Coated With Fur: A Blind Cat's Love

By Kristen Nelson, D.V.M.

In first grade, Mrs. Johnson instructed the class to draw a picture of what they wanted to be when they grew up. Kris Nelson drew a woman standing by a dog with a stethoscope around her neck.
“So you want to work with animals?” Mrs. Johnson asked after studying the crayon sketch.
“Yes, I want to be an animal doctor,” Kris said with assurance. “I’m going to make sick animals better.” Even then, Kris wanted to save them all . . . she still does.
Coated With Fur: A Blind Cat’s Love continues the story of a young woman who opened a veterinary hospital in Burnsville, Minn. Marvel when a blind cat helps Adam overcome a physical limitation. Follow Kris as she tries to collect a semen sample from Ivan the shy Doberman, saves the life of a struggling Chihuahua and delivers Ashley’s adorable golden retriever puppies. Meet Snowflake, a white cat that fights hard to stay alive, and Lilah, the friendly, pregnant German shepherd. Through this book, experience the sheer joy and challenges of being a veterinarian.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kristen Nelson, D.V.M.
• Release date: Jan 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9781936278176

Kristen Nelson, D.V.M.

Dr. Kristen Nelson grew up on a farm in Watertown, Minnesota where she developed a deep love for animals of all kinds. She received a Doctor of Veterinary Medicine degree from the University of Minnesota, College of Veterinary Medicine. Kris then completed a small-animal internship at the prestigious Animal Medical Center in New York City.In addition to writing and speaking, she cares for small and exotic animals in Scottsdale, Arizona. Dr. Nelson is widely quoted in the media. Her credits include USA TODAY, The Los Angeles Times, Ladies Home Journal, DisneyFamily.com and numerous radio and television interviews. Kris and her husband, Steve, share their home with rescued cats, birds, and a dog.

Book preview

Coated With Fur

A Blind Cat’s Love

Kristen Nelson, D.V.M.

Published by:

Veterinary Creative, L.L.C.,

Smashwords Edition

Coated With Fur: A Blind Cat’s Love

Copyright © 2014 by Kristen Nelson, D.V.M.

Discover other titles by Dr. Nelson

Coated With Fur: A Vet’s Life

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For more information, contact:

Dr. Kristen Nelson

480-236-1841

mail to: [e-mail]

ISBN: 978-1-936278-17-6

ISBN: 1-936278-17-0

Dedication

To my parents,

Bobbe and Gordon Lindstrom

Contents

Chapter 1: Puppies!

Chapter 2: Mariposa

Chapter 3: Yellow Cat

Chapter 4: Slumber Party

Chapter 5: Blind Kitten

Chapter 6: Exhaustion

Chapter 7: Louisa and Peeper

Chapter 8: Tom and Zip

Chapter 9: Gurney Nap

Chapter 10: Emergency

Chapter 11: Green Iguana

Chapter 12: Snowflake the Cat

Chapter 13: Hog Dogs

Chapter 14: Head Tilt

Chapter 15: Misdiagnosis

Chapter 16: Recheck

Chapter 17: Saint Francis

Chapter 18: Gingerbread Man

Chapter 19: Septic Shock

Chapter 20: A New Addition

Chapter 21: Ivan’s Girl

Chapter 22: Norwegian Elkhound

Chapter 23: Bargaining Chip

Chapter 24: Storm Clouds

Chapter 25: Lilah the German Shepherd

Chapter 26: Butch Returns

Chapter 27: Radar’s Surgery

Chapter 28: C-section

Chapter 29: Missing Pups

Chapter 30: Farley the Basset Hound

Chapter 31: Radar

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Connect with the Author

Other Books by Dr. Nelson

Disclaimer

This book is about the wonderful animals and people I met when I opened a veterinary practice in Burnsville, Minn., in 1992. With the exception of my own family and pets, I changed the names and other identifying characteristics to preserve confidentiality. Any similarity between details as they appear in this book and actual people or pets is strictly coincidental.

Chapter 1

Puppies!

