There are not many vets who enjoy treating birds. 9 out of 10 vets will be hiding in the toilet or suddenly have something urgent to do when they see the appointment notes: Bird consult - unwell. Now this is not because we don't like birds (well most of us anyway), or even because we don't know anything about them (okay, my course notes were a bit sketchy but with the miracle of Google Search most times I can come up with a diagnosis). It is because diagnostics & even treatment can be so difficult in smaller birds. Blood sampling (no more then 0.28mL/budgie!), x-rays etc = stress and stress = dead bird. Often I may be able to diagnose the problem but then can't treat it effectively because most clinics just don't stock the drugs needed, or if we do have the drugs then treatment = stress and stress = dead bird. In general, large birds are easier to deal with as they don't suddenly die in your hand. Though big birds = big beaks, and don't even get me started on raptors with big beaks AND claws.
So when a lovely old lady brought her little old budgie with persistent diarrhoea in to see me, I made sure to point out just how VERY old he was based on the faded rings on his head, and to warn her that the stress of examination may very well push him over the edge. She replied that although she was fond of him she was not overly sentimental (music to my ears!), which turned out to be a very lucky thing as I picked him up and he promptly gave three big gasps before flopping limply in my hand. Gravely I handed him back and said in my best death voice, "I'm afraid he's made the decision for us."
Though, in hindsight, at least that bird was sick. Last week I had a cockatiel brought in for a nail and beak trim. Now a wise and experienced vet, I requested that the owners take him out of the cage and hold him. But they declined saying that the BIRD HAD NEVER BEEN HANDLED! They didn't even want to be in the room with him. All this spelled disaster. I carried the cage into the consult room while the nurse donned the leather gloves and the patient glared at me from a corner of the cage. The nurse gingerly removed the bird from the cage with its overgrown beak wedged deeply into her gloved finger. I trimmed its nails while it happily savaged her finger. Then I used a trick shown to me by another bird owner and waved an ear bud near the bird's beak. As it transferred its homicidal attention from the nurse's finger to the taunting object I wedged the stick between its jaws and quickly clipped off the overgrown end of the beak. Mission accomplished. I was doing a mental dance of triumph while we prepared to shove the cockatiel of chaos back in its cage. But before we managed to do so, it gave a couple of jerks and flopped limply in the nurse's hand. I gently poked its hanging head with the ear bud. Nothing. Grabbed my stethoscope and listened to its chest. NOTHING.
Let me tell you, there is nothing worse than taking a previously healthy animal that arrived for an elective procedure back to its owner in a box. From now on I am going to INSIST that owners handle their own birds. On the other hand, maybe I'll just hide in the toilet.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
Escape plans
I recently read on another blog (littlevet - highly recommended) that the vet would hide in the toilet when a difficult client entered the clinic. I'm so glad that I'm not the only one to do so! Unfortunately, my new clinic has 2 vets & only 1 toilet, so it can turn into a race to the back of the clinic...and the other vet is bigger than me.
The nurses will soon cotton-on to this trick so I have my trusty standby when a bird consult (one day I will relate why it is better for me to avoid bird consults) or mad client walks in: making that "important" phone-call I've been avoiding all morning. That way I'm busy, but also dealing with another client so I can't put it off. Then the trick is to make the phone-call last long enough for the nurses to drag the other vet out of the toilet! Voila! Problem solved (or in my case, avoided).
Note: do not use this trick too often as nurses can be annoyingly perceptive and can only be fooled so many times...
The nurses will soon cotton-on to this trick so I have my trusty standby when a bird consult (one day I will relate why it is better for me to avoid bird consults) or mad client walks in: making that "important" phone-call I've been avoiding all morning. That way I'm busy, but also dealing with another client so I can't put it off. Then the trick is to make the phone-call last long enough for the nurses to drag the other vet out of the toilet! Voila! Problem solved (or in my case, avoided).
Note: do not use this trick too often as nurses can be annoyingly perceptive and can only be fooled so many times...
Friday, October 23, 2009
High Rise Syndrome (HRS)
Waiting for a call to go out & calve a cow...unfortunately at the moment they can't find the cow as she has done a Houdini from the yard, so I thought I'd write about "High Rise Syndrome" in cats.
My boss told me this one.
