Yesterday’s patient was a well-fed Shih-tzu. About four years old, this little specimen of her breed was the picture of health—except for the prominent pudge about her waistline. When questioned about her diet, by way of treading delicately in the direction of her “excess baggage,” her owner fessed up to little Chi-chi’s problem with food:
“Doctor, she just does not like to eat. I have to hand feed her at every meal.”
OK, so this conversation was NOT going in the direction I’d expected. Instead of the, “I know she’s a bit on the plump side,” confession I was trying to extract (this is how I gain entry to the subject in most cases), this owner was concerned that her fat pet was too thin.
So you know, hand-fed pets are not uncommon in my practice. Owners of pets who may be fat, thin or perfectly proportioned will often surprise me with their interesting explanations as to why Fluffy needs extra hand-holding at mealtime.
It’s not a modern phenomenon, this hand-feeding thing. After all, Marie Antoinette famously fed her pooches with her fingertips. It does, however, seem to be more common among all classes these days, now that pets pervade all socioeconomic groups in most so-called, “developed” nations.
It seems a humanization thing, or a close-connection thing—perhaps even a “love” thing in an Italian mother sort of a way (food IS love in many cultures, you know). My Cuban-American roots help inform me of this latter perspective, to which I too fall prey (why else would I so enjoy cooking for my dogs?).
But there’s more here than meets the eye, especially when it comes to our commonly warped view of what normal eating behavior might be among our canine and feline family members.
In this latest case of hand-fed nonsense (and I’ll always consider it such in an otherwise healthy pet), the owner’s take on her pet’s body image didn’t quite meet the rail-thin Vogue standard she clearly kept for herself (high heels, skinny jeans and Miami-tight cashmere sweater). What’s up with that?
It seems that pudgy pets are considered the new normal for many pet owners. Indeed, most of my hand fed patients are rarely thin creatures that must be tempted to eat (though this more understandable version is also out there).
No, these pets are usually the animals that self-regulate their food intake in a normal way. They’re not the chocolate Labs with abnormal food consumption drives. They’re not the perpetually-ravenous rescue dogs with artificially induced, must-eat-now-lest-I-never-see-another-meal behaviors.
Nope. These are mostly normal animals with confused, coddling owners behind their strange, adversarial relationship to food.
They’re easy to spot—once the owner fesses up to the behavior. But it’s much harder to fix than you would think.
“Just let her eat what she wants for one week. Let’s see what happens,” was my take this time.
“But, Doctor, she won’t eat anything! Maybe she’ll eat a half a cup and that’s all! She’ll get sick.”
Hmmm…I didn’t go to vet school to practice psychology. Too bad I didn’t take a minor in this subject, I often muse. Perhaps then I’d be better equipped to help my patients when it’s clear their biology has nothing to do with what really ails them.
Think you already know everything you need to know about Xylitol? Time to re-think this…
In case you haven’t read my back posts on this (here’s the first and here’s another), Xylitol is a natural sweetener sourced from the birch tree. It’s a perfectly healthy substitute for sugar—unless you happen to be a dog…
…in which case your inability to break down this naturally occurring compound means that your blood sugar will drop dangerously after ingesting seemingly minute quantities, triggering seizures. Even one “sugar-free” cupcake can bring upon your demise. If the canine you ingests slightly larger amounts (let’s say two of these cupcakes) your liver may even fail.
Though some countries (most notably the birch-tree haven of Finland) have been using Xylitol since the 1970s, US consumer product manufacturers have only recently gotten in on the action (primarily the result of its favorable pricing relative to other sugar substitutes).
Despite the outcry of a small but vocal group of animal healthcare advocates (foremost among these the ASPCA’s poison control unit), more and more manufacturers continue to accept Xylitol’s emergent charms. In my last post on this subject I railed against Flintstones and Starbucks. Both brands had recently changed their formulas to include Xylitol in several of their products. (Flintstones in some of their kids’ vitamins and Starbucks in some of their mints.) Neither brand went out of its way to warn its clientele of the change.
This was especially problematic for me as a result of my former allegiance to Flintstones as a reasonable canine multivitamin alternative. I was left to ponder how to reach all of the clients to whom I’d once advanced Flintstones as a safe and effective product for their pets.
So you see, the problem with Xylitol is not merely its presence in products (gums, candies, Jello, cupcakes, etc.). The dilemma it poses lies also in the insidious nature of its exposure when owners don’t realize that human-oriented products they once used safely for their pets (or exposed their pets to accidentally) are no longer safe.
When Fido snarfed up a couple of Tic-Tacs in the past you didn’t flinch, right? You certainly didn’t call the vet to determine the toxic dose of Xylitol and whether immediate medical treatment was necessary. But now that Tic-Tacs now contain Xylitol, will you know to worry? (By the way, you should know that according to the ASPCA’s poison control Tic-Tacs poison more dogs than any other product, partly as a consequence of their extra-high Xylitol levels and partly the result of their ubiquity.)
