After a long weekend spent enjoying the freedom of America, primarily with the good people of Weasel Boy Brewing, today was back to work. This morning marked the second foray into the rough terrain of the northern reclamation lands. A place with trails named "High Wall" and "Bumpy Valley" did not sound like the easy hike that a first day back demanded. After hauling our team to the parking area, I received quite a nice compliment.
"Ron, the head vet just radioed. She would like you to come assist with another cheetah procedure this morning. Do you want to go?"
"Oh, I guess if they need me I'll go help." was my humble response.
When I turned to a colleague, she simply rolled her eyes at me while taking my field pack. Lake team spent the rest of day with a challenging two hour hike to a survey site. During that time, I am told they discussed which of them had 'dibs' on future vet observations on the various species which may enter the clinic. I suspect that I was cursed a few times as well.
When I arrived at the clinic I got a quick update on Flo-Jo, the three year old sister of Bolt. Flo-Jo had decided to become anorexic over the holiday weekend. When a top predator being fed a premium carnivore diet stops eating, this is a major cause of concern. After several days of 'hands off' treatments, it was time to give her a full exam.
As per my usual job in these situation, I was responsible for counting heart rate, respiration rate, and taking her temperature. She had regularly irregular heart beat. One beat, pause, and then three quick beats. This is called sinus arrhythmia and not of any real medical concern. Flo-Jo's breathing rate was much stronger than her brothers under anesthesia.
The temperature part of my job occurs at the exit of the gastrointestinal tract. Flo-Jo had left me quite a bit of butterscotch pudding feces to clean up before I was able to take her temperature. Whenever I am faced with fecal matter in the course of my day, the same voice goes through my head. My father often says, "After all the shit you have given me over the years, this is how your are getting repaid!" Then we laugh about it together. I hope I never stop hearing that voice.
While taking Flo-Jo's temperature during the later stages of the exam, I was holding her tail up over my head as I leaned forward from the end of the exam table to read the thermometer. While waiting for the digital read out I heard the head vet say, "She's waking up..."
In my mind I saw flashes of the future: Flo-Jo the cheetah waking up angry to find me not only holding her by the tail, but with a thermometer shoved up her tailpipe. Two quick kicks from her powerful back legs knock me off my feet. She turns to pounce, her freshly cleaned fangs shining in the medical lights
Thankfully the head vet went on to finish the sentence with "..turn her up a little bit." Quite a relief. As Flo-Jo's exam finished up, I was tasked with putting Frontline on her to protect against fleas and ticks. The catch was that I would have to put the Frontline on the back of her neck, while she was in her transportation crate, after the anesthesia was removed.
I gingerly reached into the crate and maneuvered the tube of preventative into place. I looked down into Flo-Jo's eyes. I began to squeeze the tube. She blinked at me. SHE BLINKED! I squeezed harder and quickly removed my hand. "Did you get it all?" asked the head vet. "Oh yes." I confidently responded showing her the tube which I had managed to completely flatten in the process.
Highlight: The Wilds recently received three new Cheetahs for the breeding program. After finishing Flo-Jo's exam, the head vet asked the head cheetah keeper where to find the new arrivals. His response had all the flavor of a high-school lunch table gossip session. "Jabari is TOTALLY CRUSHING on Amber. Wherever you see her, he's going to be right there."
Lowlight: During the procedure, she had a small patch of fur shaved off of her neck to allow for placement of a catheter. Allowing myself to be a tourist for a brief moment, I leaned down and picked up a piece of the fur. I held in my hand an actual cheetah spot. The patch of fur was as soft and fluffy as it was beautiful. I REALLY wanted to keep it as a souvenir but decided that it would just break up in my pocket on the way back to the cabins. After careful contemplation, I placed it into the trash can. Looking back now, I probably should have risked it.
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