Intruder Alert!

 The lab where I work is in a part of town that is a bit sketchy. There are a couple of cheap, pay-by-the-week hotels nearby. Some of the larger intersections in the area have a regular rotating array of panhandlers (I hesitate to call them homeless, because I don't think most of them are). And every so often, you can see someone who is actually homeless pushing a shopping cart mounded with random belongings up the main road.

In October and November, we had a young man roaming around the grounds outside the lab, sometimes peering right in office windows. He talked to himself and waved his hands around. This behavior caused immediate and loud pearl-clutching by the admin crowd. The young man was also seen on a bike in the middle of the street blocking cars. Drugs and mental illness were probably both a factor here. He never approached any person that I knew of. I don't think he even spoke directly to anyone. He would disappear every few days then show back up again. One sunny Sunday afternoon, I was called in to the lab by the director to walk someone from the marketing department from the door to her car, all of 15 feet, because she had seen this young man walking around outside while she was in her office. Why was I called, you ask? I am only about 15 minutes from the lab, in another neighborhood but still pretty close. She decided calling the lab director wasn't enough, and called the police too, who arrived at the same time I did. Of course the young man was nowhere to be seen by then. It was a ridiculously overblown reaction in all ways.

So this sets the scene for yesterday. I heard a commotion out in the lab receiving area, and stepped out to see what was going on. There was a young man walking around outside! He had walked close to the building at one point! He had a knife!

Did he brandish the knife? Did he approach anyone? Did he look in office windows like the other guy? No, he had done none of these things.

I work for the state. The lab is not on private property. It's open to the public. There are no fences or signs or landmines to keep people away. Even so, there was a group of women from the admin side congregated in our receiving foyer, pushing themselves into a panic about this young man.

I decided to deal with it myself before things escalated further. I headed out to see what was going on.

I approached the young man, who did in fact have a knife in a sheath on his belt, and asked him if he needed any help. Turns out he and his friend were looking for clear quartz crystals. 

Yep, they were looking for pretty rocks. 

Little Rock is a fairly hilly town. The hills are cored with very old sediments deposited in an ocean that used to be at the edge of the continent. Old like 450 million years old. Most of the sediments have been heavily altered in subsequent burial, heating, deforming, uplifting, and exposure to where they are now. We obviously aren't at the edge of the continent now. A lot of the quartz was heated up and mobilized with hot water into fractures and cracks, precipitating into lovely crystals. I already knew all of this. I have many examples of the different types of rocks in my own backyard, including ones with cracks filled with quartz crystals. 

The lab is on a small hill which is strewn with fragments of rocks, some of which are pure quartz. 

I chatted with the guy for a bit, suggested he look down by the creek as there might be good rock exposures there, and suggested that he and his friend might not want to wander too close to the building. I said nothing about panicked co-workers. He showed me what he had gathered so far and we talked about quartz for a bit.

When I headed back inside, there was a guy I've never seen before holding the door to the lab receiving area open. I said, did they send you out to get me? Yes, he said. Completely unnecessary, I said. That guy and his friend are just looking for pretty rocks.

Sometimes a little less suspicion and a little more kindness are all that is needed.

Poop

I was at a dog show the other weekend, an agility trial. I was standing near my setup (the accumulation of crates, bedding, training gear, treats, snacks, and dogs that one hauls to an agility trial) thinking about what task I needed to tackle next. Because at an agility trial, there's always something that needs doing: taking a dog to potty, walking a course, checking the running order, volunteering, even just sitting down for a few minutes. 

I saw a woman come out of the bathroom, smoothing out a handful of poop bags clutched in one hand. I happened to make eye contact with another woman nearby, our eyes widening at the same time. She said to the first woman, is everything okay? The first woman was a bit confused and replied, yes? then realized she was clutching a bunch of poop bags, and started laughing. 

I said, yep, that's some hardcore bathrooming right there. We all cracked up. In her defense, the first woman explained that she kept her poop bags tucked into the waistband of her leggings (because no pockets), and had to keep track of them somehow when she went to the bathroom. 

Pottying, and poop specifically, is a big deal when you travel with dogs. Everyone needs to pick up their dog's poop to keep common areas clean. And if you are caught by surprise with a pooping dog and no poop bag (because you used it when your other dog pooped), all you have to do is call out to someone nearby, and they will readily give you one from their stash, whether it is a pocket or waistband!

