The Siberian Mouse Hound, From the Archives
D. E. Larsen, DVM
George and Smudge waddled through the door together. Smudge was some sort of a Dachshund mix. Smudge had a long body, broad shoulders, and legs that were just long enough to keep an oversized belly from dragging on the ground.
“What are you two in to see the doctor for today,” Joleen asked.
George was an older man, probably in his seventies. His description would match Smudge’s to the tee if he walked on all fours.
“I have been treating Smudge’s rectum with Preparation H for nearly a month now, and his hemorrhoids just don’t seem to change much,” George said. “I figured I better get the Doc to get a look at him.”
“You picked a good time to walk in,” Joleen said. “Doc is just finishing up in surgery, and it is half an hour before he has an appointment scheduled. I’ll grab your chart, and we can get you ready to see Doc.”
Hoisting Smudge onto the exam table was a surprising chore. He was so low to the ground and overweight, it was like bending over to pick a bag of concrete off the floor.
Taking a deep breath from that exertion, I started a routine exam on Smudge.
Starting at the nose and working toward the tail, I did a full exam on every patient before looking at the specific problem.
“You are on the wrong end,” George said. “We are here for you to look at his rectum.”
“Smudge is no picture of health,” I said. “He is well past middle age and a little overweight. We just want to make sure everything is okay before we start concentrating on one little area.”
“So, what do you find?” George asked.
“I find a couple things, George,” I said. “They are easily fixable. The hemorrhoids you have been treating with Preparation H are actually Perianal Gland tumors. They are seldom malignant, but we should remove them while they are small. They do cause some local issues when they get big. He also has a tumor in his left testicle. If you look, the left testicle is large beside the right testicle that is quite small. There is likely a Sertoli cell tumor in that left testicle. These tumors are also not generally malignant, but they produce estrogens. The estrogens probably account for some of Smudge’s belly and his small right testicle.”
“What do we need to do, Doc,” George said.
“The best thing to do is to get the tumors off the rectum and to get rid of the testicles,” I said.
“Sounds simple enough,” George said. “When can we do it?”
“We need to run some blood work to make sure his liver and kidneys are up to the surgery,” I said. “If that is okay, we can schedule his surgery next week.”
George was right on time for Smudge’s surgery appointment. George was nervous and talkative.
“I would rather have the surgery myself than to put Smudge through it,” George said to Sandy.
“You do know what they are going to do today?” Sandy says. “You know that he’s being neutered along with the rectal work, don’t you? I don’t think you would like that very much.”
“This dog means more to me than just about anything,” George says.
“We know that,” Joleen says as she leads George and Smudge into the exam room for Smudge’s pre-surgical exam. “He will do just fine. He will bounce out of here this afternoon like nothing happened.”
The surgery went well. We did the neuter first, keeping in mind to do the cleanest surgery first. The tumor in the left testicle was the size of a marble, and the right testicle was atrophied. That would be consistent with a Sertoli cell tumor. Still, just to be sure, we will send the tissues in for a pathologist to confirm the diagnosis.
In Veterinary medicine at that time, there were few options for cancer patients besides surgery. Chemotherapy and radiation were available at a couple of university clinics, namely Colorado State and the University of California. Most clients were not inclined to take such a referral.
The small perianal gland tumors were easily removed with sharp dissection, and the wound was closed with a few silk sutures. When they were this small, dogs did not seem to be bothered by the surgery.
George was anxious when he came to pick up Smudge in the afternoon. I had explained that Smudge would feel much better with the testicular tumor removed, and it should help with his weight somewhat.
“George, I want you to start feeding Smudge a reducing diet,” I said as I handed him the leash. “That means no table scraps. We want to see some space between the floor and the belly. With that tumor gone, he should feel like being more active also.”
George stopped and talked with Joleen and Sandy on the way out the door.
“Now he should be good as new in a few months,” George said. “He should be back into his old hunting shape.”
“Hunting shape, he doesn’t look like much of a hunting dog to me,” Joleen said.
“Oh, I beg to differ,” George said. “He is a purebred hunting dog.”
Joleen leaned over and looked at Smudge on the floor.
“He doesn’t look like any purebred that I know,” Joleen said. “I better get the dog book out and see if I can find him in there.”
“Smudge is a Siberian Mouse Hound,” George said flatly, not cracking a smile. “Full-blooded, he is.”
“A Siberian Mouse Hound, I have never heard of that breed before,” Joleen said. “Now I really will have to get the dog book out to look it up.”
George smiled and chuckled a little as he headed out the door, giving Smudge a pull on his leash.
“What was that all about?” I asked Joleen.
“He says Smudge is a purebred Siberian Mouse Hound,” Joleen answered.
“I think you have been had,” I said with a smile.
Photo Credit: https://pixabay.com/?ref=pexels
Fleeing the Flea, From the Archives
D. E. Larsen, DVM
It is another hot August day in Sweet Home, and fleas are eating most of the dogs alive.
Returning from lunch, I could see that Dixie had started the sprinkler on the roof already. That helped keep the clinic cool. The water would run hot, coming off the roof.
