Husbandry – Mary Carlson, DVM

Going to give it another go!

Well, folks, after a couple of years, I finally connected with Judy, my writing coach. Yes, I have started writing again.

As far as my first book, Drinking from the Trough, a Veterinarian’s Memoir, I had a great time writing it and learning about the book business from Judy and my publisher, She Writes Press.

I don’t know how many books sold. I do know I have to get into B/N’s face because their store in town has a local author’s site, and an animal site. My book wasn’t there. We have a ‘little mail box’ in our neighborhood. I signed and put my book in, and that’s the last I’ve seen of it. It’s always taken. So I signed another and put it in the little library. It’s out too.

I have some clues as to what I want to write about, but we’ll see what comes up. I have a few ideas, but one is so touchy, two people I told about it said not to write it.

I am in awe about how people have lived during this quarantine, the lies on TV, and lack of things to do. I have been crazy busy. I am trying to get my orthopedic remnants pain-free, and am down to just the one hip, not replaced, hurting, and my right thumb.

Ivy has also been grounded from her therapy dog work, too. We have been walking twice a day, throwing her “Chuck-It” ball, and keeping her training up. She still plays the Lotto, Megamillions and Powerball so she can support me in my declining years.

I still take precautions. Plus our governor ordered masks inside places of business along with social distancing. One of my ortho docs said we are in a small area of safety. I always have a Cubs mask around my neck ready to put on in an instant.

I am so sorry for the people who were ill, and of course those who died. One of the victims was the mayor of my home town of Highland Park, Illinois. Ray Geraci was 91. Med staff wanted to put him on a ventilator. Ray said, no, he had lived a good life for a long time, and to give it to a younger person. Then he died.

Do not be fooled by hopes of a COVID19 vaccine before the election, they take years to develop. One fatal illness in cats is called FIP, or feline infectious peritonitis. There is a wet form and a dry form. The wet form is easy to diagnose. Pulling some bright yellow fluid from the abdomen is diagnostic. For the lab test, there are problems. You see, FIP is a corona virus, and to test for it is iffy because other corona viruses, like the gastroenteral corona viridae, can show false positives.

The reason there is no virus for the common cold is because of how fast this rhinovirus mutates. The flu shot is a little more accurate, but it’s still a shot in the dark (pun not intended).

So I stay in working. Ivy loves to chase her ball out back behind the garages, usually before I can get my breakfast. We go to the dog park that has a walking trail, is right near the runway for the airport, and Ivy doesn’t need toys. She runs like a maniac. She is so fast. Being outside is a Godsend. Our neighborhood is quiet and friendly. I think I prefer behind the house. I always ask any neighbors out if this is okay, and they say it’s fine.

My house got painted a few weeks ago-it’s lovely. Please whack me upside the head with a ball pean hammer if I have to apply again for the HOA to approve, and also if I have to interview painters.

That’s it for now. I have a Zoom Parks and Rec. board meeting at 5:15. Last month, I absolutely screwed it up, and went to watch TV. Judy and I met by zoom, and our board secretary sent me idiot-proof instructions. Let us pray……

Staying close to home today.

Greetings from Tucson, where it will be 95 degrees for the second day in a row; then it will “cool off” to the seventies. Fort Collins has all kinds of storm warnings.

The little Chevy Sonic I keep here is in the shop. I was at the dealership for service, and the place is a maze. So I couldn’t get out of a row of cars and I had to back up. Crunch! Backed into a concrete light post. The car will be there a couple of days, but I have the Subaru, and won’t worry about squeaking two cars into the garage.

The reason I’m staying home is the heat later; and I am doing a phone interview with the Highland Park (IL) Landmark, a local publication. I wonder if it replaced the weekly Highland Park News, which we looked forward to every Thursday.

Ivy loves it here. She learned how to use the dirt surrounding the patio for her potty, and I keep it clean with a pooper scooper and a child’s beach bucket.

The minute she set eyes on my sister, Ivy fell in love. Margo is so good with animals, and Ivy is now her slave. We usually ate in the dining area. Now, we can close one door to the kitchen, and slide the pocket door so she can see us.

We walk in the early morning-you have to, here, and spend lots of time together as I get going with my meet and greets.

She spied the home-grown grapefruit Margo gave me, but no-no, not getting any. Sorry, Ivy.

Ivy trying to steal my grapefruit. Don’t you keep them on the floor?

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.

Whose bed is this anyway?

Ivy has grown up to be quite the polite young lady. When sleeping in her crate next to the bed, she scrabbles on the floor of the crate if she needs to go out. I’m a light sleeper, so I hear this, and let her out. If nice outside, she will want to sleep on a mat on the patio. One bark tells me she wants in.

