The Neutered Tomcat

 D. E. Larsen, DVM

When I returned from delivering a calf out on Berlin Road, Vicki was waiting in an exam room. I changed my scrub shirt and washed my hands one last time before looking at Vicki’s problem.

“Doctor, we took this cat to the spay and neuter clinic in Salem a few weeks ago, and they said he had already been neutered,” Vicki said. “Maybe I am seeing things, but he sure looks and acts like a tomcat to me.”

“Well, let’s get a look at him,” I said as I lifted the carrier onto the exam table. “Does he have a name?”

“We are calling him George,” Vicki said. “And be a little careful with him, he starts out fine, but he can get a little aggressive all of a sudden.”

I did a quick exam on George and then rolled him over to check his scrotum. 

“Nothing in here,” I said. “It is easy to see how they thought he was neutered.”

“Could it be that we are just imagining things?” Vicki asked. “I mean, Doris agrees that he acts like a tomcat.”

George was a young cat, not a kitten but not a full-grown adult. He was starting to show some of the physical signs associated with tomcats. He was well-muscled with a broad chest, and his jowls were starting to thicken.

“You have to trust your judgment,” I said. “You guys see a lot of cats. Sometimes we can’t define what we see but know it is not in the normal range. That’s important stuff, knowing what’s normal. You can always find someone to help define the problem. The book always talks about other sources of testosterone in the body other than the testicle. That obviously happens to some degree, but usually not enough to cause all the extra muscles and masculine features.”

“So what do we do now?” Vickie asked.

“We start looking for what has to be there, the testicles,” I said. 

I turned George over on his back and palpated his groin.

“Ah ha, there is a testicle in his left groin,” I said. “But I can’t feel one on the right side.”

“What does that mean?” Vicki asked.

“Either it is in his abdomen, or it was removed when someone tried to neuter him,” I said. “When there is only one testicle found, a surgeon should search for and remove the hidden testicle before removing the visible one. Otherwise, you just muddy the water for the next surgeon.”

“Will you neuter him for us?” Vicki asked.

“Sure, but it won’t be a simple cat neuter,” I said. “It might, no, it probably will require opening the abdomen to find the right testicle or to make sure it was removed previously.”

“Why do you say probably?” Vicki asked.

“Sometimes, I can pull the testicle out of the abdomen by using a structure that pulls the testicle out of the abdomen in the fetus,” I said. “That structure is called the gubernaculum. That’s a big word that most people never hear. In a cat this age, it is a small and fragile structure, but if we are lucky, I can grasp it and pull the testicle through the inguinal canal. Otherwise, I will have to open the abdomen.”

“I am hoping I can leave him with you today,” Vicki said. “Do what you must and call when he is ready to go home.”

We kept George and got him on the surgery table in the late afternoon. I tried to do my surgeries in the morning hours so the patients would be recovered by the late afternoon. Most of them went home the same day.

“Let’s prep George like I’m going to do an abdominal surgery,” I said as Dixie started getting him ready for surgery. “I will make incisions on both sides of his groin, but if I don’t find the right testicle, I will open his abdomen.”

When I started surgery, I explored his right groin. I could not find his gubernaculum, and there was no testicle in his inguinal canal. 

I opened his abdomen and reflected his bladder out of the way. Then I could follow the right spermatic cord from his prostate to the right testicle. With a light tug on the cord, the right testicle popped into view. 

I tied off the testicle and removed it.

“That solves that mystery,” I said. “As soon as I close his abdomen, I will remove the left testicle from his groin, and we will make George a new man.”

***

George was ready to go home in the morning, and Vicki was happy to pick him up.

“It made me feel good to find his right testicle,” I said. “That means that someone hadn’t messed on an earlier surgery. I think you will find him a good neutered male now.”

“I am glad you could fix him,” Vicki said. “I don’t like having those low-cost clinics do anything beyond the basic surgeries.”

“When I was doing the surgery, I got to thinking about your population control issues with your feral cat colonies,” I said. “Cats like George generally shoot blanks. Retained testicles are at body temperature, which is too high a temperature for the development of sperm. You could release these cryptorchid cats into a colony, and they would mate with the females in heat. The female cat ovulates when it is mated. If the male cat is sterile, no pregnancy occurs. You could reduce the fertility of the colony. Sort of biological control like they did years ago with the screwworm fly in Texas. They sterilized many male flies with radiation and released them. It worked like a charm.”

