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Talking Dogs with Nick Trout, DVM
Author of Tell Me Where It Hurts discusses books, the writing process and the challenges of being a vet

One sunny afternoon, author and Bark contributing editor Lee Harrington met Nick Trout, UK-born and -trained staff surgeon at Boston’s Angell Animal Medical Center, at a crowded café in Cape Cod, Mass., to discuss dogs, writing and the incredible success of Dr. Trout’s debut book, Tell Me Where It Hurts: A Day of Humor, Healing and Hope in My Life as an Animal Surgeon.

Bark: In almost every review of Tell Me Where It Hurts, the reviewer compares you to James Herriot. Do you consider yourself a modern Herriot?
Nick Trout: Not at all. As far as I’m concerned, there was only one James Herriot and I’m not trying to emulate or copy him. What I am hoping to do is to show that the characters one meets as a veterinarian, and the passions we share, are the same today inside a modern sterile hospital as they were in the Yorkshire Dales of the late 1930s.

B: How did you come to write this book?
NT: It just got to a point where a lot of stories were buzzing around in my head, and I asked myself, I wonder if I could do anything with this? I had no idea whether it was any good or not. I had no audience other than my wife. She’s honest, a great editor and she reins in my English colloquialisms.

B: In your book, you talk about the guilt of euthanasia—both your own and that felt by clients once a decision is made to put a beloved dog “to sleep.”
NT: I write about my first dog, Patch, a loyal and protective German Shepherd. He was the dog I grew up with, and like so many of his breed, arthritic hips were compounded by the neurological disease degenerative myelopathy. My father and I conspired to keep this poor animal alive for longer than we should have, and the guilt of that decision still haunts me. Like many teenage boys in that position, I didn’t cry when he was finally put to sleep, but I also didn’t forget. It was a valuable lesson in understanding when it’s the right time to let go, while dignity remains intact, before doubt and denial have a chance to take hold.

B: Now that you’re a vet, how do you approach the situation?
NT: One of the big challenges facing modern veterinary medicine and dog ownership is the fact that we have so much more to offer the animal. In the Herriot era, if a dog had bad hips, pain relief in the form of euthanasia might have been the only humane option. People turned to vets for assistance, and this was the best they could offer.

These days, veterinarians can come back with all sorts of medical and surgical options, forcing the owner to ponder two difficult, interrelated questions: How far should we go, and how far can we afford to go? We are making owners face tougher and tougher decisions about beloved family members all the time.

B: Not only do you show a great affinity for animals, you have a good read on people—your colleagues and clients. I fully confess that I am one of those wacko clients who is a complete hypochondriac, not for myself, but for my dog.
NT (laughs): I prefer it when wacky clients admit they’re wacky. Part of my approach—and one of the things I hope comes across in the book—is my fallibility. I want the owner with me in the decision-making processes. I want to hear what they are thinking. I want to know whether they think what I’m doing is reasonable … or not.

B: So, note to Bark readers: Talk to your vet. Hold nothing back!
NT: Yes, communicate. There was an article in the Boston Globe many years ago about how people wished their MDs were like their vets because it seems that we have much more time to spend with our patients. We need to—and we get to—communicate more.

B: What do you hear about the book from your fellow vets?
NT: Some of the nicest feedback has come from vets. They’ve thanked me for putting into words so much of what we internalize, particularly with some of the tough emotional cases. We may act strong and supportive, but we’re human and fallible too. The only certainty in veterinary medicine is how hard we are going to try to do right by your pet.
 

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This article first appeared in The Bark,
Issue 51: Nov/Dec 2008
Lee Harrington is the author of the best-selling memoir, Rex and the City: A Woman, a Man, and a Dysfunctional Dog (Random House, 2006), and of the forthcoming novel, Nothing Keeps a Frenchman from His Lunch. emharrington.com
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Submitted by Judy from Long ... | February 26 2011 |

I read with interest the article on preventive gastropexy in the latest edition of Bark Magazine. As a former breeder/exhibitor of German Shepherd dogs ( who now only does rescue), I have long had gastropexy performed on my dogs, generally when they are spayed or neutered. Having only one experience with torsion many years ago was enough for me to suggest it to my vet, who throught it was an excellent idea. (The stricken dog did survive and lived for many more years). The dilemma arises if there is no reason for an animal to have surgery; then the question is whether to subject our pets to surgery and anesthesia preventively.

It should also be noted that gastropexy won't necessarily prevent bloat; it will, however, prevent torsion, which is generally the primary threat to a dog's life. It was surprising to me that Dr. Trout was not only unfamiliar with gastropexy as a preventive procedure, but that he questioned its efficacy in light of the fact that the dog in question was about to undergo spay surgery.

I would also add that my one experience with torsion was my only one and I have had scores of Shepherds over the years. Judy Zinn
Laurel Hollow, NY

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