"Come on, Ashley…push! I instructed the pregnant golden retriever. You can do it!" This first-time mom stared at me for two seconds. Her eyes pleaded for help — she did not understand what was happening. Suddenly, she rocked backward as a contraction consumed her body. She squeezed for five grueling seconds, then collapsed on her side, panting. I inserted my gloved forefinger into her vagina — nothing!

Steve, hold her for me. My husband knelt down beside Ashley, slid his arm around her neck and drew her toward him. I cupped my hand, trying to make it as small as possible before re-inserting it. During the next contraction, a pup brushed the tip of my middle finger.

Bad news, Laura, I told Ashley’s owner. When she contracted, I felt a puppy’s side, not its head or tail. I’m worried that she’s got one sideways across her pelvis.

Can you reposition it? the 30-something woman asked with a hopeful expression.

In a cow…yes, I could reposition the calf and do a vaginal delivery. But I’m afraid Ashley is too small. I sighed and removed my hand. During contraction, I can only feel the pup with my fingertips. I stood up and removed the glove. She needs a C-section right away, Laura.

C-section…the word Laura feared most. As a child, Laura’s best friend was a chubby Yorkie named Bell. They were inseparable, even sleeping together. Unfortunately, Bell went into heat before Laura’s parents got around to getting her spayed. Laura kept her away from all other dogs, just as her parents had instructed. They did not want her to get pregnant. After 10 days of wearing a doggy diaper, the discharge stopped, and Laura allowed Bell outside, believing the cycle was over. She didn’t realize that this was the perfect time to breed Bell. She was in standing heat.

Bell met up with a male twice her size and died during a C-section.

Are you absolutely sure about this? Laura asked. She nervously twirled her blond hair — the same color as Ashley’s coat — as she waited for my answer.

We’ll take some X-rays to confirm the pup’s position, I responded in a firm but gentle manner. Laura looked at Ashley, then back to me. But…

Before I could finish my sentence, she responded in an equally strong voice: I need to be 100 percent certain that a C-section is the only option, She pulled her hair into a tight rope. Strands broke under the pressure, popping when they hit the breaking point. I nodded and disappeared into the X-ray suite.

Fifteen minutes later, two films hung on the light box in the treatment room. One showed Ashley on her back and the other on her side. Puppy skeletons filled her abdomen. I took out a marker and began to count. One. I wrote the number on the skull of the first puppy. Two, three, four. I repeated the process. Here’s the problem child. I pointed to the skeleton of a large puppy straddling Ashley’s pelvis. The skull of this pup dwarfed the others. Wow, this pup is huge.

Laura joined me at the viewer. Her pupils dilated as she studied the black-and-white image.

Mitch has always wanted a large male to hunt with, Laura said, forcing a smile. I guess his wish came true. Laura walked back over to Ashley, knelt by her side and hugged her. I’m going to kill him for planning a business trip so close to your due date.

Steve looked at me and mouthed, I’m glad I’m not Mitch. Despite her small stature, Laura’s quick wit and athletic ability made her a formidable opponent. It appeared that Mitch had an upcoming reservation in the husband doghouse.

Laura, it will take us about 10 minutes to set up, I said. Ashley will be a mom in no time. Ashley glanced up when she heard her name, only to be consumed by another contraction. I hoped the large pup was strong enough to withstand the force.

I donned a cap and mask before heading to the OR. A large table occupied the middle of the room, with black cushioned floor mats on either side. I twisted the handles on each side of the table until the surface formed a ‘V’ to hold Ashley in place. Next, I placed a heating pad on the table and plugged in the pump. Warm water gurgled as the pump pushed it through the plastic pad. I covered the pad with a towel and placed another on the floor to help catch the amniotic fluid.

The table ready, I walked to the cabinets on the far end of the room. Inside lay a variety of surgical packs and equipment, all wrapped in sterilized, blue paper drapes. I placed the largest pack on the Mayo stand, along with an assortment of sutures and a scalpel blade. After another trip to the cabinet for sterile gloves, towels and a gown, the room was ready.

