I realized I hadn't posted any stories about cats. I will admit they are not my very, very favorite patients (the whole claws on every foot, sharp teeth, reflexes much faster than my own, and a willingness to use all three) but this story deserves to be told. A few months ago I met an energetic kitty named George. George came in with a complaint of occasional vomiting. He seemed like a happy and healthy kitty and the owner said he was "full of life" he would just vomit every once in a while. Now of course as a veterinarian we love to have something come in the only problem being occasional vomiting. With that history we can usually narrow it down quite quickly to only two or three hundred possible causes! Because the cat seemed to be doing so well otherwise, was a finicky eater, and bloodwork only showed an increased eosinophil count (type of white blood cells usually increase with parasites and allergies), the owners opted to try deworming and changing food rather than pursue further diagnostics at that time. With instructions to get back in touch with us if things didn't improve or got worse, I didn't give the cat another thought. That was of course until a couple of weeks ago when I was requested as a doctor to look at a cat that I had seen previously for vomiting.
When George walked in, or should I say was carried in, (cats don't generally walk into the clinic on their own), I almost didn't recognize him. This previously very playful cat was lethargic and for lack of a better word, emaciated. For those of you who are familiar with body condition scoring, he would be about a 1 out of 5. According to the owners they had tried several different foods which he generally didn't eat well and his vomiting had slowly increased over the past few months. Within the last couple of weeks they reported his condition deteriorating much more rapidly. As is the case with many pet owners, economics often plays a role in diagnostic and treatment plans. This owner was no different and had difficulty making the decision to take x-rays after other diagnostics had not yielded specific answers.
Fortunately radiographs were taken and revealed a very obvious answer to our several month problem. What appeared to be a perferctly round white spot was located in the abdomen near the pelvis. When the owners were brought in to view the films they both exclaimed "It's one of those glass beads". After more discussion it was determined that he must have eaten the decorative glass bead, the kind that you may see in a vase or on a glass plate, about 2 months prior to his first visit.
Next the discussion turned to options for treatment. It boiled down to two: surgery or euthanasia. Surgery was chosen after a long discussion about complications due to the severely debilitated state of the patient.
In surgery we were not surprised to find half a dozen places in the intestine with partial constriction. It would seem resonable that all of these locations were places where the bead had gotten stuck on its several month journey through the intestines and the damage to the wall of the intestine had resulted in the noticeable scarring and strictures. The marble was removed and surgery was completed without incident.
Unforntunately George did not recover well from surgery, was unable to mantain his own body temperature, showed signs of brain damage and was euthanized two days later.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Monkey?
I was out at a farm to pregnancy check and "Bangs" (Brucellosis) vaccinate some heifers. Things seemed to be moving along at an okay pace until we got one heifer that was just a little too impatient. As each heifer would come into the chute we would drop the tail gate so that the next heifer couldn't crowd in as well. This tail gate had a horizontal bar on the top and bottom and then vertical bars about 6 inches apart across the width of the gate. Well miss antsy just didn't have the desire to wait when the gate was dropped in front of her, reared up and stuck her legs over the top horizontal bar. Had this been all there probably would have been no problem as all she needed to do was pull her legs back down and she could stand quietly in the alley. Instead she jumped up stuck both of her back legs through the gate and hooked them over the bottom horizontal bar. Now we had a 700 lb heifer hanging on the back gate of the chute like a monkey. Of course, she was not complacent in her position and after a few seconds of the monkey-cling she began thrashing around. With no room to go forward and all four legs hung up on the gate there was only one option...backwards. Yes, she flipped herself completely onto her back on the ground, wedged between the sides of the alley. Then, like one pig waits for another at the feed trough, the next heifer in the row immediately proceeded to walk right on top of this upside-down heifer to try and push her way into the chute.
Fortunately for me we actually had several people there helping and after we got all of the other heifers out of the chute and alley we devised a plan to get our wedged turtle out as well. We fashioned a rope halter out of a lariat and while one man lifted and pushed on her head, the other three of us pulled on the rope and we were able to flip the heifer back over in the reverse direction that she had just gone. No worse for wear we finished the job and everyone was happy.
When people say cows aren't athletic I think of experiences like this and just smile.
Fortunately for me we actually had several people there helping and after we got all of the other heifers out of the chute and alley we devised a plan to get our wedged turtle out as well. We fashioned a rope halter out of a lariat and while one man lifted and pushed on her head, the other three of us pulled on the rope and we were able to flip the heifer back over in the reverse direction that she had just gone. No worse for wear we finished the job and everyone was happy.
