pet connection

Bugsy was the boss cat of my neighborhood for years. I took him in when the neighbors who had been feeding him moved; he had no one else.

Bugsy took to life as a neutered cat with free food and massage on demand, but becoming “my” cat didn’t change who he was at heart: a pugilistic street cat who still tries to pick fights with one of my other cats. If he gets bored, he jumps on the computer keyboard, paws at me, or just stares until I get up and play with him.

The Western veterinarian and scientist in me sees this as the personality he developed while living on the streets. But there is another way to look at Bugsy, using a system thousands of years old that originated in a very different land than ours.

Animal constitutions

While I remain a critic of many alternative medical approaches including Chinese medicine, when I do find something that works and has at least the potential for a rational scientific basis, I delight in the discovery. One of the most fun and empirically useful of the Chinese medical techniques involves sorting patients into “biopsychotypes.”
Seeing patterns arise out of an individual’s composite biological and psychological characteristics tells a story about who they are inside and out. Often, a resonance becomes apparent between their personality, their inclinations toward certain foods, preferred climates, physical tendencies, and more.

When I learned this approach first as a human physician-acupuncturist, it was striking to watch patterns emerge in my patients based on their appearance and emotional demeanor, their medical and social histories, and their physical manifestations of health or disease.

Now that I am practicing veterinary medicine, too, I apply it not only to my furry patients, but also to the humans who care for them. I note how “types” interface in a household – do they nurture or irritate one another? Medically, it aids in my ability to anticipate medical challenges that my patients may encounter in the future; it may prompt me to probe more deeply and ask about unstated ailments based on biopsychotype expectations.

History of five phases

The ancient Chinese healers called their system the “Five Phases,” because through this philosophical framework, much of what they observed in nature as well as in medicine fell into five general categories. They developed the approach millennia ago as one of several ways to understand and predict natural phenomena.

These laws of “systematic correspondence” described how patterns in nature – the macrocosm – found parallel expressions in us, the microcosm. The simplistic yin and yang idea based on only two complementary influences gave way over time to a broader complexity based on five elements, capable of more precisely corresponding to natural processes like the seasons.

The five categories of Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water represented changes these ancient naturalists witnessed over the day, the year, and the life cycle as well as interrelationships between organs, emotions, people, and climate. The model embraces, expects, and accepts metamorphosis.

Much like the personality profiles of modern psychology, Five Phases analysis groups people and animals into constitutional categories based on psychological and physical manifestations. While not yet a scientifically validated means of determining Chinese medical treatments for humans or animals, identifying a predominant phase out of balance in an individual seems to provide clues about what a patient needs to restore homeostasis.

For example, a task-oriented metal-type dog needs a job to do, while the earth-type cat needs a warm lap.

The five elements

Wood types come across as confident and assertive; they typically excel as athletes or pioneers. They enjoy holding leadership positions and thrive in competitive environments.

When unable to direct their goal-focused energies into positive and physically challenging outlets, wood natures become corrupted. They can turn arrogant, reckless, impulsive, and aggressive. Hypertension, headaches, and heartburn can accompany pent-up muscle tension and frustration.

Wood dogs may bully others, no matter the size differential. They make themselves known through their loud and insistent barking.

Don’t get in their way of food, as wood dogs can show strong territorial possessiveness.

Wood dogs have well defined, muscular statures. They are prone to liver and gallbladder disorders, skin and ear infections, doggy odor, and bloodshot eyes.

Bugsy, my pugnacious street cat, is a wood cat. I work to assure him that there’s no need to fight with the other cats, though he needs frequent reminders. Today I caught him twice staring down my other cat, Woobie, while Woobie was trying to sleep. They’re both strong males, but Woobie’s a “water” cat (see below) who backs down and hisses in fear unless he gets pushed past his limit. Then he will fight.

When I took Bugsy in to be neutered at my friends’ practice, we discovered that his ears were teeming with tens of thousands of ear mites, the worst case they’d ever seen. He also had uveitis, an inflammatory eye condition, and his coat was greasy and matted. Bugsy was a typical wood with a hard start in life.

Fire types are charmers. They crave attention and will do whatever it takes to earn yours and win their way into your heart. They passionately plunge into life and seek emotional, physical, and mental stimulation. Their attractive and magnetic personalities make them the life of the party.

Fires can become confused or anxious; they restlessly move about even when sleeping, kicking and running as they dream. Physically, with the heart as the main fire organ, an imbalanced fire type may experience arrhythmias, palpitations, and insomnia. They overheat easily. Jack Russell Terriers often exhibit fire tendencies, performing endless tricks for applause and laughter.

