So yesterday was what we would call a very normal, relaxed day. Nothing particularly exciting. In the morning there was a little baby black cocker spaniel with a possible urinary tract infection, so we had to make her pee. Christy says one of the great things about puppies is “you give them liquid—they pee.” It’s very true: we gave the little girl a cocktail of water and a kind of Pediasure for animals, and she whizzed like five minutes later.
The day was made up of two spays and a dental. Ashley, a friend of Christy’s who is going to pharmacy school, stopped by for a while to see some surgeries. Up first was Star, a humongously fat yellow Labrador. People reading this who know Belle—think her, but bigger, fatter, and eight months old. Star’s owner is widowed, so we think Star is very much a companion dog, and it’s likely that her 70 lbs is due to a constantly filled food bowl and not a whole lot of exercise. A lot of times a dog adjusts to living a life of lethargy, ad instead of being antsy and cooped up, they just sleep all the time and are perfectly content—they just get really fat. So her spay was kind of funny because we had to cut through like an inch and a half of subcutaneous fat to find her uterus. I learned that you can tell if a dog is or ever has been in heat judging by the size and shape of the uterus. Star’s was kind of polyp-y, meaning she was probably just coming out of heat. Her spay went very smoothly in general—she almost woke up a few times, but never fully.
So then, in a superb contrast, we spayed a quivering five pound Yorkie. Everything was pretty standard with her spay. The last job of the morning was a dental on a 12-year-old smooth fox terrier. Now, I don’t like to judge, and I strongly believe that it’s what is on the inside that counts, but smooth fix terriers may be one of the ugliest breeds I’ve ever heard of. Their heads are really small, they have big bug-eyes, they have scrawny little Chihuahua legs, and they tend to be fat. Not to discriminate or anything…
Martha told me that a farmer was bringing his calf in for Marge to treat. So when it arrived, I went out to the trailer with Marge to observe a little large-animal treatment. I didn’t really do much more than hold a bag of electrolyte fluid over my head while Marge tried to shove a tube down the calf’s esophagus, but it was still interesting. I think I want to be a small animal vet. I mean, there’s something so much more impersonal about large animal—the little calf with e-coli we saw was just gonna be turned into beef someday, and it’s not like it has a name. To his owner, he’s nothing more than a commodity. Hm.
So that was the day! Maggie (my 1st cousin once removed?) arrived at 9:30 last night, and we all stayed up chatting till 11:00. Maggie is so cool. I have to live with her in France for a few months—no really, she insisted! If/when I go to England, I’ll have to pay her a visit as well. Mmm, French cuisine! I’m getting ahead of myself again!
Robin
P.S The title of this entry is only clever if you know a lot about cat litter.
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