Behavior – Mary Carlson, DVM

The doodle position

Anyone who shares life with a Goldendoodle knows that these beautiful, fun creatures are eager to please their best friends-their people.

Ivy is attached me like Velcro. Anywhere I go in the house is where she comes. We sleep together-OK, I’m now a widowed senior citizen, and quite frankly, I’d rather sleep with my dog. A doodle would settle for nothing less. She has her U. Wyoming t-shirt on the bed, courtesy of a celestial Earl, and when I gave her her own pillow, a real one, she was in doodle heaven.

During this very intense and tense times, I am hunkered down with my dog. I’m shut down. I even had groceries delivered. I no longer have to take Ivy to a dog park to launch the Chuck-it balls, as there are three areas right here in the ‘hood safe from traffic.

Ivy, as most doodles do, get into what I call the “Doodle Position.” Others may call it the road kill position. She will lie on her back, hindlimb wide apart, vital organs exposed, with front limbs flexed, and her head twisted to one side (sometimes called torticolis in rabbits.) This never fails to delight me. I decided to have her learn to do the position “on command.” Uh huh…

Every time Ivy is in the full doodle position, I laugh and praise her and rub her entire ventrum. “Good girl, Ivy! That is so good! The doodle position!”

I started to push on her back when she just had her hindlimbs in position for a tummy rub. I would say, “Doodle Position”! She now has it down, mostly; but she’s a fast learner, knows how much she pleases me, and doodles only want to please.

I woke up at 3 this morning to take my am meds. I usually go back to sleep listening to the radio. I was too jazzed, and only have pool PT today, so I turned on the TV to watch Morning Joe, which I love, but don’t wake up at 4 am usually. I was too busy thinking about what style I want use to write my next book. I have been stagnant other than going out with Ivy.

There she was on the bed. I swear I say to her just like I did with Earl, “Ivy, move.” And she does. The hindlimb were apart waiting for a tummy rub, so I pushed the doodle button, and lo and behold, she did it! Ad another trick to our non-traveling animal act. What a kick she is for me when she came to me at the lowest point in my life, bringing holding, hugging, and crawling out of the room if I need to file a broken fingernail. Ivy is my wonderful, delightful pride and joy.

Dog surgery 101

Hello, this is Ivy here. I had my dog surgery yesterday. It wasn’t bad-everyone was so nice. But Mom had left! Would I ever see her again? Oh well, they love me at the dog hospital because I am sooooo pretty.

I already had blood work, so all they had to do was the procedure. I was taken back to the work area. I got a peek at the room where I was going to be. The nice women who work in the back put a thing called a catheter in my arm, and started a bag of some liquid going into ME!

Next was the night night drug. Ahhhhhh. I was gone. I only remember waking up and I was whining. I don’t whine!

So here is what was done to me after I was asleep: I had a tube in my throat so gas would keep me asleep. My right hind leg was shaved and cleaned, and I guess I was taken into that scary-looking room with the huge light fixture.

The doctor made a cut, incision it’s called, around the tumor on my leg. It didn’t take very long to cut it out and label the edges for the pathologist to check margins to see if they are clean. I don’t understand all this stuff, but Mom explained it.

Mom picked me up a couple of hours later. I was pretty loopy, and those people put the “cone of shame” on my neck. Mom hates those, so she took it off, and to stop me from biting the staples in my skin, put some stuff called bitter apple around the staples.

I slept all day yesterday. I looked so comfy that Mom decided to sleep with me on her bed. And here came Frank.

Today, I can run a little, but am stopped from doing that, and I am not ‘3-legged lame.’ I still love to sleep on the patio. The new house we are moving into has a smaller patio, and Mom talked to a man who is going to build me a dog pen. The new house is not what something called an HOA says it should be, so she had to get plans into the HOA.

I have to be still until the staples come out, so I’ll just chill, and watch Downton Abbey, my fave. Gosh, I wish the theater would let me in to see the movie. Guess I’ll wait until Mom gets the DVD.

Keep you posted on the pathology report.

Love,

Ivy

The William D. Carlson DVM, PhD Radiation Physics Laboratory

Phaneuf,Aaron
Sun, Oct 13, 6:49 PM (14 hours ago)

to me

Hi, Mary –

Thanks for reaching out. The paperwork has been signed and no hurdles remain! Now, I need to discuss with you and potentially the family (if they are responsive) what should appear on the plaque. Once that is up, we can coordinate a small gathering to commemorate the moment.

I will call you early this week to discuss the language for the plaque.

Talk soon, Mary.

