How about a fun one? Here’s Slumdog in his Halloween splint. And below, another few pics of his rooster getup amid his “flock.” I’ve seen better costumes (go to Lincoln Road on Miami Beach on Halloween weekend and the dog frocks will astound you), but it’s pretty funny to us.
How about yours? Submit your own photos in the comment section and I’ll judge for myself. The winner gets a free month of any non-Rx flea and tick product we vets carry.
btw, will the winners of my “Fully Vetted” new blog title contest please lob me an email so I can send them each a six-month supply of their favorite product? Thanks!
It’s been a long week. Thanks for letting me off the hook with this “easy” post...
Dr. Patty Khuly
Slummy and the splint:
Look, Ma, I'm a chicken!
Here's Poppy getting in on the act with her "law goat" getup:
And Slummy playing the chicken role to a "T":
Your turn...
PS: oh, and if you didn't dress up your own, you can still participate (though not for a prize) by pointing out the best costumes you've seen in others' pets. Honor system.
Last Sunday’s Style section of the New York Times bravely plastered not-so-stylish images below the fold on its front page: A sliced-up hog carcass alongside a cleaver-wielding student of animal slaughter under the title, "Slaughterhouse Live."
Saw III references notwithstanding (it is Halloween week, after all), the idea was not so much to disgust as to showcase the apparent delight some take in tackling the ultimate DIY project: slaughtering their own animals for meat.
“Delight” might be too strong a word. Indeed, all the students of slaughter interviewed expressed satisfaction in their quest to learn how to better appreciate their food sources and the animals that die for them...but none seemed even remotely “delighted.”
It was author Alex Williams’ take that this practice comprises the logical next step in the locovorist, welfarist, farm-to-table-ist philosophies of a certain set of über-foodie cool kids. But “praise” notwithstanding, his assessment was not free of indictment: “...D.I.Y. butchering also allows self-conscious carnivores — who in the past were candidates for vegetarianism — to justify their flesh-laden dinners.”
Ouch!
As some of my past posts will have indicated (most notably this one), I’m big on the locovorist, welfarist, farm-to-table-ist philosophies that would help grant me a personal pass to consume meat within the restrictive guidelines of my own conscience.
But Mr. Williams should not mistake idealist principles with self-conscious, guilt-assuaging tactics. Nor should some of his hand-wringing interviewees take the same tack. Consider Peter Singer. He authored the book Animal Liberation and argues this DIY movement could be a step backwards for animal rights. He worries that a tough-as-nails, slaughter-your-own, “I-feel-their-pain” bravado may permeate this "Slaughterhouse Live" scenario.
Given that we might-have-been vegetarians are abandoning the so-called “only right path” (presumably to veganism) for one that covers us top to bottom in animal blood, I can see how Mr. Singer might object. But does this student's experience sound like a carnivore’s dream?:
“That faint smell reminded me of being covered all over my arms in this animal’s death...It was more profound than I expected, because it was an olfactory experience, like a smell you remember from childhood. Every time I ate a tamale from this pig, I remembered it laying on a pallet and being shaved.”
In fact, most of the slaughter students interviewed explained they were not big meat eaters, that they were simply seeking new ways to live and consume meats as a limited part of their diets. Guided by Pollanesque principles, they wanted to opt out of the industrial animal agriculture route and prove that others could do the same.
In other words, they don’t want to drop out of the system. Like me, they want to function within it, proving there IS another way to eat like an omnivorous human––and be humane––without expecting the entire of humanity to do without as measure of success.
I mean, why does it have to be either/or, black or white, carnivore or herbivore?
Even Temple Grandin, interviewed for this article, spoke to the merits of the DIY method as a far more humane alternative: “The easiest way to kill an animal is to approach it as it eats out of a feed trough in its home pen and shoot it in the middle of the forehead — bang...There, there would be no stress at all.”
And that’s the principle that guided me as I killed the first of my chickens. Along those lines, here’s what I practice: Enjoy your animals. Give them a great home. Respect them enough to kill them yourself (or have someone else do it without having to transport them). But don’t expect that it’ll be easy. Or that you’ll suddenly feel self-righteously carnivorous and eminently guilt-free, as Mr. Singer suggests.
