Got a parrot with osteoporosis? A turtle with an infected ovary? Call Doc Tyson.

Susan Tyson’s fourth patient of the day needed his (previously problematic) zinc level checked, so Tyson leaned over the tiny blue lovebird, inserted a needle into his jugular vein, and withdrew a few drops of blood. The bird, whose full name is Archibald Whitmore Macleish, weighs just 49 grams. For him, any blood loss is a lot of blood loss.

“You got this, Arch,” said Sam Kelly, Archie’s human mother, from the corner of the Avian & Exotic Philly Vet exam room. She long believed Archie was a male bird, until a few years ago when he decided to lay an egg, which became stuck inside his body and caused a considerable amount of trouble.

“That was the first time Doc Tyson saved his life,” Kelly said.

Susan Tyson, or “Doc Tyson” as she is often called, heals Philly’s most peculiar pets: lovebirds and ferrets, hermit crabs, hedgehogs, rats and tarantulas, parrots with osteoporosis and turtles with infected ovaries. The term ”exotics” in the veterinary world covers anything that is not a dog, cat, or horse, and in her 13 years as an exotic veterinarian, Tyson has performed uterine surgery on a spectacled owl, carried out a skin graft on a turkey that had been attacked by a coyote, and treated the intestines of a vomiting circus lioness.

When Tyson opened her own clinic in 2022, her patient base was 90% rabbit; it has diversified since then. Some exotics can be treated at regular vets, alongside cats and dogs, but Avian & Exotic Philly is the only practice in the city exclusively devoted to their care. Major procedures can cost up to $5,000, Tyson said; sick visits are roughly $125, plus additional fees for bloodwork.

The clinic, currently sharing space at Center City Vet while an office is under construction, feels part pediatrician’s office, part emergency room, with some educational workshops thrown in. The office pet is a long-tailed boa named Medusa, who is forbidden from wrapping herself around human necks and frequently tries to do so anyway.

Tyson grew up with exotics. Her father kept four caimans, each about 4½ feet long, at the family home in New Jersey when she was a kid. The males roamed freely, while the females were kept in a separate enclosure because they were “a little bit more aggressive,” Tyson said. Her grandmother had a green-cheeked Amazon parrot named Aristotle.

Despite her line of work, Tyson has allergies, particularly to guinea pigs, and has been getting allergy shots for the last nine years.

“My mom was like, ‘Why do you want to be a vet? You’re allergic to everything!’ ” said Tyson, wearing purple scrubs, her hair in a loose bun. “Not to birds. Not to the reptiles.”

Goblin, Tyson’s own green-cheeked Amazon, is the clinic’s mascot. One of his party tricks is mimicking the Eagles fight song, but despite Tyson’s repeated urging on a recent Saturday, he declined to perform.

Next to Goblin, a majestic-looking umbrella cockatoo named Chuckles perched inside a cage. When vet tech and owner Jordan Powell introduced him, Chuckles climbed onto the roof, turned his back, and delicately pooped on the floor.

On Saturday, Tyson performed a miniature ultrasound on a tiny hognose snake named Linguini, who belongs to the clinic’s head nurse, Alexis Ober. In addition to appointments with a rabbit recovering from a respiratory infection and an arthritic Senegalese parrot (”Say aaa,” Tyson told him), Tyson had a follow-up with Max, a 35-year-old blue-and-gold macaw.

Four weeks earlier, Max had undergone an extensive surgery to remove a large cyst in his body cavity, the bird equivalent of a human’s chest and abdomen, and a cancerous testicle. It was his second major surgery with Tyson.

“He wouldn’t be alive today if it wasn’t for her,” said Jennifer Dixon, Max’s human mother, who drove from the Lehigh Valley for the appointment. Dixon described Max as “the most brilliant toddler you’ll ever meet running around with scissors on his face.”

Max also needed bloodwork, so Ober prepared a sedative and amnesiac for him. All that followed would be a hazy dream.

In the exam room, Max lifted a wing to show the site of his surgery; the feathers were still bare. Tyson examined his eyes, peered into his mouth and listened to his air sacs with her stethoscope. She offered him popcorn, which he rejected.

“A lot of the times with birds, we like to give them choices so that they feel more included in the exam,” Ober said.

Max was looking well; Dixon hugged Tyson happily.

Exotic birds or mammals are generally prohibited to own in Pennsylvania without special permits, according to Chad Eyler, game warden with the Pennsylvania Game Commission. (He says that the wild birds and mammals for sale at major retailers like Petsmart are generally legal). Pennsylvania currently has eight active exotic wildlife possession permits, covering pets such as wolves, foxes, and bobcats.

Regardless, like any good doctor, Tyson cares for the creatures who need her aid.

“If something comes in crashing through the door and it’s dying, I can’t step away and say, ‘Sorry,’” Tyson said. “We do have an oath to uphold.”