A news item this week about a newly sanctioned drug fed my doubts about modern medicine. New drug for dogs
doesn’t make senseThe first alarm went off when I saw that this breakthrough drug approved by the Food and Drug Administration was for dogs (no, the FDA isn't too busy with cancer and AIDS to waste time regulating canine pharmaceuticals).
The further I read, the more I began to doubt that this medical marvel was really any breakthrough at all. Some might even call it a step backward.
The new drug basically helps the pooch stop peeing on the carpet if he becomes angst ridden when his owner leaves him alone in the house. The "disease" has a fancy name, of course -- separation anxiety. And the drug doesn't work by itself, of course. It must be used in concert with doggie psychiatry.
It stirred my anxiety when the story reported that possible side effects include vomiting and diarrhea.
I thought long and hard to figure out what I was missing here. What sane person would correct a dog's peeing on the carpet by causing him to throw up or crap on the rug instead? For that matter, who in his right mind would give a dog free run of the house while nobody is home?
Personally, I prevent my Shar-pei Bingo from peeing on the carpet while I'm gone by putting him outside. If I lived in an apartment and didn't have a yard, I'd confine him on the lanai or in the laundry room. If I had no suitable place of confinement, I'd reconsider my pet choice and opt for a Jackson Chameleon. As far as I know, reptiles don't pee much and you can medicate them as you wish without the consent of the FDA.
The article did get me wondering how much separation anxiety Bingo suffers when we leave him alone. I duped him into thinking nobody was home so I could observe what he does while we're gone. The next couple of hours went something like this:
Nap in the sun by the gate . Get up and turn around to give the flies some exercise. Resume nap. Get up, stretch leisurely and stroll oh-so-slowly to the bushes to take a leak. Shoot a little stream into the neighbors' yard to get their dogs barking protectively. Listen with smug satisfaction as the chain reaction soon has every dog within three blocks barking. Exhausted from the activity, move the nap to the shade of the porch.
When we're home, Bingo jumps up ferociously when the mailman comes and carries on as though the Iraqi Revolutionary Guard had landed in our driveway. It's now obvious that it's all an act designed to curry our favor and perhaps get a little extra in his bowl that night.
When he thinks we're out, it's a different story. He doesn't even stand up from his nap when the mailman comes. He just lifts his head lazily and throws a couple of half-hearted woofs toward the mailbox.
BINGO did show some anxiety a couple of weeks ago when we had the house painted and he had to be penned up while we were at work. He paced the pen nervously all day instead of napping and whined like crazy when I came home to make me feel guilty.
It made him generally insecure. He usually leaves his rawhide bones laying around where they drop. But for days after the painters left he scrambled around the house looking for good places to hide the bones. Now he patrols with a steady whine as he tries to remember where he put them.
He doesn't dare pee on the carpet, though.
David Shapiro is managing editor of the Star-Bulletin.
He can be reached by e-mail at editor@starbulletin.com.
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