But I don’t believe the article’s author or Mr. Singer should worry, not if this thoughtful excerpt from a post on the Ethicurean blog (from a slaughter student) is any measure:
“Animals do not want to die,” the blog post’s author concluded. “They can feel pain and fear, and, just like us, will struggle to breathe for even one single more second. If you’re about to run 250 volts through a pig, do not look it in the eyes. It is not going to absolve you.”
Because it’s not about macho antics, vegan-thwarting alternatives or the alleviation of guilt. Ultimately, it’s about something much bigger: getting closer to a real solution to the problem of industrial animal suffering with the understanding that personal beliefs on the subject are not one size fits all.
I’m in trouble. Big trouble. I have this house guest coming this weekend. And this week she just happened to author a PetConnection feature post titled, “There’s no such thing as a ‘partially’ house-trained dog.”
It’s a problem why? Because I have a dog who’s not housebroken. There. I’ve said it: “My name is Patty and my dog is not house trained.”
Copping to it in public, however, is not likely to grant me a pass with Gina. I’m a small animal veterinarian, after all. What the heck is wrong with me that I can’t manage to keep my own Slumdog from soiling the floor?
Here’s what she and Dr. Marty Becker have to say:
“The first step in turning an adult dog into a reliable house pet is to embrace a key concept: There’s no such thing as a “partially” house-trained dog. He either is or he isn’t.
Why is realizing this important? Because if you have a dog who is “sometimes” reliable, you have a dog who doesn’t understand what’s required of him, probably because no one taught him properly in the first place. Punishing your pet isn’t fair, and it isn’t the answer: You have to go back to square one and teach him properly. No shortcuts here.”
Yeah, no shortcuts. Don’t I know it.
Problem is, I understand the basic principles altogether too well: crate him when he’s alone, keep a strict schedule, watch like a hawk, offer no opportunities for solitary house roaming, correct only when I catch him in the act, use an enzymatic cleaner to “erase” past mistakes and praise like crazy when he gets it right.
Problem is, Slumdog defeats me even in the simplest things. Reading a book while he’s attached to you by a leash? He’ll defecate right there...silently...with wafting stench for prima facie evidence. And it always hits me a few seconds post-poo––too late to correct.
Then there’s the crate thing: Ever met a dog who will happily poop and pee in his crate? Now, this is a dog who never spends more than four hours in his crate. How can it be that he finds the stool as comfortable to lie on as his bedding?
And the schedule thing: Though I’ve condescended to feed him a commercial diet during the training process by way of reducing his stool volume, Slumdog’s stool still comes fast, furiously and wholly unfettered by the mundane trappings of any sort of schedule. It’s like he’s taken a cue from my goats: A pellet here, a pellet there. Everywhere a pellet, pellet...
On the homemade diet? Forget it. It’s the same, only the stool volume is enhanced and, somehow, it sticks to his coat more. Raw? Tried that, too, though I’ll allow that the few days I tried this may not have been enough to establish a pattern. Still, the smell of the resulting small-volume fecal material was so fetid I needed a mask to make it through the crate cleanups.
Here he is getting another one of his frequent baths:
Things are improving, though. When I take him to work, which I’ll be doing for the next few weeks, I can take him out every hour (or have someone else do it). Everyone is on the lookout for his in-cage squatting behavior. Everyone knows to praise and pet him after a proper elimination.
But no one understands my pain. They all just look at Slumdog like he’s the Forrest Gump of the dog world. Which he may well be.
Here’s hoping my “tile-trained” dog doesn’t embarrass me when Gina comes to visit.
I’m trying, Gina, really I am.
Last month’s patient had perhaps a 90% chance of survival. Too bad I didn’t find out until after I’d euthanized her.
Just in time for Halloween, I’ve finally decided this scary story is worth telling. Equal parts cautionary tale and vehicle for personal catharsis, this patient’s case began with a near-tragedy: the owner’s.
