Drunken Hounds 

D. E. Larsen, DVM

I stood in the driveway, waiting for Jeremy to come out of the house, and I could see several hounds in the large kennel behind the house. They were staggering around, just like Jeremy described in his call.

I watched as Jeremy made his way out of the back door of the house. He was a young man, no more than twenty years old, he was well-built and fit. He probably got plenty of exercise following these hounds.

“Hi, Jeremy,” I said as I extended my hand. “I can see a couple of your hounds staggering around in the kennel. How long has that been going on?”

“Like I told your gal on the phone, it just started this afternoon,” Jeremy said. “It is the whole bunch of them. They look like they have been out drinking all night.”

When we got back to the kennel, I could see Jeremy had six hounds, and they were all in some state of neurological dysfunction. They were all on their feet but staggering, and at least two hounds were pressing against the kennel fence, trying to stabilize themselves.

“And you say they were fine this morning?” I asked.

“Yes, they were fine,” Jeremy said. “I fed them about six this morning, and they bounced around like nothing was wrong. They cleaned up their food in a few minutes, just like they always do.”

“And nothing else happened?” I asked.

“Well, now that you ask, I did give them some worm medicine,” Jeremy said. “But the guy at the feed store said it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“What did you give them?” I asked.

“Just a minute. I will get the bottle out of the trash,” Jeremy said as he ran back into the house.

Jeremy returned with an empty plastic bottle in his hands a few moments later. He handed me the bottle.

“I have been seeing worms in their stool almost every day,” Jeremy said. “The guy at the feed store said this was a good wormer.”

I read the label on the bottle, Piperazine Pig Wormer Concentrate.

“How did you give this?” I asked.

“The directions talk about milligrams and kilograms and the like,” Jeremy said. “That didn’t mean much to me. The guy at the feed store said they sell it all the time, and it was safe. I just dumped the whole bottle into their water bucket.”

“You used this whole bottle?” I asked.

“Was that too much?” Jeremy said. “Are these guys going to be okay?”

“Let’s get that water bucket out of there first,” I said. “Rinse it out and put some fresh water in the kennel. Piperazine is a good dewormer for roundworms, but it can cause some neurological problems at high doses. I think you overdosed these guys. The worms in the stools are probably tapeworms, and Piperazine doesn’t help against tapeworms.”

“What are we going to need to do for my hounds?” Jeremy asked.

“There is no antidote,” I said. “This will wear off, just like cheap whiskey. They are all up and okay. They just need to sleep it off. You need to come to the clinic and pick up some Yomesan tablets for the tapeworms. It will be a little more expensive, but it will work. Most of the tapeworms we see around here come from the flea. The flea larvae eat the tapeworm eggs, and the dog eats the fleas.”

“I don’t think my dogs have fleas,” Jeremy said.

“Jeremy, I have been in the valley long enough to know that all dogs have fleas around here,” I said. “You sound like some of the old ladies I see. In the summer, all these dogs will have fleas unless you are treating them every few days.”

“I guess you’re right. I know when I put flea collars on them a couple of years ago, they had more problems scratching the butts than they did without the collars,” Jeremy said.

“Yes, that little cloud of protection that the flea collar gives off is about three feet behind these active dogs,” I said. “They do a good job around the head and neck, and all the fleas live back on the dog’s rear end.”

“Okay, I’ll change their water and watch them,” Jeremy said. “Do I need to do anything other than come pick up some pills for tapeworms.”

“That’s it,” I said. “These dogs should be improved by this evening. If they aren’t, or if any of them get worse, you give me a call. And don’t get in too big of a hurry to worm them for tapeworms. Let’s let their systems rest for a few days.”

Jeremy’s hounds were much improved by evening and entirely back to normal the following day. Jeremy came by the clinic, and I spent a few minutes discussing flea control in the Willamette Valley as it existed in the 1970s. And he picked up his supply of Yomasen tablets.

I talked with Stan at the feed store to make sure he cautioned folks to follow the medication label and call someone if they didn’t understand it.

Photo by Sandi Mager on Unsplash.

A Perfect Delivery, From the Archives

D. E. Larsen, DVM

I glanced out in the waiting area and could see Emma waiting to talk with me. Emma was an attractive young girl with light brown shoulder-length hair that she wore in a ponytail. I think she was still in high school, probably a junior or senior.