Kudos in this Xylitol awareness department go to the manufacturers of Trident gum. Though many Trident products contain this ingredient, it says so boldly. Not so with the newest loser product to adopt Xylitol: Rescue Remedy.
You heard that right. This bach flower extract-containing product we often recommend to soothe our dogs’ high-strung souls has succumbed to the Xylitol dogpile. No longer can I safely recommend Rescue Remedy now that its pastilles contain the ingredient. Though its other products have reportedly not yet been tainted by this sweetener’s potentially dog-toxic effects, I can no longer trust the manufacturer to keep its products Xylitol free without fair warning.
Thanks for this news goes to Nancy Freedman-Smith of the Gooddogz blog. Her personal experience with rescue Remedy pastille poisoning led her to call for a boycott on all its products until the manufacturer rescinds its use of Xylitol or applies warning labels to its products á la Trident.
Some might say that I make a mountain of a molehill on this subject. Some manufacturers have. After all, they say, other countries have used Xylitol for decades, reportedly without experiencing the same canine-toxic effects our American dogs have.
But if our culture has come to accept that some products not intended for dogs are nonetheless safe, and if our culture is one that exposes its canine family members to more consumer products like these (whether accidentally or on purpose), then all of us who claim a vested interest in our families’ health certainly have ample cause to warn an unsuspecting public of its dogs' very real risks…
…and you would think that these vested parties would include the manufacturers of these Xylitol-containing products, too.
Tic-Tac and Rescue Remedy brand managers: Are you listening?
A veterinarian can’t be all things to all people (I’ve said this before many times and many ways on Dolittler). And this little ditty rings especially true on holidays.
We’ve all been there…a sudden bout of vomiting…a lacerated leg…a cat bite abscess that rears its ugly head…or, in today’s example, the recognition that her back is horrifically painful again…on a major holiday.
The prospect of a crowded waiting room and an unfamiliar hospital…an unknown veterinarian who might well have the bedside manner of a succubus (to match the financial lifeblood-draining ways one would expect of their ilk)…and the possibility that your credit cards may all be declined anyway…it’s all in your head. But what’s the alternative?
“I know,” you say to yourself, “I have the cell phone number the vet gave me after Maggie’s last surgery. I think I’ll try that first.”
Next thing you know you’re leaving a message you hope sounds both urgent and respectful…and hoping—against all hopes—for a call from your trusty vet.
Meanwhile, your vet is in another city…perhaps another state…busily preparing a lavish meal for ten…in no way thinking about her professional duties. When the phone rings she misses your call, up to her elbows in turkey brine as she is. When she finally finishes her cadaverous task she washes her hands and checks the number: unknown.
Luckily, your message is sufficiently frantic to merit an immediate return call. But, truth be known, she thought twice about stepping away from a room full of happy family noises and the diversions of the kitchen to answer your call. After all, she knows there’s only so much she can do for you from afar. And she knows you know the way to the local ER. But she did forget to record her “I’m out of town” greeting on her voicemail. So you win. She calls you back.
After you explain the state of affairs, she agrees that this is almost certainly another flare-up of Maggie’s disc disease. She’s already been given the standard pain relievers and muscle relaxants, you explain. And it’s not enough this time. She needs an opiate like Tramadol, your vet agrees. But that’s not an easy drug to access.
Your vet knows there won’t be anyone physically at her hospital until morning. She also knows that no pharmacy will dispense a controlled drug on a call-in basis. She’s got to provide a physical prescription—and she’s at a loss as to how to do this remotely (she certainly doesn’t travel with a prescription pad so she can fax in drugs while on vacation).
In the end, your vet communicates with the ER vet and manages to have him agree to see Maggie briefly to confirm her diagnosis so he can legally prescribe a drug for her. So you know, unless he performs an exam there’s really no defensible way for him to dispense a drug based on another vet’s “I said so.” And because Maggie needs a drug deemed “controlled” by the DEA there’s no way her regular vet can call it in. Off to the ER you go—but at last you know what to expect.
Yesterday I received three such calls. All were semi-frantic. All merited attention. But in every case the pet’s owner could have gone straight to the ER and received perfectly appropriate care—more appropriate than anything I could manage over the phone.
Still, there must be something about having your regular vet’s cell phone number on speed dial that makes these things easier: “Can I wait?” “Do I need to go to the ER?” “Can you talk to the ER vet for me?”
It’s true, having your regular vet speak to the ER vet personally makes things go so much smoother. But I still can’t help but think: He’s getting paid (at least) $100 an hour to be there. Meanwhile, I’m making diddly as I run back and forth between my family and my cell phone.
