The Phone Died

Recently my parents were in town, visiting for the weekend. We were sitting downtown watching the parade for our towns harvest festival, when my phone began to ‘ding’ with incoming text messages. Then it started to ring. I stepped away from the parade to take the call, trying not to disturb my fellow parade goers.

When I returned, my Mother looked at me and said “Sounds like you need to go to work.” “Not yet.” I reply. “It’s just Rose, she has a cow calving, but I think it will be fine.”

I go on to explain that Rose only has nine cows. But each time one calves, I will receive no less than six text messages, and an equal number of frantic phone calls. There is usually nothing wrong, Rose just loves her cows and wants to make sure everything is alright. Eventually I’ll give in, will go look at the new calf, assure Rose that everything is fine, and the phone calls will end until the next one goes into labor. Even Rose realizes the silliness of the situation, and often asks me “Aren’t you glad I only have nine cows?”

My Mom thought this was hilarious. She turned to my Dad who is also a Veterinarian and said “John - he has a Diane!” I think every Veterinarian probably has a Rose or a Diane. While they can be a handful, they also make the job worthwhile, and it’s rewarding to see people that love their animals so much, and to be trusted enough to be invited into their circle.

So the following week I was shocked when Rose called me at 8:00 on Saturday morning to inform me that two of her cows had calved over night, and she was convinced it required a visit right away. So I agreed, and headed her direction. What I found unbelievable though was that Rose had let me sleep all night long with two cows in labor, without calling me to come assist at least one of them. I could not believe it, Rose had really come a long way in her comfort level with her cows.

Then I stepped out of the truck at Rose’s place. It quickly became evident that Rose had not matured in her comfort level with her cows one whit. She was a nervous wreck. I could see each mother and each new baby, as always it seemed that there was nothing wrong. I couldn’t understand why Rose was such a mess. Then she explained to me: her phone had died over night, so her three AM alarm to check on the cows had not gone off. Subsequently her cows were forced to calve on their own, without her there to supervise. She was beating herself up for being the worst Momma to her Cows that she could possibly be. She was worried the wrong cows had the wrong calves, that the babies had not had colostrum, that they were all going to die, because she had failed to plug in her phone.

I tried to console her that I was pretty sure the cows were smart enough to know which baby belonged to which cow. Then we mixed up some colostrum and fed each calf to alleviate that fear.

I figured I was well ahead though. I’d taken care of two cows and two calves with only one phone call and one trip to her farm. But of course with Rose that wasn’t good enough, I made a second trip to her place later that evening to recheck one of the calves, that she didn’t think was nursing well enough yet. Makes sense I guess, she’d had two babies born, it should require two trips.

That means we’re down to only six more cows to calve. If my math is correct that means I’ll receive at least 36 more texts, 36 more phone calls, and will make at least six more trips to her place before her calving season is over. Also I’m pretty sure if I went in her house now, I’d see it now looks like Doc Brown’s house from Back to the future, with the walls covered in clocks, just to make sure if her phone ever dies again in the future, she’ll have a backup, and a backup to the backup.

I’ve never believed in reincarnation, but if it’s a thing I think I would like to come back as one of Rose’s cows. I think that would be A-okay.

The Origin of the Word

I had just left the Dairy after the morning’s preg check, when the phone rang.  It was the herdsman of the dairy I had just left.  “Hey Doc, are you still on the place?  Juan tells me he has a problem in the maternity pen.”  “I just left, but I’ll be right back.”  I reply, while flipping a U-turn.

I pull up to the maternity barn, and am greeted by Juan.  “¿Que tienes, Señor Juan?” I ask.  “No sé, pero no es bueno.”  He replies.

As we walk into the barn, I see the cow with tiny purple intestines protruding from her Vulva.  I immediately know we’ve got a Schistosomus.  “You’re right Juan, it’s not bueno.”  I run my arm into her to decide if it’s going to be easier to get out with a fetotomy, or a C-section.  I decide a C-section will be easier. 

Just then the herdsman pulls up with his nine year old son in the truck with him.  “What have we got Doc?”  “It’s a Schistosomus.”  I reply.  “What’s that?”  He asks.  “It’s a birth defect, where the calf is deformed.  It’s kind of turned inside out.  You can see it’s intestines are outside of its body, and up on that end we’re going to have all four feet and it’s head.  It’s not coming out of this hole, we’re going to pull it out through the side hatch.”

“Well why does it have such a funny name?”  He queries.

“I think what happened, is that the very first Vet to ever come across one, stuck his hand in the cow, felt what a mess it was and said ‘Ah shiii….,’ then looking over and seeing the farmers 9 year old son watching him intently, quickly adjusted what he was about to say to ‘Ah Schi…..stosomus reflexus.’  Making up a scientific sounding name right there on the spot to protect the boys innocent ears.”

