VETSCAPE

Our Latest Article - " The Vet's Tale ,The Convent Dog. "

2009-12-05T00:09:00.000-08:00

This story was told to me by a solemn and penitent vet I met outside the confessional on the occasion of my first confession following my recent conversion to Roman Catholicism. We had plenty of time to chat as the priest had suddenly said he was going to have a break in the middle of hearing my furtively whispered fifty years worth collection of little peccadilloes and was going for an aspirin and to lie down for half an hour. Strange, you would have thought he would have heard that stuff before but he said he had not in rather a sharp way. Anyway be that as it may, on with the story, though it is told in the first person I did not happen to me, oh no indeed not Dear Readers ...

A great many years ago I did the odd locum for a fine ginger haired practitioner in Glasgow, lets call him " Mac ". Mac was from a devoutley religious family background and may well have been one of the few Roman Catholic vets in the area at that time, this was apparent as there were often priest and sometimes nuns in the waiting room with their pets. One day he was called to house visit to treat a dog belonging to a closed order of nuns and he decided to take me along for the ride, I was glad of this as I was curious to see the inside of a convent, this would be a new experience for me.

On the way I asked Mac what the problem was with the dog and he told me it was some form of skin irritation, " Should be easy to sort out " he said. Presently we arrived at the convent which was a large imposing sandstone building set in its own grounds with large gates. We were met by a personage of no less than the Mother Superior flanked by two lesser nuns, they all seemed very small to me, about five feet in height, and very old, perhaps in their seventies and curiously they all had a gray skin complexion perhaps caused by staying indoors this being a closed order of nuns. Mother Superior graciously shook hands with us and flanked by her cohorts led us through a veritable maze of corridors to where the convent dog was waiting ...

The convent dog turned out to be a large and cheeky looking Glasgow mongrel who on our arrival proceeded to mount the table leg in a fervour of sexual excitement, " There " said the Mother Superior " See how itchy he must be, look how he scratches his tummy ", this sentiment was echoed in stereo by the two lesser nuns, no doubt due to their years of isolation these ladies had no idea what was truly going on. I looked at Mac, how was he going to explain this to the nuns? He was at this point with some difficulty bravely managing control a desire to broadly grin as indeed I was myself, probably as an attempt at self control he decided to try and change the subject by asking the Mother superior what was the dog's name, " Spunky " came the reply. At this information I am sad to report we could not control ourselves and fell about uncontrollably in gasping fits of almost controlled laughter for some minutes watched gravely by the uncomprehending diminutive gray nuns.

Eventually Mac regained his composure and asked the Mother Superior why the dog was so named, " It showed such spirit " she said in chasing away a fox at the chicken coop one night. Mac chickened out by telling them that if the dog was neutered the skin condition would go away and promised to phone back and make the arrangements. The nuns watched us leave still perplexed by our behaviour, clearly they had been in the company of two mad men. In the car Mac said to me " Best flipping name for that dog, how could I have explained to them what was really going on? " and continued to chortle for some time, at least I think it was flipping he said, it must have been because Mac was a gentleman and never swore.

Footnote : British reader will see what was funny here without any explanation, reader elsewhere in the world may need to refer to this link which defines the word spunk in its formal and colloquial use in the United Kingdom : LINK

Scott Nimmo

The Vet's Tale - The Ghost Dog

2009-11-13T23:56:00.000-08:00

This story was told to me by a slightly sinister pale faced older vet I met at a seance one night whose name I have long forgotten, though it is told in the first person it did not happen to me, oh no indeed not dear readers ...

In days gone by night visits and on calls used to be " de rigeur " for us veterinary surgeons and we all did our share without complaint, nowadays with the all the recent changes in the profession this does not happen so much as the dear present day vets have this thing called " work life balance " a concept I am a bit hazy about. Is it the same as professionalism and dedication? Perhaps.

Be that as it may what was my most outstanding out of hours experience that I recall? Well, that would be the Ghost Dog of North Doodham. The story starts at 3:00AM when the phone rang and a very destraut and incoherent client asked me to visit at once and attend to their dog Sheba, well I am naturally not at my best at that time in the morning but as I drove to the visit I clearly remembered that this particular dog had died a month previously. Spooky .... !

