This is an old tale from my early years as a Veterinarian. I was in my first job, and the senior vet who mentored me was not a patient woman. She was a good vet, compassionate, clever and understanding, but she would always call a spade a spade, and if something was shit she wouldn’t call it fertilizer.

We had a patient in hospital that had a number of medical issues. To summarize, this middle aged dog:

• Had been clipped 3 years ago and the fur never grew back
• Was owned by a human physician and nurse who honestly believed dog fur didn’t grow back after it was cut in their special breed
• Was subsequently diagnosed with hypothyroidism
• Was obese, and getting lots of human food and ‘home remedies’
• Had stopped eating, then defecating, three days ago.

When he came to us he was quickly diagnosed with a severe case of pancreatitis, which for those readers who don’t know is potentially life threatening and is often triggered by fatty food in dogs. The senior vet had been trying to explain this to his owners, medical people themselves who should have a basic level of understanding, and I saw her storming out of the consult room they were visiting their dog in. She was shaking her head and looked about ready to scream.

“They just don’t get it. They just don’t. The silly woman just thinks he’s constipated and wants to take him home. She’s been force feeding him olive oil for the last three days! They don’t understand that he could die. I can’t deal with them anymore,” she said.

“That’s ok,” I replied, “Give me his blood results and I’ll give it a go.”

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