How did he know?

 My assistant and I had walked into the cafe to grab a quick bite for lunch between calls.  We sat down at a table next to a table with a bunch of farmers sitting around it.  It wasn’t long before the farmer sitting nearest us, engaged us in conversation.

He asked all sorts of questions:  “How long have you been in Practice Doc?”  “Did you go to CSU?”  “Are you willing to travel?”  “How come the government is making it so I can’t buy antibiotics anymore?” “Have you got a card on you?”  “Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a Vet willing to look at a cow?”

Soon lunch was over, and we said our goodbyes.  We paid the bill, and walked out the door to get back in the truck.

That’s when it hit me.  We didn’t know this guy or any of the farmers at the table.  They’d been seated already when we walked in.  I’d parked around the corner, so he hadn’t seen my truck.  I looked at my assistant, and couldn’t see any identifying logos on his clothes.  I pulled off my hat and looked at it, no identifying logos on it. “How did that guy even know that I’m a Vet?”  I asked my assistant in confusion.

I looked at my left arm, and saw a little manure staining on my sleeve.  “Do you think he could tell from my this stain on my shirt?  That’s quite the deductive reasoning.”

“Nah.”  My assistant replies.  “He could probably just smell you.”

“Well if that’s the case, I think we’d better go back inside and leave our waitress a bigger tip.”

Mikey and the Ax Murderer

 I had an early start to the day coming in the morning, and had gone to bed early to try to get enough sleep.  Of course getting enough sleep was not to be.  My phone started ringing at midnight.

The voice on the other end of the line, said “Doc, I’m so glad you answered, I’ve got a cow with Milk Fever that needs your help.”  Normally, I like treating “Milk Fever.”  It’s a condition in cows usually shortly after giving birth where they don’t have enough Calcium in their blood for their muscles to contract properly, and leaves them unable to get up.  The reason I find it so rewarding to treat, is because they respond so quickly to treatment, and go from looking like they want to die, back to standing up in just a matter of minutes.  But this cow was about an hour away, on a good day.  Probably at least an hour and a half with this new snow on the roads.  I quickly did the math in my head, an hour and a half each direction, plus the time it would take to IV the calcium to the cow.  Plus I had to be up early the next morning.  Which lead me to tell the gentleman, what I try to tell everyone in their hour of need when they call:  “OK, I’ll head your direction.”  I had after all taken an oath to relieve animal suffering.

“Oh one more thing Doc.  When you turn onto my road, make sure you hug the south side of the road when you cross the second cattle guard.  The snowplow tore it up something fierce, and it will do a real number on your vehicle if you’re not careful.”

As I turn onto his road, I discover that if a snowplow has been over it, it’s been a while.  Because all I can see are snowdrifts.  I put it in 4 wheel drive and follow what I think is the road, trying to make sure I’m hugging the south side of this imaginary road, because I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to see any cattle guard.

After about 2 miles of this I come upon a truck idling right in the middle of the road.  A couple of thoughts instantly cross my mind.  One:  if he’s stuck here, there’s no room to get around him to get to the farm.  Two:  no one in their right mind would be down this road, at this time of the morning.  I’ve stumbled across some sort of lunatic ax murderer on the Wyoming border.  No one will ever find my body out here.

Just then an individual gets out of the cab of the pickup up ahead.  He’s got stringy unkempt hair, and a wild look in his eye.  I was right, it’s an ax murderer, I quickly start looking around the cab of the pickup for anything I can use as a weapon to defend myself.  I come up with a glove.  Maybe I could beat him with a glove?  I quickly dismiss this idea, and instead roll down the window to talk to him.  

“Are you the Vetinary?”  He asks.  I’m tempted to reply, “No, I killed one a few miles up the road and stole his pickup.”  Instead I reply, “Yep, that’s me.”  “I got worried you might not be able to find the place with all the drifting snow, so I came out to lead you in.” He says.  “I guess you got across the busted cattle guard alright, seein’ as yer truck is still runnin’.”

I guess so.  I never did see a cattle guard.  

A couple more miles down the road, and we come to a house, and a barn.  I’m glad he came out to meet me, because I’m pretty sure he’s right, I never would have found this place on my own.

“The cow’s in the barn.”  He states.  This is great news.  I’d been expecting to have to IV this cow outside in the blowing wind, and drifting snow.

Then he continues talking, and tells me all of my favorite things to hear.  “I’m sure glad you answered your phone Doc.  This cow has been having trouble since noon, and I just knew she wouldn’t make it ‘til morning.”  I glance at my watch, to see 1:30 illuminated on its face.  “I tried calling my regular Vet.  But they didn’t answer.”  He continues.  “The next Vet, told me I was crazy if I thought they were going to risk their life on these roads, at this time of night.”