When I arrived I discovered that this was indeed the case and the reason for my visit was that the client had seen Sheba’s ghost cross the living room and go up the stairs. The person concerned was scared to go up to bed and wanted me to check each room for the ghost dog, this I did, but I will admit that the hairs on the back of my neck were raised as I looked under the bed in the last bedroom! Of course I found nothing, the client had kindly seen fit to call me as she thought Sheba had been very fond of me and liked to come to the surgery to see me when she was alive so I would bring the ghost dog out. A reasonable supposition ... perhaps

After my fruitless searchings I sat the client down and had a cup of coffee with her, I explained that there were probably no such things as ghosts but grief often plays funny tricks on the mind, she was much reassured and I drove home for what was left of my nights sleep. The story however does not end there, one week later the client came to the surgery and said “ You did not believe me when I said I saw Sheba’s ghost did you “, I replied something to the effect that there are more things in heaven and on earth. She then dropped her bombshell, saying that she had actually photographed the ghost dog the previous day, this time in her back garden, again the hackles on the back of my neck rose, oh no! there are ghosts after all I thought. I quickly looked at the proffered photograph only to find a completely blank image of her back garden. There! she said in triumph, you can clearly see Sheba, “ Perhaps “ I said, by now feeling quite sorry her and her obvious problems.

Over the next few months I heard from more than one person that the lady concerned was showing the photo to all and sundry in the town saying “ The vet can see Sheba as well, clear as day “ which of course was enough to launch me into the land of loonies as well as the owner in the town's eyes. This tale is in fact quite true and happened a few years ago, the telling of it now can offend no one as the lady concerned recently passed away and is now hopefully walking Sheba through the gardens of paradise .. Perhaps!

The Vet's Tale - The Canary.

2009-11-12T00:32:00.000-08:00

This story was told to me by a fine manly vet I met at a Barbie Doll exhibition, though it is told in the first person I did not happen to me, oh no indeed not ...

The story goes like this, in times gone by house visits tended to be much more normal than they are now for vets. In these enlightened times health and safety regs mean that house visits even at 3.00 in the afternoon in a Surrey Stockbroker belt are to be viewed as a potentially dangerous situation and if vets go at all they go in pairs or take a member of lay staff along so they can have a nice girlie chat on the way. I however actually used to quite like home visits, sometimes it was relaxing to be away from the surgery in the afternoon, a drive through the country side in summer can be pleasant and sometimes it was interesting to chat with the clients and see them in their own homes, predictably though for the sake of this story sometimes odd things used to happen ....

One such memorable house visit occurred one summer afternoon. I had to visit a lady in the next village to tend to her canary. When I arrived the canary was obviously close to death and indeed it died as I was examining it. This is not an uncommon event under the circumstances but still a sad event not only for me but for the owner as well. The owner tearfully asked what could be done with the body, I replied that I could take the small soul back to the surgery and have it cremated, that being the usual thing to do, this seemed to very much upset the owner so I offered to bury it under the nearby apple tree in her garden, she brightened up at this suggestion and I set to using a spade from the nearby garden shed and soon I had completed the sad task.

The lady then asked if I would like a cup of tea and being a bit guilty at the turn of events I agreed and joined her in the house. When I arrived in her fastidiously tidy front room I saw that tea had already been previously prepared for two, the crockery was of the finest and most delicate and there was a section of petite fours. As I took my tea I had a chance to form an opinion of the lady opposite me , she was around sixty five years of age, spoke with an obvious German accent and clearly had been strikingly pretty in her younger days as she was still graceful and dignified in her older years.

She proceeded to tell me of her life how she had met her husband a British soldier in the last days of the second world war and had been brought to the UK as a war bride and in those days she had suffered some degree of prejudice which I commiserated with her about and told her that Scots people were often treated the same way. Soon there was an uncomfortable gap in the conversation and in this long silence she looked at directly into my eyes and said in a clear voice " One day the world will thank Hitler for ridding the world of all those Jews, what do you think? " I was of course very much taken a back but hopefully did not show it. Of course I am no Nazi and am appalled at the treatment of the Jews but what was I to reply to this question? As I was still under the spell of her direct and searching steely blue eyed gaze was I to argue with a woman of this age and a client to boot? This was not a normal situation, the lady was clearly not right to say such things so I took the path of least resistance and said " Yes of course you are right " She looked at me quizzically and said " do you really mean that ", " Of course I said, Hitler was quite right " at that she smiled conspiratorially took my hand and gently rubbed it for some thirty seconds. Oh my god I thought, what have I said? What have I done?

The conversation then returned to more normal subjects, I took my tea and then returned to the surgery and thought no more of the afternoon's events. Till some three months later I got a phone call at the surgery from the neighbor of the German Lady, it appears she had suddenly passed on and joined her canary, while I do not like to hear of any death of a client I was not particularly upset. The neighbor then said something strange, she said I should attend the funeral which was to take place in a few days time, I made the excuse that I hardly knew the German lady and was busy and so would not attend but the neighbor then said I think under the circumstances you really should attend, I replied what circumstances and the neighbor mysteriously said you will find out. So out of curiosity I did attend the funeral at the little church on the hill. There were not many people there I knew other than a couple of clients but there was something very strange, the mix of people I did not know we staring at me with what seemed a mixture of contempt and loathing, a bit like the kind of gaze that you would give to a convicted pedophile at a kids Christmas party except worse! What had I done? What was it all about! I had no idea and was very glad to leave at the end of the service.

