Turtle Ninja Warriors

 

Painted turtles are cute, and grateful to be rescued

Painted turtles are cute, and grateful to be rescued

I’ve saved a couple of turtles this summer, and it always gives me a sort of warm, fuzzy feeling to be able to pull over, shoo them on their way to the safe shoulder of the road, and see them give me a look of endearingly turtle-ish gratitude.

The turtles I’ve saved so far have have all been Painted Turtles, a sort of cartoon version of a friendly turtle, with a shiny shell and brightly colored body. Most of them have been around six inches long, and, most importantly, none of them have tried to kill me.

Coming home from Paula’s on the weekend, I encountered a mammoth turtle about 3/4 of the way across the road. “Mammoth” is the appropriate term – this thing had to weigh at least 27 pounds, and was the size of a hubcap. It was covered in green slime, and so far as I could tell, it wasn’t moving. There’s been a lot in the news lately about how turtles are being threatened with extinction because they are hit so often by cars while crossing roads. They do this to get from the marshy areas where they live to sand or gravel areas where they can lay eggs.  Once the eggs hatch, the turtles reverse the journey, heading back into the the marshy areas across the road.

I felt an overwhelming urge to try to help this poor, beleagured animal get to safety, so I pulled over at the side of the road and grabbed a copy of “The French Bullytin” magazine I had sitting on the seat next to me. It’s a full sized, glossy magazine with a sturdy cover, and seemed perfect for scooping up giant turtles and nudging them to safety.

Turtles are slow moving animals – everybody knows this. Turtles are pretty much what defines the word ‘slow’, not to mention ‘steady’.

You can imagine my surprise, then, when the immovable moss covered rock in the road reacted to my attempts to scoot her along with a magazine by doing a 360 mid air whirl that ended with me confronting a hissing, snapping, saw toothed maw that seemed intent on snapping my arm off.

Just like this, only bigger, angrier, and with more hissing

Just like this, only bigger, angrier, and with more hissing

Remember that kids cartoon, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? It all makes so much sense now, because this turtle was doing some serious “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Snapping Turtle” moves on my ass. No one ever warned me that turtles could do spin kicks, and no one ever warned me that turtles hiss.

Angry Mutant Ninja turtle managed to grab ahold of the corner of my copy of the French Bullytin, and tore it clean in half.  I was suddenly very aware of all the statements about Turtles being “creatures who are entitled to regard the brontosaur and mastodon as brief zoological fads” (Tortoise Trust, also suppliers of the photo above).

I admitted defeat, and left the turtle to make her own way across the road. When I drove by the same spot the next day, there was no sign of her, and no sign of her having been hit by anything, either. I have to imagine that if any car was stupid enough to try and run her over, she would have simply chewed through their tires and done a crane kick to the underbody.

I might start keeping a small, flat shovel in the car, for future rescue efforts. Also possibly body armor.

The difference between Pugs & Frenchies

A lot of people believe that Pugs and Frenchies are pretty much interchangeable. This is likely because of their physical similarities – smaller sized, smush faced, weird little tails (or sometimes no tail at all, for Frenchies). Ultimately, though, their differences are much greater, and can be summed up in the following videos.

The first is of a Frenchie who scratches records, DJ style.

This is Frenchies for you. Note the cool, laid back look on this Frenchie’s face? That’s because Frenchies are the hipster doofuses of the dog world.

If they had a choice in cities, they’d pick Williamsburg. Hats? Porkpie, all the way. They eat charcuterie, they listen to indie bands and shop at Army Navy stores. You can get a Frenchie to wear a costume if you wrestle him to the floor and can get his head through the neckhole, but he’s going to be shooting you pissed off looks for the rest of the night.

The second video is of a Pug who sings the Batman theme song.

There you go, that’s Pugs for you.

Pug city of choice? Cleveland, in their parents basements. Hats? Propeller beanies (or genuine licensed WoW tractor caps). They eat cheetos out of the bag, they listen to pop music and the theme songs from Cartoons, and they wear corduroy pants and t shirts from Big K. A pug will go with you while you shop for a new tiara and feather boa for him, and he’ll try it on while you take polaroids.