When people say cows aren't athletic I think of experiences like this and just smile.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Winter
One of the first questions that I asked before I came to North Dakota to visit was, "How bad are the winters really?" Now keep in mind that I grew up in Montana so a little cold doesn't frighten me. Unfortunately, the person who answered that question for me was also the one who was a transplant to North Dakota and had not been here that many years. His response was "Oh, they really aren't that bad; they are just like Montana winters".
When I came to interview it was the end of November and there was a storm the week I was here. It snowed a few inches, had some wind, and the temperature even dropped a few degrees below zero. Then after we had made the decision to take the job, we came out to house hunt in February. If you guessed that there was another snow storm you are very smart. It snowed several inches and got cold (down around O F again). We weren't too fussed about it after everyone reassured us that we had been here for about the only two storms for the winter, this was about as bad as it gets, and that North Dakota winters really hadn't been that bad for several years.
Fast forward to now. I realize that much of the country is experiencing really potent winter weather, but today's experience warranted some documentation. We are the veterinarians for two sale barns and our duties rotate among the doctors each month so we each get one day a month at each sale barn and they do not cancel due to weather. Today was my day. This morning was bitter cold....so much so that when we got gas on our way out of town several of the pumps were not working because they were frozen. As we were driving I was looking across the drifted white landscape and wondered out loud what our snow total was at. We are now at over 6 feet of snow for the year. With over 30 inches in December alone and only one day that came close to 32 degrees since the middle of November, all of the snow is still around. Up till now we have had cold days. However, a new record for ridiculous was set on our drive today. Just before arriving at the sale barn to start our day the thermometer read......
........-40 F !
What a great day to be a large animal vet that works outside!
When I came to interview it was the end of November and there was a storm the week I was here. It snowed a few inches, had some wind, and the temperature even dropped a few degrees below zero. Then after we had made the decision to take the job, we came out to house hunt in February. If you guessed that there was another snow storm you are very smart. It snowed several inches and got cold (down around O F again). We weren't too fussed about it after everyone reassured us that we had been here for about the only two storms for the winter, this was about as bad as it gets, and that North Dakota winters really hadn't been that bad for several years.
Fast forward to now. I realize that much of the country is experiencing really potent winter weather, but today's experience warranted some documentation. We are the veterinarians for two sale barns and our duties rotate among the doctors each month so we each get one day a month at each sale barn and they do not cancel due to weather. Today was my day. This morning was bitter cold....so much so that when we got gas on our way out of town several of the pumps were not working because they were frozen. As we were driving I was looking across the drifted white landscape and wondered out loud what our snow total was at. We are now at over 6 feet of snow for the year. With over 30 inches in December alone and only one day that came close to 32 degrees since the middle of November, all of the snow is still around. Up till now we have had cold days. However, a new record for ridiculous was set on our drive today. Just before arriving at the sale barn to start our day the thermometer read......
........-40 F !
What a great day to be a large animal vet that works outside!
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Cowboys
One of the adjustments that I had to make coming to North Dakota was the change from "ranchers" to "farmers". Essentially what I mean by this is I grew up in ranching country in Northern Montana where people work cattle while riding horses and they rope the cows from the back of the horse. In contrast, the farmers of North Dakota ride four wheelers, coil a rope like it is an electrical extension cord, and have the vet come out to dart cows. In general, they don't ride and they definitely don't rope.
With that in mind I set out on an unexpected adventure one day this past summer to fix a rectal vaginal prolapse in a cow. I was told that this father and his two sons were actually pretty good cowboys so everything should go smoothly. When I arrived farmer son 1 was waiting and said help would be arriving in a couple minutes. In the meantime he filled me in on the situation and the plan. He said the cow was very tame and that we would just throw a loop over her head, tie her to the truck, and fix the prolapse. Naively I said okay, the other helpers arrived and they were off to bring the cows from back over the hill.
True to their word, the old Hereford cow was mild tempered and farmer son 2 easily tossed a loop over her head. Somewhere between the putting a loop over her head and getter her tied to the truck the plan went rapidly sour. Just as the rope was being dallied around some part of the truck the cow decided she wasn't pleased and took off. With son one running/dragging behind her on the rope, son 2 on the four wheeler, and farmer dad in the pickup the quartet went galloping, dragging, and bouncing out of sight over the hill.
