When Shedding is Cool.

There’s shedding and then there’s shedding. You know? 

When shedding knows no bounds; make the most of it!

OMG. Really?

Oh, wait, that’s just me, who hears about hair on the floor, hair on the brush, dusty hair bunnies who breed under the kitchen table, and the like.

See, usually, shedding is a symptom. One that I catalog for evaluating my patients’ well being.

“Still shedding every day, are we?”

“Yeah, still hoovering up a rug every day, Dr. Falconer.”

“Ah.”

And I go back to work, keeping that symptom on my Working Symptom List for this beast I’m trying to get well.

Cause, I know, one day, this, too, will cease. When my Whole Patient is well.

Really well. You know, Whole Dog well. Or Whole Cat well.

It’ll stop.

Then I’ll smile and ask, “Anything else he’s talking to us about? How bout those farts at 4:00 pm? Those eye boogers? The big saucer eyes when you set down that lumpy bag of shopping?”

“How are all those things, eh?”

The name of the game in this homeopathy business is Curing the Whole Beast. It means we don’t stop while there are symptoms still talking to us.

Because symptoms mean: Not Well Yet. Still Trying to Get There.

So, you’ve got to imagine my delight when Tricia tells me, in passing, that both her Danes blew their coats. At the same time. For about a week. And then quit.

It doesn’t hurt that Tricia feeds me raw food!

What? You mean they both did it on the same week? These two unrelated beasts?”

“Yes.”

“That’s amazing! And now they don’t shed any more?”

“No.”

“Oh, that’s too cool! That’s WONDerfull!! I’m so impressed!!! I’m telling people about this. Folks have got to hear this!”

Okay, so you’ve got to get the sense of the nerdiness of a homeopath like me. I wait for moments like this. And when they are just announced, in passing, my brain goes into high alert.

Did I just hear something that indicates high level wellness? I DID?? Oooooo. I want all the juicy details!!

This is Significant? How, exactly?

So, shedding. Pretty boring, right? All animals do it. It’s just part of having a dog or a cat, right? (excepting the few breeds who really don’t, like the Poodle Dudes)

But it’s deeper than that. Trust me on this. Shedding all year round is Not Normal.

Common, yes. Normal, no.

Animals who are well, really, truly well, don’t shed all the time. They do it seasonally. Boom. Done.

And, of course, lots and lots of animals coming in as patients do it every day. All year round. Yawn.

It’s so common, I sometimes forget to ask about it, in my pursuit of finding what’s bugging my patients.

Turning off the light.

The Big Goal here at Alternatives for Animal Health is to cure my patients.

Cure. Often confused with covering up symptoms. But decidedly not that.

Drugs are often likened to putting a piece of black electrical tape over the oil light that lights up on your dashboard, and driving merrily along your way.

To certain disaster.

How many miles away? It varies, but it’s ahead, that’s for sure.

No, we see that oil light, that shedding all the time, that pale, spotty nose, that waxy ear, that goober-y left eye, as an indicator that somewhere, deep inside, there dwells something needing attention.

That’s really all that symptoms are: little warning lights. My clients have all been trained to pay attention to them. And to get good at describing them.

And when they leave, when those warning lights go off, on their own, from deep inside, we know we’ve really done some good. The remedies have done their magic. That animal is left in its God-given state of Health, by God.

And then, we celebrate. And I exclaim. And the patient, that healthy animal over there just goes, “What? I feel good now. What’s the big deal?”

And the Cat Came Back!

Texas Ray: in his healthy guy state

I saw Texas Ray yesterday, a big old Texas-sized guy of a cat, who has the whole neighborhood loving him, because he’s such a character. Texas (“Not Tex, he’s too big for shortening his name,” says Shelly, his proud owner, who took him in as a bony young stray so many years ago) had a clear case of ADR.

 

You know this diagnosis? Many species, including ours, succumb to ADR now and then.

It stands for Ain’t Doin’ Right!

Texas wasn’t himself for several weeks, and when Shelly wrote to me, seeking an appointment, her list of how that ADR looked included:

  1. Pale gums.
  2. Lethargy, sleeping all the time, tired.
  3. Grumpy. You know, with that twitchy tail you see when a cat’s irritated.
  4. Odd breathing. Texas Ray’s chest would rise and fall without a normal, smooth rhythm to it. Looked kind of jerky. Maybe too fast.
  5. He’d been snoring and wheezing, too.
  6. Sleeping hunkered down on cool tile, instead of in his usual belly up, legs akimbo, “It’s All Cool” posture.
  7. Texas’ shiny coat had gone dull, disheveled, and the black parts were looking rusty reddish. Smooth had turned to coarse since ADR set in.

Funky, used-to-be-black coat

 

So, clearly, not a normal state for this guy. And he was talking to Shelly. How? Showing symptoms that weren’t his normal way of doing his life. And she paid attention.

As is not unusual in my busy homeopathic practice, I couldn’t see Texas Ray right away. No room in the inn. He’d already been through the conventional diagnostic tests (blood screens, radiographs, even ultrasound) and nothing appeared abnormal.

 

So, I was able to see Texas 12 days later, and, lo and behold, he was already better! I took my usual full history to hear where he’d been in his health, and the first, most striking thing was that he had gotten wayyyyy better. Before he got any remedies from me. What happened?

 

Shelly took away his high end, healthy label commercial food and started tossing him raw quail.

 

Texas Ray took to them like a lion to a wildebeest. Devoured them.

 

And never looked back.

 

He lost the attitude. The twitchy, edgy business. Gone overnight.

He perked up. Got engaged with his humans once more. Quickly.

His gums pinked up a bit, though they still had a ways to go.

 

I was happily, though knowingly pleased with this success story. And a bit surprised. He’d been on a food known to be one of the healthy brands, no byproducts, the dry part of his diet was not preserved with BHA or BHT or any of the toxic chemicals.

 

But: it wasn’t anything like prey. Which is what he was waiting for. And when he got it, boom, he headed for greener pastures.

 

I still saw room to help him, and started homeopathic medicine, as he still had some symptoms, and I expect he’ll get well again.

But what a lesson.

Texas Ray: “Feed me real food. I’ll do (most of) the rest.”

Tell ‘em, Tex.