Out of the Starting Gate

Follow the journey of Dr. Jennifer Selvig as she experiences the ups, downs and surprises of life as a new equine veterinarian.

I am NOT a Small-Animal Vet March 08, 2010 By Jennifer Selvig, DVM

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I am NOT a small animal vet. Don’t get me wrong: I can vaccinate dogs and cats, and make some cursory recommendations when it comes to fairly simple problems. But after three years of equine-only practice I do not pretend to remember much of anything about small animal dermatology, and I failed to take the small animal surgery rotation entirely. So whenever I meet anyone who asks what I do, I always specify that I am a HORSE vet. Because inevitably, when my new acquaintance learns of my profession, I am barraged with questions about the dog he or she wants to breed (yikes – don’t get me going on that one!), his or her cat’s behavioral issues, his or her kid’s parakeet with a feather problem or the family ferret’s cancer woes.

Sadly, the one thing I CAN do is euthanize barn animals – with help from a tech who can hit tiny veins better than I can, as we usually do these in the presence of the owners. In our practice, we offer small animal euthanasia services to our equine clients on the farm if they request it. And let me be clear: These are scheduled appointments with a technician. But, it is a skill my husband knows I have.

So let me back up. My husband, the attorney, works in an office full of people with animals, mostly dogs and cats. Whenever I show up at the office or see his coworkers outside of work, I get the standard array of questions and/or stories: My dog had to have surgery for a gastric twisty thing (sorry to hear that), my cat ate part of my carpet and what should I do (see your vet!), my dog has bloody poop and do I really need to take it to my vet (yes!)? I think I finally have my husband convinced that it is not a good idea to call me when he is being bombarded by these questions at work: “Your wife is a vet, can you ask her about my cat’s allergy meds?” Correct response: “She’d tell you to call your vet.” I’m trying to teach him to just respond this way, because invariably, that is what I am going to tell them. I once had to call one of his coworkers while I was out of town at a riding clinic just so I could tell her to call her vet when her dog was having complications after surgery. (Actually I think I’ve done this for two of his coworkers.)

I am trying to figure out how these people think I am going to help them when a) I have never seen and cannot currently see their animals, b) I don’t have any drugs, lab equipment or even my stethoscope available even if I COULD see their animals, and c) I haven’t worked up a dog for a urinary problem since my small animal medicine rotation 4 years ago. Now, I understand asking some general questions here and there. (Example: When should I spade my dog?) I try to warn people I’m not the right person to ask about breeding your dog (my response: Go adopt one from the shelter!) and I’m not the right person to ask about your cat’s heart problems (my response: I have no idea!). And I most certainly am NOT the one to call when your daughter’s guinea pig is about to take its last breath.

This last example was sort of the straw that broke the camel’s back when it came to my very well-meaning husband’s attempt at helping one of his bosses. Said guinea pig (Chi-Chi) apparently had been about to take his last breath for some time. I was in the middle of a board meeting when the following text message came through from hubby: “We’re going over to Dave’s house when you’re done and I told him you could put down his kid’s guinea pig.” I had to work not to choke on my cheese and crackers. I’m not sure you can hiss via text message, but if you can, I hissed back: “Um, I can’t euthanize a guinea pig! Have him call the emergency clinic!” Return message: “I already said you could do it, you’re going to have to call him yourself.” Argh!

ME: “I can’t call him, I’m in a meeting! I’d never be able to hit a guinea pig vein. I don’t even know where to FIND a guinea pig vein!”

HUSBAND: “Just stick it! It’ll be fine!”

By this time I was pretty annoyed.  I think the fact that the garden-hose-sized jugular possessed by most horses is much easier to hit than the capillaries present in your standard guinea pig somewhat escaped him. Now, I realize I could have easily done a peritoneal stick (well, with my luck, I’d miss, so maybe not), but really, I didn’t want to go through that at someone’s home (possibly with a devastated little girl present). Plus, it was the principle of the thing. I’m not going to be volunteered for random guinea pig euthanasias.

In the end, I left the meeting temporarily to call poor Dave. Mercifully, Chi-Chi had passed away on his own during my frantic texting exchange. I texted my husband to give him the sad (but not for me) news. The poor guy had to endure a lecture later on about how I am not to be volunteered for small animal jobs (and to his great credit, I haven’t gotten one since). All I can remember from vet school about guinea pigs is that they get scurvy. I wonder if some orange juice could have done the trick.

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