By the time I caught up in my truck things were looking up a bit. The cow was now dallied to the over-sized grill guard and efforts were being made to bring her closer to the truck. Unfortunately, the temperament of this cow had been misjudged and we were now dealing with one very angry cow. Attempts to move her closer with the four wheeler were unsuccessful. So son 1 and 2 took turns trying to get the cow closer on foot...also unsuccessful to the point that the cow was chasing them in circles, first one direction, then the other, around the truck; punctuated by occasional escapes jumping into the truck bed.
Whether by luck or accident someone got another rope around her back feet and tied it to the hitch on the bumper. This was just in time because the rope on the front had begun to fray and she was probably two trips back and forth short of a broken rope and freedom. Unfortunately, though she was tied to both the front and back of the pickup, she could still move about 10 feet and was intent on filling her hunting tag for man. Finally, a bright idea dawned on me. I still had my ace in the hole and it sure didn't look like we were going to win cowboy style. Like a true hunter I got out my dart gun and shot her from about 15 feet away and she went down like a champ wouldn't.
The prolapse had been out for several days, was dry, and hard and was not going back in easily. With a fair amount of cutting and pushing both rectal and vaginal prolapses were reduced and ready to sew up. Unfortunately the adventure wasn't fully complete. Sometimes we tend to do stupid things for no good reason and this was one of those days for me. Instead of using my needle holders to pull the needle with umbilical tape through the skin on the third horizontal mattress suture, I pulled with my hand. Sure enough my wet fingers slipped off the tip of the needle while holding tight and gashed a nice inch and a half long incision in my thumbprint. It was bleeding profusely, but so was the cow, so my attempt to bandage it quickly came off and I just sewed here up the rest of the way without the use of my thumb, all the time assuming that all the blood I was seeing was bovine.
Eventually I did get everything in its proper place, the cow untied and reversed, and my thumb bandaged nicely. Except for the lasting cut on my hand I didn't give much thought to the experience until a few days later when farmer son 1 was in the clinic to pick some things up and I asked how our patient was doing.
"Oh, yeah...she died"
"Really," I replied, somewhat deflated.
"Oh, no, she was doing fine after you worked on her...she just got hit by lightning".
With that in mind I set out on an unexpected adventure one day this past summer to fix a rectal vaginal prolapse in a cow. I was told that this father and his two sons were actually pretty good cowboys so everything should go smoothly. When I arrived farmer son 1 was waiting and said help would be arriving in a couple minutes. In the meantime he filled me in on the situation and the plan. He said the cow was very tame and that we would just throw a loop over her head, tie her to the truck, and fix the prolapse. Naively I said okay, the other helpers arrived and they were off to bring the cows from back over the hill.
True to their word, the old Hereford cow was mild tempered and farmer son 2 easily tossed a loop over her head. Somewhere between the putting a loop over her head and getter her tied to the truck the plan went rapidly sour. Just as the rope was being dallied around some part of the truck the cow decided she wasn't pleased and took off. With son one running/dragging behind her on the rope, son 2 on the four wheeler, and farmer dad in the pickup the quartet went galloping, dragging, and bouncing out of sight over the hill.
By the time I caught up in my truck things were looking up a bit. The cow was now dallied to the over-sized grill guard and efforts were being made to bring her closer to the truck. Unfortunately, the temperament of this cow had been misjudged and we were now dealing with one very angry cow. Attempts to move her closer with the four wheeler were unsuccessful. So son 1 and 2 took turns trying to get the cow closer on foot...also unsuccessful to the point that the cow was chasing them in circles, first one direction, then the other, around the truck; punctuated by occasional escapes jumping into the truck bed.
Whether by luck or accident someone got another rope around her back feet and tied it to the hitch on the bumper. This was just in time because the rope on the front had begun to fray and she was probably two trips back and forth short of a broken rope and freedom. Unfortunately, though she was tied to both the front and back of the pickup, she could still move about 10 feet and was intent on filling her hunting tag for man. Finally, a bright idea dawned on me. I still had my ace in the hole and it sure didn't look like we were going to win cowboy style. Like a true hunter I got out my dart gun and shot her from about 15 feet away and she went down like a champ wouldn't.
