Halloween, October 1973

D. E. Larsen, DVM

The girls were excited about trick-or-treating. The only problem, it was cold in Colorado in late October. Brenda, a second grader, was well-versed in what was going on. Amy, at just short of 2 years old, had no idea what was happening, but she was excited anyway.

The chore was on my shoulders this year. Sandy was stuck in the house with Dee, who wasn’t three months.

“You make sure those girls are bundled up well,” Sandy said. “It is cold out there tonight.”

So the costumes were covered with heavy coats, and we made one last check before heading out the door.

We moved out of Aggie Village at the end of the summer this year. Last year, Brenda could just go down the row of apartments in the married student housing project and make out like a bandit in just a short time. We were in an apartment on Emigh Street, and the houses were spread out more.

“Let’s start by visiting Ester’s,” I said as I ushered the girls out the door.

Ester was a young college student who lived in an apartment across the street. Brenda, at least, knew Ester.

“She will like seeing our costumes,” Brenda said.

We carefully crossed the street and started up the steps to Ester’s door. Ester had decorated well. There were glowing pumpkins on each step, and cobweb stuff was strung everywhere.

Amy was done walking and stretched out her arms to be picked up. She didn’t really like ducking through the cobwebs. Brenda sort of had a nervous laugh.

The music started as soon as we approached the door. Haunted house, spooky music. Amy’s grip around my neck tightened. Brenda pressed against my leg, holding tight to my free hand.

The door swung open, and a large puff of smoke bellowed out of the open doorway. 

Then through a maze of cobwebs, with giant black plastic spiders hanging everywhere, Ester emerged. 

Ester was made up as a pretty authentic witch. She wore a tall, pointed black hat and black robe. Her fake nose was long and sharp and had a large wart on one side. She carried her candy in a plastic bucket shaped like a skull.

Brenda was a little shaken and moved slightly behind me. She knew the tales of witches and had most likely read or listened to the story of Hansel and Gretel, and this was just a little too authentic for her liking.

Amy, on the other hand, I am sure, had no previous exposure to witches and goblins unless it occurred during Sesame Street. She probably didn’t know what a witch was, but she was sure she was done with this trick-or-treat business and wanted out of this place.

Amy clung to my neck with both arms, buried her face in my neck, and kicked her feet. She sobbed. 

I held the bucket out for Ester, and she placed a large handful of goodies in the bucket.

“This is a good job,” I said. “But I think it is too real for this crew.”

“I’m sorry,” Ester said. “Your girls are so sweet. I didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

“They’ll be fine,” I said as we turned and started down the stairs.

I could feel Amy shudder as we made our way through the cobwebs. When we reached the sidewalk, Amy pointed to our apartment.

“Mama,” Amy said between sobs.

I guess fathers are not empathic enough, so we went home.

“That was a quick trip,” Sandy said.

Amy almost jumped out of my arms to Sandy’s. 

“Ester’s place was a little overdone,” I said. “She has a real haunted house over there.”

“There were cobwebs all over the place,” Brenda said. “And smoke and a witch. Amy was really scared.”

“Yes, Amy decided she was done with stuff,” I said. “We can warm up a bit, and then I will take Brenda down this side of the street.”

When Brenda and I headed out again, a wind had developed, adding to the discomfort of a chilly night. We visited a few houses, and Brenda decided she had enough candy.

“Maybe it will be better next year,” I said.

Photo by JJ Jordan on Pexels.

Fang 

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Bite wounds have always been part of the hazards in veterinary medicine. Cat bites are the most serious because of infection, and dog bites are less infectious but more damaging.

Large dogs usually would tell you what they were thinking. If they were going to tear your hand off, they would make sure you knew it was coming. Small lap dogs would often bite without warning. And then there was the Chihuahua.

“You have Fang coming in this morning,” Sandy said as we organized the morning workload.

“Oh great,” I said. “Make sure you leave some extra time for us to deal with him.”

“With a name like that, you would think he was an ornery German Shepard,” Joleen said. “And I would take one of those over Fang any day.”

“He is just coming in for his vaccinations,” Sandy said. “Are you sure you need extra time for him?”

“Yes, once I get a hold of him, which isn’t easy, it takes me five minutes just to let go,” Joleen said.

It wasn’t long, and there was Bobbi seated in the reception room with Fang sitting on her lap. Bobbi stroked Fang’s head with trembling hands. Fang’s muzzle was wrinkled, and his lips were tensed to show his teeth. He knew where he was, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“What are we doing with Fang this morning?” I asked Bobbi as I came into the exam room.

“He needs his rabies vaccination,” Bobbi said. “I wished he would reach an age when he didn’t need those anymore.”

“It would be nice,” I said. “Especially when the vaccine probably protects Fang from the public health folks more than the disease these days.”

