Category Archives: Uncategorized

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 →

Most everyone around these parts already knows about little Jack. But for those readers that are geographically separated from the Tallahasse area I must give some background on this story.

Some 4 weeks have passed since I was called by my friend Bonnie about a gut wrenching story of animal abuse.  Before I go farther, I need to purge my soul.  I have about as much use for a human that would abuse an animal as I do for one who would abuse a child.  In my opinion, both types of people should be purged from the gene pool and I really don’t care about the chosen method that the purging takes place.  If you find me offensive and judgmental there is no need to tell me.  I am and will remain that way on these issues until I exhale my last breath in this life.

A witness in a neighboring county  saw an object thrown from a moving truck in front of their vehicle.  At first glance they thought it was just a trash soda bottle.  But as their car passed it beside the road it was recognized as a puppy!  Of course they stopped and picked the little two-pound fuzzball up as would any civilized person  in such a circumstance.

At first glance this puppy was found to be badly injured.  The wounds were both severe and extensive.  After a few calls to locate someone who could possibly provide some care and comfort to this creature, the terribly sick pup fell into my friend Bonnie’s hands.

Soon after that she and I stood together and with great sickness in the  pit of my stomach, I listened to the story.  The pup was missing at least 50% of the skin on the top of his back in a very irregular pattern.  In addition there were two deep wounds on the sides of his body that were crawling with maggots.  He had one eye that was missing, a severe case of malnutrition, parasites, and sarcoptic mange. 

The one thing that was conspicuously missing from this puppy was blame for the subhuman scumbag that did this to him.  Alison, my receptionist named him Jack. The name fit and from that moment forward everything we could do for Jack was done with great enthusiasm. As I reflect, I believe we were all so desparately trying to say “I’m sorry”.

Jack was pitifully ill for several days and then he began to rally.  The local TV news and newspapers  picked up the story and soon we were bombarded by kindness and compassion and offers to help Jack.  After I met Jack that sad day I was sick in my heart in ways I have never felt. At one time or another I personally saw tears on dozens of cheeks as they silently apologized to this brave little puppy.

Such profound sadness and conflicts in my spirit I have never known. For over a month Jack has fought.  A brave and noble fighter, he seldom complained as his terrible wounds were debrided and medicated several times daily. His pain has been our pain, my staff, Bonnie and the countless numbers of well wishers who knew his story. 

Our little fighter crossed the Rainbow Bridge yesterday morning at 7:00 am.  He had spent the previous 2 days in intensive care in my hands.  Jack wanted to give up. Selfishly, I would not let him go.  He and I needed a miracle and I knew it.  It was not to be.  I am sorry Jack.

I knew this little soul like few others.  Let me just say to those who loved him and never met him. He loved you too! And to the person, the pathetic wretch of a human that did this, Jack would have licked your hand too.  Because Jack was better than you.  He was better than me too.

May his spirit find peace, comfort and eternal love.  I will never forget him.

My friend Bonnie has a way of presenting me with an abundance of “challenges”.  She is a local gal who makes it her life’s mission to save as many animal “throw-aways” as she possibly can.  I consider her strength, resolve and downright stubbornness in persuit of her passion  to be heartwarming, inspiring and, on occasion, borderline insane.  There are those that would call her eccentric but if a person has even a smidge of compassion for domestic animals of any description, knowing Bonnie and her everyday dedication to the welfare of these creatures would leave you smiling and shaking your head in disbelief.

I wrote a story about the cat we called “Arrow”.  The story of the tragedy and, luckily, the happy ending was widely read and many people have commented to me about that case.  When we finally put that case to rest the kitty was residing in his new home in Atlanta.  His picture was to appear in magazines and publications and he was having his portrait painted the list time I heard.  I am quite sure that he will never know intentional pain at the hands of humans again. 

I never would have believed that I would ever see such a sad commentary on human decency again but about 6 weeks ago Bonnie called me one night to tell me that another cat with an arrow piercing it was in her hands and needing care.  The subsequent midnight meeting between Melody, Bonnie and I had the same outcome as before.  We were able to surgically remove the arrow from the kitty’s chest and he recovered uneventfully even though the arrow actually bruised his heart.  He now lives in a safe, happy home.  Another example of good luck/bad luck, but a happy ending was had by all.

A scant 2 weeks later Bonnie slipped in the front door of the clinic with the latest hard luck case.  She had traveled to the animal shelter in a small town called Perry about 50 miles east of  here.  As usual, she was on a patrol to see if there were any dogs on the short list to be euthanized that she might be able to rescue and place.  As it turned out they were about to euthanize a young little Dachshund.

The story was told that someone had seen him struck by a car and called the police.  Before he was located he dragged himself off and hid under a nearby house.  For 3 days he hid, afraid to come out, partly because of his fear and pain, but mostly because his back was broken and his rear legs no longer worked. Scared, hungry, thirsty and lonely for three long days and nights he hid.  And sadder still, no one even looked for him.