After a personal medical emergency left her days in the hospital, this dog’s owner returned home to a very sick animal. A female shepherd mix, she’d been acting “funny” before her owner had suffered the healthcare crisis that led to her hospitalization. But it was nothing compared to her present appearance, one her well-meaning temporary caretakers had thought it best not to describe while her owner was recovering.
Cautionary tale point #1: Never leave your pet with people who do not share your views on animal caretaking.
When five year-old Casey finally presented at the hospital (as a new patient), her pulses were weak, her abdomen was painful, her temperature was low, she was desperately dehydrated and she could barely stand. She had been vomiting foamy liquids, unable to keep down even the barest amounts of water.
A previous close call with a chew toy meant that Casey’s owner was convinced of a gastrointestinal obstruction. Indeed, she was suffering all the telltale sigs of a peritonitis (intra-abdominal infection/inflammation), which could easily have been the result of a foreign body lodged somewhere in her bowels, possibly even perforating her intestines.
Cautionary tale point #2: Do not make assumptions.
Inspection of the X-rays showed severe gas accumulation in what appeared to be loops of bowel, but I had other suspicions.
Casey had never been spayed. The close call with the chew toy had left her owner with a bad feeling about her previous veterinarian and by now it had been years since Casey had received any medical attention. What’s more, her owner was not even aware of the small mammary gland tumor and was ignorant of her last heat cycle’s timing.
Cautionary tale point #3: A spay is basic unless you have a specific reason to choose not to have it undertaken. If you don’t spay, you must be aware of the possibility of certain common conditions and be on the preemptive lookout for their signs.
By now, most of you astute pet people will have the same bad feeling I did then: This is probably a pyometra (an infected uterus), which can look just like gas-filled bowel loops on an x-ray and is typically a terminal condition if it’s not treated. Eventually (just as with a bowel obstruction) peritonitis will ensue and basic treatment, once easily achievable via surgery, will now include critical care expenses and their risks.
At this point, I explained my suspicions and the need for 1) referral to a surgeon/criticalist team or 2) if she hadn’t the funds, an ultrasound and/or exploratory laparotomy (abdominal surgery) on site. Further, I cautioned that either problem––whether a bowel obstruction or the more likely pyometra––meant days of critical care ahead and the possibility of death, though far more so if this was the result of bowel obstruction should loops of bowel require resection and fecal material have seeded the abdomen.
The owner, convinced the uterus could not be the problem, deliberated briefly before electing euthanasia: “I would spend the money if I knew she could be saved but I won’t if there’s a high chance she’ll die.
Given her presentation, I couldn’t give her more than a 50-50, though the pyometra likelihood would mean a far better chance at survival. Hence my dilemma: How do I cast this case in a better light so I could change the owner’s mind? Is it even my role to present anything other than the facts?
Knowing, as I did, that my own pets would never lack for aggressive treatment in this case, I felt like shaking this owner out of her apparent stupor by telling her that any reasonable pet owner wouldn’t hesitate at a chance at life if they had the funds. But, as I eventually concluded (and maybe you’ll agree)...that would mean overstepping my bounds.
Instead, I euthanized her and was granted the right to explore her on my own afterwards...“for the improvement of medical knowledge that could be applied to future patients.”
And, of course, I found an uncomplicated pyometra––uncomplicated, that is, but for the extreme accumulation of gas in the grossly distorted uterus. Lacking any apparent peritonitis or any other obvious stumbling block, this dog would have almost certainly lived. But for the standard risk of anesthesia and post-pyo renal failure, that is. That's when the Monday morning quarterback in me identified the failure and chalked it up to chance...until now.
Cautionary tail point #4: Veterinarians should stick to the facts, but it’s OK to offer diverging opinions...even when the owner clearly doesn’t want to hear them.
Got a hedgehog? Kristen Zorbini-Bongard does. She loves Harriet so much she pays $80 a year to Veterinary Pet Insurance (VPI) to protect her from the possibility of a financial “stop-treatment” decision (AKA, economic euthanasia). This information courtesy of Public Radio International’s This American Life, where one of last weekend’s segments treated the topic in surprising depth.
