The Vet Survival Kit

“That’s Spot’s favorite!” I exclaimed. “He’ll go crazy over that!” Fred gave me a knowing eye. “That’s the idea,” he said.

Today, at eleven years of age (or 60 years old in human terms), my star Dalmatian Spotty has gone through 6 vets. I first brought him to a famous vet when he was a puppy and everything would have stayed alright as he grew older. But the line of patients was often long in that clinic and our waiting period would take all morning. If Spotty just needed a regular check-up or a simple vaccination, sitting at that reception lounge all morning wasn’t worth it. I thought of trying the neighborhood vets next time.

I tried 2 vets nearby back home but with disastrous results. Though they did a good job giving Spot his stitches after the usual dog fights of his reckless youth, the dog always remembered his experience with them. He froze every time we were a few meters away from their clinics on our afternoon walks. We could not pass in front of them.

Clear signs of traumatic memories here.

The fourth vet I knew was familiar to Spot but the relationship between them wouldn’t work. Spot knew her from our agility practices because she was often there. When I took him to her clinic for the first time, the dog was about to alight from my SUV when he suddenly glimpsed the vet clinic outside (how he knew it was a clinic I didn't know it yet) and the glint of terror flashed in his eyes. His face broke into disappointment and he whirled back inside and froze. The vet had to enter the vehicle to give him his shots. I watched as she instructed Dominic, who was with me, to hug the trembling dog. We did not manage that situation well for the dog’s sake.

During one walk with Spot in my neighborhood one afternoon, the dog froze like a rock as we passed a bank office. I almost fell over my face when the leash suddenly strained with no warning. I tugged, not understanding what the dog was upset about. But he refused to budge. I looked at his locked forelegs and frozen stance, a dead weight. I recognized the reaction as identical to his fear whenever he saw his former vet clinics. Then I noticed that the bank had a glass façade, just like those vet clinics. He probably thought I was going to bring him to one of those places he dreaded so much. So I let the dog rest and collect himself, then a few moments later upon realizing we were not going to enter the building, he stood up and followed me. 

Toby (left) and Spotty (right) all dressed for a Halloween event wait in anticipation inside my SUV. Drives are always exciting times for dogs but when they find themselves being delivered to a vet -- it's the ultimate spoiler of their trust.

Spot’s “puppy” vet’s clinic had no such glass façade it being a residence. We returned there the next time Spot needed a check-up. She was surely a familiar face (or smell) to the dog and I expected Spot would trust her.

But Spot didn’t trust her either. The dog froze as we approached the examination table and he refused to climb it even when it was lowered to its lowest. An aide had to lift him up, we had to muzzle him, and I had to distract him with a head massage (in my amateurish way) while he trembled, salivated nervously, and growled as the vet got blood samples.

In that visit, it turned out Spot had ehrlichiosis. This called for a round of checkups and blood samples. We were to return in 2 weeks. By then, I knew my dog enough. After that first visit – Spot will not want to go back there again.  

I will have a problem in my hands.

That was when I touched base again with the country’s first dog whisperer, Fred Alimusa. Fred lived on a beautiful hillside property in Amadeo, Cavite. It would be a long drive away. But I had a traumatized dog in my hands and I needed his expertise.

At my one-on-one session, Fred explained that his aim was to condition Spot to like going to the vet. First, because every dog needs a pack leader to feel secure, I have to assure Spot that I was in charge of the situation. We performed the heel-and-sit exercise many times at the house. Next we got the dog to climb on top of a low table as if it was the examination table at the vet clinic. These exercises were to assert my authority as the dog obeyed my commands. I was to make Spot understand that I was his leader and that I will take care of him. “Don’t worry, sagot kita (I will answer for you)!” was Fred’s favorite expression so Spot will remember to trust me when he starts to feel anxious.

Next, we drove off to nearby Tagaytay to find an available vet clinic. Along the ridge, we stopped by a store selling freshly made pork cracklings. Fred chose the ones with a bit of meat attached to the skins. “That’s Spot’s favorite!” I exclaimed. “He’ll go crazy over that!”

Fred gave me a knowing eye. “That’s the idea,” he said.

Upon arriving at a vet clinic (another glass façade), we did not enter the premises right away. We were now in an actual situation. Fred made me do several heel-and-sit exercises at the parking lot. Under his instruction, I edged toward the clinic with every round we made. Once, we stopped right before the door, but we turned away and made another round of heel-and-sit. Finally we entered. Spot followed obediently.

Inside the clinic, I carried that bag of pork cracklings. It was my bait — and also my reward. At my command, the dog climbed the examination table obediently (mouth salivating, I bet) and after he had done so, I gave him a fresh crispy tidbit which Spot crunched happily.

After our dry run session at the clinic, Fred reminded me never to feed Spot his favorite snack food unless it’s at the vet clinic. “Only at the vet clinic,” he emphasized. “That way, every time he sees the vet clinic, he will salivate just thinking of his favorite treat. He knows that’s where he will taste it.”

Of course, the actual vet visit still had some differences and though I wished badly that Fred was there, he had his confidence in me. He knew I would be able to manage it. At Spot’s return visit to his “puppy” vet, I walked him up and down the road first, doing the heel-and-sit exercise, then I turned towards the gate leading to the clinic (no glass façade this time) — and Spot followed. I had with me a small container of barbecued meat (cracklings are high in salt and uric acid for dogs and although they love it so much I chose a safer treat for them. Besides, they don't eat barbecued meat often either).

When Spot’s turn came, the dog surprisingly entered the treatment room with me and climbed the examination table at my command. He had some anxieties but he was manageable. But I did not cuddle him. I fed him bits of meat sporadically while he was on the table to keep him distracted.  The blood sampling was a little tricky because I knew if Spot saw that and I gave him enough time to react to it, he will be too upset to want a treat. This was a case of timing. So I moved first and distracted him at once with a treat. The vet got the samples. The dog did not prove to be difficult.

In subsequent months, as I brought the other dogs to the state university vet hospital, Spot would come along as “moral support,” as the student vets there described him in amusement. I noticed the university hospital seemed an ideal place for dogs. The open corridors and breezy rooms contained no smells that reeked of fear or medicines enough to scare any doggy patient. Noticing Spot showed no reaction whenever he entered the treatment room to accompany a pack member dog, I ended up registering him there as a patient. On weekdays, the waiting period is so short. I always carry our Vet Survival Kit — a small container of barbecued meat whenever we go to the vet hospital because it has worked so well.

“I do not know of any dog who will not work for a piece of barbecue,” Fred once told me. 

Fred Alimusa shows how to rehabilitate dogs with aggression problems, in this case Toby (at right) who has trouble meeting new dogs. He left behind a legacy of invaluable learning that we can never never replace. We learned to understand our dogs because of him.

Now to our dogs, the vet clinic is a happy place where they get to taste barbecue!