A Veterinary Journal by Claire Poole
March
Chapter 3 - Page 10
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Monday 23rd March
Monday 23rd March
There is a distinct seasonal feel to this morning’s surgery. Several cats require worming - no doubt after increased hunting activities - and three itching dogs. The spring increase in pollens and seeds often brings misery to dogs with allergic skin disease. In the lucky ones, symptoms may only appear for a short period, others suffer through all the warmer weather. Successful treatment cannot be guaranteed unfortunately, and we have to impress on owners that our realistic aim is to control, not cure the condition. Fleas and other parasites also increase with the warmer weather, and we all stress the importance of routine parasite control. It is unusual not to see at least one animal with fleas during a consulting session.
One of our diabetic cats - Finn - comes in for a routine blood sample. He has been doing well; his drinking is much reduced, and today his blood glucose is within normal levels. With the better weather, he spends more time outside and I have a fleeting worry that his increased activity might reduce his glucose levels, possibly leading to a hypoglycaemic episode. However, his owner assures me that he is in fact a very successful hunter, so we reckon that the prey he catches will boost his glucose levels enough to compensate for the effects of greater exercise!
Moss’s owner telephones with a progress report. He is still weak but seems cheerful and is eating well. He is taken regularly into the garden to ‘do his duty’ but is always glad to return to the kennel. So far so good.
At the farm surgery, we are expecting Jude - our traffic accident - for a check up. Her owner has kept me informed about her progress. In general, she has been improving well but her appetite is not good. My first impression is that her breathing is heavier than I would expect after a week’s convalescence. Her heart sounds much improved with no trace of irregularity, but her breathing sounds are a little muffled, so I suggest taking an x-ray just to rule out the possibility of a diaphragmatic hernia. This can occur after trauma - the diaphragm tears and allows abdominal organs to herniate into the chest cavity. This herniation can happen immediately post accident, or at a later date. Our x-ray shows an intact diaphragm but there is definitely increased density in the middle of the lung field reflecting the severity of the damage to Jude’s lungs. Nothing surgical can be done. Hopefully continued rest will bring about more improvement; but there is a risk that Jude’s breathing may never be 100 per cent. Cath can gradually reduce the heart tablets now, and I will check her again in a few days.
I am relieved that we do not have to operate on Jude: diaphragmatic hernia repair is high risk surgery. Two years ago, a distraught owner appeared at the surgery with her Labrador who had been ‘run over’ by a landrover - the driver actually felt the tyres going over the dog. Expecting a moribund patient, we were amazed to see a virtually unscathed youngster bounding from the car up the path to the surgery in search of the usual biscuit. Everything checked out okay - apart from a few superficial grazes, the dog seemed to have got off scot free. The accident happened on a gravel drive so we assumed that the gravel had given under the dog, cushioning her from more serious injury. All was well for nearly a week until the dog jumped a low fence and suddenly developed severe breathing difficulties. The forces involved with the jump had allowed abdominal organs to push through an area of diaphragm damaged during the previous week’s accident. Luckily, the hernia was successfully repaired and she made a complete recovery.
After a weekend spent looking after Moss, the prospect of a long walk is extremely appealing. The weather has been dry for several days, so a walk through the fields to the river is possible. Although the crops are growing, we can still walk through the fields if we stick to the tractor tracks, but in wet conditions, the tracks are too muddy and we have not ventured down for weeks. A large flock of geese congregate at the edge of the field, watching warily as three dogs and I troop down the tram lines in Indian file. A pair of swans have taken up residence in the oil-seed rape field over the fence. Watching them from the surgery, Julie and I did wonder initially if one was injured, but they regularly fly off for a while before returning to their patch. Younger swans do occasionally have ‘trial runs’ at pairing before eventually nest building and rearing young. It is possible that this is what is happening here. During our day’s comings and going, all of us locals keep an eye on the pair, curious as to what they will do next.
The sky is full with the sound of singing skylarks, mere dots in the distance, and a bird scarer discharges its 4 shots on the next farm. This is supposed to scare the birds from the growing crops but our geese are made of sterner stuff - a quick glance then back to grazing again. At this time of year, the skies are frequently full of ragged skeins of geese, temporarily scared off their preferred feeding grounds by either bird scarers or, occasionally, irate farmers with shotguns. Approaching the river bank, the blackthorn bushes are a shock of snowy blossom - in a few months, they will be heavy with sloes. What a pity no one here likes gin.
The results of the high spring tides are spread on the rocky shore – half an oar, a life belt, plastic washing baskets from the potato picking upriver and the usual selection of plastic containers and old buckets. It is amazing what gets washed up, and beachcombing is always interesting. In the surgery’s early days, the sandbags used to hold patients in position for x-rays were made from old tyre inner tubes which we had collected from the plentiful supply down here. Within moments of reaching the shore, Kippen has found yet another football to add to his collection. This will be faithfully carried home and played with relentlessly until usurped by a ‘newer’ model. Unfortunately, Fintry has found a sheep’s leg and is carrying it around with great pride, watched by an envious Jonno. The unlucky sheep fall in upstream and wash up on the tide. This one had obviously been in the water for a while and provides an interesting lesson in anatomy - bare bones are held together with the last vestiges of tissue. Luckily, Kippen loses his grip on his ball providing enough of a diversion for me to grab the leg and lob it back into the river out of reach. I don’t mind balls in the garden, but draw the line at skeletons! Fintry’s Achilles heel is that she always wants what the other dogs have, and the chance of grabbing Kippen’s ball was too tempting to ignore.
We walk along the shore to a small, stone-built building, one of several along the river bank. These are old fishing lodges, a relic of the days when salmon fishing was a major local industry. Each lodge has a large open fireplace and cot-like beds where the fishermen waited for the tide. Heavy fishing with ever more efficient methods has reduced the salmon numbers drastically and fishing is now strictly regulated, leaving the lodges disused and falling into disrepair. What once was one of the main industries in Clayfern is now no more than an occasional sideline: no one earns their living from the salmon any more. An old map in our hall conjures up an impression of life a century ago ... every lodge has a name - Jock’s Hole, Camcase, Dominie’s Scalp to name but a few. The sandbanks visible at low tide are also named - Wonder bank, Peeswit bank and the ominous sounding ‘Sure as death’ bank. Seals and wildfowl can be seen on the banks at low tide and the sandy expanses look benign, but they represent hazards to passing vessels. Warning buoys indicate the safe passages but even experienced skippers have been known to run aground. Looking over the black river at night, it is strangely comforting to see the green hypnotic winking of our nearest buoy.
A trip to the river is always full of interest, even down to the amazing variety of rocks on the foreshore. There are spotted, wavy and knobbly ones, all shapes and colours. I pick up an attractive piece of blood-red jasper to add to the collection filling a large bowl on our kitchen window. Looking up, the opposite bank of the river is completely obscured by a battleship-grey curtain of rain. This may be our last trip to the river for another few days if that comes our way. Time to head home. I wish I could paint the scene before me - the green of the sprouting barley, the mauve-brown of the plough stretching to the farm buildings where white blossom and yellow gorse and daffodils stand out from the faded pink of corrugated roofs. A truly pastoral scene.
Copyright Claire Poole 2005
