My Take Tuesday: Yo quiero bite you!
Often “the question” comes up during a routine appointment. Curiosity is naturally sparked with my response.
The question is, succinctly put, “Doc, what breed of dog bites you the most?”
The answer is unequivocally the chihuahua. Of the dozens of bites that I have received, a vast majority came from chihuahuas.
Chihuahuas are comical, entertaining, and loyal little dogs, absolutely brimming with personality – often a quirky and eccentric personality unmatched by any other breed. Some of my sweetest patients are chihuahuas. They are affectionate and loving.
But every once in a while, a mean one comes along.
While a bite from a Chihuahua isn’t going to inflict the same damage as a bite from a larger dog like a pit bull or boxer, it can still leave a painful wound that’s prone to infection. There’s an old myth that a dog’s mouth is cleaner than a human’s mouth, but this isn’t a true. Whenever a pet bites, there is significant risk of infection.
While Chihuahuas are not naturally more aggressive than any other breed, they seem to be prone to react with aggression out of fear. Veterinarians are often the target of such aggression, simply because dogs are fearful of unfamiliar people and situations.
As a recent graduate, I was learning how to diagnose, treat and cure the routine cases that present daily. I had only been a veterinarian for about a month when I learned my lesson.
It was a routine appointment. Annual vaccinations and a wellness exam were needed. As I entered the room, Chispa, sat on the table glaring at me. As I reached down to auscult the heart and lungs, Chispa absolutely went ballistic. Within 5 seconds, she had peed and soiled all over the table top. Instinctively, I reached for a muzzle. As I attempted to place the muzzle on her, she absolutely lost it.
Just like a loud clap of thunder that follows a flash of lightning; when I am bit by a dog, imprecations are sure to follow.
Chispa sunk her needle like teeth into my right hand and bit me again and again.
Before I could even mutter the phrase, “Oh S#*!”, this little devil had bitten me three times.
Her only goal seemed to be to inflict as much damage as possible to the man in a white coat that was reaching for her.
Blood poured down my hand. I sat stunned. I have fast reflexes; after all, I dodge bites and scratches on a daily basis.
What was different about this experience? Perhaps it was in the name. “Chispa ” is a Spanish word meaning “spark”. Certainly, the fiery personality and name fit this small canine.
The rapidity of the attack taught me a lesson. I am much more careful now when dealing with seemingly innocent small pets. I do my best to reduce the fear and anxiety that accompanies a visit to the veterinarian.
And I am especially careful with pets that have incendiary names such as Diablo, Fuego, Demonio and, believe it or not, Fluffy.
And that is my take!
N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: Snowball

It was a busy morning at the clinic. Mrs. Robins arrived right on time for her scheduled appointment. She was a long time client at the clinic and was always pleasant during my interactions with her. Her hair was white, and always perfectly styled. She greeted us warmly as she came through the front door. She carried a white fluffy cat inside a pink pet carrier.

Snowball was her name. Such a name is suggestive of a soft white fluff-ball, a sweet angelic and innocent kitten. She was due for her annual vaccinations and a wellness checkup.

However, this kitty’s name is what I would call a major misnomer.  Clearly, this kitty received its name long before its true nature was known.

All too often, I hear the phrase, “Doc she is an angel at home. She is just the sweetest thing.”  Mrs. Robins repeated the phrase verbatim as we entered the exam room.

Snowball was sitting peaceful in her carrier. As I peered through the door of her carrier, I noticed a couple of warning signs.

When a cat is distressed, it will crouch in a unique form with the legs and tail pulled in under the body. They will extend their neck, flattening the ears against the head.

Cat bites and scratches are painful and notoriously prone to infection. As a veterinarian, I have to be very careful and observant. A cat bite on my hand could literally make me useless – everything I do on a daily basis, from surgeries to physical examinations, requires extreme dexterity and use of my hands.

“Snowball doesn’t seem very happy today,” I observed, “We need to be careful taking her out of her carrier.”

“Don’t worry doctor,” Mrs. Robins replied, as she swung open the carrier door, “She will come right out.”

Snowballs exit from the carrier was reminiscent of a rodeo bull exiting the chute during the NFR. She came flying out, hissing and swiping at everything in her path.

