Anaplasmosis and Ehrlichiosis Strike by Chi-Ping

Lola started bleeding on carport floor. When mom came home, she studied Lola until she saw the blood dripping out of her nose. Where's the closest emergency veterinarian? After calling our Auntie Alma mom put Lola in the back of the SUV. She told me no, I couldn't go, but mom needs me, so I jumped in anyway. She told me get out, but that wasn't going to happen without a struggle, she saw how serious I was, so didn't waste time arguing, a good thing; blood now leaked out of Lola’s nose, she was weak.

I whimpered to let mom know my concerns. As much as I don’t usually like Lola, I snuggled next to her to keep her warm, mom sped down the twisty hill roads to the San Francisco de Asis Veterinary Hospital in Hatillo, where she told me firmly to stay in the car. The moon shined in through the roof mom left open for me. The smell of sick dogs made me shiver. Lola cried when they took her from mom, but was the only dog who seemed scarred, so I thought it was a good place for dogs.

 Mom brought me in the room when Lola went in the back to have blood drawn. When the doctor brought Lola back in the room with her head low, she looked like she could die. I stood in front of Lola, licked my lips and wagged me tail; don’t die Lola, you’re the only really big dog I can bully. I like you; don’t die.

Dr. Iris Vales, DVM, graduate of Ohio State took a deep breath, “There’s no easy way to say this,” she began. Mom’s eyes squeezed tight. “Be direct,” mom said in a subdued voice. The doctor looked sad, oh, no. That’s never good. My tail wagged little, short, fast, anxious waves. Mom and I both stared in her eyes, wondering what the vet would say. “We can do many heroic things and Lola, may still not make it.” The words hung in my brain; we just lost dad, and Lefty’s gone, well, he's not dead, but I miss him; now Lola, my mouth opened and closed in disbelief, as my tail jittered back and forth.

“Low platelets, low red blood cells, fever of more than one hundred five degrees,” Dr. Vales said as she showed mom the numbers. “Not enough oxygen to brain and vital organs; it’s not looking good. We could put her to sleep. It may be a kindness.”  

“If you treat her, what would you do?” Mom looked deep into the doctor’s face; she wanted to understand completely, she sat forward her head tilted slightly as the doctor spoke, “IV’s, antibiotics, Vincristine to grow platelets.” “How long before the Vincristine works?” mom interrupted. “Two days,” the doctor replied. “How about a transfusion; can you do that?”  The doctor nodded, but said, “Transfusion comes with its own risk.” To which mom said, “I know.” The doctor walked out the door to consult with a colleague, mom zoned out, so I walked around the room sniffing.

What’s a little dog to do about things? All I can do is sniff out what’s been going on in this room. I hope Lola doesn't die, and putting her to sleep doesn’t sound any better either. What’s mom going to do? I need to sniff the last little scent out of this corner, sniff, sniff.

Mom’s eyes opened, she smiled and reached down to pet me. I feel better already. Mom texted Adri and Alma, she says they are wise dog ladies. Whatever she read on the screen, her eyes half closed and her head nodded. She looked up as the doctor entered with a piece of paper in her hand, the estimate. People wonder what makes them different from us, money could be the answer. I jumped on the bench to sit next to mom. She took her glasses out to read the paper.  I felt her flinch. The doctor leaned against the examining table. Mom’s eyes studied the paper. I could tell by the doctor’s body language, she eagerly wanted to take care of Lola. Lola had a shot. The doctor’s aura said so, oh, mom!”

Mom saw it too, she smiled at the doctor as she told her to save Lola, she said she couldn't stand to lose another loved one that dad was more than enough loss, but they couldn't go over, she had no more money. It was late in the night when mom and I went home.    

Amigos de Los Animales Needs Help

Hola Amigos,

Every puppy/dog coming through the doors of Amigos de Los Animales gets the kind of care Mary would have loved to see baby Jesus get at the inn. A gentle hand, a full belly, a place to sleep, and all the medical attention required.

Adri’s days start at 5 am to let the dogs out. If she’s not working at her job as a musician, she gets into bed around ten. That’s reasonable enough, but then she’s up throughout the night on the computer, as she thinks about getting this dog to a good home here or in the states, or someplace else. She agonizes about how to help the tourist, who found a starving dog and wants to find someone to be responsible for it. I've seen Adri offer to pay for dogs’ care on days I know she had nothing in the fridge to eat herself.

On days when she should be buying groceries for herself, she comes home with liver, yogurt, Karo Syrup, goats’ milk to make puppy formula to feed the sickly puppies dropped off in the morning. She looks like she could bawl her eyes out, not for her self deprivation but for the puppies she’s afraid she can’t save. Adri is not like us. We give what we can spare. She gives all she has.

Adri stays focused on her message about the dogs. Adri is always about the animals. She says it’s not about the people it’s about the dogs. She gives me a stern look when I say it’s about the people too.

Adri is paying shelter bills out of her own pocket to the point that she doesn’t have her hard earned money to pay her personal bills. She’s not the type to tell you that. Adri’s loving care extends beyond the animals. She took me and my critters in when my husband, Kirt, was having his leg amputated. And she says it’s not about the people…

I saw the hard choices she’s made in favor of the dogs because I was there.  She delights in new kennels donated for the dogs while the home of Amigos de Los Animales, her home is beyond normal maintenance. She needs help. Big help, now.

I’ve lived in or around Chicago most of my adult life, Chicagoans are a cynical lot, we don’t admire much.  If you’ve read my blogs, you know I admire this woman enormously, which is why I support her shelter when I live in Quebradillas. Close to home she’s not for me, but I believe in her.

We are amigos de los animals because we love animals, we are the amigos. Please, give to Amigos de Los Animales because the animals and our amiga need help.

Muchas gracias,

Patricia Carr

www.amigosdelosanimalespr.org

Click on paypal

  

Blondie's A Sick Street Dog

Blondie was a little out of sorts last night. Owl, the gentle scared to death of Blondie young boy, hurt her in play. After a fierce growl, she walked away. She had a head tilt, so I adjusted her neck. She held still while I worked down her back. There wasn’t the usual happy bouncing afterward, so I cleaned her ears. For a street dog, the ears weren’t bad.



This morning my gang buster girl was just flat. She held her head down in that way people usually associate with a guilty dog look. During our good morning ritual she could only manage a weak low tail wag. Blondie loves good mornings, now I’m worried.


Her back looked fine, so I cleaned her ears again, only deeper. Her tonsils could be a little swollen, this bitch looks sick.


She’s urinated three times this morning, a lot of bottom licking. The boys have been sniffing her rear and covering her urine, so I am going to go with bladder infection.


I can’t afford to get that other little bitch spayed. Money is so tight, I had to think how much.. Oh hell, she can’t wait til Monday. I have emergency antibiotics for a reoccurring infection. With a prayer Blondie got a dose.


A few hours later the big girl picked her head up and wagged her tail. We all know how it feels when you’re so sick and the antibiotics kick in, so you recognize the look.


To add to the excitement Stormy has a small cough tonight. I hope it’s from all the barking he’s been doing at Bluto.


Tomorrow is annual meeting for the Puerto Rican Animal Control Officers Asn or FOICCA. It’s in Florida, not the state; we’ve not been to this part of the island. So merrily we roll along.


We must get back to the three little snorts that say come hither. I overdid it yesterday. After a while they just look at me like you really don’t know what you’re doing; do you? If it’s in the wrong context, it gets ignored. When I manage to hit it right; it’s like getting my Spanish right, good communication. 

Happy wiggle butts, Tricia