Animal stories

Sticks for Dinner

Years ago when I was seeing pets in a clinic, we had a little Jack Russel terrier mix who came in often.  Jack was like many terriers and enjoyed tearing things apart.  He was also an overachiever and went on to eat whatever the thing was that he’d just torn to bits.  Jack tore up his toys and ate the squeakers.  He shredded up his dog bed and ate the fluffing.  He went through the trash that his owner tried hard to keep away from him and ate everything, fresh or rotten, that he found in there.  Each time Jack’s owner would bring him by for a quick check to make sure his belly was settling down okay.  We were happy to interact with such a friendly patient and the owner appreciated the peace of mind that came from her short walk to the clinic. I appreciated the practice in palpating a belly, doing a physical exam, taking X-rays, and the overall pleasure that came with seeing an owner reassured that her beloved pet was doing well. Things got a little strange one day with Jack and his…

Another Dog!

We’re now in what I hope is the middle of staying at home due to COVID-19. It’s been a long 7 weeks or so of teleworking, keeping kids motivated to do work, and uncovering new and old problems here at the house. We’re busy, that’s for sure, as neither my nor my husband’s job has lightened up. One of the best parts of being home is our pets. We have lots of pets. That’s not subjective, it’s a fact. There are 4 dogs living here most days of the week. Three are ours–a lab, a golden doodle, a cavalier king charles spaniel. The 4th belongs to my oldest daughter’s boyfriend. Both he and his dog share an apartment that’s above our garage. So, yes, 4 dogs technically live here and 3 are for certain the number that I provide direct care, feeding, love, shelter for all the time. The bonus dog is, thankfully, a little guy. He’s all of about 20 pounds during his fat days and even dogs have fat days. Winston’s weight roller…

You Just Can’t Make This Up

Yesterday was Saint Patrick’s Day, a Sunday this year. We’ve been spending every last free moment of every single day getting ready to move. My military orders came over a week ago. We knew they were coming. It was no surprise and at the same time, it still is a heavy feeling. Packing, prepping, talking to our realtor, staging our home–it’s overwhelming. Our kids have the same mixed feelings about it that we do. It’s exciting and sad all at the same time. We’ve lived in this home 6 years and in this area for 9. This is not the typical military kid experience, but it’s been my kids’ experiences and now it’s about to end. Their hopes of staying in one place with long-term friends must come to an end this summer. In our lives, as in every military family’s life, the only thing certain is change. I spent the day before St. Patrick’s day taking down our pictures and wall decorations. That’s hard, too, as this is our oldest daughter’s senior year…

Run, Chicken, Run

Few people know that Army veterinarians perform ‘sanitation audits’ of food production establishments both in the US and overseas.  A sanitation audit is a very professional way of saying that you look into every nook and cranny of food production. It includes walking through the facility, observing the food-making processes, and reviewing paperwork all while taking notes and asking questions to later write a report.  When assigned overseas, Army vets have the additional duty of inspecting slaughterhouses.  Here in the US, the USDA inspects the slaughterhouses (thank you, USDA!).  Inspecting slaughterhouses has been among the worst part of being a Vet. It’s even worse than emptying anal glands.  The slaughterhouse inspections begin with the animals coming off the delivery truck and end with the packaged goods that my grandmother referred to simply as ‘dead chickens’.  [I’ve mentioned earlier that my family was practical when it came to animals.  They were.  Right down to the honest language.]  Vet school helped me prepare for slaughterhouses by providing the knowledge to identify sick animals, to recognize abnormalities in their bodies, to think critically, and to understand what is and is not humane.  All of these…

The Complicated Case of my First Dog

Every time I read security questions with the option to provide the name of your first dog, my brain gets stuck in an indecisive loop. Recalling the name of your first dog should be easy especially for a dog lover.  My history in establishing a first dog is much more complicated than it should be.  As a child, I found pictures of myself as a toddler playing with a beagle mix puppy.  Based on the photos, this puppy and I clearly shared the same home where I placed him in my stroller, carried him tucked under one of my arms, hid in an oversized coat for him to find me, and generally did all the things that a child who wants a dog and doesn’t have one longs to do with said dog.  The thing is though, I don’t remember having or playing with the puppy.  That puppy didn’t stay in our family long enough for him to become part of the memories that stay with you forever.  Our family wasn’t and still isn’t one for delving into painful pasts and so it’s never been clear at what…