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

My name is Dr. V. Actually, it’s Jessica, followed by a long last name that no one can ever pronounce correctly, so I think it’s best that we just do what everyone at my work does and call me Dr. V. You can call me Jessica if you insist, but don’t expect me to answer any questions about your dog if you do. READ MORE >>

Husband took out the camera this weekend to submit Kekoa to a family tradition, the fish-eye lens close up.

She turned on her “soulful” eyes and readily complied.

Brody does not like the competition, if his startled expression is any indication.

He continues to be a bit nonplussed at the new addition, but he’s getting better.

I mean really, who could resist this face?

Brody, Daily Life, Kekoa
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“To me, clowns aren’t funny. In fact, they’re kind of scary. I’ve wondered where this started and I think it goes back to the time I went to the circus and a clown killed my dad.” -Jack Handy

In my post about the Sea World tragedy last week, I mentioned how my friends have pretty much stopped inviting me on any Sea World trips. At least when I decline, I’m nice about it.

However, I neglected to mention the e-mail response I sent to the well meaning woman in my mom’s group who suggested we all take a group trip to the Ringling Brothers circus last year. I can’t say I was too diplomatic at all about that response, in which I helpfully included some links to all the abuses suffered by the exotic animals in their care. I went all “Water for Elephants” on her, truth be told.

Her response was a horrified, “I had no idea!” which was hopefully sincere and not just an attempt to tame the crazy lady. I think she meant it. Either way, the topic never came up again.

1 month into my career as a vet, a client walked into an exam room with Mulan and tried to get me to euthanize her because she was allergic to fleas. At the time, I thought that sort of thing happened all the time, someone showing up in your hospital with your very favorite breed of pet, needing to give them up.

It never happened to me again. I have to believe our paths were meant to cross (especially since my not-so-sentimental colleague at the time might very well have obliged her request.)

As one might expect, the staff of a veterinary hospital is pretty pet-oriented. We all have pets- most of us, multiple pets- with the exception of our one anomalous staff member with no animals, much to everyone’s bafflement. He has a young family, he’s understandably busy, and he just hasn’t gotten around to it.

When our no-nonsense receptionist took a break this afternoon, she asked this staff member to watch the front desk for her. 10 minutes later, he walked into the back with a really cute little puppy.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

He shrugged. “This lady came in, handed me the dog, said she couldn’t keep him and left.” He paused. “At least he had a parvo vaccine.”

The receptionist, who had just entered the room, looked at him like he was out of his mind. “What do you mean she gave it to you? Why did you let her do that? We don’t take relinquishments!” She started to look panicked. “What are we going to do with him? We can’t keep a puppy here! What am I going to tell the boss??”

As I started to run through the list of options in my head, it occurred to me that the staff member was still holding the puppy with absolutely no effort to hand him off to anyone else. It was, dare I say, a bit possessive.

“Did you call your wife?” I asked suspiciously.

“She’s fine with it,” he admitted.

This marks the fourth fifth pet this year turned over at our clinic who would up adopted by a staff member. Not that I condone veterinary hospitals as a dumping ground for unwanted pets, but the times I’ve seen it happen, the staff has always wound up working very hard to get the pet adopted out. Not once has a pet been turned over to a shelter. We’re suckers.

I can’t say I approve of someone doing what she did, but you have to admit it could have turned out much worse for the pup.

Poor Apollo. He is now presiding over the fifth fur-monster to infiltrate his quiet life. Perhaps there is some secret camaraderie amongst our shadow-shaded friends, or maybe we just got lucky, but this is the easiest doggie transition we’ve had yet. Kiki/Koa/Ricola is pretty ambivalent about him. I now have TWO pets exceedingly difficult to photograph. That’s OK. It’s a throwdown challenge for my husband to work with the infamous photographic challenge.

I work with a cat lady. I don’t mean this as a pejorative- she really does love and adore cats and is a tremendous resource for all things feline. Yes, she has 13 of her own, but they are all well taken care of, and many of them are cats given up by their owners for various reasons.

My point is, she knows all sorts of things about cats and cat breeds and loves to share trivia. When she met Apollo, she declared he was a black tabby with a touch of Bombay. “You do realize,” she said, “that black cats are actually dark brown tabbies?” And I did know this, but only after getting a black cat of my own. I’m still learning about different cat breeds. Working with her, seeing her enthusiasm, makes me more appreciative of the finer joys of living with cats. And she helps me be a better vet for it.

Instead of referring to him as the arm-humping jungle ocelot, I looked at Apollo through my co-worker’s eyes and saw the other side of him: regal, composed, and possessed of an old-Hollywood-like ability to find the perfect lighting:

I’m ready for my close-up.

Will you look at that- he is brown! And I do say so myself, perfectly photogenic.

Every time I bring a new pet into the house, I have a week or two of complete and utter panic, thinking I’ve made a huge mistake, this is a terrible match, and we’ll never make it work. Then we figure it out and all is well.

Honestly though, I haven’t had that moment yet with Kekoa. Granted it’s only been 2 days, but she has pretty seamlessly integrated into the house so far. Brody is jealous- make that insanely jealous- but they are getting along just fine, no arguments over resources or anything like that.

She does not inhale her food in 10 seconds flat. She does not eat Barbies. She asks to go outside. She is a perfect houseguest.

Her tail never, ever stops wagging. It takes out glasses on the coffee table. It knocks stuff off the shelves at work. She looks at you so imploringly with her bright brown eyes, almost desperate in her appeal for approval and love. “Please don’t leave me,” she begs. “I promise to be good and happy- see?”