Back in the treatment room, strips of tape hung from a shelf above a table. An intravenous (IV) catheter lay on the counter next to a clipper, a bag of fluids and more bandaging material. Steve positioned the anesthetic machine at the head of the treatment table. The incubator hummed in the background.

I think we’re ready for her, I announced after surveying Steve’s work. Laura threw her arms around Ashley and kissed her forehead. When she finally looked up, tears streamed down her cheeks. Steve and I gently lifted Ashley onto the treatment table, trying not to put pressure on her distended abdomen. I clipped a two-inch patch of hair from her right front leg, cleaned it and placed the IV catheter. With fluids running, I connected a cone to the anesthesia machine and placed it over Ashley’s nose. Her eyes widened as she smelled the gas.

Go to sleep, Ashley; don’t fight it. I stroked her fur as I said softly, When you wake up, the contractions will be over. Ashley looked at me but did not struggle. After Another minute of breathing the gas mixed with oxygen, she slept on the table. Five minutes later, she lay on her back under the bright lights of the operating room, surrounded by equipment. A monitor beeped in the background. Steve stood next to the table, scrubbing the dog’s abdomen. The black bag on the anesthesia machine moved with every breath.

I entered the room backward, my hands in the air. Water dripped from my elbows onto the floor. You’re making a mess before we even start, Steve said, sounding annoyed. From the lines around his eyes, I knew he was smiling beneath his surgical mask. I nodded as I donned a surgical gown and gloves. Laura’s face appeared in the window of the OR door. She now twisted her hair with both hands. I motioned that we were ready to begin. The faster we could get these puppies out, the better their chance of survival.

After draping Ashley, I picked up the scalpel and made one long incision down the center of her abdomen. A healthy, pink uterus bulged through the incision. In dogs, the uterus is shaped like a ‘Y’. The body of the uterus is small, but the arms are long to accommodate multiple fetuses. I shoved my gloved hands into her abdomen, exteriorized a portion of the massive organ and packed it off with moistened towels.

OK, I’m going to cut the uterus, I mumbled through my mask. Ready?

At this moment in the procedure, Steve always seemed to relish his role, pretending to be a catcher for the Minnesota Twins. You betcha, he said with a towel in his hands. Bring on the babies!

With one quick motion, I incised the body of Ashley’s uterus. Amniotic fluid exploded out of the incision, down the drape and the front of my gown. I reached inside and delivered the first pup from the right side of the uterus. It was still encased in the amniotic sac. I popped the sac over the pup’s head, cleared its mouth of fluid and gently dropped it into Steve’s hands. He rubbed the precious package as he ran it out to Laura. When he returned, I was waiting with another pup. I removed the pups from each side of the uterus, two in each arm, before tackling the big bruiser straddling the base.

OK, I’m going for the big one, I announced to Steve, who was busy rubbing a pup. I reached deep into the incision. I threaded my hand under the pup and tried to back him away from the cervix. He wouldn’t budge. It was as if he was suction-cupped in that position.

What’s wrong? Steve’s eyes narrowed with concern. What’s taking so long? That was not helpful, I thought to myself. Steve knew from experience that I was deliberately fast with C-sections. The quicker I get the pups out, the less anesthesia, the better they do. My goal is always the same, to get all the pups out in less than 10 minutes. It’s been exactly 10 minutes, he announced while looking at his watch. OK, he is truly not helping, I said to myself again.

I think the pup is wedged into the pelvis. I grunted. I’m having a tough time getting my hand under him. I inserted my left hand into Ashley’s abdomen but kept it outside of the uterus. With pressure from both hands, the pup popped loose, breaking his amniotic sac. Got him, I announced as I showed Steve the pup. He’s huge. I cleared his mouth with my pinky and began to rub his substantial body between my hands. This time, I ignored Steve’s out-stretched hands.

Why do you automatically assume it’s a boy? he asked. The big one could be a girl.

Because in my experience, boys are usually the troublemakers, I said with a wink. Actually, the males are usually bigger than the females. I flipped the pup over and, sure enough, he was all boy. He had a broad head with a bright pink nose.

