Dr. Thad Frerking, Molly's vet, told Branscome her dog had cataracts.

What Branscome remembers Frerking saying next stunned her.

"He said I should take Molly to a veterinary ophthalmologist," she recalled. "I never knew there was such a thing."

That Branscome was surprised there are specialists who do nothing but treat the eyes of animals came as no surprise to the two vets in town who make their livings treating the vision of dogs, cats and even much more exotic animals.

"People don't know we're here until they need us," said 58-year-old Dr. Michael C. Brinkmann, who has run the Veterinary Ophthalmology Service for 14 years on East Sahara Avenue.

On the west side of town, Dr. Matthew Fife, 31, hung out his shingle to practice animal eye care about two years ago.

Before he used a magnifying lens last week to peer into Molly's eyes, Fife noted that many pet owners good-naturedly "want to know how I get animals to read the eye chart."

But Branscome was nervous about Molly.

"I don't have any children, and Molly and Kyle are my babies," she said, referring also to her other Dalmatian, who is 12.

Fife said Branscome's nervousness is common.

"I've had two people faint and hit the floor because they were so worried about their pets," he said.

To enter the specialty, a vet must take four years of training after four years of vet school. Only 350 such specialists are practicing in the country.

"It takes a long time to learn how to treat eyes of all kinds of animals," said Fife, whose Eye Care For Animals office is near West Charleston and Decatur boulevards.

As vet technician Jessica Sandefer held Molly during her examination, Fife explained to Branscome that the dog would be given anesthesia before he removed the cataract and the eye's compromised lens.

Fife said he then would implant an artificial lens designed for a dog. He told her the size of the incision in the eye is generally less than a half centimeter.

Procedures on both eyes could be done in less than two hours, he said. Molly's eyelids could be partially sutured to serve as a temporary bandage. If that is done, Fife said, the sutures are removed 10 to 14 days after surgery.

Topical and oral medications would be part of the low level maintenance regimen for Molly.

"She should see much better," Fife said.

"Oh, I would love that and I know Molly would, too," Branscome said.

Molly's improved eyesight won't come cheap. The bill will come to about $5,000.

"It's a lot but I'll sell some of my stock," said Branscome, a merchandiser for area Wal-Mart stores.

Molly didn't seem anxious during her visit.

"Surprisingly most animals aren't hard to examine," Fife said.

Willie, a cat brought to Fife's office, sat perfectly still without anesthesia as Fife looked at his eye infection while Sandefer gently held him.

In his residency, Fife treated a rattlesnake at a California zoo. The reptile had to be placed in a thin pipe.

"I only saw the head, but it was hissing all the time and it wasn't real easy to concentrate," he said.

He also worked on a lion. Even though the animal was under anesthesia, Fife said he still was uncomfortable.

"When you saw its paws and mouth, you kept wondering what would happen if the anesthesia wore off early."

Fife, whose practice isn't as busy as Brinkmann's, said that as a general rule a community can only support his specialty when the population reaches 1 million. Not long after the Las Vegas Valley hit about 2 million, the corporate chain Fife works for opened an office here.

Nobody can accuse Brinkmann of not having enough work to do.

After treating a horse for a corneal infection early Wednesday, he spent nine hours in surgery on various dogs: a cocker spaniel you could carry under your arm and a husky who appeared large enough to take you for a ride.

Unlike Fife, Brinkmann, a solo practitioner, worked as a general vet for 11 years before taking the extra training in eye care.

"I really like doing surgery," he said.

On Wednesday, he operated on Lindsey, a brown cocker spaniel with glaucoma, which left the dog able to see only out of one eye. Technician Jean Wickerham saw that Lindsey was comfortable, helping place the breathing tube and constantly watching heart monitors.

Using a laser on the good eye that was fast becoming compromised by glaucoma, Brinkmann fashioned an alternate drain for fluid.

"You have to do that before the dog's own drain clogs up, or he won't be able to see," Brinkmann said.

The surgery cost about $1,700.

"People who come to see me are willing to pay what it takes," Brinkmann said. "When you're a specialist, it's much different than when you're a vet in general practice."

Brinkmann keeps towels in the operating area for clients who insist on watching procedures on their beloved pets.

"It's something you have to have on hand for them to lay on when they get light-headed," he said. "It's much safer for them on the floor. Fortunately, no one has really been hurt when they faint."

To this day, Brinkmann finds that his most unusual case was a sight for sore eyes, even if didn't involve him working on them.

"A fella came into the office all dressed in black carrying a tarantula," he recalled.

"He said his spider broke a leg and then he held out his hand and showed me the leg. It was no longer on the tarantula, so I told him I couldn't fix it. And then he showed me another leg ... that was crooked. I put a splint on it for him. It might have ended up helping the spider, but I really wished I could have helped that guy with some counseling.

"Fortunately," he said, "most of my clients aren't like that."

Contact reporter Paul Harasim at pharasim@reviewjournal.com or 702-387-2908.