Pugs and Frenchies. They might look alike, but they’re really not at all similar. This is why they usually end up making such good friends for each other.

WTF, Veterinarians?

Let me preface this rant by saying: I love most of the veterinarians I have ever dealt with. The majority have been pleasant, intelligent, and have dealt with me rationally. I have been happy to put the life of my pets into their hands.

Lately, however, a few glaring exceptions have reared their ugly heads.

Recently, I got a phone call from someone who had purchased a French Bulldog (not from me) a few years ago. Since their own breeder has gone awol, we’ve developed sort of a surrogate help line relationship. At any rate, one morning they noticed that Albert was limping. This was a clear limp – he was favoring his left leg, and walking with a sort of hop-skip step that usually says to me “ouch, something is hurting me”. It’s not to be mistaken with the “complete foot lifted off the ground, I can’t put any weight on this at all” step, but it’s still a limp.

Immediately, they made an appointment to take Albert in to the vet’s office, which is located in Manhattan and shall – for now – remain nameless. This is a really modern clinic – they have all of the bells and whistles, including some stuff I’ve never even heard of. At the appointment, Albert’s examining vet manipulates his leg, agrees that yes, it looks painful, and immediately recommends treatment consisting of a $3500.00 MRI, and patella replacement surgery – likely on both knees, including the one Albert wasn’t limping on. This was after a cursory diagnosis consisting of a five minute manipulation, and a twenty second case history.

Estimated cost of double patella surgery? $10,000 minimum, and possibly more.

Now, Albert’s parents are good people, and if $13,000 worth of surgery were required to save his life, I have no doubt that they’d beg, borrow and max out credit cards to raise it – but $13,000 for a limp? They called me in a panic, and wanted to know what to do. Should they do the MRI? The vet said the MRI was ‘just a formality’, and that Albert would definitely need the surgery.

OK, first of all – since when is an MRI a formality? Why would you bother doing it, if you’d already decided ahead of time that you were going to operate on this dog, no matter what the MRI results showed? I’m sure it could not possibly have anything to do with the fact that this MRI machine is rather new, and comes with a hefty price tag. I do like the way that the vet explained that a ‘pre surgical MRI is sort of like pre surgical blood panels’, giving the vets a base line idea of what is going on. Of course, the big difference is that blood panels don’t come with a $3500 price tag, but that’s a minor quibble.

Secondly, since when is the instant reaction to a relatively mild limp in an another wise healthy and asymptomatic dog “Let’s cut him open”? How is this reasonable? What happened to the ‘let’s watch and see if it gets worse’ school of thought? Would it hurt the dog to leave it for a day or two? If this really is patellar luxation, what’s a week or two?

My suggestion (as a non veterinary layperson) was what I usually recommend for anything ouchy – crate rest and anti inflammatories. My second suggestion was more emphatic – find a new vet, at least for a second opinion. More exactly, my reaction was “try crate rest and anti inflammatories for a few days, and if he doesn’t seem any better in 48 hours, go see a different vet for a second opinion”.

They did, after borrowing a crate from friends, and in less than 48 hours Albert was walking normally again. They still got a second opinion, this time from an old time veterinarian out in Queens that Bulldog owning friends suggested. He didn’t have a shiny, high tech clinic, but he acted like he enjoyed meeting their dog, and he told them that Albert seemed just fine to him.

Sometimes, less really is more – less veterinary care, less invasive methods of treatment, less panic. Sadly, this is NOT the first time I’ve heard MRIs “prescribed” for minimal issues, including one other case of slight limping. I tell people to apply the ‘what would you do it were YOU?’ rule – if it was your knee, and you had a slight limp, would you run out and get a $3500 MRI – and would you let your doctor cut your knee open immediately, or would you take some aspirin, apply a cold pack, and wait it out?