Though “Insurance? Ruh-Roh!” is written by Planet Money's David Kestenbaum, it's preternaturally geeky Ira Glass who goes on tape to tell Harriet’s tale:
When Harriet’s mom found a tumor on her beloved, she claims that pet insurance helped give her the green light to undertake the expensive treatments to follow. In the end, VPI paid about $800. Kristen and her husband...$1,900. Despite the inequitable cash outlay, it helped. After all, Kristen’s not rich. And she loves Harriet like any of us do our dogs and cats. So if it helped her save Harriet’s life, it’s a good thing, right?
Yes, of course!
Ultimately, that’s the answer This American Life was reaching for. Though it hammered the point home somewhat artificially, the idea was this: Pet health insurance helps save pets by raising the stop-treatment bar. What’s more, the veterinarians, pet owners, pets and insurance companies all win. A “win-win-win” Ira chanted along with VPI’s CEO. And, best of all, no one loses sight of the ultimate goal or the underlying cost issues along the way.
Human health insurance could take a lesson from animals, Mr. Glass gushes.
Amid a sea of convoluted codes, layers of bureaucratic billing specialists, byzantine hospital bidding processes and every invested party gaming the system all the way, human patients get lost. Even more to the point, our nation’s upward spiraling healthcare expenses showcase that the cost of it all is an outsourced abstraction for the healthcare providers involved. In human health, it’s a lose-lose: costs go up and patients get compromised care for their huge cash outlays.
Human healthcare is undoubtedly a mess. This we know. But to riff on Harriet’s dubious success leaves me somewhat cold. How can one hedgehog’s 29% pet insurance payout possibly convince anyone to adopt pet health insurance? It’s an embarrassing example that would in no way convince me to run headlong into the arms of a pet health insurance carrier in the hopes of saving my pet’s life.
Luckily, there are far better examples of pet health insurance success out there. (Plenty!) Indeed, I have no idea how VPI’s CEO could go on record to claim a win-win-win when it’s clear that Harriet’s owners were either underinsured..or got screwed over.
But this isn’t really about Harriet or her owners, much though This American Life finds it humorous to hold her out as an example of our pet-devoted human ways. Rather, for me, it’s more to do with how veterinary medicine’s fee-for-service, lower-waste ways manage to keep costs under control.
Sure, that TPLO might not seem like a bargain, but it’s one hell of a lot cheaper than the human ACL-tear scenario (about a tenth or less). In this respect I do agree that veterinary medicine has a lot to teach human health. That’s because when vets and clients know how much everything costs, and when everyone’s a stakeholder in the cost conservation game, smarter decisions get made.
Add to this the fact that 17% of our hospitals’ costs don’t need to go to the billing department for arcane code translation and chronic insurance carrier disputes and you’ve got a recipe for an automatically slimmer, less wasteful system.
I’ll also agree that giving consumers a choice in their election of insurance carriers and plans makes a big difference to the viability of the system. Unlike our human system, for which individuals are effectively forced into one company’s plan by their employers, pet health insurance offers multiple carriers with multiple plans any owner can choose based on its merits and their personal level of risk aversion. (Not that Harriet’s owner had a choice, since only one carrier offers hedgehog insurance.)
Choice is critical when it’s obvious that human health insurance carriers use their market share to bully hospitals and skew the game in their favor. If every individual could freely choose a plan without having to worry about belonging to a group to qualify, insurance companies would have to compete based on the quality of their product and the effectiveness of their service. What a concept!
Yes, ultimately the pet health insurance industry has a lot to teach human health...if only because it’s based on a competitive, fee-for-service model in which everyone participates, competes and questions costs every step of the way.
Nonetheless, it’s unlikely that pet insurance, as it’s currently designed, could ever be held up as a model for human health insurance. As Mr. Glass concludes in this worthy piece, the difference between pets and humans is responsible for this disconnect. The human-animal divide is vast and lies fundamentally in the willingness of an individual to shoulder any cost, no matter how huge, to save themselves or their children, while the reality is otherwise for pets.
Why? Because, like it or not, most of us consume healthcare for our pets with the almighty stop-treatment figure buried somewhere in our brains.
