Long Road Home for Tramp

D. E. Larsen, DVM

“Slow down a minute, Ralph,” Jan said as she was watching the old cat on the edge of Pleasant Valley Bridge in Sweet Home. 

“Turn here,” Jan said, pointing at the bridge.

Ralph turned and headed across the old bridge.

“Stop, stop right here. That cat needs some help.”

Jan almost jumped out of the car before it came to a stop. She crouched down and called softly to the cat. “Here, kitty, kitty,” Jan said as she stretched out her hand and made a couple of short, shuffled steps toward the dusty old tabby cat.

The cat hesitated for a moment as if trying to decide if he should run or not. But something was inviting in this lady’s voice. He eased forward and sniffed at her fingertips. She patted him on the top of his head.

A couple of cars had stopped behind their vehicle, and Ralph was getting a little impatient.

“Hurry it up, Jan. We are holding up traffic.”

A lady started to get out of a car that was a couple of cars back in the line. Jan motioned for her to stay back. 

The old tabby cat moved up to Jan’s knees and pushed against her.  

Jan could feel a stifled purr. She took a deep breath, leaned over, and scooped the old guy up.

Jan slid into the car with the cat and pulled the door shut. The cat leaned into her and purred as Jan stroked his back and sides.

Ralph swallowed and put the car in gear. “I hope this isn’t a mistake,” he said as the car moved forward.

“This is a nice cat,” Jan said. “And he has a collar and a tag.”

“We don’t have time to deal with a stray cat today,” Ralph said.

“We need to find the vet’s office in town,” Jan said.

Ralph pulled over as soon as they were across the bridge. The car with the lady who wanted to help pulled up behind them, and the lady came up to Jan’s window. The cat was now wholly under Jan’s spell as she continued to stroke him with long slow strokes from the top of his head to his tail.

Jan rolled her window down a bit. “Where can we find a vet in town?” she asked.

“There is a clinic in the Safeway shopping center in the middle of town,” the lady said. “Is the kitty okay?”

“I think he is okay, maybe lost, but okay,” Jan said. “He looks a little rough like he has been traveling a bit. He has a tag. We will drop him at the vet’s office. We are headed for Bend and don’t have a lot of time.”

***

Jan was breathless as she came through the clinic door and perched the cat on the counter in front of Judy.

“We found this cat on the bridge coming into town,” Jan said. “It looks like he needs some help, and we are on our way to Bend.”

“It looks like he has a tag on that collar,” Judy said. “Is he nice?”

“He is the sweetest old thing,” Jan said. “I think he must be lost.”

Judy looked at the tag. “It says Tramp,” Judy read. “I guess that fits. Let me check with the doctor.”

I came out and looked at the cat. He was thin but okay otherwise, and it had a collar and a tag. The tag gave the cat’s name, Tramp. It also had an owner’s name and local phone number. I agreed to keep the cat.

“Thanks a lot, Doc,” Ralph said. “We have to hurry now. We have a meeting in Bend that we will be late for if we don’t get on the road.”

These foundlings were always a problem. Occasionally, the finder would offer to be responsible for the bill if the owner was not found. But most of the time, that expense, whatever it happened to be, fell on the clinic. At least Tramp came with an owner’s name and phone number.

Judy was given the task of calling the owner on the tag. 

“Yes, this is Robert Wilson,” the man said to Judy. “What can I do for you.”

“This is Judy from Sweet Home Veterinary Clinic,” Judy said. “We had a couple find an old cat on Pleasant Valley Bridge this morning. The cat has a tag on its collar with your name and number on the tag.”

“I don’t know what to tell you about that,” Mr. Wilson said. “We don’t own a cat.”

That was great news. We were stuck with finding someone to adopt this cat, not an unusual event for such situations.

  About 30 minutes later, we were still discussing how we would find someone to take the cat, and the phone rang. It was Mr. Wilson, the guy Judy had called about the cat.

  “What does that cat look like?” He asked.