She leaped from the table and landed directly on Mrs. Robin’s head. She immediately extended her claws on all four feet simultaneously and plunged them into poor Mrs. Robin’s scalp.

Almost in an instant, snowball fell from atop the terrified woman’s head. Clinging desperately to a white wig. As she hit the floor, she released the hair piece and hissed. Mrs. Robins reached down and grabbed the wig and placed it back on her head.

“Wow!” she exclaimed, “She is sure mad at you!”

Dealing with a spitting and hissing feline in a demonic rage is a dangerous predicament, and can present a formidable challenge to any individual, let alone one smelling of vet.

Snowball then looked at me, hunching her back, while aggressively growling and spitting. She leaped towards me, as I jumped back. Her trajectory was clearly aimed at my upper body, and as I moved, she adjusted her posture mid-air and redirected. Her extended claws sank into my pants. I felt her claws sink into my skin and she climbed upward and onto my lab coat. She came to a stop on top of my right shoulder. Ironically, a moment of tranquility ensued. The hissing stopped and she retracted her sharp claws.

Seeing this an an opportune time, I grabbed the rabies vaccine and removed the syringe cap. I had to be supremely careful that I wouldn’t be knocked or in some other way accidentally discharge the injection into Mrs Robins or myself. At last, I found a piece of leg and carefully thrust the needle through a felted mat of fluffy white hair and into the muscle beneath.

Snowball’s reaction was unremarkable. She did not hiss or spit. She didn’t even growl.

I gently placed her back on the examination table and finished the remainder of the vaccinations and the examination.

She purred as I looked into her eyes and examined her mouth.

She entered the carrier without any hesitation upon completion of the appointment. I stood dumbfounded, what I had just witnessed made little rational sense on any level. Aggression like this that is episodic and transient, is something even animal behavior experts don’t fully understand.

“Wow, Doc, she must have just had a little rage she needed to get out of her system,” Mrs Robins stated, “She really is such a sweet little thing.”

I smiled as I glanced at the content Snowball, as she sat purring and comfortable inside her carrier.

My legs began to sting, as I felt a trickle of blood run down the front of my knee.

As Mrs Robins left, I noticed her white hair remained immaculate, and despite having been tossed around and trampled by a wild feline, not a single piece of hair was out of place.

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

 

It was a beautiful spring morning on the Palouse. The beautiful rolling hills and contrasting colors make this region of the country so unique. As I left my apartment, I took a moment to bask in bright sun of this gorgeous brisk spring morning, permeated with the scent of recent rain. Songbirds filled the air with music that would thrill the greatest maestros, and warblers and finches flashed their dazzling colors in the bushes outside my apartment.

I was an excited 4th year veterinary student just weeks from graduation. As I drove to the veterinary school, I reflected on the past 4 years. A flood of memories entered my mind as I smiled and felt a sense of accomplishment, these were some of the most difficult years of my life and the end was in sight.

This particular weekend, it was my turn to take the emergency call at the veterinary teaching hospital. I had spoken extensively with classmates about what exactly to expect to present throughout the weekend. Each indicated that many dogs and cats would likely present with a variety of ailments. I fully expected to see a variety of routine cases dealing with the perfidious parasites, bothersome bacteria and mysterious maladies that present daily in the life of a veterinarian.

I was not prepared for what was to follow.

Throughout the weekend, a variety of cases presented, none of which were dogs or cats, and none of which I would ever consider routine.

The first case was a hairless rat. This was followed by a parakeet with a broken and bleeding blood feather. A raptor presented with a wing injury and a duck with a fish hook stuck in its bill.

Still another anomaly followed as a boa constrictor presented with a prolapsed cloaca.

At this point in my education, I had virtually no experience with exotic animals. I am terrified of snakes and absolutely did not know the first thing to do with a prolapsed cloaca. I barely knew what a cloaca was!

Fortunately, an exotic animal clinician was a phone call away and she was able to talk me through each case. I learned a lot as I treated each animal and did my best to make each owner and pet comfortable.

Just when I thought I had everything under control, a young woman walked through the front doors of the hospital caring a white box. Small circular 1” holes were cut in each side of the cardboard box.

“I have a chameleon that is sick,” she nervously said with obvious fear and concern in her voice.

I placed my face against the box and peered through one of the small holes. A huge eyeball was all that I could see. Its unflinching stare was somewhat startling.