– Aaron

AARON J. PHANEUF
Director of Development
College of Veterinary Medicine and Biomedical Sciences
Colorado State University
970.821.6557 | Mobile

Just wanted you to know that the William D. Carlson, DVM PhD Radiation Physics Laboratory located in the Flint Cancer Center at the CSU Veterinary Teaching Hospital is almost ready to go, or RTG when we vets use abbreviations. No one deserves an honor like this more than my late father-in-law. Bill really did “invent” veterinary radiology by transposing human information into veterinary knowledge by doing a radiology residency at the CU med school, human of course, getting his PhD, then went on to teach many, many graduate veterinarians.

I would like to thank Aaron Phaneuf for being persistent and getting this done. He’s fairly new at his job, and must have found a million notes from me saying Bill really ought to be recognized for his ground-breaking work. I don’t have $75M to donate for naming the Radiation and Radiation Biology building, but Aaron and his co-workers were so kind to think up a lovely memorial to Bill in relationship to cancer in the radiation physics specialty.

If you would like to contribute to this or any other vet school projects, all you need is the zip code, 80523. The rest of the address is under Aaron’s info. Thanks for walking with me on this journey, Aaron.

BTW, when Aaron refers to the “family,” it is Earl’s family. They pulled up stakes as soon as Earl stopped breathing, and haven’t spoken to me since. Earl died ten years ago. They pushed through a church service which Earl strictly forbad, accused me of changing the service (!); and in the parking lot of the hospital watched me put his things into my Subaru, then announced: “We are going out to dinner. Are you OK getting home alone”? Ah, no….And now, they are remodeling the old farmhouse Earl and I adored, doing things we never were allowed to do, like having the landlord, his mother, fix the windows that we had to close (stuck) for winter, and open with a crowbar for the summer, held open by a stack of books. When the last window went, our cat, Matthew, was in it, and was caught between window and screen, breaking two bones in his paw. I put in Pella windows (do not buy Pella windows), for $9K, on a house I didn’t and never would own. Never compensated for things landlords are responsible for-carpet, paint, etc. I was told I had “lived for FREE for 27 years; and my mother-in-law said she was going to hire a lawyer to draw up a lease for me (I was moving to Texas;) but when I said, “I don’t know my status with this house” and was told “Everything goes to Tudy.” His sister. All of this was after Bill had died. We had asked Earl’s parents during our first year of marriage if we could buy the house. They declined, and we paid rent, the same amount for 27 years, with no or few improvements, unless they came from me.

I hope they know how hard I have tried to have a memorial to Bill Carlson, and would let up on the hate I know they carry in their hearts. Bill had no such feelings of hate or anti-Semitism, which I am sure the rest of them carry in their hearts while calling themselves Christians. Sorry, no they aren’t. Earl and I had a wonderful marriage. Sometimes downright scary due to his health issues and kidney transplant, but we shared everything, including the loss of my family members one by one over the years. Although he would never go to church, Earl was a true Christian who right now is at the right hand of G-d.

Animals grieve

I wanted to write a post about Cowboy Joe’s death July 15, but this is the first time I can type with some decency. I’m writing more now that a splint is on the hand with the thumb fracture (Bennett’s fracture if you are a medicine geek like me.)

I’ve posted about C.J.’s euthanasia. I always euthanize my own pets, even my horses. All I could do this time with my casted arms was have Dr. Thomas insert the needle into the catheter in my anesthetized Joe’s vein, and I pushed the plunger, delivering the solution into his body. It is my way of honoring my pets to do it myself. In my book, Drinking from the Trough, I discuss this more.

Between the time Cowboy was anesthetized, and being given the last shot, I was given time alone with him. Of course, the waterfall of tears fell. I talked to him the entire time, alive and dead.

Nancy was with me to drive, carry the carrier, 11 # lighter than before CJ got sick. She was in the room when he went to the Rainbow Bridge.

As is my nature, I worried about Franklin, CJ’s littermate. They were close brothers. Not one to anthropomophize animals, I do know the horror of losing a sister. Frank has cuddled close for the last month; I leave the bed unmade so he can sleep against the pillow; he talks more; and most interesting to me, started lying on the table in the TV loft where his brother hung out with the rest of us. Frank even kicked off the table one of the Longhorn cattle coasters I bought at Texas Tech just as Joe used to do.

Frank has Ivy, whom he loves, and vice versa. Ivy gives him kisses. Frank, almost 16, looks good, but has a significant heart murmur. I was going to put Joe to sleep when I go to Arizona this coming December, but he didn’t stay comfortable that long. I wonder about Franklin, but all things considered, he’s doing fine, stealing my pens and yelling about this, prompting Ivy to run and get it. Ivy used to chew them to oblivion, but now she brings them to me.

Will Frank be able to be driven to Arizona at the end of the year with a stop in NM to visit Ivy’s sister, Cali, and her family? I can’t predict, but I’ll do right by him, count on it. My squishy, cuddling, purring Frank will get all the attention I can give him to get him through his grief all the way to his own end run.