The prolapse had been out for several days, was dry, and hard and was not going back in easily. With a fair amount of cutting and pushing both rectal and vaginal prolapses were reduced and ready to sew up. Unfortunately the adventure wasn't fully complete. Sometimes we tend to do stupid things for no good reason and this was one of those days for me. Instead of using my needle holders to pull the needle with umbilical tape through the skin on the third horizontal mattress suture, I pulled with my hand. Sure enough my wet fingers slipped off the tip of the needle while holding tight and gashed a nice inch and a half long incision in my thumbprint. It was bleeding profusely, but so was the cow, so my attempt to bandage it quickly came off and I just sewed here up the rest of the way without the use of my thumb, all the time assuming that all the blood I was seeing was bovine.
Eventually I did get everything in its proper place, the cow untied and reversed, and my thumb bandaged nicely. Except for the lasting cut on my hand I didn't give much thought to the experience until a few days later when farmer son 1 was in the clinic to pick some things up and I asked how our patient was doing.
"Oh, yeah...she died"
"Really," I replied, somewhat deflated.
"Oh, no, she was doing fine after you worked on her...she just got hit by lightning".
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Glenda the Goat
I am sure when Mrs. Jones and daughter came to the clinic with Glenda there was a fair amount of excitement in the preparations. Glenda was due to give birth for the third time. They thought she had started into labor the evening before. After some time passed and no kids arrived, Mrs Jones tried to give assistance but was unable to determine the orientation of the offspring and opted for more experienced hands.
Somehow the case came to me. It may be due to the fact that I have by far the smallest hands and arms of any of the doctors at our clinic, and have had success dealing with goat dystocia cases before. Either way, after discussing the history with Mrs. Jones I began working my hand and arm through the very small pelvis, while daughter Susie looked on with rapt attention. I soon had two feet with twine string around them ready to begin moving but was having some trouble getting the head into the right position. An uncooperative head is often not a good sign and this case was no different. I determined that the kid was already dead and had very sharp teeth that were jutting almost straight out. I decided to pass on the news and mother began to discuss with Susie to help prepare her for the possibility of not taking home bouncing babies and instead focusing on saving Glenda. In the meantime I was able to manipulate the head and had two front feet and a head all pointed in the right direction. I made several applications of pressure on the legs but things were not moving out like I would have liked. To make sure I had good positioning and didn't have front legs from two different kids I pushed the head back into the uterus to explore more deeply.
I extended my arm farther in than on previous manipulation and knew pretty quickly that something was very wrong. On the right side of the body, forward of the pelvis, where the uterus should have been holding everything tightly I could move my hand all too freely. As I continued to explore I could feel the bladder, small intestines, and the body wall. All told the uterus was torn from the right paralumbar fossa (the right side of the body right in front of the hip and just below the backbone) all the way down and across to half way up the other side of the body.
Sharing this news brought expected tears from Mrs. Jones and an understanding of why there had been so much bloody discharge through the night. The most likely culprit in this case was the jutting teeth of the baby against the pressure of the pelvis after the protectvie layers of the amniotic sac were no longer intact. After options of an abdominal exploratory with a poor chance of success was discussed the decision was made to euthanize. If one good thing could be found from the experience, the euthansia was very routine and Glenda went down very quietly and peacefully while mother and daughter watched on.
Somehow the case came to me. It may be due to the fact that I have by far the smallest hands and arms of any of the doctors at our clinic, and have had success dealing with goat dystocia cases before. Either way, after discussing the history with Mrs. Jones I began working my hand and arm through the very small pelvis, while daughter Susie looked on with rapt attention. I soon had two feet with twine string around them ready to begin moving but was having some trouble getting the head into the right position. An uncooperative head is often not a good sign and this case was no different. I determined that the kid was already dead and had very sharp teeth that were jutting almost straight out. I decided to pass on the news and mother began to discuss with Susie to help prepare her for the possibility of not taking home bouncing babies and instead focusing on saving Glenda. In the meantime I was able to manipulate the head and had two front feet and a head all pointed in the right direction. I made several applications of pressure on the legs but things were not moving out like I would have liked. To make sure I had good positioning and didn't have front legs from two different kids I pushed the head back into the uterus to explore more deeply.
I extended my arm farther in than on previous manipulation and knew pretty quickly that something was very wrong. On the right side of the body, forward of the pelvis, where the uterus should have been holding everything tightly I could move my hand all too freely. As I continued to explore I could feel the bladder, small intestines, and the body wall. All told the uterus was torn from the right paralumbar fossa (the right side of the body right in front of the hip and just below the backbone) all the way down and across to half way up the other side of the body.
Sharing this news brought expected tears from Mrs. Jones and an understanding of why there had been so much bloody discharge through the night. The most likely culprit in this case was the jutting teeth of the baby against the pressure of the pelvis after the protectvie layers of the amniotic sac were no longer intact. After options of an abdominal exploratory with a poor chance of success was discussed the decision was made to euthanize. If one good thing could be found from the experience, the euthansia was very routine and Glenda went down very quietly and peacefully while mother and daughter watched on.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
A hectic day in the life
First of all I have to qualify this by saying normally we have one vet work on Saturday and one on back-up. Unfortunately, on this particular Saturday, with holiday travel and events, I was on my own.
First appointment, 9:30 am: pregnancy check 211 cows and heifers, look at some cows that had died in the recent storms, then vaccinate 3 cats and a dog. Check back into the clinic to find out emergencies are waiting. Drive 40 miles back to the clinic to get necessary supplies and directions to head out on emergency run.
1:40 pm. Look at sick cat with repiratory problems. 3 pm arrive at dairy farm to treat cows with severe grain overload. 4 head were down and one was unable to rise. The farmer asked "They'll be all right won't they?" I had to be honest and say you never know how they are going to do. Though I am not a pessimist, I don't think all of them will make it. 4 pm I pulled into another farm to check on a heifer thought to be aborting. She was also down and in a very bad way. She was breathing hard and did not respond to me at all. The calf's nose was sticking out without any legs. I pushed the head back in to find that the calf was dead and bloated. The nails of the toes came off in my hand. Several minutes of manipulation combined with lubrication and the help of the son in law on the end of the chains the dead calf was deliverd. Mom only lasted a few minutes more. The combination of cold, dead rotting calf inside, inability to deliver the calf after laboring for at least most of a day, and then the stress of having it pulled finally did her in. Then it was back to the clinic for a quick wash and a look at a dog with a corneal ulcer on its right eye at 5:30. By 6 pm I was off again to another farm to perform a necropsy on a calf that had just died and the owner wanted looked at before it froze solid. Severe pneumonia and emphysema were determined to be the cause of death. The -9F temperature was determined to be the cause of my numb fingers. By 7 pm it was driving back to the clinic (I drove just short of 200 miles today) to enter medical records into the computer while waiting for the final (hopefully) emergency of the night. A rectal prolapse was fairly easily reduced, sutured, and on its way home. I was able to clean up and get home by 8:15 pm. I guess the animals haven't received the memo that we are only supposed to work till 3 pm on Saturdays.
First appointment, 9:30 am: pregnancy check 211 cows and heifers, look at some cows that had died in the recent storms, then vaccinate 3 cats and a dog. Check back into the clinic to find out emergencies are waiting. Drive 40 miles back to the clinic to get necessary supplies and directions to head out on emergency run.
1:40 pm. Look at sick cat with repiratory problems. 3 pm arrive at dairy farm to treat cows with severe grain overload. 4 head were down and one was unable to rise. The farmer asked "They'll be all right won't they?" I had to be honest and say you never know how they are going to do. Though I am not a pessimist, I don't think all of them will make it. 4 pm I pulled into another farm to check on a heifer thought to be aborting. She was also down and in a very bad way. She was breathing hard and did not respond to me at all. The calf's nose was sticking out without any legs. I pushed the head back in to find that the calf was dead and bloated. The nails of the toes came off in my hand. Several minutes of manipulation combined with lubrication and the help of the son in law on the end of the chains the dead calf was deliverd. Mom only lasted a few minutes more. The combination of cold, dead rotting calf inside, inability to deliver the calf after laboring for at least most of a day, and then the stress of having it pulled finally did her in. Then it was back to the clinic for a quick wash and a look at a dog with a corneal ulcer on its right eye at 5:30. By 6 pm I was off again to another farm to perform a necropsy on a calf that had just died and the owner wanted looked at before it froze solid. Severe pneumonia and emphysema were determined to be the cause of death. The -9F temperature was determined to be the cause of my numb fingers. By 7 pm it was driving back to the clinic (I drove just short of 200 miles today) to enter medical records into the computer while waiting for the final (hopefully) emergency of the night. A rectal prolapse was fairly easily reduced, sutured, and on its way home. I was able to clean up and get home by 8:15 pm. I guess the animals haven't received the memo that we are only supposed to work till 3 pm on Saturdays.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Porcupine encounters
Many people have heard of or seen dogs that had a run-in with a porcupine. While in truth any animal curious enough to check out the slow moving porcupine can earn some new facial piercings (I have also pulled quills out of cattle), dogs seem to do it best.