I can take him, Kris. The other pups are doing great, so I can take him. Steve put his hands closer to the pup but did not break the sterile field. The suture is on the stand.

I placed the pup in a sterile towel and handed him off. Are you sure everyone is all right? He nodded. In between beeps from the EKG, I heard soft puppy squeals coming from the treatment room.

Yes, I’m happy to report that all the puppies and the owner are doing well, he laughed. I thought we were going to lose Laura, though. He laughed again. When she saw the first puppy, her face turned a sickly green color. After the puppy squeaked, she came back to normal pretty quickly.

Squeak, squeak. The large male pup made his first sounds.

Hey, little buddy, Steve said, the smile lines reappearing around his eyes. Welcome to the world. Let’s go meet the rest of your family.

In the treatment room, five puppies laid on a blanket, still attached to their amniotic sacs. Laura stood over them, her hands busy rubbing the new arrivals. Steve put on a pair of gloves and tied off all the umbilical cords with suture. Then he let Laura cut the cords.

These are beautiful pups, Laura! he exclaimed. How many girls and boys do we have here?

I was so worried, I didn’t check, Laura confessed. She glanced anxiously at the door to the operating room with the sign that read, Cap and mask required. How is Ashley doing?

Great! Now let’s see, Steve picked up one of the blond pups. This one is a girl. He picked up another. And this one is a girl. Laura lifted two of the remaining pups, leaving the big one on the table.

And these two are boys. She smiled and hugged them both. The smiled vanished as her thought returned to Ashley. Are you sure that Ashley is OK?

She’s doing great under anesthesia, Steve replied. Kris should be just about finished. He repositioned the surgical mask over his mouth and returned to the OR.

How’s it going? he asked as he checked Ashley’s vital signs.

I’m tying the final knot. I watched the suture disappear under Ashley’s skin. With C-sections, I always perform a subcuticular closure — this pattern buries the suture beneath the skin, away from the puppy’s unopened eyes. Steve looked over the drapes to survey the incision.

Nice job, Sweetie, he commented. He turned off the anesthetic gas, allowing Ashley to breathe pure oxygen. I removed the towel clamps, tossed them on the Mayo stand and rolled the drapes into a ball.

If you watch her, I’ll go set up a bed, Kris, Steve said. She needs another five minutes of oxygen. Without waiting for a reply, he headed out of the room. I turned my head from side to side and stretched my back. Although I love bringing new life into the world, it is always stressful until the mother and babies are awake. I removed my gloves and stroked Ashley’s head, reveling in her soft fur. In my experience, golden retrievers usually have nice hair coats, but Ashley’s was exceptional. Her coat truly felt like velvet. I hoped she would pass the trait onto her pups. Ashley’s legs began to quiver, and her respiratory rate increased. She was waking up.

When Steve returned, we rolled Ashley onto her side and disconnected her trach tube from the anesthetic machine. As was our custom, I took her front end while Steve got the rear to keep pressure off the incision. She quivered in our arms.

Oh, Ashley, Laura exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hand. The green color returned as tears flowed down her face.

She’s doing great, Laura, I reassured her, trying to keep her from fainting. We placed Ashley on the bed of blankets and covered her with a warm towel. Steve nonchalantly stood by Laura, ready to catch her, just in case.

A minute later, Ashley swallowed, and I pulled the trach tube out of her mouth. She lifted her head an inch off the floor before slamming it back into the blankets. With her eyes open but unfocused, and her tongue hanging from the side of her mouth, she looked like a college kid on Sunday morning.

Laura, come over here and sit with Ashley, I instructed. Right now, the room is spinning for her. I think your presence will reassure her. Laura sat on the floor and leaned against the wall. Five seconds later, Ashley’s nostrils quivered. She thumped her tail twice and then put her head in Laura’s lap. Laura burst into tears again; this time, they were tears of relief. She held Ashley in her arms and whispered, I will never let this happen to you again.

