A great deal of the hospital's most interesting practice is among the animals kept in zoological gardens or in travelling shows. An old circus lion was brought here not long ago to have his ulcerated tooth pulled. Now if the toothache makes you feel as "cross as a bear," how cross does the toothache make a live lion feel?
To tell the truth, no one at the hospital wanted to know how cross that lion did feel—they thought it was a case in which it would be folly to be wise. The first thing to be done was to drop nooses of rope on the floor of his cage, and then draw them up when he put his foot in one—he knew he had "put his foot in it" when he found himself snared—and so, step by step, get him bound and helpless. If you will think how particularly hard it is to tie up a cat, you may guess that it is no joke to make a lion fast; he is just like a stupendous cat in his agility and slipperiness. The only way to render him helpless is to get his hind quarters tied up outside his cage, and his head bound fast within it; the next thing, for dental work, is to put a gag in his mouth; that is the easier because there is no trouble at all about getting him to open his mouth—he does it every time any one goes near him.
When they have these beasts of the jungle at the hospital their keepers have to stay with them; but even then they can't always prevent mischief. A baby elephant from a big circus was about the most disorderly patient they ever had there, though, in spite of her naughtiness, she became quite a pet with everybody about. She had a cold and the sniffles when she first came, and was subdued and patient, just like some stirring children when they are sick; but as she got better she almost pulled the whole place down in her efforts to get something to play with. She reached out of her stall and took a large office clock off the wall. No one had supposed she could reach it, and she had broken it to what her keeper called smithereens before he could stop her. If she could find a crack anywhere, destruction began; if it was in the plaster, the plaster was ripped off; if between boards, up came a board. But the baby was not so likely as some of her grown-up relatives to just knock down the side of the house and walk out, which is an occurrence always possible when you have an elephant come to see you. Elephants are poor sailors; they get dreadfully seasick, and often when they are just landed they are brought to the hospital to recuperate. Gin is the great remedy in that case; they particularly love gin, and all their medicine is usually given to them in gin.
When medicine cannot be given disguised in drink or food, it is usually squeezed down the patient's throat with a syringe. The horses are very good about that operation, but the dogs are often troublesome at first; but both dogs and horses soon learn that they are with friends, and then they are wonderfully good and grateful even when the doctors have to hurt them.
For many dogs little can be done until they have been in the institution several days and the doctors have made friends with them; after that they almost always turn out good patients—not always. Do you want to know why some dogs can't be treated there at all? Because they are so homesick; they pine and fret so that their masters, or oftener in these cases it is their mistresses, have to come and take them away, and they must needs have medical attendance at home. One of the most aristocratic patients ever treated here was a French poodle supposed to be worth a thousand dollars. He wore a little diamond bracelet on one paw, and he could do tricks enough to earn his living on the stage; but he did not have to earn his living. He came to the hospital to have his teeth attended to, and some of them were filled with gold. One of his tricks was to laugh, and when he did that all his gold fillings showed.
Many of the pet lap-dogs, particularly those that belong to women, come to the hospital because they have been overfed. The doctors tell a bad story about pugs particularly being little gluttons. On the other hand, they say that many fine and valuable dogs don't get meat enough. Dogs need meat, but some mistaken people think it's better to try to make vegetarians of them, and then the dogs are apt to get the ricketts. The big baby St. Bernards suffer much in this way; it takes a great deal of meat to make a grown St. Bernard out of a young one, and if he does not have enough the job won't be properly done.
The cats and dogs stay in one big ward, each one in its own iron cage, and the cats must understand that the cages are strong, for they don't seem to mind being near the dogs at all. In fact, one of the doctors says he put his own cat in this ward for a while, and when she came home she showed an entire change of heart about dogs; instead of the terror she had always felt of them, she was ready to be good friends with the canine members of her own family. There is a big tin roof railed in that makes an exercising-ground for the convalescent dogs, but the cats have to take the air in a big cage some six feet square that is built on the roof; they can climb too well to be trusted loose.
One of the most cheerful patients in the place now is a canary that has had a leg amputated; he gets on much better than you would if you had only one leg; he chirps, and hops about comfortably, and the doctors think he will soon take to singing again—the brave little bird.
All the appointments of the place are as careful and scientific as they can be anywhere; there are special wards for contagious diseases, and in all operations hands, towels, bandages, and instruments are sterilized after the most approved modern methods. Ether and cocaine are frequently used to save pain, but best of all is the way everybody in the place seems to have a genuine kind feeling, sometimes a warm affection, for the poor yet lucky sufferers.