Emma had a young mare, Lilly, due to foal most any time now. Emma was doing everything in her power to provide the perfect setting for the delivery. In doing so, she has been talking my leg off. She had been talking with me a couple of times a week for the last month. Most of the time, that was okay, I did a lot of work for her father.

When I stepped out to the front counter, she bounced up.

“My father says I have been bothering you too much and not paying you a fair fee,” she said. “So I want you to make a farm call and check out the birthing facility I have set up. I have moved a bed into the barn, and I will be sleeping there until Lilly foals.”

“You tell your father I am always willing to provide whatever instruction I am capable of to our clients and their families,” I said.

“I know that, and so does he. We just thought maybe you should check over what I have set up, just to make sure I am not missing something. I want this to be perfect.”

“That sounds fine. You can schedule a time with Sandy. It is probably a good thing, we have covered a lot of topics over the last month or so.”

“I have a checklist from those discussions and from reading in Horse and Rider magazines.”

“You know, Emma, a lot of mares will be reluctant to foal if they are being watched,” I said.

“But she is so ready, all the signs are there,” Emma said. “She is leaking milk, and her privates are really swollen and flabby. And her due date is tomorrow. I am taking off school tomorrow, and Thursday, and Friday if she hasn’t foaled by then.”

“They have their own clock, and don’t be surprised if you don’t go to the house for dinner or something and come back to a foal standing in the stall,” I said. “But, you schedule a time, and I can get out there this afternoon and see what you have set up.”

The Pedersen farm was anything but neat. The barn was a large old barn, once painted red, that set a hundred yards behind the house. With all the work on the farm, Mr. Pedersen didn’t have a lot of extra time to worry about mowing the lawn. Emma was the oldest of 5 girls, and I don’t think any of them helped around the barn much unless it was with Emma’s horse.

I drove past the house and parked the truck by the barn. Emma came out of a small attached shed on the house side of the barn. Her younger sister was by her side, Sara was 7 years old, and she was often around when we were working with the cows. Both girls were all smiles, and you could tell that the pending birth was going to be an exciting event for them.

I was literally blown away when Emma and Sara led me into the shed with the horse stall. It was immaculate. There was not a cobweb in the tallest rafter. She had a well-made cot in the corner with a desk and bookcase nearby. Then she had a small refrigerator on a shelf for medication and supplies.

Lilly was in a sizable stall that was bedded entirely with straw. There was a pitchfork by the stall gate and not a trace of soiled straw in the stall.

“Do you think the straw is clean enough?” Emma asked. “I have worried about that, but I don’t know what else there is that I could use.”

“The straw is fine,” I said. “It is far better than most foals get.”

“Emma thinks that it is going to be born tonight,” Sara said. “I want to bring a sleeping bag out here, but Mom won’t let me.”

“Your mother is probably right,” I said, “it is a school night. When mares have their babies, it is usually a pretty fast event. You would probably sleep right through it.”

“I just worry about all the little things,” Emma said. “The magazines talk about all sorts of problems. Things like navel infections I can feel confident that I have under control by dipping the navel with iodine. They talk about foals suffocating in their membranes. Stuff like that where you have to there to help, or you lose a foal.

“You have things just about as perfect as they can be, Emma,” I said. “Those stories like the foal suffocating in the membranes are just stories. Most of those foals were probably stillbirths. Things happen fast when mares foal and most of the foals are not going to allow any membranes to hang around on their heads. Horses have been doing this a long time before people got involved in the process. Being here to watch is okay, but you don’t want to do anything unless there is a problem. And then you should call me first if you can.”

“Okay, I will relax a little,” Emma said. “At least you have made me feel a little less concerned. It is just that I want everything to be perfect with this delivery.”

“And Emma, don’t worry if she doesn’t foal tonight,” I said. “Mares will often hold off their labor if there is too much observation. The big horse ranches usually monitor their mares in labor with remote cameras.”

“Okay, but you know I am going to call you if anything looks unusual.”

With that, I returned to the office, and Emma sort of faded into the background for a time. Wednesday came and went with no call.

By Friday afternoon, I had just about forgotten about Emma and her mare. Then the phone rang.

Sandy answered the phone and quickly handed it to me. There was a very frantic Emma on the other end of the line.

“Dr. Larsen, you have to come quick!” she said. 

Then the phone was silent for a moment before little Sara picked it up.

