About twenty years ago, my dog Bandit came down with hot spots. I vaguely remembered the term from childhood, when one of our long-haired dogs suffered from the same malady. I thought at the time that it was just a sore that developed when the hair got matted and rubbed the skin. Not so!

Watching Bandit, I could almost see the lesions developing in real time, covering her belly, back, legs and face. I learned that the benignly named “hot spots” are actually a vicious, fast-acting bacterial infection of the skin. Seeing those sores spreading and oozing, and Bandit lying listlessly on her side, I thought she would die before morning.

And here we were, on Prince of Wales Island, with no local veterinarian. The next morning we backed her into her crate (even in her state, she refused to go in headfirst), loaded her onto a floatplane, and had a family member pick her up in Ketchikan and take her to the vet. It wasn’t cheap, but what else to do? She got through it, and continued keeping us on our toes for many more years.

Fast forward to just two weeks ago, when my cat Abner evidently got into a scrap with a neighbor cat. He had a sore on his little elbow which seemed to get better, then worse, then better again. I got scared when one day he seemed very much on the mend, and the next day he was limping badly, the wound was closed up tight, and there was swelling all down his leg. My sister Laura, a veterinary technician by training, was most helpful, and when the swelling developed we all agreed that Abner should have some antibiotics. I also knew that sending him to town nowadays would make that twenty-year-ago pilgrimage look like pocket change.

My husband called around and found a veterinarian who was set up to do tele-conferences. We sent pictures of Abner’s injury, emailed a description of the situation and the events leading up to it, and received an air freight package containing pain medicine and a bottle or liquid oral antibiotics. At the time of this writing, we are determinedly administering the full measure of the medicine, having been taught that the worst thing one can do with antibiotics is to stop taking them before you are finished. Abner hates it, of course. He has a wicked head-snap that he does to try to avoid swallowing, but he is gradually coming around. I think our technique is improving as well. And the wound has opened up and is draining nicely.

Having pets on an island in a rural area presents a unique challenge. We do have a veterinarian who comes periodically for well-pet checkups, immunizations, etc.—and we very much appreciate it—but  when you get a pet emergency out here, it’s gonna cost you one way or another. But that’s just the way it is, because I wouldn’t live anywhere else, and I wouldn’t give up my beloved Abner, my precious little Snickerdoodle, for any reason whatsoever.