ivan

what a relief.  ivan the terrible had surgery yesterday and is doing well.  after a couple of early-morning conference calls, i popped him into a kennel and we drove for an hour to the agoura/westlake animal hospital.  the front desk staff knew who he was immediately ("that's the rooster, right?").  i guess it's not very common to see a chicken at an animal hospital.  dr. martin was there to meet us, and he explained his strategy for the surgery - which was to clean out the infection in ivan's leg and pull down some skin from his thigh to cover the opening that's been there for months.  i signed all the paperwork and left ivan in his capable hands.  then, i drove downtown to my office for a 4-hour friday frenzy of phone calls and emails.

around 12:30, dr. martin left a message that the surgery went very well, better than he had hoped.  the infection had extended from the front of his leg joint to above, around and behind it.  he cleaned everything out, pulled the skin down over the wound and stitched his leg so there's no longer an opening.  he said the rest would be up to ivan and the antibiotics.  results from the tissue cultures he submitted to the lab would be back next week.  then, we'll finally know what kind of bacteria has been causing the infections and be better able to treat it with the right medication.  until then, ivan needs shots of baytril twice a day, and dr. martin will visit next week to remove the bandages. 

as i made the long drive from the bowels of industrial l.a., back to the tree-covered, rolling hills of westlake, i was struck by the peculiarity of my life.   i was on the freeway in my cadillac, enroute to pick up a rooster, chatting on the phone about animatronic robots capable of squirting liquid for a soft drink commercial .  somehow it all felt perfectly normal, like just another day.  i strategized about how to squeeze in a stop at the market for some fresh corn, blueberries and spinach for ivan.  fortunately there was an albertson's across the street from the hospital, so i made a pit-stop.  this was no was ordinary market - it actually had british, german and southern food sections.  westlake is a long, long way from the carnicerias of sylmar.

i arrived at the hospital and the receptionist retrieved ivan's chart.  there was a bag tucked inside, containing a bottle of baytril and several syringes.  she looked at me somewhat squeamishly, and said "ohhh, this medication is injectible".  i think she expected me to protest or gross-out, but i smiled and told her it was no problem, i give shots all the time.  after a long parade of fluffy dogs, the vet tech finally brought ivan out to me.  he was awkwardly stuffed into his kennel, his rear pressed against the door.  the tech seemed flummoxed and not quite sure what to make of this rooster with a bald and bandaged leg.  ivan looked at me, stumbling and unable to move his leg into a comfortable position.   i opened the kennel, layed him on his side and loaded him into the car.  

we arrived home, and ivan started clucking as i carried him into the pen.  a good sign, i thought. some hens gathered around him as he emerged from the kennel.  after helping him to stand, i put some feed down and he immediately started eating (an even better sign!).  he was able to put weight on the leg, though he'd crouch every few minutes since he was clearly sore.  i brought him some water infused with vitamins and he drank.  big sigh of relief that he made it through and is still his adorable, terrible self.

welcome home ivan, it's good to have you back.