Well I did find out early the very next week what had been going on in the form of a solicitor's letter, apparently the German Lady had left me all her money in her will and the people at the funeral who were giving me the evil eye were her three daughters and other relatives. Why had she left me the money after just meeting me once? Was it the canary? Was it my apparent Nazi sympathies? I will never know I guess. As luck would have it the sum of money I received just covered my legal fees and a rather large divorce settlement so I actually got very little money to actually fritter away. In the course of time I received a cheque from my solicitor for four pounds ninety five pence he having kindly deducted his fees and my divorce settlement fees so there was just enough there for a pint of beer to drink the German Ladies health and a can of beans for my dinner, however they were very good beans ....

Scott Nimmo BVMS MRCVS

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The Veterinary Assistant's Tale, One - Treacle and Sulphur.

2009-11-04T22:06:00.000-08:00

This story may have been told to me in the dark recesses of The Spearmint Rhino gentleman's club in Birmingham by a laconic elderly veterinary surgeon who has now sadly passed on, though it is told in the first person not a word of it is true and did not happen to me, oh no Dear Readers ...

The story goes like this, many years ago there was a practice called, well lets call it Smith and Brown and it had once been a proud and vigorous practice but now was in decline as the two partners were aging and and had not kept up to date, but then again who does so much as you get older, there but for fortune etc. ... The practice, although this was the early 1980's was really a fascinating window into the past, the early post second world war period to be exact. Firing of horses still took place and mysterious drenches were mixed with mortar and pestle and put into bottles and a practice label applied, to complete the heady mix other forces were also at work including alcohol and other darker vices ...

However all of this was lost on the enthusiastic young assistant who could not see the reality of the practice or his situation perhaps through naiveté or perhaps through his natural respect for older practitioners who had both more or less adopted the persona of the typical English country gentleman. As time went by this respect lessened, there is a French proverb I believe which translates as " No man is hero to his valet " which about covers this sad transition.

Anyway this tale concerns the case of a dog which was one day brought into the back of the practice by Mr Brown, he turned to me and said " Wash this dog with wash number seven, that will sort out the cruel itch scratch cycle ". There was a galvanised tin bath hanging on the wall for this purpose and the dog washes were on a shelf neatly numbered in some age old fashion, the dog itself was almost completely bald had some sores on it's skin and was feeling very sorry for itself, it was some kind of poodle cross. I was about to follow orders in my usual sheep like way when the student who was seeing practice at the time { Ian McVicar, who turned out later on to become a better vet than myself and many others } turned to me and said, " This cannot be right, wash number seven is something out of the ark, lets do a skin scraping before we do anything ". So we found the old dusty practice microscope, ran a skin scrape and there in the gloom of the ancient microscope field of view were a host of demodex mites lying on their backs and eagerly waving their many legs up at us just begging to be recognised. These are the cause of a serious canine skin condition called demodectic mange by the way. The student and I gave each other " high fives " we were going to get this dog right and the enlightening beams of of the modern veterinary world were going to gloriously illuminate the dark recesses of the Smith and Brown practice.

Later that afternoon Mr Brown came back and was far from pleased that his orders concerning the washing of the dog in wash number seven had not been followed, however we asked him to look down the microscope at what we had found. A salient part of the tale is the by this time the sun was well over the yard arm and this was not unconnected with what transpired next. Mr Brown grabbed the eyepiece of the microscope to steady himself , and after a number of wild sideways oscillations and with some difficulty was gradually able to gradually bring his eye to the desired position and hold it there long enough to look at the skin scraping and mumbled " I am very pleased, what is that ? " The student and I both explained about demodex and sought permission to order in the latest appropriate treatment, and collapsed into laughter when Mr Brown had left the room and we were sure he was out of earshot.

Each week thereafter for the next month the dog came to the practice and was treated by the young vet, and each week the coat looked better and better until after five or six weeks the dog was cured and transformed into a much brighter and happier dog. The young assistant was rightly proud of his success so much so that he took the dog through to where both his principals were sitting in their den and asked them to look at the dog and said " Look what modern methods of diagnosis and treatment can achieve " . To his discomfort the two older practitioners looked at each other very knowingly and then at the young assistant rather pityingly and informed him that they too have had been been treating the dog without telling him, they had been giving the client one of their time honoured special ointments to apply each week and that is certainly what had cured the dog not the microscope, skin scraping or the modern drug. And further the next time he was asked to wash a dog in whatever wash he was to get on with it without question. The young assistant felt his heart dropping as he asked what the special ointment contained, " sulphur and treacle " proudly replied the two older practitioners in unison ...

