The Rhino with Glue-On Shoes by DVM Lucy H. Spelman Read Free Book Online

another female bear. The image of that little cub in a whole-body cast sliding around Martine's backyard still makes me smile. Thanks to her, and the Waystation, this bear has a good home.

    ABOUT THE AUTHOR
    Rebecca A. Yates spent her early years tending to small creatures like birds, lizards, tortoises, and insects in Los Angeles. She received her bachelor's degree at Humboldt State University, her master of science at California State University, Dominguez Hills, and her degree in veterinary medicine at University of California, Davis. After finishing vet school, Dr. Yates briefly cared for cats and dogs until discovering her true passion in zoo animal and wildlife medicine. She spent nearly ten years working with a variety of wild animal species—including native wildlife—at the Wildlife Waystation near Los Angeles, California. She moved to the East Coast to work as staff veterinarian for two years at the National Zoo in Washington, DC, and then returned to California, resuming part-time work for the Waystation while she pursued a career in teaching. She currently teaches full-time for the veterinary technology program at Pierce College. Dr. Yates can often be seen riding her off-road unicycle up steep canyon roads.

Raising Kayavak
    by Jeff Boehm, DVM
    A t the time (2000), no one in the world had successfully raised a five-month-old orphaned baby beluga whale. Our choices were decidedly few. We could create an artificial whale milk formula for the calf, attempt to foster her onto an adult female whale who'd recently lost a calf, or force her through a “cold turkey” approach to weaning considerably earlier than we thought advisable. I tried to think of a fourth or fifth option as I hurried from O'Hare Airport to Shedd Aquarium on Chicago's lakefront. I wished I'd never left for California. Then again, I'd been looking forward to visiting family for the holidays.
    The whale trainers and the on-duty veterinarian, Dr. Annelisa Kilbourn, first noticed something wrong the day before, late on Christmas morning. The calf's mother, Immiayuk, was acting a bit strange. Observations intensified and concern mounted as the day wore on. Immi appeared lethargic and uninterested in her training sessions. Annelisa called me and we agreed that I should race back. The aquarium staff quickly moved into high gear, shifting mom and calf into a separate pool so they could keep an even closer eye on the pair. Next, they began the slow process of lowering the pool water. The plan was to examine Immi this morning while I flew halfway across the country.
    As I sat on the plane, possible causes for Immi's changes played out in my mind over and over, from a simple behavioral problem to acute infection. Anxious to get back, I tried to distract myself by studying the other passengers. I wondered if any of my fellow travelers had started the day as I had, with no travel plans whatsoever. It was a safe bet no one else was answering an emergency call about a sick whale and her five-month-old baby.
    The moment we landed, I called for an update. The tearful voice on the other end of the phone confirmed my worst fear: Immi had died. My heart went out to the animal care staff. I imagined their faces, strained with concern and grief. Everyone would be discussing what needed to be done next. The baby whale would soon be very hungry. We had some difficult, critical decisions to make—and fast.
    By the time I got to the aquarium, night had fallen and the clock was ticking for little Kayavak. Annelisa and I met with the curators to talk about what to do next. The calf could dehydrate and weaken quickly without a source of milk. At the same time, we needed to determine the probable cause for her mother's death. It could have been an isolated event, or it could be something that threatened the health of the other whales, including this precious calf. The difficult task of performing a postmortem examination on Immi—a 1,700-pound