Cowboy Joe Carlson

December 2003-July 15, 2019

May your memory be a blessing

So much for the clean dog

Well, Ivy made it through last week until today. Then I took her to the dog park. Yes, THAT dog park, where I did a header and skinned my nose and knees.

Honestly, this dog will chase the ball launched from the dog ball launcher until she fell down in heat stroke if I let her. She had a great time playing with a husky until he and his owner left. Then we had the place to ourselves.

An update on the townhome: I had garage remotes fixed, put in a keypad, had the vanity (80’s) painted, and removed the twisted poles where there is now a spacious looking place to put dog boxes. Things dry fast around here.

Ivy loves the patio and chasing her ball. Thing is, I can’t just leave her out there-coyotes would have a lovely lunch of Goldendoodle. Not on my watch.

While I was gone, I meant to set the thermostat to be cooler. It was 85 in the house when we got back. Darwin’s Law I guess.

Happy Passover and Easter!

Wow, what a busy week. Highlights are that right now I’m in Scottsdale at my cousins’ house. Ellen (my first cuz John’s wife) is preparing Passover Seder for 30. The real first night was yesterday, but Ellen does it on Saturday so people can get up here.

I got here yesterday so I could stop in at bookstores for meet and greets. I got two done in Tucson a couple of weeks ago, and three here. I couldn’t find the other two. I went so far out, I thought I was in Mongolia. I stopped for a slice of pizza, and the server wrote me a map that perfectly got me back to John and Ellen’s. I’m done with that. I do have GPS on my care-brought the Subaru because Ivy was invited too-and map app on my phone with a car phone charger was a little better, but there was no voice telling me where to go. It just showed where I was supposed to end up. Oh well. The important bookstore I was supposed to sign the books they bought only had three, and I was fifty miles away. Sorry.

Ivy and Lucy, her new cousin, got off to a rough start. Ivy is so not an alpha dog, and Lucy went after her. No bites. But when John came home, and he saw her do this to Ivy, it was like the heavens opened up and a monster lightning bolt hit that dog. After taking Ivy out three times last night, Lucy didn’t do anything. They are true cousins now.

I walked Ivy this morning, trying to stay out of Ellen’s way-she likes to work alone, and will ask if she needs something. 100 degrees in the morning.

So I have an ‘office’ that used to be Doug’s (younger son) bedroom, and am sleeping in older brother Greg’s room minus the two snakes. There are in here with me. John came home early to help out, and he has the fourth bedroom office, hence I was given a table and chair, wifi codes, and here I sit, pining for dinner. No lunch today! Breakfast was good, but that’s it until dinner.

Thursday, Cyndi, her husband, and her daughter came to my wonderfully comfy townhome. They have Cali, Ivy’s sister. I well remember socializing that litter. If Cyndi is home when I go through New Mexico, we will stay with them and see Cali (short for California where Cyndi is from.) Maegan loves horses, and rides weekly in a special needs riding club. They had the time, so we drove over to the Randall’s ranch, where our horses live. She also got to see the sheep and goats next door, and we walked down to see the other horses. My sister’s two and my horse are kept up near the really neat ranch house.

A good time indeed.

The horrible secret behind Lippazaner shows.

One day, Earl and I went to a traveling Lippazaner show at the Larimer County Fairgrounds. Apparently, there are several groups that travel the nation so people can look at these magnificent horses which were saved during World War II by General George S. Patton.

We watched the magnificent jumps. The highlight of the jumps is the Cabriolet, where the horse jumps high into the air, then kicks his rear feet back. Astounding.

Since we were veterinarians, after the show we went behind the curtain of the arena to see the horses up close. We were promptly yelled at to get out. We explained that we were vets, and just wanted a closer look.

The mood changed immediately.

The head person in charge said they were out of Adequan, a powerful anti-arthritis drug, ridiculously expensive. I said I could get some, and would meet them there the next morning. I bought some at the veterinarian supply store, not a store like PetSmart, but one focusing on medicine and specific supplies.

I bought a box of Adequan with the caveat that I would be allowed to return it. The manager agreed. I went back to The Ranch, the name of the fairground complex in Loveland, and was told to get out by the security guards. When I explained myself, I was allowed to the area where the horses were.

In veterinary medicine, you must have a doctor, client, patient relationship to sell pharmaceuticals. In other words, you have to examine the animal. The head man said he just wanted to buy the stuff because he had some lame performers. I said I brought my horse bag, and would look at the sore animals. No, the man said.

I turned and walked to my car to the swear words of this man because I wouldn’t sell him drugs improperly and risk losing my license. I returned the Adequan to the store.

I got a horrible feeling in my gut. These people were using these magnificent horses daily, lame or not, and pumping them with drugs so they could perform. Then they traveled to the next city. Horses can develop stomach ulcers by daily travel and stress.