Scott Nimmo BVMS MRCVS

Veterinary Locum Tales, Two – A Maiden's Prayer.

2009-10-28T05:43:00.000-07:00

Locum Tales – The second Part

An answer to a maiden's prayer ….

This story was again told to me by a veterinary surgeon whom I met at a convention whose name I have long forgotten and again I will make it clear it did not happen to me, of course not dear readers. Oh indeed not ….

By this time the Young Vet's practice had expanded and he was employing an assistant. As is only right and fair the assistant had booked a weeks leave and so of course the Young Vet with some trepidation phoned the locum agency again.

At the appointed time the locum arrived, a young Australian lady this time, and she was pretty, long blond hair, blue eyes and a lovely figure, she fairly took the Young Vet's breath away but hopefully he did not show it, and the work of the practice continued as normal. From time to time the Young Vet had to speak with the Lady Locum about professional matters and he noted how well spoken and polite she was. The young vet imagined that her father must perhaps be a prominent surgeon and her mother perhaps a concert pianist and it was obvious that no expense had been spared in her education. Her demure and polite speech was only matched by the professional and modest way she was dressed, and the clients loved her. Her interests seemed to center on the arts and opera and as the Young Vet loved Mozart, he did enjoy discoursing with her over coffee. As the week passed the Young Vet thanked his lucky stars and was well pleased.

Soon the week came to an end, the Young Vet gently shook the Lady Locum's hand and she departed, everyone was happy, of course two day later the doo doo hit the fan …. First of all letters started to arrive addressed to to the Young Lady locum, lots of them, hundreds even. Then phone calls started both during the day and on the emergency paging system at night all men with African Caribbean accents asking for Penelope { lets call her that } Some callers even asked to speak to the Young Vet and virtually accused him of hiding Penelope away and keeping her for himself, unpleasant sounding men some of them were.

The Young Vet was apprehensive and perplexed, what could be going on? While this was very wrong the lay staff without the Young Vet's permission had opened some of the letters which were still arriving and these revealed photos from large coloured gentlemen with covering letters explaining that they enjoyed the likes of reading, swimming, walking and culture …

The penny dropped! The gentile Lady Locum had become lonely during the course of her one week contract and as any well brought up young maiden would do had joined an organisation called Dateline and had stipulated that she wanted to meet Afro-Caribbean men in excess of six feet tall. As she was pretty her application had received a lot of attention so much so that the next weekend two of these gentlemen made the journey down from London and arrived at the practice reception demanding to see Penelope and were less than pleased when the young vet told them he had no idea where she was, they expressed their disappointment in a somewhat colloquial fashion.

So there we are, the tale the well brought up lonely young Locum who gave the practice address and phone number to a dating agency knowing she was only going to be there for one week … Ah well, appearances can be deceptive ...

Scott Nimmo

Veterinary Locum Tales, One - The Freezer.

2009-10-26T05:39:00.000-07:00

This story was told to me by a veterinary surgeon whom I met at a convention whose name I have long forgotten and I will make it clear it did not happen to me, of course not Dear Readers. Oh dear me no ….

In the veterinary field there are good employers and bad employers just as there are good and bad locums, which one this story relates to you can make your own mind up on.

Many years ago a young vet had just set up in practice in the East of England and needed two days off to attend to some urgent family business so he applied to a locum agency and on the appointed day a locum turned up. This locum was a young Australian male and was dressed in the de riguer jeans and scruffy T-shirt, further he had a peculiar habit of looking over the young vet's shoulder as he talked to him akin to a shepherd constantly scanning distant hills for wayward sheep and his accent was of the thickest . Alarm bells rang in the young vet's head as to how the middle class clientèle of the practice would react to this entity but it was now too late to find a replacement as he had to go there and then.

At that time the young vet lived in a flat attached to the practice and in the flat was a kitchen and in the kitchen was a large chest freezer filled with various frozen foods. The young vet hated shopping and found the freezer a great asset. As he showed the Australian locum round he said to him that as this was a busy single handed practice he could help himself to the freezer contents for his meals. The Australian locum looked bemused asked if this was really Ok then repeated the question again, the young vet assured him it was, and left for his well earned break.

When he came back on the Sunday night he paid the locum who hurriedly departed and all seemed well, until the next morning when the young vet decided to cook his breakfast, on opening the freezer it was completely empty. When the the lay staff arrived at the practice they revealed that two young Australians had arrived at the practice in a car and taken all the food away the previous day no doubt to a flat in Shepherds Bush in London. Later that day the young vet contacted the locum by telephone who was then at his new practice and demanded an explanation in no uncertain terms. The reply was “ Strewth Mate, you said I could help myself “ and it was true the young vet had indeed said that and the young gentleman locum had taken him at his word.

Scott Nimmo BVMS MRCVS