Diary of a Third-Year Vet Student: Touching Real Animals

After two years of a lot of foundational material and long discussions of diseases in theoretical animals, the third-year vet student at last gets to lay hands directly on actual animals.

Two weeks ago, I performed my first surgery, a castration of a dog. Of course, I made mistakes. But I started with a living animal and I ended with a living animal, so that counts as a success. It was all those details in between that got me. A surgery like this can take a regular general practioner about 10 minutes, far less time to complete than it takes to prep the dog for the surgery. For us, it can take over an hour.

I was as prepared as I could be. I watched videos. I wrote out, by hand, all of the steps. I read the instructor's notes on the OSU protocol. I practiced and practiced my suture patterns and knots. And even with all that, I made mistakes. But I also learned how to correct those mistakes, and I am fairly confident that, while I may make entirely new mistakes in the future, I won't make those particular ones again. Learning the hard way can certainly push the lesson firmly into your brain.

I had a deer-in-the-headlights moment during the surgery, and oddly, it wasn't when I was making the first incision. It occurred a few minutes later when I was holding the dog's right testis in one hand and gauze that I had used to strip the fascia off the spermatic cord in the other hand. I froze up, and only later did I realize explicitly what my lizard brain had already figured out: everything had been reversible up to that point. And at that point, there was no way to go but forward, to finish the surgery. I took several deep breaths then did just that.

I was terrified going into that surgery. The hubris of the idea that we would be cutting into a living animal and that the outcome was expected to be, was intended to be, better than the starting conditions, was an overwhelming burden. But that drove me to maximize the learning during every second of that long, long hour.

Later that week, we learned how to conduct a breeding soundness exam on a bull and I got to do my first rectal palpation. Kids raised on a farm will think, pfft, that's nothing, I've had my arm up the rectum of hundreds of cows. Yes, but there is always that first one.

Last week, we had our first dystocia lab. Dystocia describes a situation in which the cow can't give birth to the calf in a normal fashion. It can be caused by calves that are too big, calves that are dead, calves that are malpositioned, and so forth. Using a modeling device, essentially a large, zippered plastic bag that is attached to a metal ring on one end with the other end resting on a slanted metal plate, we took turns positioning a lubed-up dead calf in the bag then had our teammates attempt to describe the position of the calf via "vaginal palpation" (sticking their arm covered with an obstetrical glove through the metal hole and feeling the arrangement of the head and limbs of the calf). Then we got to reposition the calf and pull it out, learning how to properly attach chains to its feet and head.

If you think any of this is shocking, I can assure you that I am sparing you even crazier details.

But I will make these comments. The dogs that the students operated on are shelter dogs. They can't go to new homes until they are neutered. We are providing a useful service to the community. And we are watched like hawks. There are fourth-year students, residents, lab techs, and instructors swarming around each operating table. The bull was from the university beef farm. He was probably more annoyed at being stuck in the squeeze chute for an hour than he was by the exam and palpations. The calves were born dead, brought in by clients or collected from the OSU farms or large-animal hospital, and kept frozen until the lab. Yes, there is a risk in having an inexperienced student cut into a living animal or stick their arm into the rectum of a perfectly healthy bull. But those risks are mitigated by engaged instructors who make sure we are ready, classmates who will catch us if we stumble, and having a little bit of healthy fear for the process.

Fun House Ride

Whenever I get a mid-morning phone call from Upul, I always feel a tiny flutter of anxiety because my morbid imagination immediately takes over with visions of various disasters. His calls usually turn out to be more amusing than alarming, though, and this morning was no different.

It rained in Dhahran today (a whopping 2.2 mm but that still counts as rain). Upul rides a scooter so he of course has a rain coat, a bright yellow one. He called me to tell me that when he arrived to walk the dogs and came in the house in his yellow rain coat, Azza lost her shit (my words, not his). She lunged at him, bit at her crate walls and door, barked and growled. I think that response meets the standard of "losing one's shit." Of course Mimi and Harry offered their usual joyous greetings. Upul said that he went back outside and left the coat with his helmet. When he came back inside and spoke to Azza, she was more or less normal. But he said that when he let her out of her crate, "every hair was straight out!"

I've seen her in a state of extreme fear arousal before and she can indeed puff up like a cat. This enormous puff of hair forms over her shoulders, along her back, and across her hips. Even her tail gets fuzzier. She can vaguely resemble a poodle with a formal show cut, little puffs and balls of fur here and there, since the rest of her coat is so short and flat (but much softer than the terriers).

I told him to bring the coat into the house and put it on the stool and let her approach it and sniff it on her own terms. He did this while we were talking and reported that she puffed up again ("every hair is straight out, ma'am!"), approaching his coat only once then backing away growling. I told him to ignore her and let her get used to it, and to walk her only if it wasn't raining too hard. I didn't get a second call so he either walked her successfully or decided not to walk her at all.

Loosely related to these events was the walk that MW and Boodle and the dogs and I took this evening. It's very cloudy today and the normal dusk became rather gloomy with the early sunset. I think MW set us all off when she started and gasped at what at peripheral glance could have been a large cat but turned out to be a piece of wood next to the path. Things went downhill quickly.

