The Scourge of the Garden, From the Archives

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Martha led her new young German Shepherd into the exam room and waited patiently for me to arrive. She had Duke sitting beside her, ears erect and waiting for whatever was to come next.

Obviously proud of her pup, Martha smiled when she shook my hand.

“Shake,” she instructed Duke. Duke extended a paw for me to shake.

“This guy is the smartest pup I have ever had,” Martha said. “He is already teaching the other two knot heads how to behave.”

“Do they get along okay?” I asked.

“Oh yes, they get along fine,” Martha said. “Even if Buddy and Zeus are jealous of all the attention that Duke gets right now.”

Duke was super on the exam table and took his shots like they were nothing. It was nice to see a young German Shepherd that was a great dog from the old mold. German Shepherds are a popular breed. When a dog breed becomes popular, so many backyard breeders pop up and start selling puppies. There is never a selection criterion, and the result is a bunch of pups with poor conformation and abysmal behavior.

“Do you think it would be possible for me to leave Duke here for a few minutes while I run to the store?” Martha asked. “The slugs are terrible this year, and they are eating my garden down to the roots. I have to pick up some slug bait.”

“We will gladly hang onto Duke for you, Martha,” I said. “But I am not a big fan of slug bait. It is terrible stuff, and dogs really like it. They will go right along behind someone is putting out in the garden and lick it up off the ground. Then it is a quick trip to vet, and hopefully, they didn’t get enough to kill to themselves.”

“I have used it before, and our garden is fenced for the deer, so we can keep the dogs out,” Martha said.

“That is probably good. Just be careful with the stuff,” I said. “There is no antidote, and it is all dose-related. We can control the seizures and provide supportive care until the effects wear off, but if they get too much, it cooks their livers, and once in awhile, they are gone before they get here.”

“I don’t know what else a person can use,” Martha said.

“I am no expert, but I hear that a shallow pan filled with beer works well,” I said. “The beer attracts the slugs, and they crawl into the pan and drown.”

“I’ve heard that also,” Martha said. “Maybe I will try it after I get them under control with some slug bait first.”

Martha picked up Duke and headed home when she was done at the store. She lived up the river, maybe halfway to Cascadia. 

We continued our day, and my conversation with Martha quickly faded into the background.

And then the phone rang.

A very frantic Martha was crying on the phone as she spoke with Sandy. 

“I had the grocery bag sitting on the table, and those damn dogs knocked it on the floor and tore open the two boxes of slug bait,” Martha cried. “Buddy and Zeus are in seizures, and Duke is looking sick.”

“Get them down here as fast as you can,” Sandy said. “We will be ready for you when you get here.”

Dixie came back and told me Martha was on her way to the clinic with all three dogs. “They at two boxes of slug bait,” she said.

“If they ate that much, there is probably not going to be much that we can do for them,” I said.

Martha came through the door with Duke a short time later. Duke was still on his feet but walking stiff-legged, and his eyes were dancing in the sockets.

“Buddy and Zeus are both dead out in the car,” Martha said with tears streaming down her face. “Duke is lucky that they ate most of the stuff.”

Duke only required a slight sedative to control his symptoms. We took care of the arrangements to get Buddy and Zeus cremated for Martha.

“If only I had listened to what you were telling me,” Martha said. “I feel so guilty. Why do dogs like that terrible stuff?”

“There is a movement underway to require they add a bittering agent to the stuff to try to make it less attractive to dogs,” I said. “That might solve a large amount of the consumption like Buddy and Zeus got into, but the small amount like Duke got might still happen. Al least most of those are manageable.”

“Well, for now, I am going to pick up some disposal aluminum pie plates and set them out filled with beer,” Martha said. “At least I have plenty of beer at the house. Bob won’t even miss a few cans.”

“It might be a good idea for us to keep Duke overnight,” I said.

“If it is possible, I would like to take him home,” Martha said. “He would be better off at home than here where nobody is watching him. And it is going to feel like the house is empty without the big dogs. I really think I will need Duke to cuddle with tonight.”

So Duke went home, and he was fine in the morning. He lucked out being the low man and the totem pole in this situation. That is not always the case when the low dog is left to lick up the leavings. But that is another story.

Photo by Rudolf-Peter Bakker on Unsplash

Bicycle Mishap for Tucker, From the Archives

D. E. Larsen, DVM

June and her two boys, Joe and Josh, were waiting impatiently in the reception with what looked like a rather painful Tucker.

Tucker was about a three-year-old Springer Spaniel who was usually bouncing off the walls in the clinic. Today he was standing, hunched up and reluctant to move. Something must be terribly wrong.

Dixie had them in the exam room, but Tucker was so painful that he was still on the floor.

