Pets from the Past and a Writer who Remembers

My cat Amber died about a month ago.  I've already blogged about losing a pet (see my petMD.com blog here) and I don't desire belaboring the point longer.  Instead, this loss has jogged my memory a bit and I'd like to share with you some ancient animal-loving, young writer history. 

Growing up, I had pets.  The progression of my pets followed a fairly normal course: first goldfish, then cats, then finally, finally! a dog (dogs were my passion in elementary school).  Then, middle school hit and I became horse crazy (still am).  As a child who loved books and often wrote (although not realizing I actually wanted to do such a thing as a grown-up), I started keeping a pet diary.  Initially starting as a "Fish Diary" given the initial critters I kept, this morphed from a paperback tombstone of fish that I had known and loved, with entries every time a fish died, to a handwritten record (bound with pink yarn!) of the pets that entered my life. 

My Animal Diary (you can see where it originally said "fish") - complete with illustrations!

Starting when I was nine with the too-soon death of my very first goldfish named, embarrassingly, "Goldie", this record quickly takes on the tragic tone of a child's direct observations on loss.

Apparently, my second fish, "Kally" (because she was calico), died soon after "Goldie".  Pesky goldfish. 

The next entry was more upbeat, titled: "Got New Fish!" But you see where this is going... The enthusiastic new fish entry occurred on Saturday, March 16, 1991.  Next entry: Thursday, March 20, 1991, reads as follows:

"On Thursday, March 20, 1991 Chocolate our black fish with bulging eyes died. I knew he was going to die first. But oh well. I'm sorry he did die."

Way to sort of pat yourself on the back for predicting death, Creepy Kid Anna.  And love the resolve here: "But oh well".  Kids grow up so quick.

Apparently, my parents decided by the summer of 1991, I had grown out of the fish phase and was ready for terrestrial pets:

Yes, we gave all our pets middle names. And apparently my artistic skills were limited to fish.

Soon after, more animals: Patches and her kittens, and a stray named Pumpkin.  The last entry in this journal was September 9, 1995 when I finally got my first dog, Sam. 

It's funny to go back and look at things we've written long ago.  In my case, the handwriting seems alien and the blunt phrases and overt turns of emotion surprise me.  I'm glad this flimsy journal, bound with red construction paper, has survived moves overseas and back, college dorms, and the purges that come with each successive move to a new location.  A glimpse into the past can even sometimes help us understand where we are now.  No, I don't specifically keep a pet journal anymore.  But I do journal in general and have been since 2008.  My current pets feature in these pages occasionally.  Amber sure did.  And we keep writing on.

A book lover on vacation

Anyone following my Twitter stream (@annaobriendvm) is aware that I've been away on a two week vacation through the Pacific Northwest.  Driving up and down the western parts of Washington and Oregon, visiting national parks such as Olympic, Crater Lake, Mt. Rainier, and North Cascades, and stopping at all the little espresso huts our bladders could handle, we also briefly spent time in Seattle and Portland.  The top two attractions on our list in those two cities were naturally book-related.  Here's the low-down.

First stop: Powell's Books in Portland, OR

We had heard about Powell's Books prior to coming to Portland.  People who knew us and knew we were going to Portland instantly said: Oh, well you've gotta go to Powell's.  And now I pass along this bit of advice to you, too.  If you are a book lover in ANY sense of the title, you CANNOT pass this up.  This place is amazing.

Taking up the space of one entire city block, this multi-level, multi-room, book universe is reportedly the largest independent bookstore in the world.  The place is so big that the rooms are color-coded and you need a map to roughly navigate the maze of aisles.  There is also a cafe that makes a smoooooooooth latte. 

I judge a book store by two aspects: how good their pet section is (naturally) and how good their space section is (not so naturally).  Powell's excelled in both genres.  The pet section had some oldies, some goodies, some I've only ever seen in ancient catalogs, and some veterinary textbooks I've never seen in the flesh outside of a vet school or clinic.  Now I was impressed.

Just a taste of Powell's section on horse books

Then the space section.  This held books on NASA history that I've never even seen available at the National Air and Space museum, a place I love for many reasons, but they also have a respectable book section in their gift shop. 

We first spent an evening there as mostly a reconnaissance mission.  The next morning, we headed back with more serious intentions.  Another awesome thing about this place is they ship books, a required element for the out-of-towners with limited suitcase realty.  Turns out if you show up at their desk with a handful of books to buy, they can ship them all to your home address for a flat rate fee of $12.95.  So what did we do?  Showed up at their desk as our parking token was about to expire and mailed a bunch back home.  Bliss.

Sci-fi section in Powell's has a wall autographed by various visiting sci-fi writers

Second stop: Seattle Public Library

My brother introduced us to this literary haven.  Apparently a study in modern architecture, the Seattle Public Library (SPL for the cool kids) is an immense geometric structure with large glass windows.  Although unmissable on a city corner, my first thought was not: oh, there's the library.  The uniqueness doesn't end once you go inside.  With ten floors, the SPL has modern creature comforts such as a cafe, small bar, and gift shop, as well as neon yellow escalators to take you to your destination.

 

 

 

Top floor of the Seattle Public Library

This bibliophile's heaven had a floor plan to get you in the general area of your reading goals and they even have a set-up where librarians can help you choose your next five books to read based on your preferences.  With lots of quiet reading spaces, I can easily see how someone might get metaphorically lost in this building, hours flying by as you peruse shelf upon shelf upon shelf.  It's probably a good thing we don't have Seattle library cards. 

Can't end this blog without a photo of one of my favorite espresso huts. This just screams WASHINGTON!

I'm Listening

I made the commitment leap and started my own book club.  Our first meeting is this coming Thursday and the book we are discussing is: The Art of Racing in the Rain, by Garth Stein.  I've never been a book club member before, so I'm not sure how it will go, but I'm excited.  This, the book club I mean, is definitely a topic for an upcoming blog, so stay tuned for that.

What I really wanted to chat about today is the topic of listening and there's a wonderful piece in Stein's book about it.  The narrator of the story is a lovely dog named Enzo.  Being a dog, he can't speak, so we're privy instead to his thoughts and observations, particularly regarding human interaction.  Enzo is convinced when he dies, his soul will leave and become human and thus with the life he is currently living, he takes note on what will make him a good human.  Which brings me to this excerpt:

"Here's why I will be a good person.  Because I listen.  I cannot speak, so I listen very well.  I never interrupt, I never deflect the course of the conversation with a comment of my own.  People, if you pay attention to them, change the direction of one another's conversations constantly.  It's like having a passenger in your car who suddenly grabs the steering wheel and turns you down a side street.  For instance, if we met at a party and I wanted to tell you a story about the time I needed to get a soccer ball in my neighbor's yard but his dog chased me and I had to jump into a swimming pool to escape, and I began telling the story, you, hearing the words "soccer" and "neighbor" in the same sentence, might interrupt and mention that your childhood neighbor was Pele, the famous soccer player, and I might be courteous and say, Didn't he play for the Cosmos of New York?  Did you grow up in New York?  And you might reply that, no, you grew up in Brazil on the streets of Tres Coracoes with Pele, and I might say, I thought you were from Tennessee, and you might say not originally, and then go on to outline your genealogy at length.  So my initial conversational gambit - that I had a funny story about being chased by my neighbor's dog - would be totally lost, and only because you had to tell me all about Pele.  Learn to listen!  I beg of you.  Pretend you are a dog like me and listen to other people rather than steal their stories."

I love this excerpt.  And I love Enzo.  What a wise creature.  He's right.  Shut up and listen.  Humans are terrible listeners.  Most of them.  But there are at least two professions where listening is a coveted tool: veterinary medicine and writing.

Vets have to be good listeners.  Every piece of information that comes out of an owner's mouth could contain some insight into what the dog ate or what changed in the horse's environment.  They may not realize it.  I may not realize it, just then.  But as words and sentences swirl together to create a story about what happened last night at the emergency room, subtle observations creep out and clues are teased from the mass.

In vet school and after graduation, still wet behind the ears, upon a patient's initial physical exam, I would be so determined to ask the right questions, and get the most helpful answers, that I found myself concentrating on what I was going to ask and I missed half of what the owner was saying.  Listening takes practice.

I feel for the most part authors are good listeners as well.  Part of constructing good fictional dialogue is understanding what real conversation sounds like, and taking out all the bad, redundant bits (and run-on sentences - man, do people talk like crazy with run-on sentences.)

So what about you?  Are you a good listener? 

Guilty or Am I the Only Soul Who Doesn't Like James Herriot???

I have a confession to make:  I do not enjoy stories by James Herriot.  As a veterinarian and writer and someone who enjoys the British countryside and is a decent, kind, caring person, I understand that this makes no sense.  He should be my idol. 

For those of you living under some sort of mega-rock for the past half century (or maybe you're just not into books about animals, I guess - I shouldn't be so harsh), James Herriot was a mid-20th century British veterinarian who wrote a series of semi-autobiographical books about being a vet in the British countryside.  His most popular book, All Creatures Great and Small, also became the name of the TV series on the BBC based on his stories. 

I feel that everyone loves James Herriot.  You are supposed to love James Herriot.  What's there not to love?  His stories are down to earth, humorous, and filled with little British-y quirks and mannerisms that make Americans squirm with delight. 

James Herriot - see? What's there not to like? And yet somehow...

And yet.... I first tried Herriot when I was in middle school, per recommendation from my mom.  I recall plucking an old, weathered paperback from the immense book shelf in our family room and settling down one evening to read all about vet adventures, adventures just like I dreamed for myself one day.... And after about thirty pages, that was it.  I was done.  I just.  Didn't.  Like.  It.

Haven't you ever started a book and you get this feeling like: eh, this doesn't feel like me.... and then sure enough, something just doesn't click and no matter what, you can't muster the gumption to finish the darn thing?  Rarely do I get that feeling, but when I do, man, it's impossible to kick and the book just languishes.  Life is way too short to waste time on books that don't "click", that's what I say. 

Given the fact that I was only a pre-teen when this occurred, I sensibly tried to give the book another shot when I was in college.  Home for summer vacation, again I picked up the same weathered paperback and tried (harder this time) to like it. 

Nope.

And that's it.  No three-strikes-you're-out thing for me.  Two tries - that should be enough.  Herriot and myself were just not meant to be.  It's like how some people just can't stand Hemingway or Shakespeare. 

This topic comes up occasionally.  It's like whenever people find out I'm a vet and love to read, they automatically ask about Herriot: "oh you must love James Herriot" or "you must've read all the James Herriot books."  And the truth, as you've learned, is: nope.  Then, when I openly admit I actually don't care for these books, the reaction is normally a shocked facial expression and an uncomfortable: "Oh, really?  Oh.... well...."  It's like I admitted I kill people and eat them or something.  (Which I don't, internet.  I don't.) 

And so, to keep random conversations with clients and other animal-loving people pleasant, when asked about Herriot, I sort of mumble something about how I've never really read any of his books, and then comment on the weather or scream: THERE'S A SPIDER OVER THERE which creates the perfect diversion.

The perfect diversion for awkward conversations

Now that I've come clean, I'm wondering if there's anyone else out there who isn't a fan of the lovable James Herriot.  When I Google "James Herriot bad reviews" or "people who don't like James Herriot", I get nothing.  Not even Google admits there are people out there like me.  But, if you're reading this and find yourself nodding in agreement to my riveting text, maybe we can form a support group or something... I'm thinking some sort of social event involving cookies.... 

And now I'm done hating on books.  Because the truth is, of course, I love books.  I live for books.  And I'd much rather talk about books I love than the ones I don't.  So this is the last time you'll hear me moan and groan about a book.  Well, except for Dickens.  I can't stand Dickens.  But that's for another blog...

Wormy Wednesday!

Wormy Wednesday!

It’s been a grotesquely long time since I’ve done a Wormy Wednesday, but I have good reason for one today, so here we go!  

A few weeks ago I had the great privilege to visit the United States’ National Parasite Collection (USNPC).  Bet you didn’t even know there was such a thing, did you?  Tucked quietly away at a USDA office in Beltsville, Maryland, an extremely unassuming building, nay, the BASEMENT of the building, holds the most amazing collection of parasites, both endo and ecto, in the world.  This is not just uber-veterinary-nerd-hyperbole.  It really does house the largest specimen collection in the world.  Of course it helps when most of your specimens are teeny tiny like fleas and sections of cattle liver fluke on a microscope slide.

Walking into this basement is a surreal experience.  At first, you just see compressed shelves – you know, the type that are on rollers to save space.  But when the shelves are opened up and you peer down one, you see jars upon jars of things in formalin.  And I love jars of things in formalin.  There’s just something fascinating and creepy all at the same time about something that’s been preserved for the past fifty years in a Mason jar filled with yellowing liquid.  Maybe this is the mad scientist in me speaking out.  I don’t know.  Perhaps I’m abnormally riveted by this sort of stuff.  

Yay! Random jars!

My abnormalities aside, the breadth of the collection combined with its history is practically awe-inspiring.  There were specimens in there from the last half of the 19^th century!  The host animals ranged from the dog to Antarctic seals. 

However, in my opinion, for any parasite collection to be worth its salt, it must contain one of my most favorite parasites: the canine giant kidney worm.  My fascination with this parasite dates back to my vet school days in parasitology class, sophomore year.  Our professor had a modest collection of parasites for lab use, as most parasitologists do.  During labs we would examine ad nauseum the feeding and breeding apparati of various nematodes, trematodes, and cestodes (ooohh, look at that spicule!  Wow is that an excretory pore or what?) of prepared slides which were more than showing their age under the microscope.  Most interesting to me were the jarred specimens sitting at the front bench.

There was one specimen that immediately caught my eye – a kidney cut longitudinally.  Within this kidney was a worm.  Just a worm.  This thing had obliterated the entire inner structure of this organ and set up shop inside.  It was horrifying.  And so extremely fascinating.  Here are the deets:

The giant kidney worm is more politely called Dioctophyme renale, or D. renale for short.  It’s true host is the mink but occasionally an unlucky dog can become an unsuspecting host.  Eggs of D. renale are passed in the urine of the infected animal.  These eggs then go through a complicated life cycle involving various intermediate hosts such as fish and frogs.  With each pass through an intermediate host, the parasite slowly matures.  Then a mink (or dog) comes along and eats a fish or frog that is harboring these developing larvae.  Once ingested, the larvae of D. renale migrate eventually to the kidney where they grow to adults, breed, and pass eggs into the urine to start the life cycle over.

Here is D. renale in all its kidney-destroying glory.

One of the most interesting details of this parasite is that it only ever infects one kidney, and specifically, almost always the right kidney.  Although I’m not sure why the predilection for the right kidney, the parasite seems to know that if both kidneys were infected, the host animal would die.  And when you’re a parasite, you don’t really want your host to die, otherwise you're out on the street looking for a new place to rent.  So this adaptation of the one-kidney-only rule allows for the successful survival of this parasite.

Unlike common gastrointestinal parasites like tapeworms and roundworms which reside in the intestines and can cause weight loss and diarrhea and are diagnosed via fecal sample, D. renale is usually diagnosed when the host animal succumbs to kidney failure (since one kidney has been obliterated).  Treatment is removal of the infected kidney.

Although this all sounds really scary, fear not.  Even though the parasite has been reported across the United States, it is really, really rare to find it in dogs.  Are you a mink owner?  Well, then maybe be a little more worried about it.  I don’t know – I don’t treat minks.  Prevention is to not let your dog eat raw fish, frogs, and other icky wigglies out in the wild…. But try telling that to a Labrador.  Good luck.

A mink. Because I wasn't quite sure what one looked like. Appears similar to a ferret. Man, those are some beady little eyes!

So, anyway, to get back to my epic adventure in the halls of the USNPC, with bated breath I asked the question: “Do you or do you not have the giant kidney worm?”

And I was not disappointed.

There, on a table, was a dog kidney encased for eternity in a clear block of plaster.  Inside this kidney was D. renale, all curled up and tucked in, cozy as could be.  Amazing.  My trip was complete. Sadly, there were no postcards to purchase.

 

Watching the sunset from 7-11

I have a thing about sunsets.  I guess you could consider me a connoisseur of sunsets.  I enjoy sunrises too, but their timing is somewhat antagonizing, being at dawn and all that.  It's hard to really enjoy a sunrise during the weekday between the shower and the letting the dog out and the forgetting the coffee mug on top of the car as you pull down the driveway. 

When I used to make farm calls more often than I do now, I often saw both sunrises and sunsets in the same day due to long hours in the truck.  There was something nice about going to a dairy before sunrise, pulling a calf in the dark pre-dawn hours, and then walking back out to the truck under a pink and glowing sky. 

Now I feel I collect sunsets and sunrises.  I photograph them whenever possible, and take a moment to enjoy them whenever I can.  Our house, sitting in its cramped and impervious-to-nature subdivision faces east and I can catch glimpses of the sunrise from our second story bedroom window.  This has led to many a fleeting image of sunrise from a camera poking out at 6 am on a wintry morning. 

Winter sunrise out the bedroom window

Unfortunately, our house has no view of the sunset.  We sit in a slight dip and the backyard offers a marvelous view... of the neighbors' backyards.  However, drive up a small hill out of the neighborhood and across the street to the 7-11.  There, in the parking lot facing due west is a fairly unobstructed view of the sunset.  And so I sit in my Honda Civic sometimes just to watch the sky.  And occasionally eat ice cream.  

View of the sunset at my 7-11

Over the years of sunset observation, I have learned a thing or two.  I've found that winter is usually the best season for the most colorful sunsets (and sunrises) and I've also observed that tumultuous weather sometimes yields the best sunsets of all.  It's all about cloud placement.  And a little luck.  Of course there's some science behind it, too.  For some really good info on sunsets, visit NOAA's website here. 

Interestingly, on self-reflection, I don't actually find sunsets particularly inspiring for writing, at least not in the way other things affect my neurons like a hike in the woods or a good bike ride.  Perhaps if I were a painter I would glean more creative sustenance from a sunset.  But that's ok.  Maybe it's because when I watch a sunset, my head is empty.  I'm enjoying it for what it is - a fleeting colorful image that is changing before my eyes and will be gone in minutes.  Indeed, I've had sunset experiences where I've run for the camera only to find upon return that the colors are no longer as vibrant as they were only minutes before.  There's probably some deep metaphor on life buried in here somewhere - feel free to find it and let me know.

We have an upcoming trip to the Pacific Northwest in about a month.  I'm really looking forward to catching a sunset or two over the Pacific.  Until then, the sunset around here occurs around 7:45 pm.  If you're passing through the 7-11 at that time, you just might see me.  I'd like to share a few more sunsets/sunrises with you as collected on various travels.  Enjoy!

Sunset: Maui

Sunrise: Maui

Sunset: Frederick, Maryland

Sunset: Virginia Beach, Virginia

Sunset: Key Largo, Florida

More than one way to write a query or castrate a dog

This has been a roller coaster week - two half marathons in a row have kept me physically stressed and I've been busy at work refreshing my memory on cattle reproductive hormones (prostaglandins in particular, like good ol' prostaglandin E2, which means a review of the cyclooxygenase 2 pathway and all that good stuff).  However, I've tried to remain diligent with my writing and soon I'll have a few more queries to send out to magazines.

If you look up "how to write a query letter" you'll find an almost overwhelming amount of advice online which is simultaneously great and aggravating.  Yes, there is the standard set-up of a query letter: the "hook", the synopsis, and your biography, but just how you craft your hook can be done about a million ways.

I don't know about you, but although options are sometimes nice (like ice cream), for other things such as query writing and learning to drive a manual transmission, I want to be told ONE WAY to do it for starters.

ALL THE OPTIONS!!!

Some aspects of veterinary medicine are like this too.  Take castrations.  Junior year of vet school is when you begin to learn the art of surgery.  You start with the basics, which is the feline neuter.  Then you up the ante a little and progress to the canine neuter (interesting to note how different all the species are when it comes to testicles).  We would practice and refresh our anatomy on cadavers with the surgeons hovering around in the background trying to offer helpful tips.  I remember one particularly easy-going small animal surgeon (I know, I know: What? An easy-going small animal surgeon!? That's crazy talk!) offering tips when castrating a dog: you can do the "closed" technique or "open."  You can use two clamps or three.  You can use this suture and these knots, or this one over here.  You can close the skin with this suture pattern or that.  "Which one would you prefer?" he asked us in the anatomy lab, referring to which combination of methods to use during this surgery, almost like employing artistic license.

It was too much for me.  "How are we supposed to know?" I asked.  Asking which way I prefer when I've never actually done it was so weird and annoying to me, I was getting aggravated, not to mention confused.  What is the tunica albuginia again? Which is the Kelly hemostat?  Perhaps the formalin fumes were getting to me.  "Just show me ONE WAY to do it for now," I said.  "Once I get comfortable with that, then I can try other methods."

The day of the actual neuter on the actual (living) dog went fine.  Things were clamped, things were removed, and the dog woke up afterwards.  Now of course I forgot the way I chose to do it.  Also, I'll admit I don't neuter every dog the same way - different situations call for different methods.  I suppose it's sort of the same thing with a query letter. 

Now that I have lots of dog neuters and query letters under my belt, I'm not as stressed or annoyed when someone suggests something new.  I can nod my head and think: yes, I've thought about placing that ligature there.  Or: yes, I've wondered about including that piece of information here.  Having more than one option helps keep you flexible and even helps you be more creative (that creativity part only applies to queries - probably not a good idea to get too creative when castrating something....)

Now to explore my options in the ice cream department...