Until One Has Loved an Animal

iUniverse, Inc.

Contents

Introduction.......................................................1Chapter 1—On-Call Quill Dogs..................................5Chapter 2—Those Malamutes.....................................13Chapter 3—The Cost of Calls...................................27Chapter 4—Freeman and Me......................................35Chapter 5—Don't Fence Me In...................................47Chapter 6—Humour Helps........................................55Chapter 7—Euthanasia: The "Good" Death........................63Chapter 8—The Games People Play...............................71Chapter 9—DunRoamin'..........................................74Chapter 10—Buddy..............................................81Chapter 11—The Pups, More or Less.............................86Chapter 12—Those Darn Cats....................................92Chapter 13—The Diva...........................................97Chapter 14—When Harry Met Mil.................................103Chapter 15—Sunday Mornings, Sayin' "Down".....................108Chapter 16—Larry the Cat......................................113Chapter 17—It Can Be Done; It's Easy..........................117Chapter 18—Bedtime............................................124Chapter 19—Conversations......................................129Afterword..........................................................137

Chapter One

* * *

"There!" I sighed as I pulled what seemed like the one millionth porcupine quill from the huge male Rottweiler's mouth. Blood dripped from the most recent extraction sites on his massive jaw, leaving glistening scarlet droplets on the pale, tiled floor. His muzzle extended over the end of my exam table, and all four legs protruded past the edges, streaked and smeared with drying blood. The tabletop and its three sides were an abstract painting, red on white. Footprints were evident here and there on the floor, and a decent crime scene investigator would have had no problem identifying the perpetrator. Fingerprints—and even entire handprints—could be easily lifted from the scene. The perfect prints of my shoes (Naturalizers, size 8 1/2) were in full view, and I noted that I had stepped in several of the freshest blood smears.

Although I had no experience tracking porcupines, I felt that I could say with some certainty that most of those animals were found in wet or swampy areas. My opinion was based on the repeated appearance of my "quill dog" patients: wet to the chest, feet and legs covered with black, often foul-smelling mud. The mud is memorable due to its ability to smear the light floors of my clinic and merge with the blood to create an almost purple hue. The mixture seemed to require twice the normal effort to remove it from the floors, and I sighed as I recognized the signs of a protracted cleanup after the eventual discharge of the dogs.

Clumps of two-by-two cotton gauze littered the room, and multiple quills protruded from each clump. Quills are easily released from the extracting forceps by inserting the end of each quill into the gauze (after they are removed from the dog). The barbs on the business end of the quills catch on the strands in the gauze, and they remain there when the forceps are opened. Today, many, many clumps of gauze had been pierced by quills. Glancing around, I wondered fretfully which product it was that removed blood from clothing with the best results. My bloodied lab coat told a grisly but inaccurate story, and I deeply regretted wearing my favourite blue jeans to this two-quill-dogs call.

"From now on, let's leave the body piercing to the professionals," I advised the sleeping form of the mammoth dog as I slid him from the exam table and down my body to rest on the floor with just a slight thump. "Body piercing is just not what it's cracked up to be!"

Quill dogs are frequently encountered when veterinarians are on call for emergencies. The predators are disabled by their prey. The large quills protecting the slow porcupine pierce the lips, tongue, throat, hard palate, and face of the attacking dog—and often the feet, legs, and chest as the dog makes a poorly thought-out attack on what should have been an easy kill. The result is a very painful beard of sharp spines that have barbs at their ends to add an exquisite agony when extracted. The porcupine's protection is simple and elegant. It simply turns its back to its attacker and elevates its many spines (it wears a jacket of 30,000 tiny, easily detached spears, all at the ready). With its head down, it waits for the chance to strike its aggressor with its strong, spiny tail. Attempts to bite are repelled by the spines projecting from its body. Like a large grey-brown pincushion—needles pointing in reverse—it attempts to wait out its attackers. Reviled by dog owners, porcupine attacks are almost unheard of. Their game plan is avoidance. So who do we blame? Many dogs are easily repelled by the first, sharp touch, but others become spurred by the excitement of the attack and the pain—they kill the porcupine despite the terrible cost to themselves. This is the category to which I felt today's quill dogs belonged.

Carefully, I made one final check of my patient. I felt the thick black and tan skin folds of his face and jowls with my fingertips for any hint of the thin, firm, barbed spines of the dog's ill-fated prey. Next, I rechecked his massive shoulders, neck, and chest before palpating the joints of his huge front legs. His body filled much of the treatment room floor where I had placed him to recover from the anaesthetic. Trepidation lent wings to my fingers as I noted his breathing rate increase and his huge frame start to move—he was rapidly regaining consciousness. He quickly discarded the endotracheal tube that had kept his windpipe open so he could receive anaesthetic and oxygen during the procedure. He and his erstwhile companion—a large male Rottweiler mix with an aggressive and fearful attitude—had made short work of the unlucky porcupine and long work for me. Their faces initially had huge, painful beards of quills with many more in their necks, legs, and feet, but I persevered until I had removed all that I could find.

My holiday weekend had been interrupted by the call from their owner who demanded that I attend to his animals immediately. I had survived the initial meeting with the man and sifted through his various stories: "They are not my dogs"; "They both have good temperaments"; "I don't have any money, but I can't leave my poor pups to suffer"; "The biggest one is aggressive, but the smaller one will bite"; "I get paid next week"; "I can't afford that much, so I guess I'll take them home and shoot them"; and "A guy owes me some money, and I will get that before I come to pick up my dogs."

It always amazes me how perfect strangers expect to be given credit for work done on their animals (granted, this guy was far less than perfect). Often, when I ask whether customers have credit cards or whether someone else could lend them the payment, the answer is no. It always makes me think, If no one who knows you will lend you money ...

I dreaded the possibility that he might return without the funds to cover my fees for the entire holiday afternoon. He had offered to pay me next week...