While Ashley recovered, I moved over to the incubator. Inside, the pups formed one large wiggling pile of blond fur. With their eyes sealed shut and their ears flat against their skulls, these babies explored the world with their mouths. The ones on the outside of the pile struggled to the center in hopes of finding food. They were hungry. One pup sucked another’s paw.

One by one, I examined each pup, checking for abnormalities like a cleft palate, umbilical hernia or a heart murmur. The smallest puppy was a feisty little girl. When I opened her mouth, she tried to wriggle away. When I placed my stethoscope on her chest, soft grunts filled my ears. Evidently, my examination was not part of her plan for the first minutes of life. She wanted to eat and wasn’t going to rest until she found food. I filled a syringe with warm puppy milk replacer and prepared to feed the little darling. I always tube feed pups their first meal just in case the mom doesn’t feel like nursing right away.

Open up, I said to her softly. I attached a catheter to the end of the syringe, applied lubrication and slid it down the pup’s throat, right into her stomach. As warm milk filled her up, the pup relaxed in my hand. When I pulled out the catheter, she opened her mouth in a huge puppy yawn.

OK, it’s time to introduce Ashley to her puppies, I announced. I gave the little girl to Laura, who showed it to Ashley. As Ashley sniffed the baby, deep wrinkles appeared in her forehead. She paused for several seconds, then went back for another sniff. After the second one, she vigorously licked the pup’s face.

Looks like she’s a natural, I said with relief. Some females will reject or even kill the puppies after a C-section.

One by one, we introduced the puppies to Ashley. As Laura held them, the new mom licked them from head to toe. After this proper cleaning, Laura placed them on a nipple. Invariably, the nipple Laura chose was not the one they wanted. Each pup squirmed until finding a nipple more to their liking.

She’s an excellent mother, Laura, I observed. Laura beamed with pride. She sat with her hands resting on Ashley’s back, finally worry free.

Yes, it all worked out, she responded. Then a determined look spread over her face. But Mitch is still in trouble for not being here.

Chapter 2

Mariposa

As I drove into the parking lot in late 1993, whistles sounded in the distance. I looked past the clinic toward the athletic fields of Burnsville, Minnesota High School. Groups of young men dressed in football gear performed drills and ran sprints under the direction of their coaches. I looked back at the strip mall and studied the sign above the clinic. A little over a year ago, this space was empty when I arrived to start my veterinary hospital. I remembered that first day, excited and a bit naive about the prospect of running a business. I had stood in the parking lot with my dad by my car, packed to the roof with supplies, and heard those same whistles.

The first several months were rough — bills were high and revenues low. On some days, our only sale was a bag of dog food.

It’s an understatement to say I started to doubt myself and the idea of launching a clinic from scratch. Steve and I sank our entire net worth into this business. Our future depended upon its success.

But spring finally arrived, and with it came heartworm season. Our revenues soared when dogs started arriving for their annual heartworm tests and vaccinations. The clinic broke even, and I started to pay down the debt. Now, a little over a year later, I could finally collect a salary.

Thank you, God, I whispered as I closed the car door and headed inside. It was 7:30 a.m.

Good morning, Dr. Nelson, Kim said from behind the counter. At 5 feet, 9 inches tall and with blond hair, she was a poster child for Minnesota. The clinic’s success had allowed me to hire another technician. After interviewing several candidates, Kim stood head and shoulders above the rest, figuratively as well as literally. Her skill, knowledge and quiet demeanor all combined to create an outstanding technician. She complemented her colleague, Allie, perfectly.

Looks like you were busy last night, Kim said with a smile. A C-section…how late were you here?

We started at 10 p.m. and finished around midnight, I replied, then leaned over the counter to study the appointment book. I loved seeing the slots filled with names. How did you know?

You left the X-rays hanging on the viewer. She smiled again. I peeked, she admitted.

I looked into her blue eyes and smiled. I had no idea how curious Kim was when I hired her. She noticed things that most people, even experienced technicians, miss. Now if only I could get her to be a little more outgoing with clients, she would be perfect. Her soft voice and habit of looking at the floor while speaking made it difficult for older clients to hear her. I hoped this would improve as she got to know them better.