***

George was such a nice cat; Vicki was able to find him a home in a short time. We saw him again for suture removal, and then he was gone. I don’t think Vicki was impressed with my idea of population control in the feral cat colonies.

Photo by Eugen Proskouriakov on Unsplash.

The Alarm 

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Pulling up to the clinic on Sunday morning, I looked hard at the front door. There was something odd stuck in the glass. As I stepped out of the car, I could see it was a large rock.

“There is a large rock stuck in the front door’s glass,” I said to Sandy.

“It looks like the tempered glass that Lee put in the door did its job,” Sandy said.

A month or two earlier, we replaced the front door glass following our first break-in. They had broken the glass out of the door and just walked in. 

That was a Saturday night before Easter Sunday. We had been at the clinic for an emergency surgery. As an afterthought, I had removed over a thousand dollars from the cash drawer when we left at 11:00 p.m. The police called at 5:00 a.m. to report the broken glass in the front door.

Following that first break-in, several others followed in the next few weeks.

“I think it is time we put in an alarm system,” I said to Sandy. “You should give that Kyriss kid a call and see when he can do the job.”

***

Kevin was prompt with his alarm system. Because we were still on a tight budget, we put in a simple system. In the 1970s, no professionally monitored alarm systems were available in Sweet Home. We only had a local alarm with a loud siren above the front door. The interior doors tied into the alarm. Someone could come through the outside door, in the front or the back, and the alarm would not sound until an interior door was opened.

The system was simple, but it did a good job. Shortly after it was installed, we had our fifth break-in. A couple of guys had pried open the garage door in the back of the clinic and crawled under it. As soon as they opened the door to the front of the clinic, the siren went off. They had problems crawling out of the garage door they had pried up and were captured by the police during their escape. The alarm had served its purpose, and the word was out in town. We never had another break-in.

***

We were approaching summer, and the clinic workload exceeded expectations and tested my management skills. We were swamped on most days.

Bud came in with a nasty cut on the left hip of his cow dog, Bandit. A well-behaved blue heeler, if there was such a thing, Bandit was oblivious to his wound.

“What happened to Bandit?” I asked as Bud lifted him onto the exam table. “It looks like he really sliced himself.”

“I’m not sure what happened,” Bud said. “He went tearing off behind the barn last night and came back with this gash. It looks like he found something sharp out there, and I will have the boys out looking for it this evening.”

“We have time for him this afternoon, Bud,” I said. “We will need to get him under anesthesia to close this up, and I think I can have him ready to go home later in the afternoon.”

“That should work fine,” Bud said. “I will swing by when I get off work, probably a little before five.”

Paula and I finally got to work on Bandit shortly after lunch. I have always enjoyed working with working dogs. I think you could amputate a leg on them without anesthesia, and they wouldn’t flinch. 

“If you learn anything from me, Paula,” I said. “Learn that if you do nothing else to a wound, get the hair away from the edges.”

That was easy to talk about, but the hair coat on a heeler is thick. The clippers worked fine, but I always liked to shave the edges with a straight razor. That was a tough job on Bandit, but once done, the wound closed up nicely.

Bandit was wide awake and ready to go home when Bud came through the door.

“This wound closed up well,” I said. “I don’t think you need to restrict his activity any. We just need to see him in a couple of weeks to get the sutures out.”

“Could we work out a deal where I could have our son, Scott, drop him off before school and then pick him up in the afternoon, like today?” Bud asked.

“Sure, that would be no problem,” I said. “Just set it up with Judy at the front desk. I get here a little before eight in the morning, does that work for Scott’s schedule?”

“I think so,” Bud said. “I can give him a note, just in case he is a little late.”

***

The clinic remained busy in the following weeks. Hectic might be a better term. I would often leave my farm calls for the end of the day, trying to finish up in the clinic before rushing out to take care of a cow or horse before dinner. That is probably what went on the afternoon before Scott visited with Bandit.

When I arrived at the clinic that morning, Scott and Bandit were standing out front, nervously leaning against the wall. The alarm siren was blaring.

I jumped out of my truck and pushed through the unlocked clinic door to shut off the alarm.

“Was that going when you got here?” I asked Scott.

