The Hancock-Henderson Quill, Inc.
-by Sherryanne De La Boise
Please excuse me for no column, last week. My puppy ate my sock (sounds like the old homework excuse, doesn't it?).
Last Sunday, my quiet, non-barking puppy was making unusual noises and not looking well. By afternoon, he was hiding under shrubs, causing me to panic, as my childhood dog had ingested poison and went under shrubs to die.
I packed the puppy into my car and drove to Animal 911, a 24/7 emergency room for non-humans, from snakes to birds, mice to llamas, and puppies.
Because of COVID, they came the car and took him (and my credit card) into their facility. I was to wait in the parking lot for their call, while they did the initial exam ($155) with billing workup. Other critters had owners waiting: a dog who got his tail bit off at the dog park; a constipated cockatoo; a cat after an altercation with a raccoon; a goat having trouble birthing (city vets don't make house calls). All on a Sunday afternoon.
Two weeks ago, his regular vet removed seven ticks. So, I expected that tics were the culprits. The regular vet wanted shots for $300, heartworm medication for $160, a microchip $154, an electronic fence $3500+, and insurance $499. I did everything but the microchip and the fence.
Our property is bounded by a river. The puppy has figured out how to drop a ball into that river. He races down the bank ahead of the ball, then jumps in, gets the ball, jumps out, runs back upriver, and starts the whole process all over again. How could I put up a boundary fence that would exclude him from that much fun?
The call came. Animal 911 wanted permission to charge my card to radiograph three abdomen lumps for an additional $553. And, please wait in their parking lot, for both the findings and the subsequent fees for treatment. Animal 911 tells, in advance, how much everything is going to cost. I like that. I wanted healthcare reform to create a menu of procedures and prices. I don't like signing permission for the hospital to drain my bank account dry. Hospitals get away with billing whatever amount they decide. Sometimes, I think they spin a Wheel-of-misFortune to calculate healthcare bills.
And so I sat.
I miss the camaraderie of the veterinarian's waiting room, along with the struggles to keep one patient from eating another.
The next call came assured me that the puppy had been put on an IV and was comfortable. On Monday, the surgeon could remove the objects from his small intestines for $9,000.
Or $11,800, if a portion of the intestine needed to be removed. (They did give me the option to euthanize him, if I could not afford to charge the bill to my credit card). It's going to be a long year of peanut butter, tomato soup, and hard boiled eggs with rice for me to pay for this. I just am not going to destroy a kind, gentle, good soul.
It was indeed something he ate. While I only put dry food into his bowl, the puppy has a very broad appetite, having discovered the joys of capturing wild rabbits and pouncing squirrels.
Instead of contenting himself with chewing off the toes of my crew socks, he had devoured a whole sock. However, he was not able to digest it. It lodged in his small intestines.
When the surgeon opened the puppy's small intestine, he found my sock, a shredded tennis ball, and a collection of woodchips. It definitely was my sock, as it was knotted. Before the veterinary surgeon could accuse me of making my socks into unhealthy toys, I explained that my family has feet of similar size, with a method to sort them: My husband wears only socks with gold toes. Mother puts her socks into the laundry right side out, while my son puts them in inside out. As I remove my socks, I knot them, thereby giving me a shot at actually getting socks back.
Well, the surgeon saved the sock for me. Totally disgusting what stomach enzymes did to it. And the smell! No foot ever smelled that bad.
After the surgery, Animal 911 had no idea why the puppy was failing to thrive. His tail wagged when they let him out of his cage. Still, he just was not eating.
Against their advice, I insisted that they release the puppy immediately to me, immediately. I am the fourth owner of this critter. Imagine how depressing it would be to lose yet another owner and be facing trying to please, enough to be kept by, a new owner that had you in a cage. Especially after you had that glorious river to bounce in and out of.
I brought the puppy home, so that he would know that I was still his. He cannot run, nor do stairs for two weeks. He patiently wears the "cone of shame" that blocks his vision. I know he is better, because he is retaliating by pooping in my husband's office.
Now that we have figured out how to get him to take his medicine (refused the traditional cheese and peanut butter), he is getting better. At 71 pounds, it took one of us to hold him, a second to wedge his mouth open with a wooden spoon, and a third to risk losing a finger to jab the capsule into that spot where he would gag and swallow. When, in spite of his lack of desire to eat, he came sniffing up to the stove while a steak was cooking, that we realized the pills could be buried in a piece of meat. Offered more than one piece, the first would get gulped down, pills and all, without much chewing. No more spitting out broken capsules.
He is no longer failing to thrive. Glad I dismissed euthanizing such a good dog.
Remember that list of things the regular vet wanted me to do? Well, I paid for the insurance online that same day, two weeks ago. Coverage started the morning he gulped down that sock.