I stopped going to circuses long ago. I will not have anything to do with performing elephants. I have such high regard for the elephant. Circus animals are so abused so the companies can make money. Sick.

Thank goodness that now, Ringling Brothers shut down because of complaints by the public on how animals were treated.

There are many other ways to watch an amazing show. Cirque de Soleil uses human performers. These people have the gift of choice. Animals do not.

Please boycott traveling animal shows. My exception is a good rodeo if there is no steer roping, which is incredibly cruel to the steer. Steer roping is only allowed in two states.

Earl and I went to Chicago when my stepmother died. On the Hertz bus was a total cowboy in full Western dress. We asked him where he was going. For the first time ever in Chicago, the Built Ford Tough circuit of bullriding was in town. The rider was Wiley Peterson, 27, already a millionaire.

How are these animals treated? With the utmost care. Earl, I and my vet friend, Ruth, went to look at the stock. The man there pointed to a phenomenal looking bull. “See that bull?” he said. “That’s a million dollar animal.”

These prize animals are cared for with the utmost of patience. You won’t see handlers begging for pain killers. A veterinarian travels with them.

Pease be aware that there is a dark side to animal shows.

Our boy Fletcher

Howdy! Most people like videos of cats doing odd and funny things. Take a look at my regular FB page to see some.

Earl and I had a wonderful cat, long haired orange boy we named Fletcher. The techs who managed the shelter animals in for spays and neuters knew I had lost my beloved Pruney. They were saving this huge six-month kitten from the Cheyenne Humane Society for us. He stuck out his slab paw, and in doing that, captured my heart.

When I brought him home, it turned out that we could do anything with or to Fletcher, and he’d just put up with it. You couldn’t hear him purr, but he never stopped purring. You had to put a finger on his throat to know that. Nothing bothered him, nothing scared him. He was a huge ball of love and laughter.

The funniest thing we ever saw Fletch do was a day when we were sitting on the bed chatting. Do you remember those hair ties that had a plastic ball on each end? You put your hair in a ponytail and put one ball over the other. They were great, and have been in existence for as long as I’ve been alive.

We had an empty large Kleenex box. Fletch went over to check it out on the floor. I dangled a hair tie over the opening, dropped it in the box, and went back to the bed. We watched. Earl and I roared with laughter as Fletcher stuck his whole head into the opening, and came up to a sitting posture with the Kleenex box on his head. OK, no problem.

Except when he went walking in the room. He got as far as a wall and bumped into it. He turned go go in another direction. He did this about three times until he got his head out of the Kleenex box.

I put the hair tie in again. We absolutely could not believe that he would do that again, but by golly, he did. And we two idiot people could do nothing but howl with laughter, tears running down our faces.

After Fletchie got his head out the second time, he was done. He never did that again. Ever. We were so happy to have seen a huge orange cat with a large Kleenex box stuck on his head walking into walls. Fletcher was fine, of course. We would never let anything bad happen to him; but this cat was one taco short of a combination plate, and we adored him for the thirteen years he was with us.

Oh, and yes, he made a fine kitty burrito when we wrapped him in a blanket and he just stayed put.

My dog is in love with a couch!

I sit here writing, and watch Ivy lying full out on my uncle’s old couch made new by expensive reupholstering two years ago.

Gone are the days of the fluffy doodle jumping up to watch TV sitting on my lap or next to me in the recliner.

My huskies were never allowed on furniture because they shed a lot. But my Goldendoodle does not, and they are not like huskies, who can be alone for a long time. Doodles won’t spend hours out in the dog pen. They do their business to come back to their humans.

But my Ivy abandoning me for a couch?

I initially trained her to get on beds gently for her therapy dog training (put off by the fractured hip). Now, she just jumps on the couch like she owns it. I guess she does. I do have her sit and call for her to jump on the bed.

I was getting used to TV with a dog comforter. Cowboy Joe does that as he did before we got Ivy.

Happy Holidays!

Urine in the office

I went into my office yesterday to get something my writing coach, Judy, needed. I shooed the brothers, Cowboy Joe and Frank, out of the office. I type in my chair, so I don’t have to crutch back and forth.

This morning, I got up to let the dog out, and I heard frantic meowing upstairs. Matthew had gotten stuck in the office. I close the door because I don’t want the cats in there. Bad idea.

Of course, Matthew, 16, can’t go all night without urinating. He has chronic renal failure, and gallons of stinky cat urine is a part of it.

You can imagine the smell. You can understand I couldn’t go in because I was in stocking feet. Somewhere in there is a pile of kitty turds, I’m sure. Since I can’t vacuum or anything, I took a can of Resolve carpet cleaner, stood at the doorway, and sprayed the entire carpet. Poor Kayla, she has no idea of what she is in for next Monday, my biweekly cleaning day.