Pawcurious Vet Blog: Pet help, stories, and information with Dr. V

Today I had an appointment with Dr. White. She is a human doctor.

I was lucky enough to find her in time for my second pregnancy. The doctor I had while I was pregnant with my daughter was all right, I suppose, but we didn’t have much of a connection. When I asked him if I, as a veterinarian, should get a Toxoplasma titer done, he laughed at me (who does that to a pregnant woman??) and shook his head as if I had asked, “Do I need to be worried about alien abduction now that I’m pregnant?” Not my favorite guy.

By the time I was pregnant with my son, I was ready for someone new. Dr. White is pretty much the most awesome OB on the planet. She’s a tiny little thing, with a big mane of brunette cougar hair, long acrylic nails that are usually airbrushed, and fuchsia sweaters. She totters in on platform flip-flops, snaps on some gloves, and chats away about her cats while doing whatever it is that she needs to do. Nothing fazes her.

She’s very interested in my job, and always has some question or another for me about her animals. Today, she was asking me a question about abscesses, and when I answered she paused, put her hand on the stirrup, leaned around my knee and said, “I don’t know how you do it. I would be SO GROSSED OUT!”

And I couldn’t help it. I laughed, a lot. “Right back atcha,” I said when I finally stopped guffawing. The last time I saw her she was complaining about a woman who had a poorly healed C-section scar get infected and dehisce, and Dr. White had to go in and scrub it out every day she was in the hospital. I mean, really. She deals with…well, you know, girl parts. Healthy ones, diseased ones. She pulls babies and their associated goo out of said parts. Day in, day out, people parts.

I know cleaning maggots out of a dog’s infected skin isn’t the greatest job in the universe, but I would take it over THAT stuff any day.

Good thing it takes all kinds, eh?

*Disclaimer- I just looked over this post and realized some of you conspiracy theorists are going to make huge and unfounded assumptions based on me writing a blog post about seeing my OB. I assure you this visit was of a mundane, non-pregnant, non-diseased nature.

If there is one thing that is ubiquitous in this field, it is dogs with itchy skin. While many vets shudder at the ever present itchy dog, I kind of like it. Lucky for me, since dermatology represents something like one third of all the cases we see. I don’t think it’s boring. I think it’s interesting. That being said, it’s not always the most complicated case on the docket. We’re not talking House, here. There are one or two scripts that play out over and over like clockwork starting every spring. The story arc is as steady and predictable as a poorly written sitcom.

What does this episode bring?

FLEAS: Another Dr. Barbie Presentation (cue laugh track)

Hi Mister Jones! We haven’t seen you for a couple months. How are things going with Betsy?

Well doc, it’s the strangest thing. Yesterday she was fine, and today she woke up and had no hair.

Overnight, you say? OK, let’s take a look. Is she on flea control?

No, but she doesn’t need it. We don’t have fleas. (cue laugh track)

OK Mr. Jones…I’m seeing a lot of scabs here, and actually, oh! Look at that. There are quite a few fleas on her as well.

That’s not possible. She must have gotten them in your waiting room. I’m telling you, those bald patches showed up overnight.

These scabs are looking pretty chronic, to be honest. You might not have noticed them until today, but I bet she has had them for a while. All that black stuff is what we call flea dirt. I actually see a few tapeworm segments as well, which indicates that she has ingested fleas while she is grooming herself. So we should get you an antibiotic for that skin infection, a dewormer, and some Advantage*.

*(product placement)

Can you just tell me what you’d give to her? Maybe write it all down for me? I have some leftover antibiotics from my other dog that died last year, I get dewormer at the feed store and I get Hartz at Costco. So I don’t need anything from you.

…..Or maybe you have some old expired stuff you could just give me? (cue laugh track)

(Mr Jones looks at camera and says witty catchphrase, gives a thumbs up):

I take it from your expression that’s a no.

(cue laugh track)

I am admittedly a huge perfume-a-holic. I have an entire dresser drawer devoted to fragrances- bottles of various scents smelling of fresh ginger, sweet vanilla, fragrant gardenia. I can’t help it. I’m hopelessly addicted.

It’s not the most practical thing to have on hand, for, much like high heeled shoes and dry clean only blouses, this just isn’t something I can use at work. It would be cruel. Dogs, as you know, have noses that are much more sensitive than our own. They can sniff out corpses and bombs and treats in ways we can only dream of replicating. I think of this in the morning when I’m getting dressed for work. I think of people whose eyes run at the mere thought of perfume. I think of my sister’s love of Elizabeth Taylor Passion and how I can still smell it a few days after she’s visited. I think of this, and of the dog’s far superior olfactory receptors, then I skip the perfume drawer. Unless it’s my day off, and Emmett just has to deal.

So why, I ask you, WHY is this product even in existence?

Pepper and Tanky Fragrances for Dogs. For dogs. Yeah, right. Because if there is one thing a dog can’t resist, it’s the smell of bergamot and neroli. This is perfume for people who like their dogs to smell like people. It’s not a new concept, I admit. Take a peek in any pet supply store and there’s no shortage of sweet smelling shampoos, sprays, potions, and creams.

