The Gift of Pets: Stories Only a Vet Could Tell
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Authors: Bruce R. Coston
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In recognition of the grace she displayed in meeting the many challenges she faced, for the courage she showed in reinventing herself, for her unswerving devotion to the animals under her care, and in memory of a short life well lived, this book is lovingly dedicated to
Lisa Spalding, L.V.T.
(1963–2002)
Contents
My First Veterinary Technician
Prologue: The Harveys
I envy the Harvey children. There are four siblings in the Harvey family, stair-stepped, when I first met them, from age seven to about age twelve. I have trouble keeping them all straight, since I see them only four or five times a year and seldom all together. They insist upon continuing to grow, so I often apply the wrong name to the wrong child. You would know instantly if you saw them that they are siblings, since they all look very much alike. The four are homeschooled and therefore are their own best friends. The Harveys are a close family. It’s evident in the way they interact with one another and with their mother, Danielle. But that’s not the reason I envy them.
The reason is that the Harvey family is perhaps the most animal-oriented family I have ever served. Numbering among the Harvey pets I have treated are two dogs, four cats, two guinea pigs, a gerbil, a rat, and the most responsive bird I have ever known. And there are those I have not treated on their small homestead: horses, goats, geese, and, no doubt, others. What I would have given to have been able to indulge my animal passion similarly when I was growing up! But alas, I was born to parents who shared not a single animal-loving gene between them. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining, just reporting. Two Harvey patients I have treated spring to mind.
Collin was about nine or ten when I first met him. He is a quiet young man with little to say to strangers like me. He has dark hair, a large round face, and an impish grin. Despite his quiet demeanor, I suspect there are levels of mischief in him that were not evident as he sat quietly in my exam room.
What was immediately apparent when I walked in for our first introduction was the abiding bond between Collin and the diminutive bird he cradled protectively in his hand. Parrots are universally suspicious creatures, convinced that all newcomers are dangerous predators. This is an important survival strategy for them in the wild, where such a presupposition can be lifesaving. But virtually all birds bring this attitude to every veterinary interaction, hopping quickly around their cages, carefully keeping as much space as possible between themselves and me, their heads cocking and attentive to every movement or sound I make.
Not so with Precious, Collin’s little Black-Capped Conure. Precious was not in a cage at all! Instead, she was cuddled serenely on Collin’s chest as he slouched like a teenager against the wall, his hands cupped around her and his fingers lovingly caressing the feathers around her face. Though she looked at me and fluffed her feathers nervously when I entered the room, she stayed in the safety of his hand and chortled quietly. Collin gently raised her from his chest and turned her over onto her back so she was lying feet-up in his open palms. With his thumbs, he smoothed the feathers on her belly from her throat to her legs. I expected Precious to squawk and struggle at this indignity, as most birds would do in the strange surroundings of a veterinary hospital. But to my amazement, she closed her eyes, clubbed her little feet into fists, and went soundly to sleep. I was astonished! I had seen few animals do this in my office, much less a bird. The trust she placed in Collin was truly unique, and I was enormously impressed.
Precious has been a joy to treat over the years, not least because she has been a very healthy bird, thanks to the wonderful care Collin provides her. A part of his home schooling has been to familiarize himself with the best diet and husbandry practices for her species, and this has resulted in the ideal diet and care for her. So far, the only treatments she has required have been routine trimming of her toenails, wings, and beak. These she has submitted to with patience and dignity, always attended by her special friend, Collin.
Much has changed for Collin since I first met him. He is taller and more mature. His home situation has changed. Even his voice has changed. As he grew, I wondered whether the mounting insecurities of adolescence might diminish his willingness to invest the same degree of emotion and attentiveness in his friend. But despite all the other changes in his life, his devotion to Precious remains the same, an anchor in his world to the firm, unchanging realities that are undiminished by advancing time. For Collin, Precious has been precious indeed.