“What’s up with Tucker?” I asked when I entered the room.

“Joe ran over him with his bicycle a couple of hours ago,” June said as Joe held up his elbow to show me a road rash he had sustained. “He seemed okay when it happened but then started getting painful. Just a little painful at first, but then it started getting worse. He doesn’t want to move now.”

I squatted down to look at Tucker, and he snarled as I reached out to touch him.

“I think I had better fashion a little muzzle for him,” I said. “He is so painful he doesn’t want to be touched.”

“He won’t bite,” June said.

“Under normal circumstances, that may be true,” I said. “But when a dog is painful, he will bite, I assure you. So just to be safe, I am going to tie his mouth with a loop of gauze.”

I took about three feet of roll gauze and made a loop in the middle with one throw. I placed the loop over Tucker’s muzzle and pulled it tight with the throw on top of his muzzle. Then I crossed the gauze under his muzzle and tied the ends behind his head.

Then leaving Tucker on the floor, I carefully started to run my hands over him to find the source of his pain. Tucker snarled at my very touch.

Tucker showed no response as my hands started at his nose and moved over his head and down his neck. There was no pain in his front legs or chest. I stood up and moved behind Tucker to carefully palpate his back and hips. He tensed and growled when I started to palpate his hind legs, but that growl stopped when I reached his knees and lower legs. I carefully pushed on his abdomen, no pain was detected. I moved back to his hind legs, and the growl started again. I lifted his rear up to look closer, and there it was.

Tucker’s right testicle was almost twice the size of his left testicle. I reached to touch the swollen testicle, and Tucker sort of exploded. Without the muzzle, I would have been bitten. Tucker maintained contact with my left arm with his muzzled mouth, just to make sure I wouldn’t try to touch that again.

“Well, it looks like I found it,” I said. “Tucker must have gotten a testicle ran over.”

“I am shocked,” June said. “I have never seen him act like that before.”

“Don’t hold it against him,” I said. “When these guys are really painful, that is their only defense.”

“What do we need to do with him,” June asked.

“I need to get him under anesthesia and figure out what happened to that testicle,” I said. “My guess is that it is going have to be removed. I just need to make sure there is not a hernia involved.”

“It looks like that is our only choice,” June said. “Can you do that right away?”

“I have a couple of things to do first, but we will give him some pain stuff while he waits for surgery,” I said. “The best thing would be to take both of those things while we are doing this. It really wouldn’t add anything to the surgery bill and would make a better dog out of him.”

“I will ask Jerry, but we have talked about neutering Tucker before, and Jerry is pretty dead set against it,” June said. “Sort of a guy thing, I guess.”

“Okay, but just between you and I, Tucker’s life will be much happier if he is neutered,” I said. “He won’t be worrying about that little chippy down the street. Or fighting with the big dog down there with her.”

“I know,” June said. “But I’m afraid there is no changing Jerry’s mind.”

“Okay, I will plan to only remove the injured testicle unless I hear from you,” I said. “We will be getting to surgery in an hour or so. Is that enough time for you to talk with Jerry?”

“I think so,” June said. “But if you don’t hear from me, just remove the injured testicle.

I gave Tucker a dose of Innovar for pain and put him in a kennel while we finished things up so we could get him into surgery.

June called the clinic just before we started into surgery with Tucker to confirm that Jerry did not want to remove both testicles unless necessary. 

“You could tell him a little white lie,” Dixie said with a smile. She knew I would not do that.

“I have to be able to live with myself,” I said. “Telling little lies makes that hard to do, and it leads to bigger lies. Pretty soon, you can’t remember what you said to whom.”

We prepped Tucker, and I made a mid-line incision in front of the scrotum. Then, pushing the injured testicle into the incision, I incised the soft tissues over the testicle and pushed the testicle out of the incision.

The problem was immediately apparent. There was a full two twists in the cord of the testicle, a testicular torsion. There was no saving this testicle. The bicycle wheel must have spun this testicle as it ran over it.

At this point, I opened the tunic covering the testicle. I completed a standard orchiectomy, removing the injured testicle and closing the incision.

We recovered Tucker from anesthesia, and we had the old Tucker back, bouncing around the kennel. He was ready to go home.

I called June to give her the news. 

“June, Tucker can go home anytime this afternoon,” I said. “He had a complete torsion of his right testicle. The bicycle wheel must have spun it around a couple of times. There was no saving the testicle, but Tucker is wide awake and bouncing around like the old Tucker we know.”

When Tucker was picked up, he was jumping up and licking at the faces of both Joe and Josh, showing no remorse for the accident, if he was even aware of it at all.