But they make no claims that it’s for the dogs. This is a vastly underserved niche. Therefore, I propose a line of perfume for dogs that really is for dogs:

1. Pepe de pew- top notes of skunk, grounded by patchouli and rotting moss

2. Rollin’ in da poop- raccoon poop mingled with grass clippings and dirt

3. Dumpster Diva- banana peels, sulfur and a basenote of Guinness

4. Eau de Butte- I don’t even know how to describe this but if you were a dog, you’d love it.

5. And we can’t leave out the cats, right? Anyone up for spraying their cat with a douse of parfum de tuna?

Personally, I think this is a great idea. I think these are perfumes I could actually wear at work. I’d be irresistible. Well, to the pets at least.

Southwest Airlines is allowing pets on board!* Finally!

*-must fit under your seat
-no more than 5 per flight
-cannot go in cargo
-counts as your carryon
-$75 per pet
-cats and small dogs only

In other words, this is great news for….uh, Paris Hilton. And cat owners who want to take Fluffy to Vegas for the weekend. Oh well. It’s a step in the right direction.

I don’t know why, but in my current neighborhood I always see dogs running around. I’ve never lived somewhere where it is this common. I’m not in the boonies, either- this is a densely populated suburban area where there are lots of cars zooming around, and it always scares me to see a dog trotting on the side of the road.

They are owned dogs. I know this because I always stop and take them home. I can’t help it. I keep a leash in the back of my car for just such an occasion. I do it because I’ve been on the receiving end of Dog Vs. Car in the emergency hospital, and I prefer to avoid that whenever I can. The kids are used to Crazy Mommy pulling off to the side of the road and coaxing some dog or another into the cargo area of the car, and detouring to drop it off at its house. They will grow up thinking most people do this kind of thing.

I know Nutmeg, in fact, by name. Nutmeg is an escape artist who gets out at least once a month. Their owners have a gate at the end of the driveway, with the bottom 2 feet covered in chicken wire, and somehow the dog still makes a break for it on a regular basis. The last time it happened the family had left their dogs in the care of a 12 year old neighbor, and when she opened the gate to let Nutmeg in, the other dogs ran out the gate and down the road, and in her panic she dropped Nutmeg, who also took off. So we had to herd the dogs, her on foot, me in the car with the children- who thought this was great fun. Poor girl. I hope they paid her well.

On Saturday, my husband and I were coming back from a late night on the town when we noticed a dog looking confused in the middle of the road, blithely staring into our headlights. Because I was in the car, my husband pulled over (I don’t kid myself on that one) and I tried to coax the dog into the car. He panicked and sat down stubbornly, so I had to lift him in. Did I mention this was a bulldog? Bulldogs are not like other dogs. They are made of the same material as black holes, super dense substances heavier per square inch than concrete.

We then located his house, where I apologetically rang the doorbell at midnight to make sure the dog was safely returned. Thankfully the owner was grateful, as I imagine that could have gone either way. No matter, the dog was safe, and I was happy.

Until the next morning. When I picked up the bulldog, I forgot he was a bulldog, and lifted him like I would, say, a poodle. The next day my back knotted up like a Miller’s knot (that’s an inside joke for you vet types- you’re welcome) and I spent the day downing Aleve, bemoaning my existence and cursing the fact that my husband doesn’t keep a dang leash in his trunk like any respectable dog type would.

I had a flashback to senior year of vet school, when I lifted an 80 pound lab onto a table by myself and the chief clinician- a man in his 50s- looked at me in wonder and then said, while holding his lower back, that that was not the best idea. In retrospect, I concur.

My husband was out of town all week at some sort of conference thing. Although I miss him terribly when he’s gone, I also admit there is a flip side to having the place all to myself for a few days. No arguments over the Tivo. I can watch all the reality TV I want. Eat whole wheat pasta and/or risotto without getting any grumbling. Reprogram the car radio to all top 40. The list goes on and on.

Emmett and I decided to make the most of it.

A little port to set the tenor of the week will do.

No booze for the dog, since he’s on steroids and all. Speaking of that, he’s due for his prednisone. Here’s the peanut butter….but where is….can’t find a spoon….

Spoon? We don’t need no stinkin’ spoon.

This is seriously a huge pet peeve of my husband’s. Sorry dear. It had to be done.

Look at how happy it makes Emmett. Dogs are so easy to please.

Well Emmett, it’s off to work. I think your dad forgot you have to come with me when he decided to switch cars for the week. I know you haven’t been in it before but that is mostly because it’s so new. Try not to drool too much on the seat.

Let’s amuse the staff with your balancing act, OK? I’m fresh out of doggie donuts so we have to play with non-edible items. Don’t eat them.

Seriously. No eating them. I’d never live this one down.

All right Emmett, you’re off the hook. Hang tight while I see a few rooms…

Oh, playing the “I’m sick” card, are we? How many bites of chicken did you just get? Half the SANDWICH? Amber, I’m sending him home with you and let YOU deal with the gas.