Collin’s little brother, Evan, looks very much like his big brother. But there the similarities end. Whereas Collin’s personality runs quiet and deep, Evan’s is a babbling brook, splashing and rapid and continuously moving. This is not to suggest that he is shallow; far from it. The same amount of water flows through the rapids as the deep, quiet pools. It’s just the rate of flow that changes. Evan is a whir of frenetic activity and fun. He is quick with a joke and a laugh and eager to engage in conversation.
Evan, like Collin, had a special pet. Her name was Gabby, and she was a two-and-a-half pound rat with short white hair and a long scaly tail. She measured easily two feet from the tip of her nose to the end of her reptilian tail. Her nose protruded ahead of her and bent downward at the tip, with long whiskers that constantly moved. She had two long yellowed incisors that protruded from her busy little mouth. If you looked at Gabby with the prejudices that are typically directed at rats, she was a conniving, vile, disease-carrying vermin. But if you looked at her through Evan’s eyes, she was a sweet, responsive, intelligent, curious, and much-loved pet.
Handling Gabby did make you reconsider your assumptions about the species. I found her to be a gentle, inquisitive, and thoroughly enjoyable little animal. It was clear from the way she and Evan interacted that they had developed a relationship of mutual trust and appreciation. If for no other reason, this special bond deserved my full attention to Gabby’s health.
There are no routine rat vaccines that bring these pets to the veterinarian annually. We see rats when there is a health issue that needs attention. I first met Gabby when Evan, then about eight years old, and Danielle brought her in to have me evaluate a lump that had developed under her white skin. I was surprised at the extent of the lump as I examined her on the table, Evan looking on with concern. It started at about the midline on her belly and extended up her side halfway to her backbone. It was firm and painless, but it was so large that it interfered with Gabby’s ability to walk normally, as it would have mine had an anvil been implanted under the skin on my side. In all other respects, Gabby appeared completely normal.
I knew what this growth was right away, having seen similar cases and read about them in the veterinary literature. This was a tumor of the breast tissue, which in the rat extends well up the sides. Because it was a fast-growing mass, I suspected it was malignant. The best hope would be for me to remove the growth surgically. While this was unlikely to effect a cure, it would at least extend Evan’s time with Gabby and make her more comfortable in the interim. I turned to discuss my findings with the Harveys, being careful to direct my comments not to Danielle but to Gabby’s owner.
“Evan,” I began. “I really don’t like the looks of that growth. How long have you noticed it?”
“It’s been probably three or four weeks,” he said uncertainly, looking at his mother for confirmation. She nodded.
“And how old is Gabby now?”
“I think she’s about four years old,” he responded. Danielle nodded her head again.
“Well, Evan,” I continued, “I think this growth is a tumor of the milk-producing cells in Gabby.”
Evan nodded solemnly. I suspected his mother had prepared him for this possibility. “Does that mean cancer?”
“I think so, Evan. I can’t say for sure without a biopsy, but most of these types of growths in rats are cancerous.” I watched as his eyes filled with concern and tears. “I’m so sorry. I know that makes you sad, doesn’t it?”
“Is there anything we can do for her?”
“Our best hope is to do surgery as soon as possible to remove the growth. I doubt the surgery will cure her, but it will make it easier for her to move around and give her longer to live than she would have if we didn’t do it.”
“How long would she live without surgery?”
“I suppose at the rate this has grown, she would live another three to six weeks. If we do surgery, I think we could increase that to maybe three to six months.”
Evan turned hopeful eyes to his mother at my words. There was a plea on his face that required no words. Danielle cocked her head at him in warning before she spoke.
“Evan, you remember we talked about this before we came here today. We knew this is what Dr. Coston might say. I suppose surgery will be an expensive option, and we need to be realistic about the decisions we make.”
Evan’s head fell and he wiped a tear from his cheek. Meekly, he turned to me. “About how much would it cost to do the surgery?”
“Your mother is right, Evan. It would be relatively expensive. I’ll have to get the hospital manager to estimate the costs for me. Surgery is a relatively costly endeavor, though. Are you sure you want me to figure that out?”