Photo by John Debrey on Unsplash

Run for Your Life, From the Archives

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Joe always wanted Comet checked for one thing or the other. He was waiting for his turn in the exam room with Comet on his lap. Comet was a young Whippet. There was not an ounce of fat on his entire body. I could about define every muscle on him, just looking.

“What’s up with Comet today,” I asked as Joe placed him carefully on the exam table?

“I have been reading about heartworms, Doc,” Joe said. “I thought maybe I better have you check Comet and get him on some medication.”

“We have just completed a statewide heartworm survey,” I said. “One of the drug companies paid for it. Most of the clinics in the state collected blood samples from 100 dogs. They ran all those samples, and they say we have about a two percent incidence of heartworms in native Oregon dogs.” 

“That doesn’t sound like it is too serious,” Joe said. 

“Not too serious at this point, but they claim that is pretty standard for how heartworms invade an area. It will be in low numbers for several years, and then all of a sudden, it is a major problem.”

“Well, even if it is a low-risk thing, I think I want to get Comet on some medication,” Joe said. “You know how I am about him. He means as much to me as any of the kids.”

“I know, Joe, you have him with you all the time,” I said. “The kids come and go.”

“Now, don’t you tell my wife that I said that. She would be upset with me,” Joe said.

“Let me get a blood sample from Comet, and we will see if we can get him on some medication,” I said. “This new drug, Ivomectin, is a little bit of a problem with Greyhounds and Whippets. But the dose used for heartworm prevention is low enough that it is not an issue.”

“Whatever you think, Doc,” Joe said. 

“The risk of the medication causing a problem is very small, Joe. But then, the risk of infection is also minimal. At this point, where you live out on a hillside with few neighbors, I think it is your call.”

“That hillside is one of my concerns,” Joe said. “We are getting into quite a coyote problem. They are getting so brave that they come right down into the yard and bother Comet. I don’t him catching anything from them.”

Comet tested negative for heartworms, and we started him on a new preventative medication. 

“You give him one of these tablets once a month,” I said. “Try to give it on the same day of the month, but you have a few days leeway if you forget.”

It was several months later when Joe returned to the clinic. He was distraught, and his body odor told that he had not bathed in several days.

“Doc, Comet is gone,” Joe said as he leaned hard on the counter, tears welled up in his eyes. “Those coyotes ate him, I am sure.”

“What happened,” I asked?

“Three of those damn coyotes came into the yard and started to attack Comet. Before I could do anything, Comet took off like a shot. You know those Whippets can run. The coyotes were right on his tail.”

“I doubt that those coyotes could catch Comet. I know of ranchers in Colorado who keep Greyhounds to hunt coyotes. Those Greyhounds just run them down.”

“Maybe a half-hour after they left the yard, the whole pack of coyotes were yipping up a storm. I am sure they got him. And he hasn’t been home, and that was four days ago. I don’t know what I am going to do without him.”

“Joe, you need to go home and take care of yourself. Take a shower and get cleaned up. Maybe have the kids help you build a little memorial in the yard of Comet. Then go out for a good dinner. Comet would want you to have a normal life.”

“Yes, you are probably right, Doc,” Joe said. “I brought this package of pills back. I only used a few, and maybe you can give them to someone who doesn’t have the money to afford them.”

“We are not supposed to do that, but we keep a few things in the cabinet, just for such a client.”

“That poor man,” Sandy said after Joe left. “That dog was his whole life.”

“He will be okay,” I said. “It will just take a little time and some diversion.”

It was only a few days later when Joe exploded through the door. Exuberant, he had a smile from ear to ear. He had combed his hair, and he was well dressed.

“Doc, I want to thank you for your advice,” Joe said.

“You look happy,” I said.

“Let me tell you the story,” Joe said. “I went home the other day and tried to take your advice, but I couldn’t get myself up to it. I laid around another couple of days. Finally, I looked at the yard, and boy, it needed to be mowed. So I went out and started the lawnmower, mowed the yard, and then I took the boys down to Hoy’s Hardware to buy stuff for a memorial. And what do you know, when we got home, there was Comet, sitting in the middle of the driveway, waiting for us. I was so happy. I almost ran the pickup into the house.”

“That is great news,” I said. “I bet that Comet ran so fast and so far that he didn’t know the way home. When you started the lawnmower, you probably gave him some bearings on how to get home. I didn’t think a coyote could catch him.”

“You are probably correct,” Joe said. “This time of the year, I mow the lawn at least once a week, maybe twice, if I get bored. So Comet would know the sound for sure.”

“I would give you those pills back, but I gave them to an old guy this morning,” I said with a smile on my face.

“That’s okay. I will gladly buy some more,” Joe said.

“No,” I laughed. “I will grab them for you. I was pulling your leg a little.”

Photo by Mitchell Orr on Unsplash