“He is huge!”, I exclaimed.

“No he isn’t,” she replied, with her voice raising, “He is actually smaller than most.”

“I am sorry,” I replied, “I haven’t ever seen a real chameleon.”

“Oh great, go figure, not only do I have to deal with a student, but I lucked out and got one that clearly doesn’t know what he is doing!” She was clearly upset at this point, as she sighed and shook her head.

Assertiveness has its place, but it is not always a virtue when you are on the receiving end.

“I am sorry,” I began, “Although I am inexperienced, I will call someone that is very competent with chameleons and we will take care of him. I promise I will do my best.”

She seemed to calm down somewhat after this and handed me the white box. I carried the box into the treatment area and immediately opened the lid and peered in. The chameleon stood perched on a branch, clinging with each of its 4 feet. It’s deep green color mimicked the leaves that were placed throughout the box.

I gently removed the little guy and placed him in the glass aquarium type pen used to hospitalize reptilian patients.

Almost immediately, his deep greed color began to fade as he miraculously turned brown, almost identical to the ambience of his new surroundings.

I reached for the phone and dialed the number of the on call exotic expert. I immediately rattled off the details of the case (age, sex, presenting complaint, clinical signs and examination findings). I then explained that I had ZERO experience with this species and that I needed detailed instructions.

Her first question took me off guard.

“Is he pale?” she inquired.

Immediately, I thought to myself, “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“I am not sure,” I replied. “He was green in his box and then he turned brown when I moved him into the hospital. Now he is looking like a mix of brown and gray.”

“How in the hell can you tell if a chameleon is pale?,” I inquired.

Fortunately, this clinician sensed the frustration in my voice and laughed. She was very patient as she began to explain exactly what I needed to look for.

She talked me through how to administer fluids to a reptile. This is accomplished differently that with other species. Instead of finding a vein and administering the fluids intravenously, they are administered in the common body cavity called the coelomic cavity. I spent the entire night treating this unique patient and monitoring its progress.

Somehow, the chameleon survived. I learned a great deal throughout the remainder of the weekend. Not a single dog or cat ever presented, but I gained confidence and experience with each of the exotic animals that continued to present.

But still to this day, I still have no idea how to tell if a chameleon is pale.

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: Chickens

If you attended elementary school with me, you will probably will remember my obsession with chickens. Throughout elementary school, I would draw chickens when I was bored. Given the many drawing projects that elementary age children have, I drew hundreds of mediocre pictures of my pet chickens. Fortunately, my teachers were patient and supportive. Although my artistic abilities left much to be desired, I was free to draw to my hearts content.

We would receive an annual catalog from Murray McMurray Hatchery. This catalog would depict every conceivable breed of chicken and give a short description of the desirable traits each possessed: comb type, leg feathering, silky, frizzle, bantam, standard, etc. I would spend hours and hours looking through this catalog. Each year, I was allowed to choose a single baby chick of the breed of my choosing. I took this choice seriously.

There are a range of things that one needs to consider when deciding what breed of chicken to have. These include the climate in which you live, whether you are raising backyard chickens for eggs or meat production, their temperament, foraging capability, predator awareness, and broodiness. I meticulously studied each breed and made my selection each year.

To this day, chickens remain my favorite animals. I look back with fondness on the days spent coloring and drawing with crayons.

Memories are painted optimistically with passing years. I miss the worry-free days sitting at a desk in elementary school.

I will forever treasure these pictures and the pleasant memories associated with them.

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

I received a call a few months back regarding a sick llama. It was from a new client that wanted to know if I knew anything about llamas and alpacas. Calls like this are somewhat frequent. Asking a vet if they know anything about llamas is like asking a pediatrician if they know anything about 8 year olds. I responded, that I was indeed familiar with all camelids and had worked extensively with them as a veterinarian. 

January in Utah is a beautiful time of the year. The land is white. The peaks are white. The roof tops of the houses and barns are blanketed in white. All is lost in the colorless landscape in which a sense of peace takes over, the long nights settle in, the land is in a slumber and the world is put down to rest. Then suddenly, without just cause, comes a blast of bitter blizzards, and winter deepens her grip.