“Lilly had her baby out in the shit pile,” Sara said. “Emma is pretty upset. Can you come?”

“You tell Emma that I am on my way and that things are going to be alright,” I said.

The entire family was out in the barnyard when I arrived. The mare and the foal were both up and looked like they were doing okay. Emma had a halter and a lead rope on Lilly.

“It is all my fault,” Emma said with tears streaming down her face. “I was cleaning the stall and left the gate ajar. Lilly ran past me and out the gate. She picked the dirtiest place in the barnyard, right on the pile of straw and manure from the last 2 weeks of stall cleaning. She laid down and popped that foal out before I could do anything.”

Lilly was stepping sideways with her hind feet, bothered by the membranes still hanging out of her. About that time, the membranes came out with one big flop, and she stepped away.

I picked up the membranes and spread them out on the ground to show Emma how to check that the entire afterbirth came out.

“In cows, we don’t worry too much about retained membranes these days. As long as the cow is doing okay. But in the horse it is an entirely different story and it is important to check that both off these ends are intact. Otherwise, we need to go in and get the retained pieces.”

“Now, let’s clean this little gal up and take care of her naval and her E-Se injection,” I said. “Then, we can take care of Lilly.”

By the time we were done, and we had Lilly and the foal back in their stall, Emma had calmed down a little. 

“What should I watch for now?” Emma asked.

“You should watch for a normal baby,” I said. “Don’t worry unless there is something to worry about. You have a long way to go in this life, Emma, if this little hiccup today is the worst you have to deal with, you will be a lucky young lady.”

Photo by Helder Sato of Pexels

Tiny’s Swollen Belly 

D. E. Larsen, DVM

I watched as Dixie showed Mr. Johnson into the exam room. He ducked his head as he went through the door. I don’t know if he needed to duck, but it was close. Mr. Johnson was a large old man. Not fat, just tall and solidly built. In his later years, he lost some muscle mass, making his pot belly a little more prominent. 

“What’s going on with Tiny today, Don?” I asked as I entered the exam room. 

One of the things that I always found interesting was how the biggest men seemed to be attached to the smallest dogs.

“I don’t know what’s going on, Doc,” Don said. “Tiny is all swollen up in the belly the last few days. I guess it has been going on for some time now, but it has been really bad these last few days.”

I took Tiny from Don’s arms. He was always reluctant to place her on the steel exam table. Dixie brought a blanket in for the table, and we carefully placed Tiny in the middle of the table.

Tiny fit her name. She was a small Chihuahua. When I finally got a good look at her, it looked like her little belly was going pop. It was so distended that I couldn’t compress it enough to feel anything inside.

“She was uncomfortable this morning, Doc,” Don said. “I figured I better get you to look at her before she popped. What do you figure is going on with her?”

I listened to Tiny’s heart, and it sounded normal. I could bounce any enlarged organ off the distended belly wall.

“I am probably going have to hang on to her for a bit to find out what’s going on,” I said. “Can you leave her with us for a few hours?”

“You know I don’t like to leave her, Doc,” Don said. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. It is just that we are never apart. She is all I have, Doc.”

“Okay, I will start with just a little needle poke,” I said. “That way, I can maybe figure out what kind of fluid is in Tiny’s belly. Depending on what that looks like, I may need to drain a lot of this fluid so I can get an X-ray. If I take an X-ray with all this fluid, we won’t be able to see much.”

“You can do that right here?” Don asked.

“Yes, you sit down in the chair,” I said. “You have a long way to fall if you faint. I will grab some things, and we can do this right here.”

“I’m not going to faint,” Don said with a bit of a frown. “During the war, I saw a lot more than a needle poke.”

We laid Tiny on her side and clipped a small area on her lower abdomen. After a prep, I used a sixty cc syringe to draw some fluid off her belly.

“You said a little needle poke,” Don said. “That looks like a horse needle.”

“I figure if we are going to poke her, we may as well draw off enough fluid to make her more comfortable,” I said.

The fluid was ugly. It was a dark straw color with small white flecks all through it. This was not going to be good news for Don. With a full syringe of fluid removed, Tiny’s belly was relaxed enough now that I felt her liver and spleen were not enlarged.

We returned Tiny to Don so he could hold her while we took the fluid syringe to the lab.

“We are going to get a look at this fluid. It will only take a few minutes,” I said.