Snowball, a charismatic fire cat, came into my life the day after I had a dream about a white kitten playing on a farm. I received a call from the clinic the next day asking if I had room in my house for a rescued grayish, long-haired stray cat, about two years old; it felt like destiny, and I said, “Of course.”

When I saw him, I fell in love. Once established in our household, Snowy’s zest for life filled the house. But one day, the play he ordinarily immersed himself in so completely made him pant and cough.

The subsequent workup revealed the heritable disease of hypertrophic cardiomyopathy; the cardiologist predicted that he would live another four, maybe six, months. He was a heart-breaker, this formerly neglected feline who became a big, all-white gorgeous boy.

After he was placed on medication, Snowball’s lightning-fast reflexes returned; even after his diagnosis, we were out for a walk one summer evening when he leapt into the air and caught a low-flying bat, much to my dismay.

He lasted two more years, until the dysfunctional heart formed a blood clot that left him paralyzed and purple, but still alive and fighting. Snowball yowled in pain, fighting against his impending but unavoidable departure from life for the entire car ride until I reached the clinic, driving through twenty-five minutes of heavy 5 o’clock traffic.

I used the time to prepare, but nothing readied me for the way our bond moved me physically. As life left his body after the barbiturate overdose, I felt tugged forward. Then his body dropped and he was gone.

The absence of Snowball’s fiery personality left a gap in our household that I couldn’t bear. For the first time ever, I adopted another long-haired cat that next day to fill the void; it worked, thankfully, though it’s not something I casually recommend. Such is the impact of the fire personality.

The earth type is a warm hearth that welcomes you back home.

Earths are solid and sociable, agreeable and sympathetic, attentive and relaxed.

Dubbed the “peacemaker,” earths’ diplomacy helps everyone get along. They care about what others think about them and they love being needed.

Their concern for those around them, however, might ultimately work to their own detriment. Obsessing about others can make them overprotective and overbearing. They may worry themselves sick, ingesting too many cookies for comfort, as they crave sweets and carbohydrates. Their digestive tendencies lead them to chronic diarrhea and potentially diabetes.

The yellow Lab typifies the earth dog, contentedly dreaming of Dairy Queen, watching TV with mom, and hanging out with the family.

As I’ve been writing, Frankie, my earth cat, has been nuzzling my hand, interrupting my typing. He has a plate of cat treats next to my computer mouse (that way I can refill them as needed). He’s been in my lap and off, bumping foreheads now and again, and he has become particularly clingy as I wrote the part about Snowball.

Frankie has an odd habit of eating twigs in the backyard that he later regurgitates onto my carpet.

Frankie is our ambassador. He’s the first one to meet the new rabbit and the dogs from next door. His hunger for cuddles and contact causes him to climb repairmen or other human visitors who stand still for too long. He sleeps next to me under the covers every night.

Metal types are fastidious and operate best within a structured, orderly environment. Not other-focused like an earth, metal creatures exhibit self-control and self-reliance like military or police dogs. They may even appear aloof and distant.

Metals would rather analyze a problem and solve a puzzle than lay on the couch eating cookies. They are clean, calm, and precise. Excessively perfectionist metals can become ritualistic and even obsessive-compulsive. Needing everything just so exacts a toll on one’s constitution in a world filled with uncertainty.

Metal imbalances manifest in the skin, sinuses, lungs, and large intestine. Especially during the dryness of the metal season of autumn, these individuals may experience constipation, dry skin and a dry cough, runny nose, and depression. Some cats with chronic sinusitis or asthma fall into the metal category; their skin flakes and their fur feels dry. Although metals don’t readily bond, the attachments they make are for life, and grief hits them particularly hard.

I have a stray cat who hangs around whom I suspect is a metal. He supposedly has a home, but he wanders the neighborhood, isn’t neutered, and comes around for food and warmth fairly regularly.
Because of his health unknowns, if I do let him in I keep him away from the other cats, especially because he sneezes now and then. He seems otherwise healthy except for a dry coat.

He’s a good cat, but not an attention seeker or show-off. He’s friendly, not fearful, and seems to do best with a regular schedule – when will I leave food out for him, when will I be going out with the other cats so he can come in, etc. Who wouldn’t want some predictability when left out to fend for oneself?

Water types are loners. You’ll find them off on their own, curious and introspective, more comfortable with solitude than in crowds. They prefer to sit and watch from a remote location than join in on a group activity.

When challenged, a water type responds with fear and withdrawal, if not violent outbursts. Some develop phobias.

Water cats may fear other cats, hissing and running to safety or hiding.