In the USA many people living in high rise apartments own cats, and these cats occasionally fall off the balcony when sunning themselves or falling asleep or just plain trying to commit suicide. Apparently this is such a common occurrence in the city that there are actually statistics to predict the chances of survival after a fall. According to these stats, cats that fall from the first to third storey have a high chance of survival (though with one less life left over); those that fall from 3-10 storeys have almost no chance of survival; but amazingly enough, those that fall from higher than ten storeys will have some chance of survival! The theory is that up to the tenth storey the cat still attempts to land on its feet, resulting in catastrophic injury as it holds its legs out rigidly pointing to the ground. But any higher than ten storeys and the cat panics and splays all legs out in terror, thus slowing its fall much like a skydiver does, ala "Terminal Velocity".
True story? You'll have to decide for yourself!
My boss told me this one.
In the USA many people living in high rise apartments own cats, and these cats occasionally fall off the balcony when sunning themselves or falling asleep or just plain trying to commit suicide. Apparently this is such a common occurrence in the city that there are actually statistics to predict the chances of survival after a fall. According to these stats, cats that fall from the first to third storey have a high chance of survival (though with one less life left over); those that fall from 3-10 storeys have almost no chance of survival; but amazingly enough, those that fall from higher than ten storeys will have some chance of survival! The theory is that up to the tenth storey the cat still attempts to land on its feet, resulting in catastrophic injury as it holds its legs out rigidly pointing to the ground. But any higher than ten storeys and the cat panics and splays all legs out in terror, thus slowing its fall much like a skydiver does, ala "Terminal Velocity".
True story? You'll have to decide for yourself!
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Isn't it ironic?
What is the most ironic situation for a kiwi vet working in Australia? Having to treat a POSSUM, which is a loathed pest in NZ but a protected native in Aussie, for...wait for it...ratbait poisoning. I'm used to treating dogs and cats that have been accidentally poisoned by bait laid out for the possums, so this was a new one. And all my research looking for dose rates of Vitamin K for treatment (whatever did vets do before Google search?) just led me to sites advertising the best products for killing the animal I was supposed to be saving.
Only in Australia.
Only in Australia.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
A new day another bloody blog
Welcome to my blog. I thought it was high time I added to the ever-mounting drivel on the net, and as I am soon to be travelling the world (all dependent on the soon-to-be applied for visa) it probably won't hurt to get a bit of practice in.
Too thin-skinned to leave NZ for the UK in the middle of their winter, I decided to first spend a few months living in Aussie and scratching together a few more $$ for the trip. I scored a job on the Sunshine Coast & promptly bought another surfboard.
My first day at work began as any other day in a routine mixed-practice vet clinic: itchy dogs, anorexic cats, scouring puppies etc. It was all going as well as can be expected when one is trying to learn the ropes in a new clinic and figure out what the Aussie equivalent of NZ drugs are (unsurprisingly many are the same but pronounced in a funny accent), when a car pulled up outside and a large woman in a mu mu puffed her way into the clinic.
"I have a snake in my car engine bay and I need it removed."
I hid in my room.
"What type of snake?" asked the vet nurse.
"A carpet snake," she replied.
Now a carpet snake is not just a snake, it is a PYTHON, which in the right proportions can eat a large cat, small dog, or little vet.
Having ascertained that the woman had attempted to call one of the many snake catchers in the region but none were available (how convenient since we don't charge $200/call), I was dragged out of my room under great protest, "But I'm from NEW ZEALAND! We don't have snakes!"
Unfortunately for me the boss was away from the clinic at the time and refused to return until the snake was gone or dead - obviously also not a fan). I humoured the lady by going out to have a look at it while the nurse tried again to call a snake catcher.
IT WAS MASSIVE!!! Thicker than my arm and who knew how long as it was wrapped around all the tube thingies and under the panel around the wheel base near the drivers side of the engine bay. It's head was nowhere to be seen. Now even if I had been brave (or stupid) enough to grab the snake (they're not venomous but still very bitey) there was no way I would be able to compete with a python when it comes to sheer muscle power. This job would require some serious muscles, sedation &/ a long hook to find it's head. Preferably all three.