The white flecks in the syringe were quick to settle to the bottom of the fluid. I squeezed a drop on several slides, making sure I had a slide with a lot of flecks.

My heart sank as soon as I looked at the slide. The slide was covered with large aggregates of tumor cells. The only tumor that I knew of that would put this much debris into the abdominal fluid was an ovarian tumor. This was not good news for Tiny, and I had no idea how Don could cope with the pending crisis.

“Don, that slide that I just looked at from the fluid looks like bad news,” I said. “It looks like Tiny has a tumor in her abdomen. It might be a bad tumor, Don.”

“Can you remove it?” Don asked.

“We need to confirm what type of tumor it is first, but if it is what I think it is, we can remove the tumor, but it will have already spread elsewhere in the abdomen.”

“Are you trying to tell me that you think Tiny is going to die?” Don asked.

“I don’t know that for certain at this point, Don,” I said. “But we need to find out as fast as we can.”

“I don’t have a money tree in the backyard, Doc,” Don said. “I want to help Tiny if I can, but we have to do it without spending a lot of money.”

“When there are limited funds, and we are dealing with an abdominal tumor, I think the best approach is to do an exploratory surgery,” I said. “That shortcuts a lot of the diagnostic work. If I find something I can deal with, we take care of it right there. If it can’t be fixed, then we have decisions to make.”

“When can you do this surgery?” Don asked.

“I can move things around on the schedule and do the surgery in the morning,” I said. “Now, Don, if this is an ovarian tumor, there might not be much to be done. Looking at this fluid, this tumor has probably spread all across the abdomen. If that is the case, Tiny will die, and all the money in the world will not help her.”

“But if it is something else, you could maybe fix it,” Don said.

“Yes, but you are grasping at straws now,” I said. “My guess is there will not be much I can do to help Tiny. I may be able to remove the primary tumor, but looking at this fluid, that will be closing the barn door after the horse is out. The other option would be to send this fluid into the lab and get an opinion from a pathologist. I could draw the fluid off Tiny’s belly so she would be more comfortable while we wait for the results from the lab. That should only be a couple of days.”

“And I suppose that just adds another hundred bucks to the bill,” Don said.

“If the pathologist agrees with me, we might want to rethink doing a surgery,” I said. “If there is not going to be anything that will help Tiny, we might want to just make her comfortable for the time she has left instead of doing a surgery.”

Don sat quietly for several minutes, cuddling Tiny and looking at her.

“You really think I’m going to lose her, don’t you, Doc,” Don said. 

“That’s what I’m afraid of, Don,” I said. “Why don’t we draw some fluid off Tiny’s belly, and I will send those slides and the fluid to the lab. It will only take a couple of days to get results. Then we can talk again about the best thing we can do for Tiny.”

With another few minutes of thought, Don agreed. We drew another two large syringes of fluid off Tiny’s abdomen. The fluid didn’t look any better this time, but Tiny felt much better.

“Now she is going to feel pretty good with all that fluid off her belly,” I said. “But don’t think that she is well. I will call you as soon as I get results from the lab, and we can decide what we want to do.”

***

“Dave, I don’t like to make a diagnosis with just cytology, but looking at this fluid you sent and the slide, this has to be an ovarian tumor,” the pathologist said. “With all these tumor cells floating in this fluid, this tumor has spread all over the abdomen. There is nothing you can do for this dog.”

“Would removing the primary tumor be any benefit?” I asked.

“In ovarian cancer, the primary tumor seldom causes any problem,” Doctor Hedstrom said. “It just spreads to every corner of the abdomen. There is nothing we can do for this dog at this point.”

I had Sandy call Don to make an appointment for a consultation. I didn’t look forward to the conversation. 

Don was in the exam room with Tiny when I entered.

“Just like you said, Doc, she felt great after you took the fluid off her belly,” Don said. “I thought you had to be wrong. She was feeling so good. But it seemed to all come back almost overnight, and now she feels worse than before.”

“The pathologist agrees that this is an ovarian tumor,” I said. “He says that surgery won’t be helpful for Tiny.”

“If you can take this fluid off one more time,” Don said. “Give me one more day with her. That is all I ask.”

And that is what we did. I drew off another three syringes of fluid, and Don went home with Tiny.

It was three days later when he returned to have Tiny put to sleep. It was hard, but she was weak and miserable. It was the best thing for her.”

Photo by Stephanie Yolanda on Pexels.