This morning, she rattled her tags to go out. Why? Because she no longer sleeps in the monster-sized crate. How did this happen? I’ve never slept with a dog. Huskies shed all over.

Ivy has a routine for bedtime. My lovely goldendoodle goes unconscious on the couch upstairs at the same time every night, and doesn’t move. I say, “Time to go to bed! C’mon boys; c’mon Ivy!” That’s part one. The cats only get part one. Part two of the bedtime routine is going outside. If it is not too frigid, I go out with her, taking a flashlight to see what she does. Right now, it is zero, and she can go out and come back with lightning speed. Part three is “Go to bed” i.e, get in the crate, and part four is a biscuit inside the crate (take it nice). She settles down and the five of us go to sleep. If I’m not ready for bed, and leave the bedroom, she barks, once. I have learned to tell her I’ll be right out here in the kitchen working. Then she goes to sleep.

But things have changed. When Keli was with us, born in 1982, there was no crate training. Tipper was born in 1996, and crate training was the real deal. Since huskies shed like yetis, they were only allowed in the family room and kitchen. Huskies are more solitary than doodles, so they were quite content.

Fast forward to about three months ago. Ivy would lie down in her crate, I’d get in bed, then she would sit up. What? I told her, “down.” OK, but two minutes later, she was up again. My slow brain figured out that she no longer wanted to sleep in the crate. As a confirmed couch potato, she wanted up on the bed. How wonderful! A fuzzy dog to pet, hug and move out of the way when I wake up at the edge of the bed. Cuddling all night. Sometimes I didn’t see her; she blended into the quilt.

What’s wrong with this picture? Well, Earl and I were married twenty seven years. We had a king-sized bed. I did not like to cuddle when sleeping, had to tell Earl to turn over when he snored lightly, which he did without waking. And I could not sleep in a bed with E less than a queen-sized. Since our king bed was two twins put together with king sheets, there was a line between the mattresses. It was our joke to tell each other to get on your side of the line.

My bed now is a double (full-size). I sleep on it as do the three old cats and Ivy. Five of us. I cuddle with Ivy, and while we don’t do “spoons,” she arranges herself to be back to back. I don’t sleep through the night, but I like to listen to the radio or Dave Ramsey on my phone, so it’s all good.

Ivy wakes me in the morning to go outside either briefly, or to lie on the mat. I’m well trained now so she only barks once so she doesn’t disturb the neighbors. I hate dogs that bark non-stop. Ivy is a lady, well-trained and loving.

Overkill at the spa

Well, Ivy finally got into the spa yesterday. April could’t do her last week, because she was scheduled for a “fluff and buff” and Ivy was clearly a 34 # mat. I picked her up four hours later, and boy did that dog look skinny! April had to take the clippers down to the skin. As per usual, she left the ears and tail intact.

Cowboy Joe inspecting Ivy's 'do.' — Cowboy Joe inspecting Ivy’s ‘do.’

Dances with Kittens

Have you ever looked closely at a veterinarian’s hands and arms? If you have, you would see tiny lines of scars on them, a memory of the cats that have scratched them. I myself have plenty.

I have two scars that I actually cherish. When Cowboy Joe was coming out of anesthesia, he was a little goofy, and raked the back of my wrist with his back claws. There are two long, thin scars, memories of a strung-out kitten. It’s a memory from a cat I dearly love, so I am happy to look at them. At the time it happened, 2004, I was not amused. Since my cat was loopy, I understood.

The other scar I treasure was put in place by Pruney, the cat of my life. While living at home with my mom after college, I decided that Pruney, an inside/outside cat, should wear a collar. Many cats wear collars just fine. Pruney-not so much. She managed to get the collar stuck in her open mouth, and when I got her off the window screen where she hung onto dear life, she raked the same wrist with her two canine teeth. After over 40 years, I can still see the reminder that not all cats can wear collars. The last cat I tried a collar on was Kitty Alexander, our 20-pound tuxedo, who promptly got hung up on a door hinge. I had to unhook him. Now, I know how collars should fit on animals. No mistakes there. It’s part of what I teach my clients. These were just two freak accidents, and since Pruney was my last outdoor cat, there really is no need for collars on my cats. And a heads up to our humane society, I don’t license them, either, when they get their rabies vaccinations. Bad Mary.

In practice, my favorite part of well kitten visits is to educate people about how to care for their cats properly. The most important part of this lesson is, “How Not to be Killed by Your Kitten.” You see, people like to have Kitty chase their fingers across the room, or wave their hand back and forth on the carpet. It’s so much fun to see him get so riled up he can’t think, and runs around the room like he’s possessed. Bad idea. Kitty gets the idea that, 1. It’s OK to bite the finger when he catches it, which is instinctual, and 2. It’s OK that human body parts make great chew toys. They are not. NEVER use hands to play with your cat or kitten. Instead, have a toy or string that they cat catch and play with. For strings and similar items, be sure to put them away when you are finished playing, as the strings could be swallowed by an unsupervised cat and wind up stuck in his intestines and will have to be surgically removed.