Any messages? I asked, heading to the office.

Just one. A woman called about a young kitten with an eye problem. I told her to bring it in but she wants to watch it for a few days. The phones have been surprisingly quiet for a Monday morning, which is good, she answered.

Why is that good?

Because our two surgical patients dropped off early today and they need their pokey butts.

Pokey butts… her words puzzled me. I stopped and turned to face Kim. What do you mean — pokey butts?

You know, she said, looking at the floor. Pre-anesthesia tranquilizers to calm them down. They haven’t stopped barking since they arrived. Once Kim mentioned barking, I suddenly became aware of a chorus of howls from the back of the clinic. After being around noisy animals for so long, I had developed a high threshold for barking.

No pokey butts until I have examined them, I said exaggerating the words pokey and butts. Then, they are all yours.

As I listened more closely, I could hear a distinct difference between the barks. One sounded like a teenage boy whose voice was changing. It started out in a low tone, suggestive of a large dog, and then cracked. I listened for 10 seconds or so before I could identify the voice. It was Captain, the dog who had almost lost his front leg to a traffic accident. After weeks of changing his bandage, I could pick out his voice in my sleep. The other dog also sounded like a large breed.

Goliath is here, Kim said, reading my mind.

The week before, Goliath had hurt his leg while playing with a Great Dane at a dog park. He popped the head of his femur right out of the cup-shaped acetabulum. Although Goliath was a big Rottweiler, weighing an impressive 100 pounds, he was still no match for the 150-pound Great Dane. The youngster charged Goliath from the rear and dislocated his left hip on impact. Goliath screamed as he fell to the ground. Bob Tanner ran to his dog, and with the help of the Dane’s owner, carried Goliath out of the dog park to his car.

When he arrived at the clinic, I gave Goliath some morphine to control pain before moving him onto a gurney. Under strong sedation, I popped the femoral head back into the acetabulum and taped it in place. Goliath woke up with his injured leg held off the ground in a sling. He was not pleased with my work and promptly tried to chew off the sling. I countered with a large Elizabethan collar. Goliath hated the lampshade.

Once the round ligament of the femoral head is ruptured, it’s difficult to keep the hip in place. When replaced right away, the chances improve a little, but they still weren’t great, especially for Goliath. He suffered from hip dysplasia. Because his acetabulum looked more like a plate than a cup, I warned Bob that Goliath would probably need surgery to fix his hip. Two days after the accident, Goliath’s hip popped out again. Today, we would repair his left joint. We hoped the right one would be strong enough to stay in place during the recovery.

After dropping my bag in the office, I headed through the treatment room toward the kennels. I spotted Genny, the three-legged clinic kitty, lying in front of Captain’s run, staring at the young Bernese mountain dog.

Genny, stop tormenting the dogs, I commanded. Our eyes locked for two seconds before she scampered by, holding what remained of her right rear leg high off the ground.

She’s been lying there since they arrived, Kim observed. I hope one never gets out, or she’s toast.

Captain jumped onto his back legs, resting both front legs on the chain link gate. A long pink scar extended from the outside of his right wrist to his elbow. Silky black hair covered the rest of his leg. I opened the gate, and he leapt into my arms.

Hi, Buddy, I whispered in his ear. Are you ready for the big procedure today? Captain licked my face and wagged his tail in response. He didn’t know that today was the day of his neuter. I gently set him on the floor. Let’s see how your obedience training is coming along. STAY! I commanded. Captain stood still for the entire examination, only moving his tail in response to my voice. Good boy, Captain, good boy, I exclaimed after feeling his abdomen. Captain danced around me with his ears out to the side and a silly grin on his face. I bent over and hugged him one more time before returning him to the run.

Goliath laid at the back of his run. He stayed on a thick pad with his weight on the healthy hip. He had good conformation with a broad head, well-placed ears and sharp markings. Unfortunately, he wasn’t blessed with great hips.