There were indeed very real cats around every corner, crouched beside every palm tree, perched on top of every can and bucket. It was like being in a cheap fun house ride where shrieking clowns and moaning skeletons randomly fly at your head while bright lights sear your eyes.

Mimi's first response upon sight of a strange cat is to bite the dog that is closest to her, which is usually Harry. When prevented from doing that, she goes for Azza, who is usually looking for something to bite herself. I've gotten quite good at separately cinching up Mimi's leash and Azza's leash with one hand while leaving Harry's leash untouched and simultaneously herding each bitch to opposite sides of me with my other hand. I can do this in a fraction of a second because I've had a lot of practice at it. To get the full flavor, you also have to add in Azza's 100-decibel barking and Mimi's weird trilling bark, more like a bird than a dog. MW has her own issues with Boodle who does plenty of his own barking and lunging. Harry remains oblivious to all of this as he simply can't see or hear well enough anymore to get involved.

Once the dogs were all nicely on edge, we happened to see a guy walking his dog on the other side of the street. Good grief, the dogs just lost it entirely. That was like the part of the cheesy fun house ride where the little car you are riding in takes a dip then a sharp turn to the right, slamming you into the cold metal side.

CircusK9: the fun house ride that keeps going and going!

Training Azza (3)

Why am I starting this post with a pic of Azza drinking out of the house water bowl? Because the water bowl is just one of the many surprising challenges that she presents me with daily.

At first, I kept a small water bowl in her crate because during her house training she was spending a fair bit of time in there. But now that she is more reliable and spending more time out with the rest of us, I figured she could drink out of the same water bowl as the other animals.

Too bad she was terrified of it! She went for two days without drinking before she broke down and slunk over to the bowl for a furtive lap or two. She still creeps up on it, and as you can see in the picture, she is as stretched out as she can be, making sure that not a single hair of her body touches the scary bowl.

Ready? Get it! She will jump up and drive forward for a toy. She appears to prefer plush ones with squeakers.

I continue to work patiently with her. Our work on the "what is that?" behavior has started to show some success.

On Friday, she went on her first "neighborhood" walk away from the circum-golf course path and soccer field where we normally go and along which we normally only see other people. Instead, I took her on a short walk along a street with houses and yards and what turned out to be an endless array of scary things.

Harry getting his regular weekend nap in the sun, perfect for warming old bones. Azza was too restless to nap--you can tell that she hasn't settled.

 Using her still-new "what is that?" behavior, I free shaped her to nose-touch a kid's swing that was moving in the breeze (at her first sight of it, she hackled up, dropped to the ground, and started growling)--I consider this a new personal best in free shaping. I also free-shaped her to nose-touch a type of trash can she'd not seen before (it was very large and scary). And I lured her across a metal grate over a culvert in the sidewalk, paw by paw. She managed to slowly creep/walk past many parked cars (larger cars require extra treats). She sat calmly at my side before I released her to cross streets. She didn't pull on the lead, alternately walking in front of me or in a heel position by my side, the latter getting lots of rewards. All in all, a grand success.

Even though her shoulders are barely half an inch above Mimi's, Azza can reach the kitchen counter with her front paws. She is pretty much nothing but legs. Upul and I are working on discouraging this behavior.

Upul giving the dogs a treat, as he always does before he leaves whether I am there or not. Azza waiting patiently. I insist on 100% enforcement of this because she is pushy and nippy.

I have a large agave-type succulent outside my gate. Every few weeks, its javelin-like leaves threaten to impale me as I go in and out so I have to trim them back. I leave the pile of trimmings on the ground next to my sidewalk for the gardener to haul off the next day. When Azza went out to potty the first time, that pile of stuff wasn't there. When she went out the next time, well, she got sight of those leaves on the ground and she slammed on the brakes and refused to walk past them. I walked over, tapped the pile, and said "what is that?". Slowly, slowly, she approached, getting treats for every step she took towards the scary thing, until she put her nose on it. Then, jackpot! A handful of treats and we calmly go back to our original business.

She completely understands now that Harry is not to be bumped or licked or otherwise annoyed. It took four chomps from him but she at last got the message. But now he has become "forbidden fruit" and she is obsessed with him. She waits until he settles down on one of the big dog beds, then creeps around behind him and curls up next to him, usually back to back. Amazingly, he allows her to do this and doesn't even give a single growl as long as she doesn't fidget or flop about. Harry has become oddly both more and less tolerant as he gets older (he's 13 and a half now, nearly deaf, and going blind as well). He and Mimi are always touching when they sleep at night. I never thought I'd see him tolerate the pesty puppy too.

It's been an unusually cold spring, weather not seen in these parts since the late 1990's. Harry likes to be covered on those cool evenings. Azza crept in after he was settled and curled up behind him.