“I think I set it off,” Scott said. “The door was unlocked, so we went inside. I stood at the counter for a couple of minutes and then decided to take a look in the back since nobody seemed to be upfront. The alarm started the moment I opened the inside door.”

“I wonder who forgot to lock the door last night?” I said as I led Scott and Bandit back to a kennel. “I wouldn’t think that I could make such a mistake. I will have to find someone to blame.”

“Well, it sure woke Bandit and me up,” Scott said.

When Bud stopped to pick up Bandit, I relayed the morning’s events.

“I would guess you haven’t heard of the morning events,” I said.

“No,” Bud said. “Was there a problem?”

“Someone, I don’t know who forgot to lock the front door last night,” I said. “Scott got here with Bandit before I arrived and, finding the door unlocked, came inside. When he opened the door to the back, our new alarm went off. When I got here, he and Bandit were waiting outside under a rather loud siren. I think he was a little worried that he had done something wrong.”

“I’m sure I will get all the details,” Bud said. “I thought Bandit’s wound healed pretty good. What did you think?”

“Yes, he is as good as new,” I said. “I just wondering where you got such a well-behaved heeler? He is a real jewel. Most heelers are good dogs, just a little high-strung.”

“Scott works with him a lot,” Bud said. “Some dogs need a teenager to help them expend all that energy.”

“Yes, I tell a lot of folks that some dogs just need a twelve-year-old boy to run them every day,” I said. “And tell Scott that I’m sorry about this morning. I think we learned a lesson here about routines, even on the busiest days.”

Photo by A. J. Spearman on Pexels.

Several Days in February, From the Archives

D. E. Larsen, DVM

I looked for a spot in the trunk for my bag. There were six of us stuffed into the sedan for our trip to Nebraska. My bet was, I was the only one who had been in the military. You didn’t need to bring your entire wardrobe for a one week trip. 

We were going out to spend a week helping a progeny test herd of 600 heifers during the calving season. The herd belonged to Diamond Labs. They were collecting ease of calving data on their bulls to be used for their semen marketing. Six of us would drive out on this Sunday morning, and the 6 guys out there would take the car and drive home. Diamond Labs had a house on the place for us, and we took meals in a restaurant/bar in the small village near the ranch.

The drive out of Fort Collins was away from the mountains and out across the prairie. It was a four-hour drive across some for the flattest land in this country. I settled into a corner of the back seat and tried to catch a couple of hours of sleep.

“Larsen, how can you sleep when we are driving through some scenic country?” Mike said.

“One thing you learn in the Army is to sleep anywhere,” I said. “You go up on the mountains out of Fort Collins, Mike, and you can watch the riverboats on the Mississippi River.”

“That can’t be right,” Mike said. “That can’t be right, can it, Jim?”

“He is toying with you, Mike,” Jim said. “He doesn’t have much to say about this flat country.”

It was going to be a cold week. Daily high temperatures were 20 below zero. Overnight lows were pushing 40 below. This will be a great learning experience, but we will pay for it by enduring some harsh temperatures.

The group that was going home was glad to see us pull up to the little house. The housekeeper was just finishing up getting the place ready for the new crew. We discussed instructions as briefly as possible, and they were off. The ranch foreman came over to make sure we were settled into the house.

“Here are the directions to the restaurant where you take your meals,” the Foreman said. “It is time for you all to go get lunch. You can take the old crew cab pickup. When you get back, you need to decide on your groups of two. The herd needs to be checked every 2 hours. You pull any heifer who was in labor on your last drive trough. Bring them into the barn, diagnose the problem, and take care of it. That means you pull the calf, do a C-Section, or do a fetotomy, Whatever is indicated.” I will be around in the morning. You go for breakfast at 7:00, Shift change is at 8:00 AM, 4:00 PM, and Midnight.”

Using my military experience again, my first priority was picking out my bunk. When the others realized what I was doing, there was a mad rush to stake their claims.

The restaurant was in what one would have to stretch to call it a town. It was more like a congested area with maybe a dozen buildings. But the food was good, and they appreciated the business that the ranch was giving them.

“Look at that picture on the wall,” I said to Jim as we were setting down. It was a poster of W. C. Fields with one of his quotes.

“During one of my treks through Afghanistan, we lost our corkscrew. We were compelled to live on food and water for several days,” W. C. Fields.