With the kidney and bladder representing the water organs, urinary tract disorders can befall water cats. Back pain and arthritis can afflict geriatric waters. The cold weather associated with winter, the water phase season, makes these problems worse. Water cats can exhibit chronic thirst, seeking water in the bathtub or self-serving from the toilet.

Woobie, the water cat I mentioned earlier, hisses and runs from Bugsy, the wood cat. Woobie prefers to stay by himself on the front porch where he can survey the neighborhood goings on.
When Bugsy came to live with us, Woobie began urine-marking my house; the olfactory imprint in certain locations reminds me of his displeasure.

Woobie waits for his bowl of freshly filled drinking water in the bathtub, where he feels safer from the other cats; he has at least three protected sides and a curtain. Sometimes he attempts to drink from the toilet but tends to fall in because he’s a bit heavy. He has arthritis in his back and elbows.

This past summer he developed chylothorax, a buildup of fluid in his lungs, which required a multi-step, highly invasive surgery. Fortunately, my special boy has made a full recovery.

A Family Affair

In addition to evaluating an individual patient’s constitution, complexity enters the equation in terms of the Five Phases dynamics between family members. Who’s the boss? Who’s needy? Who’s withdrawn?
When conflicts arise between individuals, is it because one “type” doesn’t mix well with the other?

Is the human companion a metal who insists on order while the fire bird, dog, or ferret desperately wants attention and will act out in whatever way necessary to get it? Is the earth dog or rabbit starving for intimacy and support from a water caregiver lost in isolation?
When we understand those around us, we can better see why we choose to bring certain mates or animal friends into our lives, and why some match-ups don’t work.

Ah, the holidays. Chestnuts roasting, families gathering, fireplaces glowing… and then there’s Gina Spadafori’s life:

Some people seem to have bad luck over the holidays, and I have traditionally been one of them. I’ve filled the house with smoke from a poorly laid fire in the fireplace just before guests arrived for dinner, and I’ve tripped over a sleeping dog on Christmas morning and ended up in the emergency room (the dog was fine; I went home with a cast).

But that’s nothing compared to the disasters that seem to dog the pets in our family over the years. I’ve spent good parts of many holidays in after-hours veterinary clinics, and a few times those trips were for problems that could have been prevented.

Fortunately, the better part of two decades — and most of my writing career — have passed since my last holiday pet disaster, and I’d like to think it’s because I learned a few things along the way. In the interest of helping your holiday season go easier, I’d like to remind you of what to look out for in the weeks to come.

So, what has Gina learned about animals and the holidays? Find out here.

Does your pet bunny have a head tilt? It’s a common condition in rabbits. From Dr. Marty Becker:

Head-tilting in rabbits is common and can be caused by a variety of diseases. A common name for head tilt is “wry neck,” although the correct medical term is “vestibular disease.”

Rabbits with vestibular disease can have a head position that ranges from a few degrees to 180 degrees off the normal position. They can fall over, circle, have difficulties standing and develop eye injuries because the downward-facing eye is in a position of vulnerability. These pets need to see a veterinarian for proper diagnosis of the causes behind the head tilt and then targeted treatment.

For most rabbits with vestibular disease, the vast majority will recover most of their normal head position and lead normal lives, as long as good nursing, veterinary care and time for recovery are provided. Some rabbits, however, will have a lifelong residual head tilt even if the inner ear disease is cured.

Want more? Read the entire Pet Connection for this week, or download the PDF file exactly the way we send it to our client newspapers!

Considering all the crap and the crap within crap the FDA is perfectly happy to sanction for human consumption, you can consider that it’ll be a cold day in hell when my pets eat the remains of salvaged livestock carcasses from boxes marked “Unfit for Human Consumption.”

Hat tip to Therese at the PetFoodList for this little find — the picture alone says it all. And also for this one, an incredibly sympathetic article about how Menu Foods is rebounding from the pet-food recall, in large part because they’re still the best at turning out cheap food:

But a strange thing has happened since the days of pooch poisoning and souring sales headlines. Mr. Henderson is quietly rebuilding the business. And while some pet food producers are struggling to sell their higher-priced products in a recession, he’s making money again.

Wow, I’m so happy for him! How very brave to continue on after that little “pooch poisoning” problem cut so deeply into the bottom line. (Alliteration aside, more cats were killed than dogs … but hey, who’s counting? Still not the FDA!)

But  wait … isn’t cheap food how Menu got into trouble in the first place?

Kudos to Mars and P&G/Iams for giving Menu the boot for good.  And shame on the Financial Post for such a softball piece. Yes, technically I suppose thousands killed and tens of thousands sickened qualifies as “at least a dozen dead,” but seriously … this piece couldn’t have been a bigger Valentine if company flacks had written it themselves.