I also work her on a long line to practice recalls. My trusty 15-foot cotton lead is nowhere near long enough for this dog. I had to go to a 50-foot piece of nylon cord. I let her lunge around me in huge looping circles, call her in for a game of tug, and release her to do some more laps. She is damned fast, and when she runs her hind legs and feet move so far forward in between her front legs that they are almost under her head. So we practice recalls and she gets some good exercise too.

I have tried to explain the situation with dogs on camp before but I suppose it is worth repeating. Dogs are barely tolerated. Right now, the official customs rule is "no toy dogs"...and to a Saudi customs agent, ALL BREEDS are toy breeds. Doesn't matter whether the dog you want to import is a toy breed or not. His word is the final one. There is no appeal, no higher authority, no logic. If my Saudi neighbors (I have three of them in my immediate area) complain about my dogs, for any reason, even if it is a false accusation, I would have to get rid of Azza, might be kicked out of Aramco housing, might even be fired. There is no recourse, no appeal, no logic. If a Saudi says it is so, that is the end of the discussion. If you are a westerner, you will always lose. So it is imperative that Azza learn that she can't jump on and attempt to greet every human she sees, that she can't bark at imaginary scary shit at 4 a.m., in short, that she gains some civilized behaviors that will allow us to cope in this environment (and I'm not talking about the weather).

A three-way game in progress. It was hard to get this photo--I need a couple more hands!

 But back to the training. Azza likes to tug and with careful management, I can get a three-way game going where I alternately toss a toy for Mimi to retrieve and play tug or toss a toy a few feet for Harry with one hand, and I tug with Azza with the other hand. I think they get more excited with the proximity of the other dogs but so far there has been no hint of aggression or guarding.

Origami dog discovers the couch.

Baby Steps?

I dragged Mimi to yet another agility trial this past Saturday. It was a USDAA trial in a nice horse barn arena in Belton. Because it was a flyball weekend, I also had Harry with me, and because he'd been in the kennel over the holidays and needed some special time with me, I also took Jack.

Because I didn't want to stress her out too much (nor waste even more money), I only entered Mimi in Standard and Jumpers, even though USDAA has fun games likes Gamblers and Snooker.

I was joining a friend at the trial, and when I got there and got set up, she suggested I give Mimi some Rescue Remedy.

Now, as a scientist, I think homeopathy is a load of crap, pseudo-science in its grandest form.

But I'm a desperate woman. Principles be damned! So I grabbed Mimi and squirted half a dropper into her mouth.

About 30 minutes later, I got a handful of jumps and two tunnels out of Mimi in Jumpers. As she went into the second tunnel, I could tell she was beginning to wig out so I waited at the end and collected her in my arms and ran out of the ring with her. Big party at the crate, vienna sausages, of course. It wasn't a bad attempt at all. She even had a start line stay.

I spent the next couple of hours intermittently clicking and treating scary sounds. I also took all three dogs for nice long walks in a big field next to the arena.

Later that morning, Mimi got another shot of Rescue Remedy.

I purchased some tendon chews for the boys, figuring she would be too stressed to enjoy one. She looked at them, looked at me all "and where's MINE?" so I had to go back and get her one too.

A bit later, I was amazed to see her stretched out on her belly in her crate, hind legs out behind her (I use BIG crates for my dogs), front paws calmly crossed, greatly enjoying her chewie.

Then came our second run, Standard. It was chute into the weaves, then a jump, turn to the left, spiral of jumps to the Aframe, then to the table, which was obstacle 10.

Mimi was okay until we got to the gate area. She began to violently shake and tremble and get that starey look in her eyes. I picked up half a rod of string cheese that had been sitting in a corner all morning, forgotten by the owner (picking up someone else's treats isn't the nicest thing one can do but it happens), and jammed it into her face. I kneeled on the ground and stroked her and let her nibble at the cheese. I say nibble but she was so frightened that she was biting my hand really hard. Still, she kept eating the cheese.

At last it was our turn and we could go in the ring. I carried her in, removed her leash, set her on the ground about 18" from the chute, held her chest, made her look at me, then told her "chute!" and off she went. She shot out of the chute and was into the weaves before she knew it, and SHE DID ALL TWELVE POLES!!! The jump in the corner was scary so we ran past that, did almost all of the curving line of jumps, and approached the Aframe. Nope, judge was too close, too scary, she ran past that, but I did get her on the table where she stood trembling. I slowly bent over her, began whispering what a good girl she was, and gently collected her and ran out of the ring.

My friend was waiting at the exit with a bucket of treats. She started picking out pieces of Bil Jack one by one, and I said, good grief, just give it all to her. All of it?, she said. Yes! So she put the container on the ground and Mimi snarfed up almost every crumb.

It was a baby step, yet such a huge difference overall in her demeanor and performance. I could have sworn Mimi was almost having fun for a second or two in that Standard run. My instructor, who was also at the trial, noticed that too.

What was different? I'm sticking to the plan of C/T scary noises. The arena was nice and open and airy. I had two other dogs with her, dogs that she's not particularly worried about competing with or against but who do provide companionship and a sense of "pack." They were all crated with their backs to a wall. And of course there's that damned Rescue Remedy.

Who knows? Maybe we can work past this after all.