“Bob and I are going to take the first shift,” Mike said. That will mean we will have a short shift today.”

“A short shift today, but also a short shift next Sunday before we leave,” I said. “It all catches up with you sooner or later.”

“Dave and I will take the midnight shift,” Jim said. “That will be the coldest, but also probably the quietest.”

“I guess that leaves the 4:00 to midnight shift to Bill and me,” John said as we finished lunch. “I guess we better get back so Mike can go to work.”

Midnight came sooner than I thought. John was up waking us up about 11:30.

“You guys get dressed, and we will have time to go over our notes,” John said. “Make sure you put on your long johns, it is just damn cold out there tonight, and that little heater in the pasture truck doesn’t keep up.”

“Make sure you check the corners of the pastures,” John said. “There is a heifer in labor in the corner by the creek. If she doesn’t have a calf, you should bring her in for help. We didn’t have any deliveries to help. Maybe you will get lucky.”

The pasture truck we had to check the herd with was an old Army ¾ ton. It had a canvas top and probably no insulation anywhere. With a light wind blowing, the 30 below temperature was brutal. The heater in the truck seemed to take forever to warm up and then blowing full blast, it failed to keep the ice from forming on the inside of the canvas top.

“There is the heifer John was talking about,” Jim said as he turned the truck so the headlights would fall on her. “We get lucky on this trip. She already has a calf.”

“How do these calves survive in these temperatures?” I asked, thinking that Jim would have some experience with this cold since he was from Wyoming.

“Some don’t, and a lot of them lose the tips of their ears,” Jim said. “I guess it takes a good momma cow to get them dried off and up nursing.”

Most of the herd was in a hollow in the middle of this ten-acre pasture. Grouping up kept everyone a little warmer, and the hollow provided some protection from the wind.

“Looks like we get to drink some coffee,” I said. “Not seeing any heifer in labor on this trip means we don’t have any work to do on the next trip.”

“I think you spoke too soon,” Jim said as the headlights caught the eyes of a heifer in the far corner of the pasture. He pulled the truck closer.

“It looks like we should watch her a few minutes,” I said.

The heifer was straining hard, and just the tips of the toes were visible at her vulva. Her straining did not let up as we watched, and there was no progress in the fetus’s position.

“What do you think?” I said. “I don’t think we want to leave her for another two hours with that straining.”

“I agree,” said Jim. “She would have to be in the farthest corner from the barn.”

We both got out and got her on her feet and headed for the barn. She seemed to know that it would be warmer there.

“You keep her going,” Jim said. “I will go and make sure we are set up in the barn, then I will come back and follow you with some lights.”

It was a long slow walk to the barn, and while I was expecting some warmth when we got there, I was disappointed.

“Why do suppose people would settle in this part of the country?” I asked Jim. 

“This is great cattle country,” Jim said.

“My bet is, they had a broken wheel on their wagon and couldn’ go any further,” I said.

We got the heifer in the chute and started the propane heater. The heater was going full blast, and you could hardly feel it.

I tied the tail out of the way, and Jim washed her up and did a vaginal exam.

“I think we can pull this one with no problem,” Jim said. “It might be a tight fit, but I think it will come. You might want to check her.”

I washed up, the water was warm, but my wet hands and arm were instantly freezing. The only warmth was inside the heifer. 

We hooked up the calf puller and haltered the heifer so we could release her head from the chute in case she went down during the delivery. It was a hard pull, but the calf was fine when it hit the ground. We move them into a holding pen for the night.

“This guy is a lucky one,” I said. “He gets to spend the night in a warm barn.”

We set up the chute so it would be ready for the next cow. I noticed the water on the ground from where we worked on the heifer was frozen solid.

The thermometer continued to dive as the night grew long. On our third trip through the herd, it was 40 below. One quit trying to stay warm, you just tried to keep from getting frostbite.

Jim noticed the heifer in the corner by the creek.

“We better check that one,” Jim said.

Blowing in my hands and reflecting my breath onto my face, trying to keep some feeling in my cheeks, I looked up and noticed this was the heifer that had calved earlier.

“No, she has been there for several days,” I said.

“Several days!” Jim remarked. “This is our first night.”

This is going to be a long week.

Photo by Chris F from Pexels