 Per AKC rules, we aren't supposed to enter the agility ring with anything in our pockets, but 99% of us will have a poop bag or two tucked away. They are as much a part of our clothing as our socks. We don't think of them as "extra."

Poop is a regular and accepted topic of conversation between people who do sports with their dogs. We don't generally talk about our own poop, but hey, it's really all the same thing in the end.

The Neighbor Poisoned My Dog

 Here at the lab, we hear this a lot from distraught pet owners when they submit their pets to us for necropsy. It is by far the most common history we get from these owner-submitted cases. We rarely hear this when vets submit companion animals, probably because they've already heard it from the owner and filtered it out for us. 

About the only thing these cases really have in common is that the pet died suddenly with no clinical signs of illness. 

And that is absolutely devastating to many pet owners. 

Sadly, the most common diagnosis (cause of death) in these cases is heartworm in dogs and feline hypertrophic cardiomyopathy in cats. 

 Heartworm is completely preventable, but monthly parasiticides are expensive. Some owners try to save money by using natural products (don't work) or buying off-brands at the grocery store (don't work). Others aren't aware that they need to give heartworm treatments every month, and in Arkansas, pretty much year-round. They don't know that each treatment kills the microfilaria in the dog's blood that he became infected with in the PREVIOUS month. 

It's always a shock to open a dog's heart and see worms spill out. 

We also see a lot of caval syndrome, which is advanced heartworm disease. The worms migrate out of the heart into the pulmonary vessels and into the vena cavae. While heartworm disease is more or less treatable, caval syndrome is ultimately fatal.

Dogs can have clinical signs with heartworm disease, such as cough and exercise intolerance, but often there is just acute death with no warning. 

Most owners accept this diagnosis with quiet sadness, but we've had a few who absolutely fought us, and insisted that we run many other tests. We've learned the hard way, and ask them to pay for those tests in advance. 

Feline hypertrophic cardiomyopathy is a harder diagnosis for owners. It is genetic in some pure breeds but most often our cases are for your Standard Cat, a mixed breed, short- to medium-haired tabby. We've seen some spectacular cases in which there certainly would have been a detectable heart murmur when the cat was alive...but many owners don't get regular preventative vet care for their cats. And cats are notoriously fractious patients in general. 

There have been some good studies that demonstrated that a normal adult cat heart should weigh 17 g. We had a memorable case in which the heart weighed 45 g, although weights between 20 and 30 g are more typical. The left ventricular walls thicken so much that there is almost no central space left in that chamber, so the volume of blood that gets pumped out with each contraction gets smaller and smaller. And the heart often becomes stiff and fibrous. 

 This disease can cause acute death in cats as young as 2 years, which is always a sad finding. There's no good way to prevent it other than not breeding animals that have it. The tests required to diagnose it are quite expensive, and out of reach of the regular pet cat owner.

I've only had one case where the owners thought the dog had been poisoned, and sure enough, it actually had been. But in that case, the dog was found next to a dead (also poisoned) cat, vomitus containing poisoned hot dog pieces near his head, and similar hot dog pieces in his stomach. I ended up testifying in court about this case. It's never a fun day when you get a subpoena at work, but eventually, the neighbor was successfully charged and convicted. 

There's really no uplifting message here. People do their best but their pets sometimes still die. Our job is to navigate the path between finding out why and informing the owners in a way that is sensitive to their loss but also helps them make different choices in the future. 

I Miss Writing

 I've been thinking about my little blog, waiting patiently out here in the ether. There's dust in the corners, wispy clumps of dog hair drifting slowly across the floor.

My last post was in late November, 2021--over a year ago! Lots of things have changed in my life, but one thing hasn't changed: I've still got plenty of opinions about it all. 

I want to pick this particular hobby back up, this tic that drives me to want to play around with ideas and words in this old-school format. (Funny/sad how typing on a computer is old-school.)

Calendars are social constructs, so it's not so much the end of one year and the start of another that's behind this. The change of season is significant, of course--length of day, cooler weather. But I feel like I'm entering a new phase of my life. Vet school and getting that DVM was a Big Deal. It definitely set down stakes in my life, as in "before vet school" and "after vet school." The past three and a half years were a necessary transition period, space to shift my mindset from student back to professional. And it's not that I'm really doing entirely new things. Still have fox terriers. Still do dog agility. But plenty of other things have shifted in ways that make me feel like it's time to poke my head up, take a look around, maybe start some conversations.