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

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.