Give me a choice, though, and I’ll choose my day over the ER vet’s—even it means I’m missing out on a double-income day…even if it means I still have to take your calls—gratis. As long as I get my break and my four days out-of-town I think I can just shut up and stop whining…for once.
I live in Miami, but every year the immediate clan and I spend Thanksgiving with my sister in New York’s East Village where my sister's family resides. Before that it was in remote, upstate New York on a stunning tract of land she and her husband helped preserve with the Open Spaces Commission. And starting next year it’ll be in the Bay Area, where they recently decided to relocate.
My sister and her husband are filmmakers. She directed an award-willing film about my family and a tragic international event my late uncle was unwittingly involved in. I’ll be sales-ey now and tell you it just came out on DVD and it’s amazing—even if you don’t really care for documentaries.
More to the Dolittler point, my sister and her husband happen to be the most avid dog people I know well—and that’s saying a lot, given my profession. Their dogs are uppermost in their minds as they navigate the Big Apple with them in tow. And it’s a top reason for moving out of it to a more dog-friendly part of the country. (Could there be a dog-friendlier zone than the Bay Area?)
So those of you out on the charmed part of the Left Coast, be warned—I’ll be making pit stops in your neighborhood more frequently, asking you for your private vet recommendations and hitting you up for real estate suggestions (are you listening, Gina?).
Back to Thanksgiving: Today I’ll be running the dogs along the West Side Highway (after I’m done with my coffee) then settling in for a loooong cooking session in the company of a fabulous, free-range “heritage” turkey and a couple of well-behaved (but quietly salivating) beasts.
In the course of this meal prep I’ll be making my famous cranberry bread (for which I earned my County Fair’s top prize at the tender age of ten). With Thanksgiving Day in mind and all the giving things that entails, here’s my recipe for your files (just don’t feed this raisin-packed loaf to your dogs, OK?):
Ingredients:
* 2 cups flour, sifted * 1 cup sugar * 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder * 1 teaspoon salt * 1/2 teaspoon baking soda * 1/4 cup butter * 1 large egg, beaten * 1 teaspoon orange zest * 3/4 cup orange juice * 1 1/2 cups light raisins * 1 1/2 cups cranberries, slices into quarters
Directions:
1. Sift flour, sugar, baking powder, salt and baking soda into a large bowl. 2. Cut in butter until mixture is crumbly. 3. Add egg, orange peel and orange juice all at once. 4. Stir just until mixture is evenly moist. 5. Fold in raisins and cranberries. 6. Spoon into a greased 9 x 5 x 3 inch loaf pan. 7. Bake at 350 F for 1 hour and 10 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. 8. Remove from pan and cool on a wire rack.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Spied in The Miami Herald Online yesterday: State inspectors in Florida will be on the lookout for non-compliant pet shops across the peninsula in advance of the annual puppy shopping extravaganza occasioned by the Holidays.
Here’s the scoop:
“State inspectors will conduct a sweep of pet stores during the next five weeks to ensure the establishments are complying with laws that protect consumers who buy pets.
Florida Agriculture Commissioner Charles H. Bronson said dogs and cats must be at least eight weeks of age when offered for sale. The animals also must be accompanied by a state health certificate signed by a veterinarian within the past 30 days.
The certificate must document that all required vaccinations, tests and treatments for parasites were provided to the animal. Dealers also must provide purchasers with information on buyer's rights under the law, including the right to return an animal within 14 days if deemed unfit by a veterinarian.”
Not that the piece explains much beyond these three paragraphs. In fact, that’s all it says, so don’t even bother clicking the link. The Orlando Business Journal must’ve picked up the same press release, since they basically trod over the same exact ground.
Despite the lack of explanatory information, I find this news postworthy as a result of its novelty. As a Floridian and an avid pet shop critic, never before have I heard any stirrings from the Sate of Florida’s agriculture department on the subject of increasing pet shop oversight.
Though my state has become increasingly willing to intervene on behalf of consumers when pet shops provide low quality products, little has been done to discourage these retailers from doing so in advance of a sale. In fact, I reckon this newest “sweep” has more the customer in mind than the actual wares.
No matter—I’ll take it. If children crying over sick pups at Christmastime is what’s required to alter the state’s approach—rather than the suffering of an industry’s collective basket of sentient goods—at least it’s a start. If this new approach provides much-needed oversight of an industry plagued with animal welfare abuses, I’ll cheer—regardless of what drives the state to take these measures.
Now we just have to sit back and see what comes of it. But if pet shops are sanctioned, closed down, required to seek treatment for their ubiquitously sick puppy mill inventory, I’ll be surprised. If the goal is to ensure that the i’s are dotted and the t’s crossed on all health certificates, the inspectors might as well stay home for the Holidays.
I, for one, am not holding my breath after catching wind of this press release. I will, however, be waiting to see if it makes any dent at all in the quality of the merchandise I’ll be caring for over the next couple of months.
