Charlie and Betty Land, Foster, From the Archives

D. E. Larsen, DVM

 Charlie’s horses were pretty well managed, and after the breeding season, there was not a lot to do around the farm. Betty managed to keep their account pretty active.

    “What brings you in today?” I asked Betty when she eased through the front door. Betty was a slightly built lady with black shoulder-length hair. She seemed a little shy most of the time when Charlie was around, but I suspect that she could hold her own in most situations.

    “This darn cat of mine is peeing everywhere,” she said with some concern in her voice.

 This darn cat was named Foster; he was an old guy. He was approaching the golden year for male cats in the 1970s. I seldom saw a male cat over 15, and if I remembered correctly, Foster was going to be 15 this summer. Betty had found him as a kitten under the dumpster at Glen’s Market in Foster. He pretty much had the run of the place now.

    “Peeing all over the place, small puddles or large puddles?” I asked.

    “Oh, they are large puddles when they are on the floor. He peed on the bed this morning. That is why I am here, it woke up Charlie, and he was none too happy,” Betty explained.

    “Well, let’s get him in an exam room and look at him and see if I can get some urine out of him.”

  Pulling him out of the carrier, I noticed that he was much thinner than he was in the past. There was urine in the kennel.

    “Oh my,” Betty exclaimed, “how could there be so much urine already?”

    “We will get a quick look at this urine first, then I will do an exam,” I said as I drew up some urine from the kennel.

    This urine would do fine for a dip stix, but we would need a better collection if we were going to have to do additional testing. I handed the syringe to Dixie and returned my attention to Foster. He was quite thin, ribs were showing through his hair coat. His eyes had early cataracts, sometimes these old guys just have trouble finding their way to the litter box. He was dehydrated also. My guess was either advanced kidney failure, the most common cause of death in an old cat, or possibly diabetes. I seldom saw diabetes in the cat, but it was definitely on the list.

 Dixie popped into the exam room and laid the results of the dip stix on the counter. A four-plus urine glucose and normal specific gravity just about confirmed a diabetes diagnosis.

   “Betty, Foster probably has diabetes. We need to do some blood tests to make sure and to check his liver and kidney function. Then we need to give him some fluids and get him on a stable insulin dose. He is probably going to have to stay with us a day or two.”

    “Doc, I can leave him for the day, but I don’t want to leave him overnight. If he is going to die, I want him to die at home,” Betty said in a stern voice. I had not heard that voice from her before.

    “We can probably work with that, but I will need to see him every morning for a week or so. We will start off with a pretty low dose of insulin and work it up slowly,” I explained.

 “The other thing we need to discuss is what we can expect with his treatment. He is almost 15, and I don’t see very many male cats older than 15. Diabetes is a difficult disease to live with for people. For people to manage the disease in pets is even more difficult. Top that off and cats are also difficult to treat when they have diabetes. A high percentage of pets with diabetes are euthanized within 6 months of diagnosis, just because of the difficulty of living with the disease.”

 “We will do whatever we need to do to keep Foster alive,” Betty said. “I know he is old, and I know he won’t last forever, but we won’t be the ones to give up on him.”

 With that, we kept Foster for the day. His blood glucose was well over 400, and other blood tests were normal. We gave him 300 ml of Ringers Lactate by SQ injection and started him on a low dose of insulin.

 Betty was waiting at the door every morning with Foster. My guess was the barn chores would wait until his treatment was done. Testing at the time was cumbersome. The first few days, we did both a blood test and urine glucose. Foster was obviously feeling much better, looking brighter, and Betty reported him to be much more active and peeing less. My goal was to get his glucose to somewhere around 200, just to a level he could live with and not have much in the way of a hypoglycemia risk.

 By the third day, we were there. “I think this is the dose we use for a couple of weeks,” I explained to Betty. We had been showing her how to do the injections all week. I want to see him still for a couple of days, just to check his urine glucose and give the dose in the morning, Then we will turn you loose at home.”

 Thursday morning, expecting a quick check, Foster’s urine showed no glucose. Great, so much for a simple case. We drew a little blood. Blood Glucose was 50, pretty low.

    “No insulin for Foster today,” I explained to Betty. “Sometimes, in the cat, we will see a remission or sometimes a fluctuation in insulin requirement. So no insulin today, and we will check him in the morning.”

 Friday morning, and there was still no glucose in his urine. We decided to go the weekend without insulin and recheck on Monday. This might prove to be a complicated case to manage.

 On Monday, Foster’s urine showed a 4+ glucose, and his blood glucose was over 300. So we started over where we left off.

    “That would be great if you could check his urine every morning, but I am not sure that you could get urine out him,” I said. “We will have you check his glucose every morning, give insulin if it is positive, and don’t give insulin if he doesn’t have glucose in his urine. That is not perfect, but we will see how that works. You just call in the mornings and let Dixie know how things are going so she can keep his record up to date.”

    So that was the program, Betty was happy, Foster was delighted, I was hopeful that we would not have a wreck. I could not believe that Betty could get urine every day.

 Two weeks later, when Betty was in for a recheck, I noticed that the daily record was complete. There was a two-day stretch where she did not give insulin. Foster had gained almost 2 pounds and starting to look like his old self.