The same play rules are true with human feet, except Kitty will add hiding for pouncing on and biting the feet. If you like being attacked by an unseen ball of fur, by all means, go for the foot fetish. It can, however, be very painful in the sensitive area of the top of the foot. Picture Tiger lying in wait until you come home from work, looking at the mail when, WHAM! You are attacked from below-a direct hit to the ankle.

Also be that cats like to climb things, like the drapes. Bad Kitty. This behavior is reinforced by thinking it’s cute for Kitty to climb up your pants with his razor sharp claws.

So what to do if your cat is the Kamikaze who actually gets to you even after you stop playing with hands and feet? First, don’t physically discipline an animal, ever. The cat is only acting on its instinct of preditory behavior. Second, you have only three seconds to react until the devious act is out of Kitty’s mind. Fill an empty soda can with small rocks, and have it ready to shake at Kitty when he is bad. Making a hissing noise is cat talk for “Look out, I’m going to get YOU”! You can also turn and walk away, play time is over, period. Be strong, even if he wants to start playing with you again. Nope-game over.

What’s more fun than playing with a kitten? Nothing! But be aware of safe ways to play with your little furball so no one, you or Kitty develop bad behaviors and gets hurt.

Hail to the Doodle!

The motto for Colorado weather is if you don’t like the weather, wait a minute. I was in the TV loft yesterday vegging, when the room started getting dark. I looked out the window, and there were gentle snowflakes falling. I looked again, and it was pouring rain. Remembering that Ivy was out (don’t worry, she has a covered porch also), I went to get her. Hailstones on the ground.

Now imagine a curly Doodle with hailstones just the right size to fit into the middle of her curls, and you have a new breed-the Hailstone Golden Doodle!

My masked Raiders

The mascot of my new school is the Red Raider. At football games, a masked guy called the Masked Raider I think, dressed all in black, rides a black horse. My two ponies are close.

My sister reported today that for the first time, Scooter and Hannah wore their new fly masks all day. Her friend, CeCe, feeds all the horses in the morning and puts the masks on. Margo feeds in the evening, and takes them off. We were concerned that funny man Scoot would pull Hannah’s off, as he likes to grab her halter when it’s on.

He didn’t, all is well, and they are protected from the hordes of Arizona flying creatures. Only a few horses in Colorado wear fly masks. They are creepy-looking, as thought the horses are blindfolded or look like bank robbers, but they are designed so the horses can see just fine. But only Hannah could be called a Red Raider, although Scoot is black. Therefore, I have two horses that are red and black, respectevly. They would fit in here just fine.

I’ll check it out myself later this week and report back. Cheers!

No cancer for my guy!

After having half his colon removed, a half liter of fluid, and numerous lymph node biopsies, Earl does not have colon cancer. The pathologists even reported a normal appendix. Whew!

The two lymph nodes in his neck that lit up on the PET scan were suggestive of metastatic activity from the large skin tumor, not melanoma, that he is so susceptible to being 39 years out of a kidney transplant. These will be radiated right along with the area where the tumor was removed.

Our hospital is so fantastic. Its mission is quality care for all. Consistently over the years, it is a top 100 hospital, hence the 2008 Baldrige award. I am still on call for the DC trip to accept the award from President Obama. The surgeon, father of triplets, knows my level of interest in medical things, and came out to the waiting room after surgery Monday to show me pictures taken through the laparoscope. How many doctors have the opportunity to work on such a medical miracle as my spouse, let alone take a peek at a kidney transplanted in 1970?

With the exception of a few, the doctors we have been dealing with us have been caring and kind, willing to go the extra step to see that we are all right. Even the dermatologist’s assistant, who has assisted with all of the Moh’s surgeries on Earl, called yesterday to see how he was doing. She then called him at the hospital. ABCD-above and beyond the call of duty.

As always after major surgery, the third day post-op was the one where you feel like you were run over by a Mack truck. Earl felt this way. So did I after abdominal surgery 20 years ago, and after my initial trauma surgery. So, I went to a party at my former school given for five, count them, five staff members or their wives are expecting. A mass baby shower, if you will. It was fun, and a change from hospital sitting. As soon as the colon gets jump started, and he’s eating regular food, Earl will come home to the care of the cats.

Thank you, Poudre Valley Hospital and Dr. Tom Chiavetta!

Folks, if it your time to do so, get that screening colonoscopy!