My second encounter with veterinary stupidity came in the form of some vet records I read just recently. Overall, they illustrated a case history of a vet who had routinely fleeced his well meaning owners for every dollar he could get, but one item stuck out like a sore thumb – he had made them come in monthly to get their dog’s flea medication applied.

In office. For a fee. And no, he didn’t make this optional, but rather seemed to suggest that this is just how it’s done.

Seriously, vets – WTF? It’s hard to stick up for you as a profession that I like and respect, when some of you are acting like snake oil salesmen.

And speaking of malfeasance, I am happy to report that I have heard back from the CVMO, and that they have deemed my report against the veterinarian who tried to have Teddy killed worthy of a full investigation. Since they only proceed on about 10% of the cases they have reported to them, this feels like a major milestone to me. Let’s hope we can get his license pulled.

Speaking of Teddy, here’s his photo update from this week. Proud mom Hope reports that he is the absolute best puppy in the universe. Who am I to argue? I still think it might have just a little something to do with who owns him.

Teddy on the table

Teddy on the table

Akismet Hates You

I have no idea what happened to piss Akismet off, but suddenly it hates all of my regular commentors.

If your comments are suddenly being sent to spammer purgatory with the fake rolex peddlers and the cheap viagra sellers, try not to take it personally.

I’m doing my best to sort through them all and try to dig you out, but I find I need to bleach my eyes after even a cursory glance through my spam filters.

It has been educational, though – I didn’t know that “nine out of ten women wants their mens to buy bigger units”, although with this heat I’m all for Sean heading out to buy us a bigger air conditioning unit asap.

Pug hits ‘rock’ bottom

This spring, just before Simon and Teddy went to their new homes, they developed a favorite game. One of them would go outside, get a piece of pea gravel, and bring it back into the house, and then they’d both take turns batting it all over the floor and then pouncing on it like it was prey.

As you can imagine, this was not my favorite game, although I did like it somewhat better than their other game, which was called “You go under that chair and I’ll pull you out by digging my teeth into your thigh while you scream”.

Every time I saw Simon or Teddy bringing a rock into their house (they looked like little kids trying to hide the illicit gum they were chewing – “rock im my mouf? whad rock im my mouf? Deres no rock im here”), I’d grab them and wrestle the rock away from them. Teddy one day saw me coming towards him, blinked a few times, and swallowed his rock with an audible ‘gulp’ sound. I had a worried day and change after that, picturing a rock just sitting in his stomach, wearing a hole in his lining while it calcified into the size of a brick. Of course, he handily pooped it out, and the next day he and Simon were once again trying to bring rocks inside the house.

If I was worried, you can only imagine how the family of a five month old Pug puppy named Alfie felt when they realized he’d eaten not just one stone, but a full half pound of pebbles!

From the UK Daily Mail:

…Owner Nicola Loizides, 43, spotted something was amiss when she picked him up and noticed he was ‘substantially heavier’.

She put two and two together after feeling his stomach – which she said felt more like a Beanie Baby – and noticed him chewing a stone outside.

The worried mother-of-two rushed Harrods-bought Alfie to the vets, where he went under the knife for an emergency operation.

Vets pulled out half a pound of stones from his stomach just in the nick of time. Had it been left for longer the shingle could have perforated his intestines which would have potentially been fatal.

Here’s an xray of Alfie’s tummy –

Xray of pug puppy who ate stones

Alfie’s vet, Mark Collins, said:

‘Alfie is a very lucky dog indeed. He must have been very sore but when he first came into the surgery he looked remarkably well – he was running about and wagging his tail.

‘His owner had seen him eating the stones, so we sent him in for an X-ray and it showed he had an entire stomach full. I couldn’t believe it. We sometimes have animals in who have swallowed the odd stone, but I’ve never seen anything quite like this.

‘We managed to operate to remove the stones and within half an hour Alfie was up and about again.
‘If his owner hadn’t caught it, the stones would have passed into his small intestine which could have been perforated.

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1294609/Puppy-wolfs-stomach-stones–thinking-dog-biscuits.html#ixzz0uKqUsccX