Rolling Dog Farm Blog

Cindy got this shot of our Belgian draft horse Beaver on Friday after giving him an oral anti-inflammatory paste called bute.  Day after day last week, he would stand there after getting his medication and do this … for several minutes.  For horses, that's a fairly common expression you see when they smell or taste something new or different or, in this case, something they'd rather not have squirted in their mouths.

For two years now, we have been treating Beaver for a large sarcoid tumor on his belly.  This is probably the worst location for one of these things because whenever he lies down, it gets squished under his tremendous weight and gets into contact with the ground as well.  It's almost impossible to keep it bandaged, too, so keeping it clean is not really feasible, either.  We tried two completely different treatment protocols but neither has worked, and the tumor continues to become infected and inflamed.  Hence the bute paste for his latest flare-up.

Our equine vet, Dr. Erin Taylor, learned of an entirely new treatment for sarcoids that was recently pioneered by researchers at the University of Minnesota in a pilot study, so I will be trailering Beaver in to Erin's clinic on Monday to begin that protocol.  I will post more on Beaver's treatment tomorrow.

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Good news on wobbly blind Briggs:  His biopsy results came back as clean as the endoscopy was.

Blind Goldie has a pronounced obsessive-compulsive disorder about soft squeaky toys, as I've reported before on a number of occasions.  But the only thing better than having a brand-new squeaky toy to shred is having an envious dog sitting nearby, watching her shredding away.  In fact, she will often grab a toy and then march through the house, squeaking it and waving it front of the other dogs.  It's very clearly a "Look what I have!" gesture designed to get other dogs interested in — and lusting after — her possession, because she loves to shred a squeaky toy in front of an audience. 

The other evening we observed her doing this routine, squeaky toy stuck in her mouth, as she worked to find an audience.  Blind Austin rose to the bait, so to speak, and followed her as she went around the house, squeaking.  Realizing she had reeled in someone, she climbed onto a cot in the living room to begin destroying the toy.  The objective, of course, is to extract the squeaker inside.  Once she has removed it and punctured it, she has no further use for the toy. 

And there was Austin, patiently sitting by the cot, watching … well, listening to her go to work on the toy.  At one point he made a move to grab it, which elicited a low "back off!" growl from Goldie as he inched closer:

Finally, when she was done — this takes less than two minutes on average! — she looked over at him with this look that I interpreted as "See how I did that, kid?":

Today's "guest blog" comes courtesy from Heather M. in Seattle.  Heather had made a generous gift for the animals at the ranch in December in honor of her three-legged dog, Manny, and she sent us photos of him.  When I asked her if we could share Manny's story on our blog, she agreed and said, "I think it is important [for people] to hear that these dogs can live normal lives."

Heather wrote:

And I would have to say Manny is lucky to have Heather!

Here he is playing fetch:

Thank you, Heather!

That was the question I asked our employee, Cindy, as she and I headed out to clean blind Hawk's sheath this afternoon.  "Why am I always the one who gets to do this?," I asked.

She smiled but said nothing.

"Why doesn't Alayne ever do this?," I asked.

"Because Alayne is smart," she quickly said, emphasizing the last word.

Oh.

Hawk's private parts had seemed a little puffy and swollen, so I called our equine vet, Dr. Erin Taylor, this morning to get the dosing protocols to sedate Hawk for an exam and cleaning.

It's a two-drug regime and he was already sinking before I got the second drug on board.

As you can see from the photo above, the sedation worked … um … all too well.  That's one leaning horse.  Notice my right hand, pushing on Hawk and trying to hold him up.  It made me feel better, but one hand was not going to keep an 1,100 pound horse from toppling over on me if he chose to go down.  Cindy (who prefers not to have her photo taken) was holding Hawk's head up, because otherwise he was doing this:

Despite being completely gorked, he hardly dropped his penis, so I had to fish around and tug and pull and … oh never mind.

Let's just say that it actually looked pretty good and required only minor cleaning.  The swelling seemed to be nothing more than what Erin says often happens with these old geldings:  they get fat and pendulous "down there."

Alayne did come out to take these photos, though.

I know I have already posted some holiday photos of blind Stoney and blind-and-deaf Baron a couple of weeks ago, but Wendy M. sent us a few more photos from Christmas Day that I thought you'd enjoy seeing.  When Wendy first came out to the ranch last June to meet some of our dogs she was considering adopting, she had said she was looking for a little dog who liked to cuddle.  Baron, meet Wendy.

That's Baron, sound asleep with Wendy on Christmas, with Stoney snoozing on the floor, after an exhausting morning opening gifts. 

Then, when Wendy was no longer available for use as a bed, Baron settled for Stoney:

And finally, without either companion to sleep on, Baron simply rolls over upside down while someone strategically places a ribbon on his tummy:

For his first Christmas with Wendy and her family, that seemed an appropriate way to mark the occasion, don't you think?

The black dog hair on the carpet is from a new dog brush that Wendy had just groomed Stoney with that morning.  Not that a little hair on the carpet seemed to be bothering Baron at all.

Over the holidays, I had taken our blind wobbler Briggs in to see our internal medicine specialist in Missoula, Dr. Dave Bostwick, because we had seen blood in his poop.  It wasn't the usual colitis and it had us worried.  So in between Christmas and New Year's, Dave did a physical exam and ultrasound.  The ultrasound revealed no growths or other suspicious areas, and Dave found no polyps during the rectal exam, but there was definitely blood.  That meant endoscopy, which we scheduled for last Friday. 

Before Dave could put a scope up Briggs' rear end, we had to clean out his colon, which two enemas did just fine, thank you very much.  I assisted Dave during that particular procedure, and though I briefly considered videotaping it for the blog, Dave suggested that probably wasn't what most people would look forward to viewing on a Monday morning blog.  (Okay, fine.)

In the photo at top, Dave and his vet tech Alex are administering anesthesia to Briggs.  Here's another view:

The endoscopy itself showed a normal, healthy colon, pink and free of any signs of growths or tumors.  Dave handed me the viewfinder so I could see for myself.

"So now what?," I asked Dave.

He explained that even though the colon looked great, there could still be a problem lurking underneath the lining of the colon.  Dave said he had sent in biopsies from otherwise "perfect" looking colons, but the resulting pathology reports show that "microscopically, the colon was a mess."  He said that was rare, but it does happen. 

For instance, there could be some kind of problem inside the tissue of the colon, under the surface that's not visible.  As material moves through the colon and past this particular area, it aggravates the underlying tissue and that's what causes the bleeding.

So Dave took some biopsies to send in for pathology testing.

If they came back with a clean bill of health, then Briggs' occasional blood-in-poop may be something that he, and we, just have to live with.  Considering the alternative — some kind of intestinal cancer — that would be the preferable outcome.  With negative results from a rectal exam, ultrasound and now endoscopy, that's actually what we're now hoping for!

Here is Briggs during the endoscopy:

He woke up just fine but boy, was he happy to be out of the clinic and back in the truck!  He'd had quite enough of things being stuck in both ends!

Tyler was our resident ranch goofball, and when we adopted him out last April, my only concern was losing a lot of the "blog moments" this deaf boy specialized in giving us.  But in typical fashion, he has continued to entertain his new family in Helena, and his new Mom, Karen M., sent us this photo of him taken at Christmas.  That's Tyler on the left.

Karen wrote in her email:

Thank you, Karen!

This blind cat isn't one of ours … and that's what makes her so special.  Her name is Hope.

Over the holidays, we received a number of donations from people who have disabled pets, and they told us how much their animals meant to them and sent us their photos.  I asked these wonderful folks if I could share their stories on our blog, and they all said "Yes!"  So over the next couple of weeks I'll post them for you.  Their experiences mirror everything we have found running a sanctuary for disabled animals.

Hope's heartwarming story comes from Lisa B. in San Mateo, California:

Thank YOU, Lisa, for giving Hope such a loving home!

This is our sanctuary sign along our west drive into the ranch.  Usually when there's this much snow piled up on the sign, it's February or early March … not the first week of January.  But like lots of areas in the western U.S. and Canada, we've been getting plenty of snow over the past few weeks … day after day.  If this keeps up, that sign will be completely buried by March! 

Now, don't get me wrong, we are absolutely delighted with this much snow.  Unlike our friends in Seattle or Spokane or Vancouver who are struggling with record snowfalls in urban areas, we are used to this kind of thing and welcome it.  Heavy snow pack means lush pastures in the spring, water for irrigation, and full rivers and streams during the summer months.

But it does mean a lot of tractor work and shoveling by hand to clear the snow from gates and doorways … and to keep them clear.  I spent most of the day on Friday on the tractor, opening up the barnyards and digging out gates to the various corrals and to Widget's House.  I'm about to head back out this afternoon for another few hours in the tractor, doing it all over again, before evening chores.

All of our buildings have metal roofs, which are great for shedding snow quickly.  Otherwise we would be clearing them off by hand, too!

The other issue for us is having to keep an eye on the fences around the dog yards.  We have a couple of escape artists — Travis is a repeat offender — who take advantage of deep snow to launch themselves over the fence.  You can see here just how deep it's getting in places:

That's why, many years ago, we learned we had to add fence on top of the fence to keep those pesky escape artists in during winter.  That's Widget's House on the left, with a big sheet of snow about to slide off the roof. 

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A couple of folks asked in their blog comments about Dexter a) how he ended up at the shelter and b) what the "T" in his name stood for.  He was actually picked up as a stray, and as hard as that is to believe, it's even harder to understand why no one came to claim him.  Alayne says the "T" in his name stands for "the" as in Dexter The Dickens!

The email to us had a subject line that said "Doxie 69244 in need of rescue!"  It came from Ashley D., the foster coordinator for an SPCA in Davis, California, that had sent us a number of disabled animals over the years.  Ashley wrote, "I know it's a long shot, but no one else can take this sweet boy because of his age."  She wanted to know if we could possibly take him.

It was December 4th, and we had taken all the animals we were going to take in 2008.  What's more, the Dachshund wasn't disabled, but "just" old.  Hmm.

We viewed the photo Ashley sent and he looked just like Bailey.  Alayne and I looked at each other.

Hmm.

Oh, boy.

I asked Alayne, "Well, what do you want to do?"

Now, when it comes to Dachshunds, this is like asking an alcoholic, "Would you like another drink?"

She hemmed and hawed.

"He looks just like Bailey," she said.

"I know that," I said.

Silence.

"So … what do you want me to say?", I asked.

"I don't know."

Hmm.

Then she allowed, "Well, it would be nice to have another Oscar."

Ever since we lost our little beloved Oscar last March, Alayne has missed having the ultimate minion's minion … he was our miniature Dachshund who worshipped Alayne and who never missed an opportunity to "protect" her from me.

I said, "It's your decision." 

She hates it when I do that.

But I call her "Madame Nyet" (Russian for "no") because she is the one always (wisely) holding the line on our animal numbers.

She walked out of my office.  She came back.  She walked out again.

Finally, many hours later:  "Yes."

The next morning I emailed Ashley to say we'd take the little guy.

It turned out his mouth was a complete wreck, full of rotting teeth.  Before we could arrange his travel, one of them started to abscess.  Ashley had taken him home with her to wait for his trip to Montana, and when she told us her concerns about his dental needs, we told her to go ahead and take him to the vet for oral surgery and that we would pay for whatever he needed.  The vet removed several teeth, including most of his canines, leaving him with the occasional snaggle-tooth look.

Then, once he had recovered from the surgery, Montana sank into weeks of subzero weather … and it became too cold to fly him out here from Sacramento. 

While we waited on the weather to improve, Alayne had already named him:  Dexter T. Dickens.

Today, a month to the day after we said "yes," we flew Dexter into Missoula via Seattle.  I picked him up at the airport this afternoon.

Back at the ranch late this evening, he greeted everyone with a happy tailwag. 

Blind Goldie sniffed at him and looked up at us with a look that said, "Oh.  It's another Dachshund."

The blind Beagles checked him out and said, "Oh.  It's another Dachshund."

Because he didn't exactly meet our criteria for disabilities, we decided to assign him one — an affliction common to Dachshunds.  It's called CSH, or Canine Selective Hearingitis.

So please join us in welcoming "deaf" Dexter to the ranch!