We've just returned from vacation overseas and although we saw loads of animals (mostly sheep if you're interested in trying to guess where we were), happily none of them were visibly ill or injured so we were able to comprehensively disengage our veterinary brains. That is not always the case. Over the years in various countries Lorraine and I have tried to help goats with infected udders and cats who were bleeding internally. However, the most memorable vet abroad episode occurred twenty years ago in the Philippines when Leeann insisted we spay her dogs on her kitchen table. Let me explain.
Lorraine and I had found our way to a little island called Malapacao, off Palawan in the southwest corner of the Philippines. This was a tropical paradise straight from the tourist posters and, in fact, the view from our beach was used as the cover photo of the Lonely Planet guide to the Philippines. Yet it was very quiet there as it was hard to get to and there was only one place to stay, a resort consisting of a cluster of thatched huts run by an older Australian woman named Leeann. A polite one-word description for Leeann would be "eccentric". To begin with, she regularly practiced naked yoga on the beach near our hut. This is not nearly as cool as it sounds, and it probably doesn't sound all that cool. Also, she had strict no alcohol and no smoking policies. The latter wasn't a problem for us or for the only other guests, John and Jesse, a gay couple from New York City (fun guys - one a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist and the other a fashion show producer), but it was a problem for a number of people who attempted to come and were consequently turned away. In fact, we got really good at spotting them as their boats approached the beach. Middle-aged dude in a speedo with a paunch: probably a smoker. Cool. We liked this because Leeann let us have the "premium" huts at the regular price so long as nobody else came who wanted them.
The no alcohol was an issue though. Leeann would make her "Malapacao Special" virgin punch for us every evening before the group dinner, but it so desperately needed a kick. We quickly found a workaround though. Malapacao is a saddle-shaped island with dramatic limestone cliffs to the east and west, Leeann's postcard beach to the north and then, over the jungle-clad saddle, a little Filipino fishing village to the south, only a 15 minute walk away. One of us would sneak over with John or Jesse and buy a small bottle of the local hooch, small enough to slip into a pocket in our shorts, so we could quickly spike the drinks while Leeann rambled on about chakras and cosmic vibrations and whatever. Dinner was a lot more fun this way.
This is where we begin to approach the veterinary portion of the story for you patient readers because the same village supplied not only liquor, but also randy male dogs (so drugs and sex, only the rock and roll was missing).
Leeann had two lovely female dogs. They were the classic "beach dogs" one sees the world over - lean, lanky, short fur, curled tails, a bit wary, but ultimately super pleased to receive kind human attention. And they were not spayed. There were no veterinary services anywhere nearby. As soon as Leeann found out that we were veterinarians her already unnaturally lit eyes became even brighter.
"You can spay the girls for me!"
I laughed and took another sip from my drink.
"No, really, I mean it! What do you need?"
"No Leeann, it's just not possible. A spay involves abdominal surgery so we need general anesthetic and sterile conditions, as well as all the surgical tools etc."
I was going to change the conversation, but Leeann persisted.
"No problem. I have connections on the main island. It's the Philippines. I can get anything you need. Anything. Just give me the list." She pulled out a pad of paper and a pencil and looked at me eagerly.
"Ha, no! Really, we use gas anesthetic which involves complicated equipment although..." I began to waver a little, "... I suppose injectable anesthetic might be possible..."
Lorraine shook her head vigorously no. I looked at the two dogs and their giant nipples and deep-chested shape and considered that these would be tough spays at home even. I know that some of my colleagues are guffawing now (I'm looking at you, Colleen and Jonas) as you have probably done spays in Mexico using a Swiss Army knife, a headlamp and some dodgy expired ketamine for anesthesia, but Lorraine and I were (are) spoiled and soft. There was no way we were going to do this.
"But it's just so risky Leeann. You love these girls. You don't want to take that chance. In addition to the considerable anesthetic risks, there's the fact that we can't sterilize the equipment or create clean enough conditions here."
At this point Lucas, the cook, flashed one of his enormous smiles and chimed in, "No problem! I clean the kitchen table very well Mr. Philipp!" He made a vigorous wiping motion with his right hand.
The argument went back and forth for a while, but we were determined not to attempt a tropical kitchen spay. We felt bad though, so when we returned to Canada I bought a large tub of a medication that can work as an oral contraceptive in dogs and shipped it to her. I never heard back. To this day, twenty years later, I still sometimes wonder whether we could have pulled off those kitchen spays after all.
Incidentally, I just Googled Malacapao and Leeann is still there and is still as eccentric as ever.
