the halter off Smoke. 

“Have you looked around to find out how he broke that leg?” I asked. “A few years ago, I saw a couple of calves break legs on an exposed root in a creek bank. This could have been something like that, and it might be wise to try to find it.”

“I’ll look after I get Smoke in the ground,” Ed said.

I dropped Ed off at the gate, said goodbye, and headed back to the clinic to salvage as much of the day as possible.

***

The following week, Ed dropped by the clinic.

“Doc, I found the spot where Smoke broke his leg,” Ed said. “It wasn’t ten yards from where  I found him. He must have been spooked or something. He ran right through an old downed oak tree and hung his leg in a tangle of branches. The damn thing is, I was going to clear out that old tree last summer and got sidetracked. I never got back to it. Damned if I didn’t kill Smoke, just as if I had shot him.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Ed,” I said. “Things just happen on the farm.”

“You can bet I won’t put things off in the future,” Ed said.

Photo by Susanne Jutzeler from Pexels.