Kim, would you mind helping me with Goliath? I called into the pharmacy. As usual, Kim appeared with a smile on her face. She never seemed to have a bad day. We opened the gate, stepped over the threshold and took our positions around Goliath. After checking his ears, eyes, mouth and throat, I reached for the stethoscope that always hung around my neck. As the cold metal bell touched his skin, Goliath twitched and turned his head to look at the strange object. I jumped backward into the block kennel wall, slamming against it with some force.

Are you OK, Dr. Nelson? Kim asked, both concerned and puzzled.

Fine, I replied, trying to calm down. Last year I was working with a Rottie named Lucifer. I returned to Goliath’s side as I spoke. He was rescued from an abusive situation. I pulled back my right sleeve and pointed to two scars midway between the wrist and elbow. Kim winced. Since Lucifer attacked, I’m a bit jumpy around this breed, I admitted.

I petted Goliath’s head, and a big lazy grin spread over his face. Even nice ones like Goliath. I just can’t help it. Kim nodded and hugged him a little tighter for the rest of the examination. Goliath closed his eyes, reveling in the attention. He grunted twice when I felt his abdomen. When I lifted his tail, gas rushed from his anus.

Oh, Goliath, I exclaimed. That’s vile! What is your dad feeding you? I waved my hand back and forth futilely.

Are we done? Kim asked with her nose wrinkled. I nodded as I bolted from the run. Kim held her nose with one hand and petted Goliath with the other. I’ll be back in a minute for pokey butts.

While Kim worked with the boys in back, I headed up front to the pharmacy area. As I entered the room, the birds erupted with a chorus of chirps and whistles. In the first cage, Windsor, the cockatiel, paced back and forth on the perch of his food bowl. He held his crest of yellow feathers high off his head. The orange circles below his eyes gleamed under the fluorescent lights.

In the third cage, Romeo, the lovebird, climbed onto the side of his cage and let out a series of sharp chirps. Although the smallest of my flock, he was the feistiest. He loved to act nice and then get in trouble when you weren’t looking.

Bongo, the Amazon parrot, watched them both from the middle cage, wondering why they were so worked up. Her scarred corneas made it difficult for her to see.

Good morning, birds, I said enthusiastically. Bongo straightened, fanned her tail and constricted her pupils.

How are youuuuuuuu? she responded. Her voice had a mechanical quality to it. Before I could answer, she rocked the rafters with a loud scream. I clamped my hands over my ears. Bongo good bird, she continued. Good, good, good bird.

Not when you scream, I answered, returning my hands to my sides. One by one, each bird came to the front of their cages for a morning head scratch. I inserted my index finger through the bars and gently massaged the skin beneath the feathers. They would swivel their heads almost 360 degrees until I scratched the entire surface. Bongo enjoyed having her eyes rubbed as well.

Be careful with Romeo, Allie cautioned as she entered the room from the lobby, her car keys in hand. He’s been nippy lately. As if on cue, Romeo turned his head and sank the tip of his beak into my finger.

Ouch! I exclaimed. Two red, V-shaped dents appeared on my finger. I rubbed them with my left hand. Well, lovebirds reach sexual maturity around eight months of age. Romeo is almost a year old, so I’ll bet his hormones are kicking in. These peach-faced lovebirds are prolific breeders.

Maybe you should neuter him, Allie countered on her way to a locker. I liked him better without hormones.

Too risky. I frowned in response, still rubbing my finger. Romeo climbed down the side of his cage to the food bowl, looked in the bowl and then back at me. Don’t worry, Romeo. Allie will feed you as soon as she puts her stuff away…you little stinker.

The first appointment belonged to a young papillon puppy named Mari. I learned that Bill Howard bought the puppy as a present for his children, Mikey and Lizzy. When Bill was making French toast for breakfast, he moved to the fridge for an egg and stepped on Mari’s front right foot. She screamed and ran under

Reviews for Coated With Fur

[Babiche · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

For anyone who loved James Herriot’s ALL CREATURES GREAT AND SMALL, this will be satisfying