“What do you mean, Doctor?” Bobbi asked.

“If Fang would be in the house with a rabid bat, the public health people would require that he either be euthanatized or quarantined for 6 months,” I said. “It’s a lot easier to make sure he is vaccinated.”

“I see,” Bobbi said. “I wish it wasn’t such a chore with the little rascal.”

“We do, too,” Joleen said. “The vaccine is not the problem. The problem is getting a hold of him and then letting go.”

“I brought his chew toy today,” Bobbi said. “It might make it a little easier for you. Let him bite on it, maybe even play tug of war with him, and it might help.”

“I don’t know if Fang will want to play with us in this place,” I said.

“Give it a try,” Bobbi said. “You might be surprised.”

Bobbi gave the braided toy to Fang and placed him on the exam table.

“I’ll step out and leave you to do whatever is necessary,” Bobbi said.

Bobbi stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her. I grabbed the toy dangling from Fang’s mouth. For a second, he didn’t know if he should attack my hand or fight for the toy. I gave it a pull, and he pulled back. Joleen grabbed him by his neck with both hands.

“That worked pretty easy,” I said.

I gave Fang a quick once over and popped him with his rabies vaccine. Then I noticed the scars on each side of his chest.

“I haven’t noticed those before,” I said. “Probably because it was such a struggle to handle him before. I wonder what happened to him.”

“I still have to let go of him,” Joleen said as she continued her grip on his neck.

I grabbed the toy again and pulled. Fang instantly growled and shook his head, fighting for control of the toy. 

Joleen released her grip and opened the exam room door. Bobbi swooped in and gathered Fang into her arms.

“This worked like a charm this time,” I said. “Maybe we learned something today.”

“I’m glad it made things easier,” Bobbi said. “He embarrasses me when he is so combative.”

“I hadn’t noticed those scars on his chest before,” I said. “What happened to him to get those.”

“That was an awful event,” Bobbi said. “It happened when we lived in California. Fang and I were walking back to the house after doing chores in the barn. This big chicken hawk came down and grabbed Fang right in front of me. It happened so fast I couldn’t do a thing. The hawk started flapping his wings to take off, and Fang bent around and grabbed him by the leg. The hawk lifted off the ground with Fang chewing on his leg. They were about ten feet off the ground when the hawk let go. There was Fang still hanging from his grip on the hawk’s leg. Fang finally let go and bounced when he hit the ground. The hawk took off, never to be seen again.”

“Maybe that is where Fang got his personality,” Joleen said.

“No, he was this way from day one,” Bobbi said. “I have given up trying to change his ways.”

“Well, at least we have figured out how to handle him here at the clinic,” I said. “You might think about bringing him by once in a while just for us to play tug of war. He might even learn to look forward to his visits.”

“I think you are dreaming, Doctor Larsen,” Bobbi said.

Photo by James Homans on Unsplash.

The Birds and The Bees and Bassett Puppies, From the Archives

D. E. Larsen, DVM

  We had just finished dinner and were supervising the girls as they cleaned up the dinner table when the telephone rang. 

Good evening, Doc,” Sandi said into the phone. “I hope you have finished dinner. Betty has been pushing for about 3 hours. She has broken some water, but there is no evidence of a pup.”

  I cared for quite a few Basset Hounds for a group of ladies who showed these dogs. They were relatively valuable dogs, and the ladies wanted meticulous veterinary care. Betty, a champion Basset, had been in labor for nearly 3 hours.

Her owner, Sandi, had been through this on multiple deliveries. Three hours of contractions without a pup was cause for intervention, and with each passing minute, the puppies were more at risk.  

“It sounds like we should get a look at her,” I said. “I can be at the clinic in 20 minutes.”

Of our four kids, Amy took the most interest in the goings-on at the clinic. She liked the people and the animals and showed compassion for both. Amy, our second grader, was ready to go to the clinic with me in an instant.

Sandi came through the door with a very pregnant Betty and two lady friends, recruited to help. 

We carefully lifted Betty onto the exam table.

“Judging from the size of this stomach, this is going to be a large litter,” I said. 

“She had 10 puppies in her first litter,” Sandi said. “I am guessing there is more this time.”

I cleaned Betty up. She did have some greenish fluid dripping from her vulva. This was an indication that her water had broken some hours ago. A quick vaginal exam failed to reveal any pup in the birth canal.

“You know the story,” I said to Sandi. “Betty has been in labor for several hours, and there is no pup in the birth canal. The longer this goes on, the more the puppies are at risk. Our options are to try some oxytocin or to go right to a C-section.”

The oxytocin injections could work magic, but it could also mean a long night. When bassets have large litters, you can end up with a C-section for the last pup or two because the uterus runs out of strength for continued contractions. With the extended time of labor, those remaining puppies are often lost. 