This particular morning was bitter cold. The air burned my face as I stepped out my front door. When temperatures reach twenty below zero, your nostrils sting and burn with each breath. Still, despite the extreme cold, there is a stillness and quiet peace that overwhelms you during these January nights. These quiet midnight journeys to respond to emergency calls provide a time for me to reflect and think. In my busy life, I often have little time alone and I cherish those infrequent moments.

The call on this particular night was a cow with a laceration. Somehow this massive Hereford had tangled herself up in a barb wire fence. As I arrived, the gaping wound was dripping with fresh red blood. Steam would rise from the scarlet stained snow beneath as the blood trickled down and alongside the squeeze chute.

It was obvious that sutures would need to be placed.

A test of a veterinarian’s ability could be most easily assessed by watching him or her suture a laceration in -20 temperatures. It is indeed one of the most arduous of tasks.

As I pulled out my box of supplies, I noticed that a majority of drugs within my medical box were completely frozen. Fortunately, the lidocaine remained aqueous. I pulled out a large syringe and began injecting the local anesthetic along the periphery of the lesion. The old cow bellowed as I injected the Lidocaine. It was clear that she was very unhappy with her predicament.

I began to place the sutures in a simple interrupted pattern. A break was necessary between each suture placement as the stinging cold weather rendered my fingers numb and stiff. In a futile attempt, I tried exhaling on my frozen fingers hoping that they regain some function. This only made the numbness much worse.

As I placed the last onerous suture, the cow lunged forward in the squeeze chute. Her massive belly pinned my fingers against the side of the squeeze chute. A sharp pain shot up my arm as I jumped and pulled my hand back. Nervous to check to see what damage was caused to my numb smashed fingers, I exclaimed, “Alright, turn her lose. We are done.”

As soon as the head gate opened, this massive Hereford jumped forward and exited the chute bellowing and swinging her head. She ran straight ahead for about 20 yards at which time she paused. She then turned around and set her focus on me.

I immediately knew I was in trouble. I quickly  grabbed my tools and began running for the fence; 1800 pounds of solid bovine came thundering toward me making me forget about anything except for escaping her wrath.

After a short run, with the bellowing cow in close pursuit, I reached the lodge pole pine fence that surrounded the corral. I dared not look back as I scampered over the fence. I could hear the angry cow snarling and could feel the sound of each hoof pounding the ground as she bounded towards me.

I made it across the fence safely. Upon reaching the other side I peered back at the massive cow. She stood facing the fence, head down, with a most bewildered look in her eyes. My heart pounded uncontrollably and I began to shake. This was one angry cow!

Immediately, my squished hand began to throb. The feeling in my fingers returned and I walked back to my truck.

As I drove away,  I was very much relived to be leaving the belligerent bovine far behind. This was a close call and I was very fortunate to have made it out of the pen without any serious harm.

As I headed down the cold frozen highway, my mind returned to my time as a student in veterinary school. In the large animal section of the Veterinary Teaching Hospital at Washington State University there was a magnetic sign that could be placed on the pen of a fractious animal. The sign read, “Fractious cow can make it to gate in 2.5 seconds. Can you?”

It would be fitting to have such a sign to hang near the squeeze chute on this particular Utah County farm.

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

Above the timberline, soaring above the lofty mountains of the Manti Lasal National Forest fly two bald eagles. These beautiful birds fly through the deep blue skies that surround Castle Valley.

For some unknown reason, this pair of eagles chose an unusual spot to make build their nest. Leaving behind the towering cliffs that surround Castle Dale, they instead close a small clump of Cottonwood trees located in the corner of a dry land  alfalfa patch.

I recall my father purchasing this land in the late 1980’s. We tilled the blue clay soil and planted alfalfa on the areas that were fertile enough to support crop production.

The very next year, while we were feeding cows, we noticed two bald eagles perched in the clump of Cottonwood trees at the bottom of the field. I recall thinking how unusual it was to see two bald eagles in the same tree.

During the next few months, these eagles built a massive nest. We watched as they carried sticks and bark from miles away. The nest was an engineering marvel, built high in the tree below the crown supported by large forked branches near the trunk. The nest was constructed of interwoven sticks. The interior was lined with grass, corn stalks, and other material. The bowl was filled with soft materials and the downy feathers from adults.

I recall the first eaglets born on the farm. In a rare event, one year 3 offspring were successfully raised.

