Fama, the AHBD (Episode 17)

Episode 17

I could hardly believe my eyes. Fama looked like she was searching, with her nose to the ground, her sniffing audible. It was terrifying to think that she could fool me like this. What if it happened on a mission? I had built this incredible wall of trust over the last 2 months, and it had just crumbled. I was racking my brain, trying to figure out what had happened. I turned her around and gave her a second shot at the hide. She responded this time, but her butt never touched the ground. She was hovering, not wanting to sit on the stones. I pushed my emotions aside and tossed her ball, having a big ‘ole party out in the stones. We had some serious work to do.

Many of the dog teams had worked through issues in Indiana and Arizona with expert advice from the trainers and some hard work, but it had never been me. Fama was a rock. She was the dog that all the handlers compared their dogs to, but now she walked a hide. I needed a plan, right now. Luchian told me not to worry about it. Fama just needed some time to get used to the change in environment. The Army requires a 30 day acclimatization period for that specific reason. Gary said to have fun with her on uncomfortable surfaces, and get her feet toughened up. The reassurance from my trainers helped me relax a bit, as we weren’t going outside the wire tomorrow. We would get through this.

During my health check that afternoon, I noticed that Fama’s ears were getting remarkably cruddy, with an offensive smell to them. She had also continued scratching much more than normal. I asked Gary to arrange an appointment with the Vet to get her checked out, so if there was a problem starting, we had the best chance to get it under control. The Vet asked that we bring her over right away for an exam, so we loaded her up in the Bongo and headed to the Vet’s office, with Fama announcing our presence all the way.

The vet clinic on BAF is located inside the hospital, which shows how important the Army considers the health of working dogs. They receive the same level of healthcare as the soldiers. The clinic was not a thrown together, field expedient operation. It was a hospital, full of modern equipment, smelling lightly of disinfectant. Fama immediately recognized that this was a clinic. She had her “don’t mess with me or I will eat you” face on. I put her on the scale and got a weight on her. She was up to 68 pounds from the measly 46 when I picked her up at the kennels in Indiana. The Vet came right out to meet us, introduced herself, and asked us back to one of the exam rooms.

I could tell from the way she was acting; maintaining distance from Fama, not making eye contact, moving slowly, that she had been doing this a while. There would be no muzzle punching of naive Vets happening today. She had me restrain Fama, good first impression Doc, and gave instructions on what she was going to do.

She said, “We have to draw some blood for tests, from her neck.”

I giggled. “This could get interesting Doc.”

I placed my butt into the corner of the room, for support, backed Fama up in between my legs and had her sit. Then I bent over, lifted her head up against my chest, trapping her muzzle in the crook of my left arm while gripping my right shoulder with my left hand. I squeezed her shoulders with my knees and whispered some sweet sounding threats of violence in her ear. They were going to stick a needle in her neck, and I really didn’t want her moving at all. A veterinary technician came over to us to perform the blood draw.

Fama was doing fine, remaining calm, with no heavy breathing or jerking about, until the vet tech touched her. I have no idea how she knew it wasn’t me touching her. Her eyes were covered. Maybe she smelled him. Whatever super-sense she used, she went from totally placid to lifting my feet off the ground in the space of 5 seconds, a deep, menacing growl issuing from her chest. I was sliding around the office, still in the same hunched over position with her head trapped against my chest, like a turtle in Super Mario. I outweigh Fama by 100 pounds, and she was taking me for a ride, her little feet skittering on the tiled floor.

The vet tech was now looking at Fama like she was devil spawn. The Vet, sensing how uncomfortable the tech had become, relieved the tech of the syringe and took matters into her own hands. I got Fama backed into the corner again, and the Vet made her move. She was in and out before Fama knew what hit her. She reacted just like before, but it was too late. I was just happy I stayed on for the full 7 seconds. When the exam was over, I took her muzzle off and let her have a ball. She laid in the corner chewing on her ball, watching every move the staff made with an evil eye.

The Vet’s conclusion was that Fama had allergies. She loaded me up with special food, Benedryl, ear medicine and special shampoo. She also set up an appointment for every Tuesday for more oral medicine and an exam so we could track progress. I had a notebook sheet full of notes, a bag full of drugs, and an itchy dog. When we got back to the tent I gave her a bath with the oatmeal shampoo, cleaned and medicated her ears, stuffed a couple of Benedryl down her throat and hoped for the best. That night she kept me awake scratching in her crate. I got up every 4 hours and gave her more Benedryl, but they didn’t seem to be helping much. She had enough drugs in her to put me flat on the floor, but she just kept scratching.