I enjoyed working with Sandi on these deliveries because she would always be quick to elect a C-section. I agreed with her in most of the cases. It made for a shorter night for me and usually a more successful delivery.

“Let’s not spend all night here. Let’s just go to a C-section, and everyone will be better for it,” she said.

  I called Dixie, my right hand at the clinic, to come help. Sandi had a couple of friends in tow. That would mean we had 4 gals to tend to the puppies, plus Amy. Sounds okay, but my guess was over 10 pups, maybe 12 or 13. We are going to be very busy for a few minutes when I start handing out puppies.

  While waiting for Dixie, I got the surgery room set up, giving Amy several chores to help. She conducted herself like an old pro.

“Amy, you need to bring a stack of towels and put them on that little table in the corner,” I said. “When we do this surgery, the puppies are surrounded by a lot of fluid, and it generally spills off the table onto the floor. We will need towels down to mop up that fluid.”

I had Amy help hold Betty after I rolled her onto her back. It probably wasn’t necessary to keep her on her back. Betty was sort of like a turtle on her back. Her belly spread out enough that she couldn’t right herself if she tried. I clipped her belly, and we placed an IV catheter and got some fluids going.

  As soon as Dixie arrived, we moved Betty into the surgery room and gave her a dose of IV Innovar, the morphine combination drug. This provided strong sedation, and we secured her to the surgery table and did a surgical prep on the abdomen. Then we used Lidocaine for local anesthesia at the incision line. This would allow us to deliver the pups with the least depression from anesthesia.

  “Now we start the surgery,” I said more like an announcement but specifically to Amy.

The surgery went well, and I had the abdomen open in short order.

  I started pulling the uterus out of the abdomen, one pup at a time. I laid it out across the drape on moistened towels. One puppy, then the next, and it kept coming. Finally, I had it all out, twelve pups, 6 in each uterine horn. This uterus, the pencil’s size in its non-pregnant state, laid out on the drape and towels. It was too large to stay up on the abdomen. Several puppy segments hung over the abdomen on each side, reaching the surgery table’s surface: quite a remarkable organ, the uterus.

  I made an incision on one side of the uterus and quickly started extracting puppies. I handed this first pup to Dixie, and she gathered it up and headed back to the heated box and the reversal syringes.

Now pups came in rapid succession. I would squeeze a puppy through the incision, clamp the umbilical, severe the cord, and hand the puppy to the next pair of hands.

They look like they are doing well,” Sandi said as she took the next pup and headed back to Dixie.

This continues. Finally, Amy is the only set of hands. She catches the pup in a towel and follows the girls to the puppy basket as if it is nothing out of the ordinary.  

Everybody was back for their next pup, and Amy assumed her place in the line. Finally, the last puppy, number 12, is delivered. I double-check the birth canal just to make sure there is not a pup hiding there.

Amy was back to watch the finish. “Now, I just have to remove all the placentas and make sure there is nothing left in the uterus,” I explained. “Then, I just close the incisions, and we are done.”

  With the uterus closed, I return it to the abdomen and close the abdominal incision.

“Nothing left except to wake Mom up and introduce her to her new family,” I explain to Amy.

Once everything is closed up, I give Betty a reversal drug, and she recovers rapidly. We return her to the kennel, and she is awake before we know it. She is an experienced mother, and she takes the pups as soon as we show them to her.

There was fluid covering the table, and the floor was soaked. My tennis shoes will be retired to the work shoe shelf. The towels that Amy laid on the floor have soaked up most of the fluid.  Now there is a little time to relax. Twelve live pups, Sandi and her friends, are pleased.

  We send Sandi, Betty, and pups home as soon and Betty can stand. She and her puppies will do better at home under Sandi’s watchful eyes. I relax a little and look at Amy. She has done well this evening.

“What do you think about all of this commotion tonight,” I ask.

She just shrugs, doesn’t say a word. Displaying a nonchalance that she probably got from me.

  The C-section became a forgotten evening until we went to a parent-teacher conference some weeks later. 

Mrs. Rose, Amy’s second-grade teacher, was a little gray-haired lady who was very prim and proper.  Adored by her students and their parents alike, she was an old-time teacher, very much into the three Rs. She kept a tight rein on her classroom, ruling it with a tender heart.

Mrs. Rose went over Amy’s progress, which was exceptional, and then looked at us with a wry smile.  

  “A few weeks ago, the whole class had quite a learning experience about where puppies come from and how they get here. Amy was very excited about her experience and very descriptive of the surgery she helped you do.  I don’t generally worry about discussing the birds and the bees in my classes. Your daughter sort of changed all of that,” she said.

Photo by Michael Morse from Pexels