Year after year, decade after decade, this process repeated itself producing many successful offspring.

Each breeding season, material was added to the nest and it’s size increased by up to a foot in height and diameter each year. The nest became visible from great distances as its size increased.

The bald eagles were a welcome sight. Each year they would appear right before Christmas. I remember seeing them consistently every year while growing up. They stood perched, looking down on my every move. A feeling of safety and security ensued as these majestic guardians stood watch.

Although we all recognize the Bald Eagle as the national symbol of the United States,  and as a proud icon of patriotism. I feel they could serve just as well or better as symbols of faithful monogamy. When one of these birds of prey finds his or her mate, the pair stays together for life.

Just this past week, the eagles returned to the farm in Castle Dale.

There is safety in constancy, and security in consistency. I am glad that high in the blue skies above Castle Dale, there is a welcoming place, where the eagles fly.

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

 

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What makes Mountain West Animal Hospital unique? 

#DocBott

As a child, I grew up in Castle Dale, Utah. My family had a small farm where we raised sheep, cattle and chickens. We had several pastures which we would rotate the sheep and feeder calves. It was always fun when we turned the animals into a new pasture. Their first response was to run and jump and frolic at their new found freedom. I experimented and found this behavior to occur even when they were moved to a smaller pasture. This behavior consistently would occur with what seemed to be only one requirement – wide open space. This freed them from their paradigm. They respond the same way with grass, mud and even snow. Wide open space makes them run and jump and seemingly find energy and happiness.

I find myself, all to often, enclosed in a self imposed corral whose fences limit progression and success. I built these barriers and dare not venture outside these boundaries, lest I be consumed by predators. I think many of us live out our existence in such a fashion. It feels safe. If we never risk anything, we seemingly will never lose anything.

I submit that it is far more dangerous for us to remain inside these fences, never challenging ourselves, never truly reaching our full potentials. This meandering in mediocrity knows no true success. As Mark Twain stated, “20 years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did”. No growth occurs without challenge, and no challenge occurs without some level of uncertainty and presentation of incommodious circumstances.

With that, I throw off the bowlines. I set sail away from the safe harbor with the intent of catching the trade winds in my sails. I stand on the edge of the bough, letting my toes hang over just a bit. It is time to explore, dream and discover……

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

In the spring of 1988, the C-D (C bar D) 4-H club would meet frequently in anticipation for the Southeastern Utah Junior Livestock Show in Ferron, UT. Our advisor, Diane Bott, put significant effort into helping all members prepare for the event. Each meeting would include the recitation of the 4-H pledge. I still remember it.
“I pledge my head to clearer thinking,
My heart to greater loyalty,
My hands to larger service,
and my health to better living,
for my club, my community, my country, and my world.”

What is the benefit of 4-H? I am sure it is different for every 4-H’er, depending on their goals and personal situation. Many will give the typical answers; that it builds character, creates discipline, teaches youth about agriculture, teaches sportsmanship, etc., etc. While all of that is true, there is more that this program can and does do for our youth.

To me one of the greatest values of the 4-H Program is that it allows 4-H’ers the opportunity to gain confidence in themselves by caring for something that is 100% dependent on them. I remember a young 4-H’er who was uncomfortable getting in a pen with the lamb that he was going to take to the show that year. The previous year, he had been hit by a large ram while feeding the sheep with his dad. This made the boy terrified of sheep. Even though he was scared, he had to face this fear; because without him the lamb could not eat or drink and could not have a clean place to live. Little by little, this young boy became more and more comfortable around livestock. I catch a glimpse of this boy every time I look in the mirror.

I remember how attached I became to my own lamb my first year in 4-H. I was only 7 at the time. I cried the day of the sale, as I hugged my lamb goodbye.

Caring for animals will bring out the best in us. Regardless if it is a piglet, a lamb, a calf, a puppy or a kitten, children learn what it feels like to have a living creature rely on them, and that teaches responsibility in a way little else can. Caring for a pet creates a sense of empathy and a respect for life. It teaches commitment and consistency, and it builds self-confidence and provides immense joy.

I am grateful for my time as a 4-H’er. This picture is of me with my first lamb at the stock show in Ferron, UT in 1988.

The smile on my face right now is just as big as I remember this exciting day.

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM