Death and Disappearing Ferrets
Sep. 30th, 2007 01:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grrgoylHoo boy, rough weekend at work. I had my first death Friday night (well, first witnessed death). A 5-month-old Boston terrier puppy named Sally. She wasn't right, anyone could see that. Slept face down with her head shoved in a pillow at a painful-looking angle. The diagnosis on her chart was the unhelpful but common disease "ADR" (Ain't Doing Right). Then I heard her whining and looked in to see her stretched out on her side and retching. I called the doctor on the case, Dr. E (who is the head medical director of the hospital as well). From the sound of her voice, despite being only 11 p.m., I either woke her or she was a bit tipsy. Long story short, by the time she slurrily drawled out a course of action, poor Sally had joined the choir invisible.
I've never seen a dead animal before, at least not one that I had to touch. I was strangely unmoved by it -- she just looked like she was sleeping (except for the tongue lolling out). Cleaning her up and bagging her, wearing rubber gloves and a surgical mask, I felt a little like Dexter, with the same clinical detachment. I felt some guilt, like I could have done more to save her, but apparently her death came as a surprise to no one but me.
Last night I had a cat, Maggie, who was remarkable only for the fact that the owner had had her for 16 years and never realized she was a he. This fact was only discovered when they tried to place a urinary catheter. This job just gets stranger and stranger.
But back on Friday night, Saturday morning I came home exhausted after only getting a 15-minute nap all night. I stumbled through the front door at my usual 5:30 a.m., my arms loaded with large items like a 12-pack of toilet paper, cat litter and laundry detergent. All the animals were arranged to greet me in their usual welcoming committee formation. I did my usual dance to avoid stepping on anyone, put down my groceries, and fell into bed.
At 9 a.m. our doorbell was rung. Tery peeked out to see who it was, but didn't open it. They rang a second time more insistently, and that time she pulled the door open to reveal a man standing there holding Gideon. !!!!!! He said he had found him wandering around and remembered we had "strange animals." (Hey! We don't keep boa constrictors, for heaven's sake!) We thanked him profusely and took our little boy back inside, trying to imagine the journey that must have commenced after I locked him outside 3-1/2 hours previously. We're extremely lucky to have him back, and plan to get the guy a grocery gift certificate in thanks.
For Gideon's part, he just ambled into the bedroom as if nothing at all amiss had happened, ate some, and crashed hard for the rest of the day.
Duncan Munchkin seemed happy to have him back. We had to admit that had it been him, who is getting better but still holds the crown as the most badly behaved ferret we've ever had, the temptation would have been strong to deny ownership. Oh, and we have to call him "Duncan Bearclaw" now because he's becoming quite a bruiser, and pound-for-pound is more muscular than me.
On the downside, I will now have to suffer at least a few months of having to provide physical proof to Tery that everyone is inside and accounted for after every shift. C'est la vie.
I've never seen a dead animal before, at least not one that I had to touch. I was strangely unmoved by it -- she just looked like she was sleeping (except for the tongue lolling out). Cleaning her up and bagging her, wearing rubber gloves and a surgical mask, I felt a little like Dexter, with the same clinical detachment. I felt some guilt, like I could have done more to save her, but apparently her death came as a surprise to no one but me.
Last night I had a cat, Maggie, who was remarkable only for the fact that the owner had had her for 16 years and never realized she was a he. This fact was only discovered when they tried to place a urinary catheter. This job just gets stranger and stranger.
But back on Friday night, Saturday morning I came home exhausted after only getting a 15-minute nap all night. I stumbled through the front door at my usual 5:30 a.m., my arms loaded with large items like a 12-pack of toilet paper, cat litter and laundry detergent. All the animals were arranged to greet me in their usual welcoming committee formation. I did my usual dance to avoid stepping on anyone, put down my groceries, and fell into bed.
At 9 a.m. our doorbell was rung. Tery peeked out to see who it was, but didn't open it. They rang a second time more insistently, and that time she pulled the door open to reveal a man standing there holding Gideon. !!!!!! He said he had found him wandering around and remembered we had "strange animals." (Hey! We don't keep boa constrictors, for heaven's sake!) We thanked him profusely and took our little boy back inside, trying to imagine the journey that must have commenced after I locked him outside 3-1/2 hours previously. We're extremely lucky to have him back, and plan to get the guy a grocery gift certificate in thanks.
For Gideon's part, he just ambled into the bedroom as if nothing at all amiss had happened, ate some, and crashed hard for the rest of the day.
Duncan Munchkin seemed happy to have him back. We had to admit that had it been him, who is getting better but still holds the crown as the most badly behaved ferret we've ever had, the temptation would have been strong to deny ownership. Oh, and we have to call him "Duncan Bearclaw" now because he's becoming quite a bruiser, and pound-for-pound is more muscular than me.
On the downside, I will now have to suffer at least a few months of having to provide physical proof to Tery that everyone is inside and accounted for after every shift. C'est la vie.
