Yes, We Have Some Bananas

By Tammy A. Parker, DVM

"Okay. When can they be there? I’ll come over in an hour then." I returned the phone to the cradle. "A macaw on display in a store seems to have swallowed something. They think maybe a penny. The emergency clinic asked if I could see it," I explained to my friend. I canceled our plans for the afternoon because I was not sure if this would be a "quickie" or a long and involved appointment.

When I arrived at the emergency clinic, I was greeted by the loud rantings of a stressed macaw. The girl in front of me looked not even eighteen. She stood with her hands clamped firmly over her ears. Figuring the bird could definitely be louder than me, I motioned for her to come into another room. The girl, an employee of the shop for only about a week, could tell me nothing except that customers had been playing with and feeding Simon all day. He started breathing really strangely in the afternoon and her manager was convinced he ate a penny. Upon this diagnosis, he called ‘all over’ until he found someone who would see Simon on a Sunday. "I wish I didn’t have to bring him, " she complained. "He’s scary and I listened to him yell for the entire trip!" Apparently the entire trip was an hour drive. I was slightly annoyed that someone who could neither offer a real history nor give authorization to work on the bird was sent.

First, I recruited a technician who was willing to tackle the bird, although he was less familiar with handling birds than others in the clinic. "Just put a hand where I tell you and I’ll do most of the real holding," I said. I pulled Simon out of the box. Once out, he was significantly less stressed and didn’t seem to be having any more difficulty breathing than one might expect with an indignant macaw. He actually recovered nicely within a few minutes and with a quiet word or two.

After the physical, I explained to the girl that I needed the name and number of someone who could authorize diagnostics, in this case radiographs. I needed the radiographs to determine if there was a penny or some other foreign body in him. The hour drive could have passed something further down than I could feel. I finally contacted the shop manager who authorized the radiographs and instructed me to keep him informed.

By this time, Simon had decided I was not so bad and let me catch him up for the films without much fuss. No treasure, pennies, gold doubloons, or otherwise, was found. Good, sighed my inner voice. But something wasn’t right. Macaws typically have very small liver shadows, but Simon’s seemed really small.

I called the store manager back to relay the news and request authorization to run blood samples to check the liver function. He informed me that he had to reach the store owner for permission and was not sure when he could contact her. Still, it was a start.

Finally Mrs. Pendleton, the owner, called. She told me how Simon had been in her store for the past decade entertaining customers and being a true mascot. The employees just didn’t understand his asthma attacks. He had been having them for at least the past ten years at the store. All the employees had to do was put him in the back room for a few days and feed him and he always got over them. Bells, big, loud church bells, were going off in my head. I repeated how important it was to pursue a diagnosis since asthma is not a commonly diagnosed parrot disease. She didn’t seem bothered by me at all, but agreed it couldn’t hurt to check.

Simon’s blood work, liver values in particular, could only be described as impressive. Looking at the abnormally high numbers, I just wondered how Simon could still be such a master of disease disguise. While talking with Mrs. Pendleton, my technician handed me a fax which denoted a strong positive for the psittacosis test. "We can treat this and must do so," I stressed, "but I cannot promise he won’t have some long term problems related to scarring of the liver." She finally understood and before I could go any further into plans, said she would be here in poste-haste.

Psittacosis treatment is for 45 days. The owner insisted that Simon spend his first week of quarantine at the clinic. "I want a good start before I take over," she stated while handing me the largest bag of sunflower seed and peanut mix I’ve ever seen for a week.

"We need to talk," I frowned. She walked away with an amazed and not quite believing look after getting the full nutritional lecture on variety and feeding.

The week was fairly uneventful with Simon. He quickly adapted to the pace of a busy practice, probably because it was not unlike a busy store. Mrs. Pendleton picked him up at week’s end. I assured her that he was trying a few new foods (better than I had expected in only one week). She took him with a promise to check in routinely until his recheck of blood work.

The next week, I picked up the phone..... And "HE EATS BANANAS!"...... was all I could hear. "Yes, they do," I answered, moving the phone to the less damaged ear and holding it an inch away. "Can you believe it!?" continued Mrs. Pendleton, just about getting my other ear. I couldn’t help but laugh.

Simon continued to amaze his mom with food and recovery. He moved up in the world too----from a mascot to a truly appreciated and loved member of the family.

©2000 Tammy A. Parker, DVM