SatanCoon

I love furry little creatures. This love has led me to my current profession as a veterinary nurse. Is there anything more charming than a furry little kitten or a romping puppy? What sweet, adorable, blood thirsty man-killers! I rarely finish a day without some battle wound—scratches, bites, bruises are a normal part of my “outfit.” One of the keys to being a vet tech is knowing the proper restraint techniques of different animals. I had an entire semester-long class on restraint. The purpose of proper restraint is to avoid stress and injury to the animal, and avoid injury to the care provider. There are the unavoidable mishaps, but if the person you are working with is properly restraining, everyone should come out relatively unscathed. Well, this picture-perfect scenario is not always the case. One person, even of my size, cannot properly restrain a Labrador Retriever. That is a 3-man job, in the very least. I don’t know if it is the extra legs that give Labs super-animal strength, but I dread seeing one walk through the door because I know I will spend quality time on the floor wrestling with all the strength I have in my body, and will be sore for the next 24 hours. But I’d take a Lab over a Chihuahua any day. They are evil. And don’t even get me started on cats…

One of my abilities is that I can talk to and calm down some beasts. There is something curiously soothing to them in my voice. Sometimes. Yesterday we were neutering a raccoon. This raccoon was hand raised by someone from the day he was born. There are a surprising number of pet raccoons around here, (especially since they are illegal) and we see quite a few of them. This big fella was over 30 pounds of raccoon. Picture if you will a large, round, ring-tailed cocker spaniel sized creature of enormous curiosity and strength. The three technicians took him into a room and let him wander around and get acclimated. He was cute and interested in everything, including me. I was the only one he really came up to, but he came and took my hands in his little black ones and gave me a good sniff of approval. Then we had to wrestle him to give his sedative. This made him VERY unhappy. After two of us held him down and one gave the shot, we let him wander again. I was talking to him, soothing the savage beast with my amazing voice. In a moment of COMPLETE idiocy, I decided to get the leash off his neck. He was shuffling around, and I crouched down as he came towards me just as he had before. This time, however, Satan was in possession of his body and a blood-curdling other-worldy snarl escaped his masked face as he lunged at me, open mouthed. I quickly jumped away, all of us screamed and ran from the room. But it was too late. He got me. The blood dripping from my hand was a clue. I started scrubbing, and found my right middle finger splayed open. Lovely. This resulted in a 3-hour trip to the Work Med office (scary, scary place) and multiple stitches. What an idiot I am. I will bear the scars of that lapse of judgment for some time, and will have raccoon flashbacks forever. No amount of soothing words are a replacement for a rabies pole and some good injectable tranquilizers.