On the fourth day, using only his front legs, he dragged himself back to the edge of the road. This time he was spotted and picked up by a passerby and taken to the shelter.  Upon examination at the shelter it was easily determined that his injuries would preclude his chance for adoption and, for the sake of ending his suffering, it was decided to give him one final injection. Continue reading →

OK, this is yet another example to support the case against me that I am a bit turtle crazy.  This story began about 3 months ago when one of my clients called to tell me her dog was digging up the eggs that a turtle had just laid in her yard. 

“What should we do?” she frantically asked me on the phone.

 The dog would not leave the nest alone because it was in her yard.  Without a better idea I asked if she would bring them down to me and I would see if I could take care of them.  Fifteen minutes later I was gifted 6 little snow-white eggs nestled in a cardboard shoe box.  I asked what kind of turtle it was and she told me she did not know turtles but would send me a photo.

Great idea, I thought.  Last year, my readers may recall, I had a Gopher Tortoise that had been hit by a car and while in the hospital she laid a couple of eggs  and then signed them over to me to care for.  I was excited about it and I nestled them in a sand box and placed them in an incubator.  We even started a “pool’ at the clinic to see who could guess the date of the blessed event.  Well, the incubation time came and went and I finally gave up and excavated the eggs and they were all dried up and not viable.  Sad day. I did not know if it was something I did not do right or perhaps they just were not fertile. 

We were all a bit bummed out about the loss of the eggs but I made a few mental notes to do things differently next time, indeed if I ever had a “next time”.

With the lessons I learned last year I decided that these eggs would sleep in a more natural environment.  I chose not to put them in the yard because I had learned that the hatchling turtles suffer terribly at the jaws of the fire ants.  Apparently, these little demons burrow down to the eggs as they start to hatch and attack the little hatchlings eyes first. Blinded, they cannot survive and are subsequently consumed by the fire ant colony.  It is thought that these non-native fire ants are having a serious impact on our Gopher Tortoise populations. 

I had decided that the best place for my future friends was right on my back porch.  I selected a thick foam cooler that vaccines are shipped to the clinic in and added some yard sand (we don’t have dirt here) and planted my little turtle seeds.  My thought was to keep them shaded and in the foam so the temperature of the sand would not fluctuate with the sunshine but would just be an average of the day/night temperatures during the North Florida Summer. 

I knew it was important to keep the nest moist but figured Mother Nature knew best so every time it rained I would go sprinkle the next box.  Sometimes we got a big rain and sometimes a mist.  No hard science like last year, just a gut feeling when the eggs might be thirsty.

I looked at my little box every time I walked across the porch.  I knew the incubation period would be about 3 months but I also know that if they hatched and I didn’t notice they would perish without food in the incubator.

This afternoon I walked by the cooler and gave it a casual glance as I always do and noticed something was different. I paused and picked it up for a closer examination.  Something was different in my little cooler but I had left my glasses (ain’t advancing age ugly?) beside the sofa where I had been recovering from my farm work on this August afternoon. 

I carried my little cooler with me and located my glasses for a closer exam and was goosed by the site of a tiny turtle nose protruding from the sand.  In addition, on the other side of the cooler I could see some action too. I started to dance like a first time father. 

Melody was down at the barn feeding the horses and I yelled, “Baby, our turtles are hatching!”

She rushed up to the house and joined me peering into the styrofoam box.  I moistened the sand a bit thinking that would not hurt anything.  The little fellers must be thirsty. After a few minutes of no progress I could not help myself.  I reached in and unearthed the little turtle and his egg. 

Melody grabbed my camera and before she could get it on and focused this incredible little life burst forth in the palm of my hand. INCREDIBLE.  That is all there is to say.  The precocious little guy was just scampering all over my hand like he was looking for Easter eggs. 

Melody and I have a dear friend named Judy. She is a turtle nut just like me.  Melody called her to apprise her of the blessed event and gave me the phone.

Judy knew about my little “project” but, like me, had her doubts that it would come to fruition.  I told her that I had one newborn in my hand and the next one to arrive would do so in the palm of hers. 

And off we went to Judy’s house and just as I promised the next one hatched in her hand and then another in Melody’s and then another in Judy’s. 

We had a total of 6 eggs and 5 hatched.  So cool!  Judy will no doubt have video on her blog about the whole experience so I will give you a link.

http://imdella.wordpress.com/

She also has a very sad story about a beautiful Green Sea Turtle that we desperately tried to save two weeks ago.  I was too sad to write the story so I will direct my readers to Judy’s words and great video of the surgical intervention to try to save the lovely Green Turtle.

Melody and I took her body back to the sea she called home. On Wednesday afternoon, I solemnly let her body slip from my hands and return to the deep.  May her spirit live on in this new life.