Joseph was waiting with a worried look on his face. He was holding a limp Domino.
Domino was a little five-pound chihuahua. He was black as a young dog but was half gray now.
Dixie herded Joe and Domino into the exam room as soon as I put on my smock.
“He is not doing so good this morning, Doc,” Joe said. Joe was in his early seventies and had lost his wife several years ago. Domino was about all he had left in the world.
We place Domino on the exam table on a fleece. I pulled up his lip, his membranes were white. I looked at his lower back and ventral abdomen, and he was literally covered with fleas.
“Joe, Domino is being eaten alive with fleas,” I said. “I am going to run a quick CBC on him. I can see that he is anemic, we just need to know how bad.”
After we drew a small tube of blood, I discussed the flea situation with Joe as I waited for results. The in-house blood machine would only take a few minutes.
“I don’t know why he would have so many fleas,” Joe said. “He has had a flea collar on since the first of the month.”
“It is a little complex, Joe,” I said. “You have probably had fleas laying eggs in the house all winter and spring. That flea collar might work a little around his head and neck, but for the most part, that little cloud of protection is about three feet behind him. When the weather gets hot, all the fleas come alive, and for a little guy like this, they suck the blood right out of him.”
The CBC showed a packed cell volume of less than 6% and a hemoglobin of 1.6 gm/dl. I don’t think I have seen levels this low in a living dog.
“Joe, Domino is very critical,” I said. “I need to get some blood into him right now. Any undue stress and he could drop dead in an instant. We will need him for a couple of hours, and I will talk about what we need to do when you pick him up.”
Luck was on Domino’s side, we had Riley in the clinic today. Riley was a large mixed-breed dog weighing over 100 pounds. I got ready to collect blood while Sandy called Riley’s owner.
“We have an emergency with a little chihuahua. We need to give him a blood transfusion,” Sandy said into the phone. “We only need about 35 ccs of blood and would like to collect that from Riley, if that is okay. That is a small enough volume that Riley won’t miss it.”
They consented, of course, and I drew the blood into a heparinized syringe. Then we turned around and administered to Domino via a jugular catheter. The risk of a transfusion reaction on an initial transfusion was low, and Domino’s blood values dictated immediate blood.
The result was almost instantaneous. Domino came alive again. His membranes pinked up, and he sat up and looked around as if to ask, “Where am I?”
I gave Domino a Capstar tablet. This was a new pill that provided close to a total flea kill in 30 to 60 minutes. I also gave him some oral Prednisone to reduce the inflammation in the skin.
When Joe returned, we had him fixed up with some topical Advantage for flea control, and I spent some time discussing year-round flea control. In the old days, we would have needed to use a flea bomb in the house, but those were almost impossible to find. The newer products did a good enough job that we did not have to treat the home.
“The important thing to remember is to maintain flea control all the time, year-round,” I said. “In August, when it turns hot, I probably spend 90% of my time treating dogs and cats with skin issues. And most of those issues are caused by fleas.”
“Okay, Doc, I don’t want to lose this guy,” Joe said. “I would have never thought that fleas could do that to a dog.”
“It all depends on the dog,” I said. “Domino is not much of a dog compared to Riley, his donor. Riley weighs over 100 pounds, and fleas could not do that to him. But Domino should be okay now, you just bring him by next week, and I will recheck that blood, just to make sure he is doing okay.”
Joe left with Domino in the crook of his elbow. Domino standing on his front feet, trying to lick Joe’s face. One happy ending.
Dixie had the next patient ready in the exam room. An older lady, who I had not seen before. Doris had a poodle, Daisy, who was scratching on her tail head, that area on the low back above the tail. This was the textbook appearance for Flea Allergy Dermatitis.
“Daisy has been scratching herself raw,” Doris said.
I looked Daisy over from head to tail. Everything looked fine except for the skin. Daisy had a ribbon in her hair on both ears, she had probably just come from the groomer. I ran my hand over the sparse hair on her low back—fleas scattered in all directions.
“Doris, this pattern of hair loss is what we see with Flea Allergy Dermatitis,” I said. “We need to use some medication along with some flea control, and this will clear right up.”
“I overheard your conversation with the gentleman who just left,” Doris said. “I want you to know, Doctor, Daisy does not have fleas, and there are no fleas in my house. The groomer thinks this is a food allergy.”
I promptly parted the hair on Daisy’s back again and quickly captured a flea. I placed the flea on the exam table and squished it with my thumbnail. I didn’t say a word.
“We had to wait out there in your waiting room for almost ten minutes,” Doris said.
“We just happen to have a new veterinary dermatologist that has started practice in Eugene,” I said. “She would be the one who you should see to handle Daisy’s possible food allergies. I will send your records down to her and send you home with her telephone number. I think that she will be able to get you right in to look at Daisy since she has just started practice.”
Doris and Daisy left with the information.
“That was quick,” Dixie said.
“I am too tired to spend my time talking to a brick wall,” I said. “The Dermatologist can tell her it is a flea problem after she does $500.00 worth of skin testing. I am sure she will believe her then.”
Photo by Liam Ortiz from Pexels
Memoirs of a Country Vet 