Oh My Aching Legs, All Four of Them

“He’s just getting old,” Mr Waters announced in his dogmatic tone as he entered my small consulting room. He was wearing tennis clothes and carrying a sports bag. I wondered why he had brought Spud, a gentle 12 year old black Lab with soulful eyes and an unsteady gait.  He was here for “vaccines only” he informed me in no uncertain terms. But first he knew I would examine Spud. As  I did,  Mr Waters busied himself reading the Wall Street Journal and studying messages on  his iphone.  

When I had finished the exam, I turned to him and told him that Spud had markedly reduced movement in his hips and knees (yes, dogs do have them about halfway down their back legs) and his elbows moved with difficulty. I told him that this was a sign that Spud had arthritis  and would benefit from a glucosamine chondroitin supplement at the very least and might need anti-inflammatory medication as well further down the line.

I asked if he had noticed Spud  having more trouble getting into the car or going up stairs at home. Did it take him a long time to get up after resting or in the morning? Well, yes he had noticed some of that but he put it down to old age.

“He never shows any pain, “ he informed me.  “Well, that is how animals behave,” I said; “They are hard wired not to show weakness and unless they are in severe pain will try to carry on without complaining. It is a defense mechanism from their wild animal past.”

“Well you’re the doctor,” he replied. This I knew was his way of giving me permission, however grudgingly, to treat his pet and try to help poor  Spud feel a lot better.  

As a vet, I frequently wonder at the attitudes people have to their pets and how they interpret their symptoms. Often it says as much about the person as about the dog or cat. I knew Mr Waters was getting on but still prided himself on being a competitive tennis player and keeping up with  world affairs. And I knew that he cared deeply about Spud. He just found it hard to admit that he too was getting older.

For now, I knew we had done the right thing by giving Spud a joint supplement along with his vaccines.

I Met a Fat Cat Today

I met a fat cat today. He arrived in my consulting room in a mock Burberry carrier.  He was wearing a diamante studded collar and had a black and white dandruff strewn coat.  

As his vet, I was concerned about his size – all 20 lbs of it – but his owner’s main worry was about his fur. She wanted it to be glossier.

When I mentioned his size, she bristled as people often do when their pet’s weight is mentioned. She protested that she only fed him a half a cup of dry food a day.

“And what else?”  I asked as I started to examine him. As I’ve often found with overweight pets, he was delightfully compliant, the model patient.

Then began the list of treats: table scraps, cooked chicken and the occasional  fried fish dinner.

I suggested to her that he was being overfed, getting both a full day’s worth of calories in his cat food and a good portion in “people food”.

“But he is always hungry and he doesn’t move around much. He is an indoor cat and loves watching TV.  I leave it on for him when I go to work, “ she reported. “And if I don’t feed him three times a day he wakes me up at 4am by sitting nearly on my head and meowing.”

We talked about ways to get him more active – moving his food to an upstairs location; playing with him; seeing if he would tolerate a harness and leash for walks; and  trying a laser toy. She nodded but I knew it was an uphill battle.

So I went for the big guns, “How are you going to cope if he develops diabetes ? “ I asked.  She looked genuinely shocked at this prospect. “But I would never be able to give him insulin injections; I feel faint at the sight of a needle,” she replied.

That seemed to have finally got through to her. She loved her cat but it was only the idea of  having to give him insulin injections that actually made her think past his dandruff.

So along with her big guy in his designer carrier, she left the office with a measuring cup for his food and the knowledge that once he was slimmer, he would be able to reach his back to groom himself and the dandruff would get better.

My final words to her were: “ Remember, I’ve never met a cat yet who can open the refrigerator, so it is up to you.” She smiled and said, “Maybe I’ll even enroll him in Weight Watchers with me.”