I went inside to check on the progress of the frantic phone calls. Still no snake catcher. So we rang our friends at the Australia Zoo (it's so cool having Steve Irwin's zoo 40min down the road) to ask them what sedatives we could use without killing the snake (which is illegal in Queensland - not that many people are concerned with that particular law). I hadn't yet thought about how I was to administer said drugs, though I was eyeing up our blow darts (yes, we have blow darts but that's another story). They told me not to try anything and that they would send the "Wildlife Rescue Team" up in an hour or so. I had visions of helicopters with khaki-clad animal activists rappelling down to save the poor defenceless reptile and ran in great excitement to get my camera ready. The clients, however, were not as pleased at this news as they did not want to wait 1.5hours in our un-air conditioned waiting room. Instead they had me ascertain that the snake was not on the engine or radiator and then chose to drive down to the zoo (I did clear this with zoo personnel first). All I can say is that I wouldn't be that keen to drive 40minutes knowing a python was only inches away from my feet separated by a thin panel!
I was a bit disappointed but had to laugh as the woman asked me to ring the zoo as she was departing and request that there be "no cameras" when they arrived!
How's that for a kiwi's first working day in Oz? As Hugh Jackman so eloquently put it in the imaginatively named movie "Australia":
"Welcome to Australia"
Too thin-skinned to leave NZ for the UK in the middle of their winter, I decided to first spend a few months living in Aussie and scratching together a few more $$ for the trip. I scored a job on the Sunshine Coast & promptly bought another surfboard.
My first day at work began as any other day in a routine mixed-practice vet clinic: itchy dogs, anorexic cats, scouring puppies etc. It was all going as well as can be expected when one is trying to learn the ropes in a new clinic and figure out what the Aussie equivalent of NZ drugs are (unsurprisingly many are the same but pronounced in a funny accent), when a car pulled up outside and a large woman in a mu mu puffed her way into the clinic.
"I have a snake in my car engine bay and I need it removed."
I hid in my room.
"What type of snake?" asked the vet nurse.
"A carpet snake," she replied.
Now a carpet snake is not just a snake, it is a PYTHON, which in the right proportions can eat a large cat, small dog, or little vet.
Having ascertained that the woman had attempted to call one of the many snake catchers in the region but none were available (how convenient since we don't charge $200/call), I was dragged out of my room under great protest, "But I'm from NEW ZEALAND! We don't have snakes!"
Unfortunately for me the boss was away from the clinic at the time and refused to return until the snake was gone or dead - obviously also not a fan). I humoured the lady by going out to have a look at it while the nurse tried again to call a snake catcher.
IT WAS MASSIVE!!! Thicker than my arm and who knew how long as it was wrapped around all the tube thingies and under the panel around the wheel base near the drivers side of the engine bay. It's head was nowhere to be seen. Now even if I had been brave (or stupid) enough to grab the snake (they're not venomous but still very bitey) there was no way I would be able to compete with a python when it comes to sheer muscle power. This job would require some serious muscles, sedation &/ a long hook to find it's head. Preferably all three.
I went inside to check on the progress of the frantic phone calls. Still no snake catcher. So we rang our friends at the Australia Zoo (it's so cool having Steve Irwin's zoo 40min down the road) to ask them what sedatives we could use without killing the snake (which is illegal in Queensland - not that many people are concerned with that particular law). I hadn't yet thought about how I was to administer said drugs, though I was eyeing up our blow darts (yes, we have blow darts but that's another story). They told me not to try anything and that they would send the "Wildlife Rescue Team" up in an hour or so. I had visions of helicopters with khaki-clad animal activists rappelling down to save the poor defenceless reptile and ran in great excitement to get my camera ready. The clients, however, were not as pleased at this news as they did not want to wait 1.5hours in our un-air conditioned waiting room. Instead they had me ascertain that the snake was not on the engine or radiator and then chose to drive down to the zoo (I did clear this with zoo personnel first). All I can say is that I wouldn't be that keen to drive 40minutes knowing a python was only inches away from my feet separated by a thin panel!
I was a bit disappointed but had to laugh as the woman asked me to ring the zoo as she was departing and request that there be "no cameras" when they arrived!
How's that for a kiwi's first working day in Oz? As Hugh Jackman so eloquently put it in the imaginatively named movie "Australia":
"Welcome to Australia"
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