‘OK, well, that’s good. If you’re right then his prognosis should be pretty good, but he’ll need supportive care until the effects wear off. We’ll need to put him on a drip, keep him warm and monitor him.’
‘So he’ll be OK, then?’ Steve asked, starting to sound relieved.
‘Well, I can’t be completely sure, I’ve never dealt with this scenario before, but I know it is rarely fatal in dogs and it obviously depends on how much he’s eaten.’
‘It really wasn’t very much, I’m sure of it,’ Steve said, sensing that if Jess could be reassured that Freddie was going to be OK, then his imminent chastisement would be shorter lived.
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Jess now. ‘Just do whatever you need to for Freddie, he’s so precious to us.’
I printed out a consent form and discussed the cost of treatment. This was one of those occasions when the financial penalty could serve as an additional deterrent against a repeat episode in the future.
‘You can pay for it instead of your next stash,’ Jess said to Steve as she signed the consent form.
‘I’ll take him through and start his treatment. I’ll call you later with an update, but as I say, I reckon he’ll probably be here for a couple of days.’ I scooped up the bundle from the table. Jess leaned over and kissed Freddie on his head, which was just protruding from the towel.
‘This man is going to make you better, Freddie,’ she said, then, turning to me, ‘Thank you, sir, please look after him, I know he’s in the best place.’
‘We’ll do everything we can,’ I reassured her, and headed out into the prep room as Jess and Steve left, no doubt to continue their exchange in the car home.
Heather was busying herself repackaging surgical kits to go into the autoclave for sterilization. She looked up with a slightly quizzical expression when she saw the bundle in my arms.
‘Is that the ferret?’ she enquired. ‘What’s wrong with it? What are we doing to it?’
‘You’ll never guess.’
‘What?’ Heather asked as she cleared away, making a space on the table for me to put him down.
‘He’s stoned! Got into the owner’s cannabis supplies.’
‘You’re joking.’ Heather responded and burst out laughing, but then as I opened the towel and she saw his disorientated, ataxic stagger, added, ‘Poor little fella, what are his chances?’
‘Well, they don’t think he’s eaten very much so they should be pretty good. Dogs tend to do OK, but I’ve never heard of a ferret eating marijuana before. We’ll just have to see. He’ll probably be out of it for a day or two.’
‘What an idiot for leaving it lying around where the ferret could get at it.’
I explained what had happened. ‘Naturally he thought the bag was a good hiding place and then couldn’t resist the intriguing smell!’
‘Unbelievable. So what’s the plan?’
‘Drip, put him somewhere dark, warm and quiet to minimize any stimulation, then it’s just wait and see.’
‘OK, he can go in a cat kennel with a heat mat. We haven’t got any cats in, so it’ll be quiet and I’ll put a towel in front of his cage.’ She started getting things together.
‘Perfect, thanks.’
‘Have you got anyone waiting?’ she added.
I double-checked the computer screen in the corner of the room. ‘Next one is in ten minutes.’
‘OK. Yellow intravenous catheter, I assume? Hartmann’s or saline?’
‘Yeah, yellow and Hartmann’s, 250 ml.’ The catheter colour indicated size: generally speaking, pink or green was for dogs, blue was for cats, and yellow for kittens, small puppies and, in this case, ferrets.
With all the equipment laid out and the drip line set up, Heather held Freddie and extended his front left leg which I clipped and cleaned before gently inserting the intravenous catheter. In a normal awake ferret this procedure would have been a virtual impossibility without being savaged multiple times, but Freddie put up little resistance. I connected the Y-piece, then taped and bandaged it in place.
‘Did you weigh him? What fluid rate do you want?’
‘No, sorry. Maintenance should be fine, he’s not dehydrated, but won’t be able to drink anything until he recovers.’ A maintenance rate was an animal’s daily fluid requirement. Under normal circumstances, for a small animal like a ferret it was estimated to be 60 ml per kg of body weight per day.
‘OK, there are scales in the cat ward so let’s take him through and then I can set up his cage,’ said Heather, picking up Freddie who was still in his towel bundle. I grabbed the drip stand with the bag of fluids connected to the drip line, which ran through a pump that could accurately control how much fluid was administered per hour, and we headed into the cat ward next door.
With Freddie settled in a darkened cage, complete with a heat mat, several towels for padding to stop him inadvertently banging against the walls in his stoned stupor, and connected up to fluids, I returned to finish my consulting list.
The rest of my afternoon cases were less unusual – an itchy dog, a hamster with a lump, a couple of dog vaccinations, a cat with a flea allergy and an egg-bound chicken – and with these completed, I was able to return to check on Freddie. I crept into the cat ward trying not to make a sound for fear of overstimulating him. Tiptoeing up to his kennel, I gently drew back the towel to assess him. I could hear what sounded almost like a high-pitched wheeze. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark, but when they did, I could see Freddie lying on his front, face planted into the towel, nose squished to one side, legs sprawled out, and I realized the noise I was hearing was him snoring. He looked very sweet, but was completely and utterly out of it, in a comatose stupor.
And there he stayed for the next two days, barely moving, snoring soundly, occasionally rousing slightly to the sound of a cage door opening as cat patients came and went, or in an attempt to acknowledge his owners when they came to visit him: seemingly content, in some weird, chilled-out drug-induced ferret dream.
I arrived at work on the morning of the third day to news from the night duty nurse that he seemed to be waking from this prolonged doze. I wandered in to check on him and indeed he was, wide awake and exploring his cage for an escape route.
‘Morning, Freddie, did you have a good siesta?’
‘Should I offer him some food?’ Julie asked.
‘Yeah, that would be good, he certainly seems awake enough to eat.’
‘What shall I offer him?’
‘Cat food would be best, a pouch of something.’
Julie returned moments later with a small bowl of food. As she opened the cage door, Freddie’s reaction was extraordinary. Even before she had placed the bowl down, he virtually launched himself across the cage, face planting in the bowl and devouring every morsel in seconds and then frantically circling the cage looking for more.
‘I think he’s hungry,’ Julie commented drily.
‘I presume that’s what they call the munchies.’
‘Hilarious. Shall I offer him some more?’
‘Yeah, why not, let’s go with the same amount again.’ This time Freddie was climbing the cage door in eager and obsessive anticipation of a further food source when Julie returned. It was hysterical to watch him once again, with no decorum or delicacy, immerse himself in the bowl of food, snorting as he devoured it.
‘I think he’s feeling better, don’t you?’ I said.
‘I reckon so.’
We disconnected his fluid line before it fell victim to his hunger pangs, and then I called the owners.
‘Good news. Freddie has woken up and seems completely fine, so you can come and pick him up. Oh, and I must thank you for adding to my education. I had never really experienced the concept of the munchies before, but it’s safe to say that ferrets experience them too.’