Ornithophobia

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.