Poor Little Wren

A. She doesn’t like snow! She did everything she could to avoid going out in it yesterday. Fortunately for her, it didn’t accumulate much, and fortunately for all other living things, it actually carried quite a bit of moisture, leaving good puddles when it all melted this morning, and soaking into the ground pretty well.

B. She got traumatized at the vet this morning. The good news is, she isn’t diabetic; and, she didn’t fight the blood draw as ferociously as she did the other procedure. She’s had loose stools since she arrived almost a month ago, to varying degrees. She got treated a few weeks ago at the Delta vet for ‘stress colitis’ and put on a special, very expensive, short-term diet, which seemed to improve things for the short term. But it’s just been getting worse since we transitioned that diet a week ago to a high-end small-dog kibble. I wondered if maybe she had picked up coccidia from snoofing the kittens, or had not been thoroughly wormed at the shelter she came from. So off we drove to the local vet on this gorgeous, damp morning, Wren snapped into her new carseat, nasty bagged poop sample on the back floor.

I brought them both in, dog and sample, and held her on the exam table as we waited for the doctor. When he approached her behind, I naturally thought he was going to take her temperature, so I tightened my grip. She screamed, thrashed, screamed, bit me, screamed, writhed, latched onto my ring finger and ring (Please don’t swallow that stone!), and screamed some more. She fought every bit as hard as Raven did whenever she was on the vet table, and I was grateful Wren only weighs eleven pounds. The vet grunted “Move her up, move her up.” I didn’t know what that meant or why, imagined the thermometer stuck in her butt, but I scooted her up the table and looked over my shoulder. A stream of poo ran down the table and he stood there with a dry swab.

“Jesus!” I yelped. “What are you doing?! I brought in a sample!”

“Oh, you brought a sample?” he muttered.

It took me a few minutes to regain my composure, and Wren a bit longer than that. I handed her to the assistant, and went to the sink to wash the blood and shit off my hand. OK, that sounds worse than it was, there wasn’t much of either, it was just a couple of small tooth wounds on my pinky and a little smear of poop on my wrist. Though I remained disgruntled, I managed to be pleasant for the rest of the visit as he ran the Giardia test and listened to her heart and lungs. Despite her occasional little cough, her lungs sounded good, and her heart strong. He drew a few drops of blood from her foreleg and found her glucose to be safely in the normal range. But the Giardia test turned up positive.

Giardia is a nasty one-celled parasitic organism that passes through feces and contaminates water and soil. It’s almost impossible for a human to drink from wild water anymore, even in high mountain streams, without getting infected, because domestic grazing animals have contaminated source water. Giardia is not uncommon in kennels and shelters, it turns out, especially if cleaning protocols are inadequate. Not making any accusations, but the most likely source of Wren’s infection is one of the three shelters she passed through on her way here, or else she arrived at the Shiprock shelter with it from her previous home. Fortunately, it’s unlikely that Topaz, Biko, or I will get infected from Wren, as various strains of Giardia infest different host species. But, it’s possible, and we’ll be doing some more thorough cleaning than usual this weekend.

By the time I left the vet, their tiny waiting room had gotten crowded with unmasked people despite the “One at a Time” sign on their door. I was still shaken and grumpy. I carried that grump with me as I drove back to town and went into Farm Runners for a couple of groceries. The mushrooms weren’t in the cooler where they should have been but were in a counter drying out; no one in there wore a mask; the first clerk coughed so much she had to leave the counter; the second clerk nattered on about how good the tortillas are–Like I don’t know that? Like that’s not why I’m buying them?!

I had to laugh to myself about my poopy attitude. I didn’t manage to muster a smile behind my mask, but at least I didn’t voice any of my irritation or act it out. I was, as usual, so grateful for my mindfulness practice, which in this case allowed me to understand why I was impatient and grumpy. Everything in the store that annoyed me was exacerbated by the residual experience of anger, trauma, and frustration from the vet office. I could see clearly that I was in the grip of an emotional refractory period, and was able to get through it without any regretful reactions. Once home, I showered off the bad attitude and ate some delicious spring risotto topped with crispy baby shiitakes, while Wren curled up in her bed and licked her wounded pride.

Poor little Wren. What a rough ride she’s had these past few months: given up, shipped through three shelters, her kittens taken away, a constantly upset tummy, and now this indignity. But I promised her, it will just get better from here on out. “Her name is Wren and she’s home,” I croon to her often as I hold her close.

2 thoughts on “Poor Little Wren

  1. Poor little muffin. The Aspen Times went through a stage of “Dogs With Giardia” and what an unpleasant time that was. But they all eventually returned to good health, as will dear Wren. Be well dear one!

  2. Poor Wren. Poor you! You are lucky to have each other. Everybody has a crabby day now and then, and getting bitten and pooped on (even a little) warrants a little crabbiness šŸ˜Š

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s