My patients, My life

My association with the Tallahassee Museum of Natural History has, once again, afforded me the chance to get cozy with an incredibly awesome member of the animal kingdom.  Meet Buddah, a King Kong sized kitty better known as a Florida Panther.

Buddah on my exam table

Buddah is the newest feline resident at the zoo-like museum that features numerous indigenous creatures that prowl and fly the woods and skies of Florida, the state I now call home.  Because I have a deep personal interest in the welfare of all creatures, I have happily extended a warm offer of assistance to all animals in the museum’s collection.  Mike Jones, the curator, is a great friend and has asked for our help numerous times since I opened my practice.  We have shared some great adventures, some of which I have written about,  in our efforts to better the quality of the lives of his “kids” at the museum. Continue reading →

When I sit down at my computer to write another story, I tend to pick one that has touched my heart, challenged my skill as a veterinarian, and, above all, one that I believe will be interesting to my readers. If this one should disappoint, it will be my failing as a writer, because the little subject of this chapter has me, my staff and everyone who has seen us through this week, riding an emotional roller coaster that, I hope, will rock your world as well.

My former staff members at Hillcrest Animal Hospital remain dear to me to this day.  They often read my accounting of my new life and adventures here in Florida and they all know and understand my sincere, heartfelt love for little Chihuahua dogs.

With my admission of the fact that I love Chihuahuas, by offering that confession, I now feel my emotional underbelly is exposed.  I feel like I am at a support group meeting droning something like, “My name is Norm and I have a Chalupa problem.  I just love a stinkin’ Chalupa.”

Well, it is true.  I call them Chalupa’s because of the old Taco Bell commercials that said, “Drop the Chalupa!” featuring the little Taco Bell dog. I just like that name better than the original.  That’s just me, but more importantly, I must tell you how the little stinkers stole my heart. Continue reading →

Old people like me are often heard to speak of the medical miseries that they have endured in a lifetime.  High upon my personal list is the misery that a Brown Recluse spider bite inflicted upon me. It happened while I was in Japan and I don’t even know if that species even exists there - possibly a similar spider named a Blown Lecruse.  At any rate, that memorable episode taught me about the resilience of a human body when the brain is begging the remainder of the body to just die and end the torment. 

However, living through that ordeal made me stronger (even though I am a wus when it comes to pain) and prepared me for my next challenge - kidney stones.  As best I can recall, there have been four such episodes in my life.  The picture gets cloudy, not so much from a decaying mind, but you see, dear reader, there are some things we just try to forget.  And kidney stone experiences are certainly one of them. Again, I guess I’m a sissy, but…. Continue reading →

I was 29 years old, a newly minted veterinarian, when I met her.  The veterinary group that I joined after graduation had several clinics scattered across South Memphis and the quietest among them was Westwood Animal Hospital.  It was a very slow practice located in a part of town where many people didn’t hold veterinary care for their dogs very high up the list of financial responsibilities.  I would say it ranked right there with spending money to remove junk cars from front yards. There were many yards with a bunch of junk as you could only imagine. 

Donna was the technician, the receptionist, the kennel person and the best friend of anyone who wandered in.  One day I was assigned to work that clinic so the regular vet could take a vacation.  I parked next to the only vehicle in the lot which was her Chevy Pickup, and walked in the side door.  Donna met me at the door with a warm, enthusiastic smile like she had known me her entire 22 years.  Honestly, I felt like a life long friend of hers, this unpretentious, plump little red-head with the most beautiful ice-blue eyes you ever saw.  Little did I know that she would remain so dear to Melody and I for the next 31 years. Continue reading →

A fair portion of the joy that my job brings to me is attributable to the variety of patients I see.  Not far behind that is the folks that share their pets with us and trust us in their care.  It is a great privilege and honor to care for these animals that are so meaningful in the lives of their owners.  It is an obligation that my staff and I take very seriously.  There is, however, a great deal of fun to be had around Shepherd Spring Animal Hospital. 

One recent moment of delight recently involved a lovely pet rat.  Meeko was brought to my care by her tearful owner for euthanasia. Maria, my technician, gave me a “heads up” before I entered the somber exam room. 

As I grabbed the chart and walked in I see a lovely young lady with tears welled up in her eyes on the other side of the exam table.  Sitting quietly on her shoulder, cuddled up to her neck, was the sweetest little grey and white rat.  Her little shinny black eyes studied me and I watched her little nose dance around between all those long whiskers as she scented the air of this of  the exam room.  The little rat appeared happy, healthy and precocious on the shoulder of her heartbroken owner. Continue reading →

Back (way back) in my younger days I heard the call to serve my country.  Actually, what I probably heard was merely the voice of my mom, in a somewhat  less than subtle tone, “suggest” that I needed get on with my life – somewhere else.

I was 17, just graduated from Kingsbury High School in Memphis, had put in my requisite time on newspaper routes and flippin’ burgers at McDonald’s, so perhaps she was right, it was time to broaden my skill set.

The Viet Nam quagmire was tearing our country apart in 1969. In a moment of semi-lucid, 17-year-old brilliance, I decided I would set my sites high and become a member of The Few, The Proud.  I arrived at that conclusion after I had seen a tragic news story from Viet Nam that showed several German Shepherd sentry dogs that had been killed in combat.  I vividly remember that to this day.

At that time, I had a wonderful German Shepherd Dog, “Chip”. He was a neighborhood legend, 85 pounds of  solid muscle and bone with so much attitude the dog catcher called him “sir”. With ”payback” in  mind and a knapsack of  ignorance on my back, I presented myself to the Marine recruiter and volunteered both myself and my dog to the service of our country.

After quietly and straight-faced listening to my best ”I am here to volunteer” speech, the strapping Marine behind the desk, after a moment of stunned silence, smiled and yelled to the other Marines in the next room and said “Yall ain’t gonna believe this one.”

The Marines, now an entire group of them,  maintained their composure, kept straight faces and politely informed me that because I was only 17 years old, I would need my Mother’s permission to enlist as a Marine dog handler. Once she signed the paper that they slid across the desk to my waiting hand, I could be on my way.

I got back on the bus heartbroken. My plan for the future had crumbled.  I already knew that no matter how bad she wanted to get rid of me, or how ingeniously I spun the story, there was no way Mom was gonna let that dog go to war.

I had no other options, I continued to work  sacking groceries and on my eighteenth birthday went back and enlisted in the Marines, but Chip stayed behind.  My life got better, but not right away.  Looking back, boot camp at Parris Island would not have been such a challenge if Chip were there with me.  He did not approve of any yelling, any time.  He would even growl (under his breath) when Mom would yell at me. Therefore he did a lot of growling.  I missed him for sure but I also missed nearly everything in the life I left behind.  Culture shock takes on a bold new meaning in Marine boot camp.

In the Marines, the rank of E-7 is called a Gunnery Sergeant.  That’s a bunch of syllables for us simple-minded Marines so we just called ‘em “Gunny”.  My senior drill instructor was a Gunny.  That man was, at once, the baddest, filthiest talking, scariest, muscle boundest, squared away human creature I had ever imagined.  I soon came to realize that, had he been there, Chip would have joined forces with the Gunny (out of professional courtesy), in order to help him make something of worth out of us pathetic recruits.

After graduation from Parris Island, instead of making me a dog handler, the Marines, in their infinite wisdom, made me a photographer.  I was a bit offended at first.  My rifle shooting skills had won numerous awards in high school and in  boot camp. But you did what you were told and that was that.  A photo I sent home of myself in uniform, armed with only a camera,  must have been a real hit around the old neighborhood.  Chip looked at the photo and just sighed and walked off.  It was final. I was on my own.  There would be no dogs in my future for a long while. Continue reading →

Yesterday, December 22, 2010, we were busy working our way through the morning appointments when in walked Bonnie, the resident angel of the outcast animals of this area of the world.  I see her often and usually she has a sick, injured or seized dog that needs help desperately.   Bonnie and I are on the same page when it comes to addressing the needs of these neglected critters.  The difference between us is that I draw the line at the office door and Bonnie would swim a gator infested swamp to rescue a starving hound to bring it in for help.  She is amazing and never, never quits trying.  I will always be in awe of her tenacity.

I was finishing some paperwork in the treatment room and she strolled up with a diet coke in one hand and a chicken/biscuit in the other and handed them to me accompanied by her big, good morning, wait til you see this one, smile. 

I thanked her for the breakfast, pulled up my roll-around stool and sat down to hear what she had on her mind this time.

We are overwhelmed with Christmas goodwill at the clinic.  We are getting fat as ticks on all the candy apples, fudge, brownies, popcorn, oranges, you name it that our dear clients have delivered these past two weeks.  We have been busy as fleas but the season just makes each day more bright as Christmas approaches.

Bonnie reached into her pocket and pulled out a tightly folded sheet of notebook paper and handed it to me.

“You need to read this”, she said with a big grin.

Curious as a kitten, I laid down my biscuit, wiped my fingers and unfolded the paper.

“Lord have mercy Bonnie! We gotta find that boy’s dog and do something. It’s two days til Christmas”, I said with an oversized lump in my throat that had nothing to do with the chicken/biscuit, which was now getting cold. Continue reading →