 “Things look like they are going well,” I said. “But it looks like you are going have to check his urine every day, his insulin demands are just going to fluctuate enough that we have to have a daily check. My concern is, how are you going to get urine out of him every day?”

 “That is no problem, I just have him pee in a coffee cup,” Betty said with no expression, just like that was something everybody would do. 

 Betty was able to manage Foster for another 3 years with this simple program of monitoring. Consistently during those years, Foster would have several days each month where he would have no need for insulin. We could have managed him closer and done away with those days, but I am not sure that his quality of life and the quality of life for Charlie and Betty would have been improved.

Photo by Ave Calvar on Unsplash

The Round Robin 

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Deacon opened the letter carefully, she was hoping to be able to reuse the envelope. Inside there were four small sheets of paper, she removed them almost reverently.

“You kids come in here and I will read the letters,” Deacon said “And bring your little brother.”

“He can’t even talk,” Larry said. “Why does he have to listen to the letters?”

“That is how he will learn to talk,” Deacon said as Linda was arranging the chairs around the kitchen table.

“I don’t think he will ever talk,” Linda said.

It was 1943 and World War II was in full force. On the Home Front, gas rationing was one way everyone could participate in the war effort. Frank and Dolores (Deacon) Larsen were living up Coos River, out of Coos Bay. A trip to Myrtle Point to visit with family required save ration tickets to allow enough gas to for the trip. It also distracted from the Home Front effort to help the war effort.

Catching Creek was heavily invested in the war effort. Stan Felsher was missing in action in The Philippines, actually dead at the time but that was not confirmed by the military. Bob Lundy was on a flight crew in the Pacific. The Bartlett boys, Gene and Phillip were in the Navy. Gene was on a ship and Phillip was flying a fighter in the Pacific. Ernie was in flight training in Texas to fly bombers. The Home Front was their way of supporting those young men by actions, rather than just words.

In response to this forced isolation, the large Davenport family adopted  a plan the titled The Round Robin, that was a common mode of communication during those dark years of war.

Some would start a letter and include all their family news, maybe some local gossip, war news and the like. They would mail the letter to a family member. The second person would add their letter to the envelope and send it on. By the time the letter made it around the family, it was a treasure trove of information. Not quite the same as a family dinner at Grandmas, but the best substitute they could devise.

With the kids all seated around the kitchen, Deacon started to read the letter. Actually, she read it to herself and paraphrased it for the kids.

“Grandma is sending a package to Uncle Ernie in Texas,” Deacon said.

“Mom, Why is Uncle Ernie in Texas?” Larry asked.

“He is learning to fly airplanes to fight in the war,” Deacon said. “And Aunt Lila and Uncle Robert are planning to go to San Diego to work building ships for the war.”

“When is the war going to be over?” Linda asked as she helped Gary out of his high chair.

“We don’t know how long it will last,” Deacon said as Gary toddled off into the front room. “That is way it is with a war. We just never know when it will end.”

“When do we get to go see Grandma again?” Linda asked. “I miss her.”

“We have to save our gas ration so we have enough gas to go visit,” Deacon said. “It is over thirty miles to Grandma’s house, and they need most of our gas for the men fighting the war. You want Uncle Ernie to have enough gas for his airplane, don’t you?”

“Yes, but it’s hard not being able to see Grandma,” Linda said. “Are you going to tell everybody about how good Gary is walking now.”

“Yes, that will be a good thing to add to the letter,” Deacon said.

“And tell about Dad bringing home a branch from the huckleberry bush where he works,” Larry said.

About this time there was a loud crash in the front room and a squall from Gary. Everyone rushed in to find Gary in the middle of a pile of boxes that Frank and Dolores had stacked in the corner.

“I wonder how high he got be they all came tumbling down?” Linda said.

“That’s the second time he h

as fallen from his climbing,” Deacon said. “I would think he would learn to keep his feet on the ground one of these days.”

“He just seems to be a slow learner,” Larry said.

“You kids take care of your brother,” Deacon said. “I will write our notes on the letter and get it ready to mail. I just hope I still have a stamp in the drawer.”

Deacon penned her notes on the back of the last slip of paper and carefully folded it and placed it in a new envelope. She addressed it to Duke and Jean Davenport, and placed a three cent stamp on the envelope.

“Larry, you take this out and put it in the mailbox before the mailman comes,” Deacon said. “And make sure you put the flag up so he will know there is a letter to send.”

“How come a letter cost three cents?” Larry asked. “The postcard we got yesterday from Auntie Dee only had a penny stamp on it.”

“You can only write a little note on a post card, and this letter contains a lot of those notes,” Deacon said. “Now, you hurry out to the mailbox so we don’t miss the mailman. The sooner this letter is mailed, the sooner we will a reply with all the other messages.”

It would be a long week before the same letter would make its second appearance with all the notes from everyone in the family. And Grandma would be starting a new letter.

It served its purpose, probably not as functional as a zoom meeting, but for a couple of three cent stamps, the Larsen family were kept informed of all the goings on the entire family group. And Gary grew up with acrophobia.

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.