It’s not often the death of a dog gets covered in the New York Times. But when the very organization that “rescued” her is the one that kills her, that’s a story.

Not a pretty story, in this case. One where a pit bull named Oreo gets “saved” from her abuser and then given a shot of Fatal Plus on the order of Ed Sayres, director of the ASPCA in New York — even though a sanctuary that is already a rescue partner and fellow member, with ASPCA, of the Mayor’s Alliance for Animals offered to give her a lifetime haven and appropriate care (although ASPCA animal behavior expert Stephen Zawistowski told Cristian Salazar at the Huffington Post that “the ASPCA was unfamiliar with Pets Alive.”) From Nathan Winograd:

Facts are troubling things. Facts get in the way of a contrived story. And there is one troubling fact that all of Ed Sayres’ double-speak simply cannot overcome. Try as the ASPCA might to argue that Oreo’s death was unavoidable, Sayres’ misrepresentation has one fundamental obstacle: Oreo had a place to go. The issue doesn’t turn on the real extent of Oreo’s aggression. The real issue is that a No Kill shelter and sanctuary, with experience rehabilitating aggression in dogs, which works with area shelters that could have vouched for their credibility, which enjoys wide community esteem, and which is only a short drive outside of New York City, offered to give her lifetime sanctuary, and was refused.

They called and left a voice mail message on Sayres’ telephone. They called his secretary. They called the ASPCA Press Office. They contacted everyone on the ASPCA website contact page. And they were ignored, hung up on and lied to.

Pets Alive in Middletown, New York, is not only a member of the Mayor’s Alliance for New York City animals, of which the ASPCA is also a member, they are not only an Alliance-approved rescue partner, they not only have had experience with aggressive dogs, but they agreed to take responsibility for a dog the ASPCA was committed to putting in a body bag and then dumping in a landfill. Even though Pets Alive is already an approved rescue partner, the fact that Oreo may have presented a special case didn’t mean the offer should have been rejected out of hand. The ASPCA could have visited Pets Alive; they could have checked veterinary references, community references, could have insisted on specific precautions and liability waivers. But instead, early that morning, before the “media circus got out of hand,” Ed Sayres, willfully, neglectfully, cruelly, and dishonestly, chose to kill Oreo instead. That is the true face of the ASPCA. And that is intolerable.

I’m not saying no dog alive isn’t just too unhappy and dangerous to live. I am saying that I have absolutely no confidence at all that Sayres and the ASPCA are qualified to unilaterally make that determination. And part of why I feel that way, and so strongly, is the self-pitying, self-serving email sent out by the ASPCA’s communications department after this incident blew up into a PR firestorm:

While Oreo’s plight has garnered a plethora of media attention due to the sensational nature of her injuries, the decision to euthanize her is not a novel one.  These are decisions that we have had to make before—and will undoubtedly have to make again.  And as painful as these choices are, they are the same ones that face dedicated shelter workers throughout the country each and every day.   However, these outcomes are made all the more tragic because they are often preventable.

Yes, they are, Ed. You can decide not to kill them.

Animals that suffer cruelty at the hands of their owners often face tragedy beyond that which they have already endured.

[....]

Animals like Oreo are abused every day. Sometimes these animals are fortunate enough to escape the confines of their abuse and are placed in loving homes.  Sometimes, they die as a result of the abuse.

And sometimes they’re killed by people whose mission is supposed to be to save animals.

And now the part that really makes my skin crawl:

We have done everything humanly possible to save Oreo’s life; yet, as a result of the abuse she suffered at the hands of Mr. Henderson, or for other reasons we may never know, she has come to a place where she can no longer be around people or other animals.  We make this decision—and others like it– with a heavy heart and a complete understanding that had she been treated with love and respect, Oreo’s fate would be much different.

People know that the ASPCA is in the business of saving animals’ lives– it serves as the very core of our 143 year-old mission.  Yet, the moment this statement is picked up, we will feel the repercussions of the difficult decision we know had to be made.  We will receive angry phone calls… profanity-laced e-mails… and we will likely be vilified by tweeters and bloggers across the country.  And the rallying cry of these missives will all be the same: the ASPCA failed this animal.  If the ASPCA has failed at anything, it is shielding America from the true face of animal cruelty for far too long.  Animal cruelty isn’t pretty and doesn’t always have a happy ending—it is ugly and sad and, ultimately, tragic.  As a community of individuals committed to the welfare of animals, we have to be more proactive and insistent in raising our voices against cruelty—and hope that the nation is ready to listen.

Does anyone really think that this kind of whining and finger-pointing is a good PR move? You bet your butt this blogger is going to vilify you, ASPCA, because you’re a huge, wealthy organization that had options that you didn’t even explore. Because you killed this dog when it wasn’t necessary. Because you raise money off of rescuing abused dogs and then you kill them. Because Oreo is a victim, first of her abuser and then of you.

And you want us to feel sorry for you, and the burden you bear?

No sale.

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Around the time Heather was dying, I let the cats start coming and going as they pleased.

There actually is a relationship between one and the other.

Heather was the focus of my attention the last six weeks of her life. Getting her to eat, keeping her pain controlled, giving her special time … the rest of the animals got little of my attention beyond basic care, sad to say. And as part of coping with their situation, I removed the cover from the pet door leading into the dog yard.

When I bought this house, I wanted to be sure the dogs (and there were only dogs at the time) had access, always, to a “relief zone.” I called a contractor, who installed a pet door through a wall in the back bedroom and a long, enclosed ramp with a gentle slope that ends in a small, fenced-yard-within-the-fenced-yard for the dogs to use any time they wanted, no matter if I were home or not. The narrow structure matches the house and includes a sharp right turn through a double-flapped pet door. It was all done at higher cost than I really wanted to pay ($1,200), but I wanted it done right, and my design had two purposes: 1) Energy-efficiency — no heating or air-conditioning is wasted in the set-up, and the room into which the door opens is never any cooler or hotter than the rest of the house; 2) Security — a very small child contortionist can crawl up the ramp, execute the hard-right turn and wriggle through pet door, but there said child will be met by four dogs, three of them large. There are easier houses to burglarize, believe you me.

The set-up was perfect, but then came the cats.

Clara was first to figure out the pet door, and Ilario followed her lead. Since I intended them to be indoor cats, I regretfully closed off the dog yard, which meant coming home for lunch every day, or some crossed dog legs when I got home. Not good, either way, far as the dogs were concerned.

The cats didn’t like it, either. Keeping them in was not to their liking. They charged the back door when I let the dogs out like desperate convicts dodging machine-gun fire across a prison yard, and they cried plaintively through the screens on warm summer evenings as the dogs and I sat on the back patio.

When the cats got out the back door, they ran from me, convinced (and rightly so) that I’d be re-incarcerating them. When locked inside again, the feelings of frustration and resentment were palpable, especially on the part of Ilario, who would not be touched for days, could barely be lured by a game of laser pointer and would never, ever join us all on the bed at night.

During Heather’s decline, she was so slow getting in and out of the back door that the cats had a great deal more success in getting out, which of course reinforced the behavior. Once out, they stayed out as long as their hunger would tolerate. Clara would come back in pretty regularly, but Ilario took up hunting and would not come in the back door at all.

He was becoming an owned feral, and I didn’t want that, so I opened the pet door to the dog yard, to let Ilario come back in through the back bedroom on his own terms. I figured I’d get everything back under control after Heather passed, and turn them wholly into indoor cats again.

Now, mind you, I have a pretty good situation for cats to be outside. I live on a lightly traveled, hardly noticed lane, for one thing, and more importantly, my home backs up to the ultimate cat paradise: a couple acres of undeveloped land with a creek running through it and bounded on all sides by the back fences of my neighbors.

I have never seen my cats anywhere but in my own yard or on the “back 40.” Could something happen to them back there? Well, sure. Wild things roam the creekbed (although we’ve never seen a coyote this far up from the river parkway)  and who know if the neighbors I don’t know six or eight doors down are trapping cats or poisoning rats. But my cats are tagged and chipped, current on their vax and … since the pet door opened for good ….

… they are mostly inside. It’s true, and quite a surprise.

They are in more than they are out now that the choice is completely theirs. They also come in to use the cat boxes in the garage, which is great since I don’t have to worry about annoyed neighbors or dead otters. I’m not really that keen on Ilario’s hunting, but on the other hand the rat/mice problem near the chicken feed is a thing of the past. (And yes, I’m happy that the vermin he eats are fat on organic chicken feed!) And before you ask: No, I have never seen him with a bird. Apparently the rats/mice in the chicken area are easy pickings.

Best of all: Ilario no longer views me as his prison warden. He sleeps on my bed at night, and wakes me every morning. Outside, he no longer runs from me, and will even jump in my lap if I’m sitting outside.

He is happy. I am happy. And life … is never without risk. But in this case, the risk is minimal, and probably less than my own in driving to work every day. Rationalizing? Sure … but the pet door is staying open.

Ilario in the morning: