Read Online The Hippo with Toothache by Lucy H Spelman - Free Book Online Page A

bred, and we knew he had a history of foot problems. Unfortunately, the pattern continued. Though the two seemed compatible, Mechi showed more interest in Mo than he did in her and his feet continued to deteriorate.
    Fortunately, Mo handled anesthesia well. He’d stand still for the darting and slump to the ground ten minutes later when the drug took effect. Sometimes he’d go down in the middle of the enclosure, which made it easy. Other times he’d jam his great nose in a corner. We’d reposition him using a few ropes and about a dozen people. I’d put a catheter in his ear, start him on an IV filled with muscle relaxant, and then put a rubber hose up one nostril to deliver oxygen. The minute we had our first set of vital signs, the rest of the team got to work and the trimming began.
    Given his age and the ever-present risk of complications, I tended to keep Mo’s anesthesia on the light side. At the slightest indication of a problem, I could quickly reverse him (wake him up). Since this strategy meant that a loud noise or bright light could cause him to stir, we covered his eyes with a cloth drape, packed his ears with gauze, and kept a syringe full of anesthetic at the ready.
    I lifted the rhino’s blindfold and peered into his big darkeyes. Even anesthetized animals have some sort of facial expression that offers a clue to their mental state. Mo stared past me, unblinking. His eyelids were stretched wide open, a side effect of the anesthetic, just as they should be at this stage in the procedure. I applied a bit more “eye goop,” a sterile ophthalmic ointment, to protect the surface of his corneas, and replaced the cover.
    Checking for an ear twitch, I tickled the hairs in his upside ear. No reaction. Good. A chunk of brown wax stuck to my gloved finger. I fiddled with the hose delivering oxygen. No snort or change in breathing. Our monitors showed a steady heart rate and good blood oxygen saturation. I slipped my hands into his mouth to check his jaw tone; the muscles resisted. He’d definitely need a supplement of anesthetic before the team rolled him onto his other side. Otherwise, he might be able to kick out, or even try to get up. I also got a whiff of bad breath. Maybe we could float (file) his teeth if we had time.
    â€œHow’s it going, Paul?” I asked. A large animal veterinarian, Dr. Paul Anikis had long since become a vital member of our zoo’s consulting team. He’d driven ninety miles into the city from the Virginia countryside early this morning. It was now just past seven-thirty AM .
    â€œThese feet are a mess, Lucy, they really are. We’re gonna try perfusing him today, the way we do in horses. The back feet, anyway. I don’t think oral antibiotics will even touch this stuff.” Paul shook his head. “It seems like these toe pads are the problem. They’ve got to be really sore. If we can get a cephalosporin IV in there, it’ll reduce all that swelling. We’re mixing some up now.”
    When Mo’s feet needed trimming, the rhino’s entiredemeanor changed. Normally, he never missed a chance for a food treat or a belly scratch. Erin, one of his keepers, had trained him to stand next to the bars of his indoor enclosure, close enough that she could reach in and work on his feet. While the other keepers distracted him with bits of sweet potato, Erin could give him a mini-pedicure.
    But she could only trim bits of the overgrown tissue. Rhinos have three hooved toes on each foot. The skin between Mo’s toes and the soles of his feet grew abnormally. At a certain point, this tissue fissured and cracked, allowing dirt and bacteria in and causing infection. Then it swelled. Mo couldn’t stand without pinching this infected skin. It hurt. Because the problem affected all four feet, we didn’t always see lameness, but his overall behavior changed. He avoided standing for long periods of time. Instead of enjoying