  “It is a brownish tabby cat, neutered male, friendly. He looks a little thin and has sort of a rough hair coat, but otherwise, he is in good shape.” Judy replied.

  “We had a cat about 5 years ago. We had to move to San Francisco for a couple of years. We lost him on the trip down, somewhere in Northern California. His name was Tramp, but I don’t remember a collar. You don’t think that could be him, do you?” 

  “How else do you suppose this cat had Tramp’s collar?” Judy asked.

  “We will come right down and get a look at him.”

  It was not long, and a car pulled up in front of the clinic. Robert and his wife came through the door first, but Susie, their teenage daughter, was right on their heels.  

One look at Tramp, and it became a happy reunion. The daughter opened the cage, and Tramp was instantly on her shoulder and purring, rubbing his face on her neck and face. She was in tears.  

“Susie has suffered for years. We had stopped at a rest stop south of Crescent City, and Tramp got out of the car. The next thing we knew, he was scared by another car and ran into the woods. We looked for him for an hour, but we couldn’t stay there. We had to go on. Susie cried for days.”

“Do you think he has been traveling all these years? That is remarkable,” Judy said.

“It is pretty hard to believe, you saw the immediate recognition by both of them. Pretty remarkable, it will be a happy evening in our house,” Mr. Wilson said. “Do I owe you guys anything?”

“No, we are just happy we didn’t have to find a family to adopt him,” I said.

  The stories Tramp could tell. This was something right out of a Disney movie.

Photo by Gabriel Gheorghe on Unsplash

Dinner with Roy

D. E. Larsen, DVM

We moved to Sweet Home in June of 1976. Or at least Sandy and the kids moved in June, I still had some contract obligations in Enumclaw Washington so I sort of came and went for a few weeks.  The clinic was scheduled to be finished in August but there was one delay after the other and it was obvious that it was going to be months after August before it was completed.

When I finally moved to Sweet Home it was obvious that we were going to have to have a plan B while we waited for the clinic to be completed. Clinic equipment was arriving daily and the small apartment we had rented was bursting at the seams. We had finally put earnest money down on a house, so there was light at the end of the tunnel.

I had enough equipment to start a house call practice. The phone had been ringing with the growing community awareness that we had moved to town. I was not swamped, but I was generating some income so we were not going to starve just yet.

In late July I took the time to visit all the other veterinarians in the county. Most were surprised that I chose to start a practice in Sweet Home. They were cordial but not extremely excited.  There is an old saying in the profession, “The difference between a colleague and a competitor is 50 miles.” That was probably reflected in their responses.

Dr. Craig was completely different.  He had started a practice on Golden Valley Road out of Lebanon just the year before.  He had moved from Nebraska. He was a large man, very friendly and with a firm handshake.  Roy was a generation older than I, both in age and in education.  The profession was beginning to change and Roy and I reflected the fulcrum in that change. Roy was a WWII veteran and had been older when he graduated from vet school. My age and military experience gave us some common ground outside of the profession.

We discussed my situation and Roy expressed concern. He was going on vacation for 2 weeks and would not be around to lend a hand if I needed help.

“You are going to need a clinic to fall back on sooner or later,” he said with genuine concern. 

“House calls are okay for routine stuff but sooner or later you are going to need a clinic. Here, you take a key to this place. Use it like it is yours if you need it and we will see you when we get back.”

Roy hands me a key to his clinic after a half an hour of conversation. He really didn’t know me from Adam. Try to find a man today who would do something like that for a colleague. I don’t think Roy had heard the old saying or at least it didn’t mean anything to him.  I tried to decline but he would have none of it. This was the way it was and there was no further discussion.

Roy, of course, was right. There did come a time in those weeks when I needed to use his clinic. A small dog with a ruptured bladder after being hit by a car  needed abdominal surgery. Most people can relate to cooking in someone else’s kitchen where you don’t know where anything is at.  You ought to try doing surgery in someone else’s surgery suite sometime.  But I got through it, and I was forever in Roy’s debt in my view of the world.

After they got home Sandy and I took Roy and Jenny to dinner at the Hereford Steer in Albany.  In those years, the Hereford Steer was about as up scale as one could get in Albany. It was a small payment for their generosity and allowed us to build on a new friendship.

Sandy and Jenny got along well. Roy was much more of a talker that I but dinner was just beginning when the story telling started. I had not been in the profession nearly as long as Roy, but I was in a busy dairy practice in Enumclaw so I had my share of stories also. People often complain about how veterinarians can talk shop and tell stories over dinner but for us it is just the way it is. Veterinary medicine in the 1970’s was a life style as much as it was a career. Solo practice was the normal. That meant many long hours of work in professional isolation with few speciality people to send difficult cases.  If it was going to get done, it would be done by my hands. Family plans were often dashed due to a last minute phone call, and the phone often started the day as early as 3:00 AM.

Roy’s voice was loud in normal conversation, and after a couple of drinks I would guess it probably got really loud. With dinner over we continued the story telling and relaxed over a little Kahlua on the rocks. The evening wore on. We told stories of difficult deliveries, gaping wounds, abdominal surgeries, maggots and pus.

It was in the middle of one of Roy’s stories, he was describing how he was laying in the mud with his arm buried in the vagina of this heifer, trying to get some traction with his toes so he could reach just a little deeper, when I looked around and realized that we were alone in the middle of the large restaurant. The other folks and their tables had been moved as far away from us as possible. Some of the people were trying to ignore our discussion, and some where watching with horrified expressions.

It had been a great evening in our view. New friends and a colleague who I knew I could always depend on.  My only concern was how was I going to be able to repay this man.  The waitress, on the other hand, was very prompt when I raised a finger for the check.

Edith and Coco

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Edith was an older lady who you would see walking down the street in Sweet Home daily. I don’t think she drove, but maybe she just preferred to walk. Her hair was always curled but not what you would call well kept. Some would call her petite, and I am sure she was at one time, but I would say she was matronly petite. In any case, the most important thing about Edith was she was always happy. We would notice that happiness in the clinic, and when you saw her walking, she always had a smile on her face. She could definitely enjoy the simple things in life.

For the first 5 years that we were in Sweet Home, Edith visited the clinic often. In fact, there was not a single month without a transaction on her account. This was unusual in that the average client might have three to five transactions per year. She would come into the clinic with Coco always in tow. Coco was a mutt, many people would call him an ugly mutt. He weighed about 20 pounds and had a gray, straggly coat. His lower jaw protruded well past his upper jaw, and when you looked at him, he would often smile, but it looked like a snarl.

Coco’s monthly trips to the clinic were more of a social event than a medical one. Coco was healthy as a horse, but there was always something that Edith wanted to be checked. I can’t remember finding anything wrong with Coco.

One Saturday morning, we were planning our day and hoped to take the kids to a movie in Albany, when the phone rang. It was Edith, and she was sure Coco had a problem. My initial thinking was Coco never has a “real” problem.  This was going to disrupt our entire weekend to go to the clinic and reassure Edith that everything was fine with Coco.

“Edith, are you sure this couldn’t wait until Monday?” 

But Edith persisted.

“Doctor, I know there is somewhat dreadfully wrong. Coco is just not himself this morning!” she replied.

I was stuck, but it should only be a brief visit. I arranged to meet Edith at the clinic in 15 minutes. Paul was home and could drive her and Coco to the clinic, so that would work.

Edith was smiling but concerned when she came through the clinic door. She thanked me profusely and reassured me that there was indeed some wrong with Coco. Coco groaned a little when I picked him up and put him on the table. Maybe he has hurt his back, I thought to myself. His temperature was normal, but Coco was not wagging his tail and was not acting his usual happy self on the table. His heart and lungs were normal, and the oral exam was normal. Then I got to the abdominal palpation. Coco tensed his abdomen from discomfort. His bladder was distended and uncomfortable.

I had almost made Edith and Coco wait until Monday.  And here we have Coco with a urinary tract obstruction. He could have been dead by Monday

.

“Edith, when was the last time you saw Coco pee?” I asked.

“Well, he was outside this morning and lifted his leg several times, but nothing happened.” 

“Edith, Coco can’t pee. Most likely, he has a stone blocking his urethra. If so, I will have to do surgery to remove the stone. I need to do some x-rays first to see if there are stones, how many stones, and where they are located. Most of the time, there is just one stone blocking the urethra, the tube from the bladder to the outside, and the surgery involves opening the urethra and removing the stone. If there are more stones in the bladder, we will need to do abdominal surgery to remove them also.” I explained.

“Surgery!” She exclaimed. “Shouldn’t that wait until Monday?”

“No, we can’t wait that long. Coco might be dead by Monday if we don’t do surgery now. At the very least, he would have some major complications by then.”

“You do whatever you need to do, Doctor,” she said. “We have the money in the bank to pay for it, and we can’t give Coco up.”

“I will get some x-rays and call if anything changes in my thinking after the x-rays. Otherwise, I will call following surgery, and we will arrange to send Coco home sometime this weekend.” I said.

We were going to have to get lucky to able to take the kids to a movie today. I took the x-rays, and sure enough, there was a stone stuck at the base of the os penis. The dog, like many animals, has a bone in his penis called the os penis. The urethra narrows slightly as it passes through a groove on the underside of the os penis. Most stones that cause obstruction are lodged in this location. Coco had no other stones visible in his bladder or elsewhere in his urethra. This would be an easy surgery.

I called Sandy and had her get the kids ready and come down to give me a hand. All the kids had observed many surgeries, so this would just be one more. I started getting Coco and the surgery suite ready, so we would be prepared to go the minute Sandy and kids arrived. The plan was to do the surgery, recovery Coco and then run to the movie while he was resting in the kennel. We should be able to send him home when we return from Albany.

When Sandy arrived, we got started with the surgery. I induced anesthesia with IV Pentathol and then put Coco on gas anesthesia. With him on his back, I clipped and prepped his posterior ventral abdomen. I could feel the stone. This should be a brief procedure. 

I inserted an 8 French urinary catheter. It came to a stop at the stone. I made a one-inch incision in the skin of the prepuce over the stone. Then I dissected through the soft tissues to the urethra. I pushed a forceps through the tissues on the dorsal surface of the penis to stabilize the area. Then with a careful incision, I opened the urethra over the stone. This incision was just long enough for me to grasp the stone with forceps and remove it. I immediately plugged the hole with finger pressure. I advanced the catheter into the bladder to empty it and avoid leakage of urine into the surgery site.

After emptying the bladder, I left the catheter in place to ensure my closure did not narrow the urethra. I closed the urethra with interrupted 4-0 Maxon sutures. Then with the same suture material, I closed the subcutaneous tissue with a continuous suture pattern. Finally, I closed the skin with 4-0 nylon interrupted sutures. I infused a small amount of Lidocaine for pain control and turned off the gas to start waking up Coco. Maybe 15 minutes had elapsed. Since he would be unattended in a kennel after he was awake, I gave him fluid under his skin on his back rather than IV.

Recovery was pretty rapid, and Coco was up and about. He would be fine and should be able to go home when we got back from Albany. I gave Edith a call and reported favorable results. We arranged to meet her and Paul at the clinic when we returned from the movie.

The kids enjoyed the movie, Indiana Jones in Raiders of the Lost Ark. Sandy had tried to cover Derek’s eyes in the spider scene, but he was able to fight her off. The kids had been worried they would miss the movie because they had seen family plans set aside more than once by a phone call.

When we pulled up to the clinic, Edith and Paul were waiting out front in their car. They were talking and laughing. Here was our happy little gray-haired lady who adored Coco, sitting in the car outside the clinic, passing a whiskey bottle back and forth between her and her husband. Now my only concern was them driving home.

Photo by Julian Hauffe on Unsplash.