One dog I will call Snapper was seen on emergency by me early on in the summer for porcupine quill removal. Snapper was a Jack Russel terrier mix who rightfully earned the name that I have given him. Owner Jane had several dogs that occasionally found porcupines that she pulled quills out of, but Snapper, would live up to his name and was in need of chemical persuasion. On this occasion he only had a handful of quills that were easily removed after anesthetic administration and he was on his way.
A short few days later I noticed owner Jane on the book for quill removal again and felt sorry for her because I knew she drove more than 40 miles to get to the clinic. Sure enough Snapper was back at his mischief again, only this time it was a mere 2 quills on the tip of his nose.
Some time passed and I saw Snapper was yet again on the book for another round of quills and I could not believe it. You would think if you touched a hot stove once and it hurt you would probably not touch it again on purpose. Perhaps if you were a very slow learner you may try it a second time, but I would be hard pressed to believe that a third such learning experience would be necessary. I certainly could not count out the possibility of an accidental burn occurring, but I don't know of too many dogs that accidentally brush up against a quill pig.
After another passage of time I happened to mention Snapper to our technician. A quick check in the records showed a half dozen visits for quill removal over a few months time.
For individual event quill load Snapper was far from impressive. To date my most impressive porcupine quill patient was a very large collie named Fluffy. Late one night I received an emergency call to get quills out of a dog's mouth and nose and met owners Fran and Jack. Fluffy was the largest collie, with the most magnificent coat I had ever seen. Sure enough Fluffy had some quills in both his nose and mouth, although there were not many. Fran and Jack reported that they had pulled some at home but he was losing patience and they felt he needed to lie still to complete the job quickly. While injecting the anesthetic into Fluffy's leg, I poked my hand on some other quills and now knew he was hiding more than I had initially suspected. A quick inspection of his body revealed quills extending from his nose and mouth, along his neck, on his chest, up and down both front legs and back almost to the middle of his stomach. As far as I could surmise Fluffy must have attempted to give the porcupine a bear hug. After searching inch by inch through his thick fur for an hour and a half, the job was complete. A total of 250 quills were removed.
One dog I will call Snapper was seen on emergency by me early on in the summer for porcupine quill removal. Snapper was a Jack Russel terrier mix who rightfully earned the name that I have given him. Owner Jane had several dogs that occasionally found porcupines that she pulled quills out of, but Snapper, would live up to his name and was in need of chemical persuasion. On this occasion he only had a handful of quills that were easily removed after anesthetic administration and he was on his way.
A short few days later I noticed owner Jane on the book for quill removal again and felt sorry for her because I knew she drove more than 40 miles to get to the clinic. Sure enough Snapper was back at his mischief again, only this time it was a mere 2 quills on the tip of his nose.
Some time passed and I saw Snapper was yet again on the book for another round of quills and I could not believe it. You would think if you touched a hot stove once and it hurt you would probably not touch it again on purpose. Perhaps if you were a very slow learner you may try it a second time, but I would be hard pressed to believe that a third such learning experience would be necessary. I certainly could not count out the possibility of an accidental burn occurring, but I don't know of too many dogs that accidentally brush up against a quill pig.
After another passage of time I happened to mention Snapper to our technician. A quick check in the records showed a half dozen visits for quill removal over a few months time.
For individual event quill load Snapper was far from impressive. To date my most impressive porcupine quill patient was a very large collie named Fluffy. Late one night I received an emergency call to get quills out of a dog's mouth and nose and met owners Fran and Jack. Fluffy was the largest collie, with the most magnificent coat I had ever seen. Sure enough Fluffy had some quills in both his nose and mouth, although there were not many. Fran and Jack reported that they had pulled some at home but he was losing patience and they felt he needed to lie still to complete the job quickly. While injecting the anesthetic into Fluffy's leg, I poked my hand on some other quills and now knew he was hiding more than I had initially suspected. A quick inspection of his body revealed quills extending from his nose and mouth, along his neck, on his chest, up and down both front legs and back almost to the middle of his stomach. As far as I could surmise Fluffy must have attempted to give the porcupine a bear hug. After searching inch by inch through his thick fur for an hour and a half, the job was complete. A total of 250 quills were removed.
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