“But finally I was able to reach you.”

As he leads me into the barn, I promptly bang my head on a low hanging eave.  “Oh, I meant to warn you he says, watch your head.  The ceiling is pretty low in here in places.”

Finally we get to her, and he says “There’s your patient Doc.  I sure hope you can fix her milk fever.”

I try to scratch my head in confusion, but instead wind up rubbing the rapidly growing goose egg.  The reason for my confusion is because the cow is standing up chewing her cud, and allowing a calf to nurse off of her.  They both look like the picture of health.  

“Um, why do you think she has milk fever?”  I ask.  “Well you can’t tell it now.”  He says.  “Because the calf is nursing.  But before the calf was nursing on her, she had so much milk in that udder that it was just leaking out, all on its own.”  “That is milk fever, right?”

“No” I reply as politely as I can.  As I perform a brief physical exam on both the cow and the calf.  I explain to him what Milk Fever is.  “So, you think she’ll make it Doc?”

“I think she’s going to be fine.” I reply, after finishing up my exam.  

“Thanks so much for coming Doc.  You’ve sure put my mind at ease.”

As I get back into my truck, I shake my head in disbelief.  I just spent nearly 3 and a half hours of my precious sleep, driving nearly into Wyoming to look at a cow that there was nothing wrong with.  But I did get a nice goose egg, out of it.  As I’m putting the truck into gear to pull out of the driveway, he runs up and pounds on my window.  “Hey, don’t forget to watch out for that cattle guard.  I’d hate for you to tear up the bottom of ‘yer truck and get stuck out here.”  Once again on the way out, I fail to see any cattle guards with all the drifting snow.

As I approach home, I can’t wait to crawl back into bed for a little bit of shuteye.  But it’s not to be just yet.  Just around the corner from home, I see a car slid off the road, with a couple of heads in the front seat, huddled close together for warmth.  I pull up behind them, and go knock on the window, to discover a couple of scared looking teenagers looking back at me.  “Do y’all need some help?”  I ask.  In a few minutes we’ve got them back on the road, and headed for home.  Or else to some other quiet location where they can continue cuddling together for warmth.

Just before they pull away, one of them thanks me “Gosh sir, we’re sure glad you were so nice.  When you first pulled up behind us we were worried that anyone crazy enough to be out on these roads at this time of night would be some sort of lunatic or ax murderer.”

Pigs in the house

     It was the end of a long day, I'd just walked out the door of the clinic and was headed for home.  I was tired, and cold, and ready for the dinner I knew my wife had waiting for me.  Of course that's when the phone rang.  A lady had a young pig in labor, and it was having trouble.
     I'd never been to this place before, they were the clients of another veterinarian.  But, he'd been trying unsuccessfully to pass a kidney stone for the last four days, so I was covering for him.
     The "farm" was thirty minutes in the wrong direction from home.  It sat directly off a busy road, but had seen far better days.  The first thing I noticed was that there was no barn, and I could see no pens with pigs anywhere in sight.
So I knocked on the door.  The lady that answered invited me in, saying "Come on in, the pig is in here."  As a large animal veterinarian, I'm often standing on the backside of animals, so you never know what I may have recently stepped in.  I try to keep my boots clean, but it's usually a losing battle.  With this thought in mind I lean over to remove my boots before entering.  Just then a 20 pound piglet races through my legs and out the door.  Three small children follow it in hot pursuit, two under my legs and one squeezing between the door jam and I.  The mother yelling at them, "Get that pig back in the house before it gets run over on the road."
     It is then that I realize, they have pigs in the house.  So I leave my boots on and follow the lady inside.  She directs me to a gilt penned behind the sofa wedged in the corner of the living room.
     A quick exam makes it clear that a C-section will be needed to deliver these babies.  By now I've realized that if these people lose this pig, it will be a serious financial loss to this family, and that they could really use as many live piglets as we can get.  No pressure.
     I anesthetize the gilt, and prep her for surgery.  The light in the corner is poor, so I have them holding a flashlight for me.  Somehow this job fell to a five year old boy, leaning over the back of the couch.  With each piglet I pull from the uterus the boy squeals with delight, and jumps wildly up and down on the sofa, sending the light bouncing off the walls in a spectacular light show, but leaving my surgical field in virtual darkness.
     As I'm cleaning up to leave.  There are now six little piglets nursing from the mother behind the couch.  The little boy is still jumping on the sofa,  "The spotted one is mine!  I'm going to name him Bacon!"
     Walking through the door pf my own home, my own five year old throws his arms around me.  "Dad, guess what.  Mom fixed bacon for dinner! Come have some bacon!"

Is it dead?

     One of my least favorite parts of my job, is helping to end an animal's life.  Everyone I know that becomes a Veterinarian does so because they love animals, and want to help them, they want to save lives.
Not every animal can be saved though, and sometimes the kindest course of action is to help alleviate an animal's suffering via a quick and painless death.

     Determining if an animal is dead though isn't always as easy as it sounds.  You listen for a heartbeat, but sometimes the silence and the absence of sounds plays tricks on your mind.  Sometimes you may hear your own heartbeat, via blood coursing through your ears.  I'm always fearful, that I'm going to pronounce an animal dead, and that it's then later going to get back up, causing the owners of the animal to have to go through the grieving process of watching it die a second time.  I think that would be horrible. 

     Perhaps the reason for this fear is a story they told me in Vet school.  They had euthanized a horse, the Doctor on call had pronounced it dead, they had then moved it into the cooler to store it over night, then the next morning when they had more time, they would perform a necropsy on the animal.  Well, when the first technician arrives the next morning, they hear a horse neighing in the cooler.  When the cooler is opened, the animal that had been euthanized the previous day is standing there presumably wondering why it's now so cold outside, and wanting to know when it's breakfast time.  I figure if it can happen to the experts at the Vet school, it can happen to me too.

     Halloween day a few years ago, I was called out to euthanize a long time patient of mine.  It was a horse of over 30 years of age.  It had been suffering with arthritis for the last several, and the owners had decided that it was time to say goodbye.  The process of euthanizing an animal is fairly simple.  I hit a vein with a needle, or a catheter, then inject a large volume of a drug that will stop the heart.  This time turned out to be even simpler.  I had a technician with me, holding the horse while I inserted the needle into the jugular vein.  I was in the process of connecting my syringe to the needle, but wasn't there yet.  Then something truly strange happened.  The horse fell over dead.  My tech and I looked at each other and mouthed "What just happened?!"  The people behind me were also astonished, "Wow, that stuff works really fast."  I went ahead and injected the euthanasia solution, out of fear of the horse getting back up, and these poor people having to watch their horse die twice.  But I really don't think it was needed.  That horse was dead.  I think that what must have happened was that the horse had a heart attack, just before I euthanized it.  Well, it was Halloween so maybe my tech's scary costume actually scared the horse to death, of course he wasn't wearing a costume.  I still recommended that he go home shave, and really clean up I'd hate for him to scare his family to death as well.

     As of this writing I am just returning from a pheasant hunting trip in Kansas with another veterinarian.  We had gotten up early and were walking a ditch bank, a flutter of wings from directly underfoot woke us both up quickly.  A quick shot with my trusty Mossberg .20 gauge shotgun, put our first pheasant on the ground.  It was motionless as I retrieved it, but I wrung it's neck just to make sure that it was dead.  Hunters never want their game to suffer.  I then put the bird in the large pocket in the back of my vest, and we continued hunting. After about another hour of walking each of us now had one bird, we also had frozen fingers, and decided to return to the house to warm up, and take a break.  After sitting in the truck for a few minutes, I feel the bird behind me start to move.  "Randy, this bird is still alive!"  I yell.  "Shut up Mike, I watched you ring it's neck."  "I'm serious, this bird is moving."  I pull off my vest, which turns out to be a mistake.  The bird now has more room to move, finds it's way out of the pocket, and is now flopping all over the cab of the pickup.  Beating each of us with it's wings, while feathers are flying everywhere.  With the distraction of the bird, Randy narrowly avoids putting us in the ditch.  "Kill that bird!"  He yells.  I try to ring the birds neck again, but it's clearly already broken.  The bird continues to flop.  Suddenly the birds head pops off in my hand.  The bird continues to flop around the cab of the pickup.  "Kill that bird!"  Randy yells again.  "What do you want me to do?"  I ask, while showing him the head of the pheasant. 

     Clearly I need to continue to worry if animal's are truly dead after euthanizing them.  There were two Veterinarians in the pickup that day.  Neither one of us able to tell if our pheasant was dead yet.

The smart one in the family

My brother's and I all like to hunt.  Each of us has pursued this passion in a different fashion.  I figured that being a Veterinarian would help me get acquainted with a multitude of farmers who own land perfect for hunting on.  One brother became a surgeon, figuring it would afford him the finances necessary to pursue his hunting dreams.  Another brother is currently in Medical school finishing up a dermatology residency, he too hopes that this occupation will provide him with the means necessary to go hunting.  Our other brother went to work for the division of wildlife resources in the hopes that his job would help him scout the best locations to hunt.

Each of us has met with varying success in our endeavors.  Recently as I was arriving on a farm to vaccinate some cattle.  I noticed that they had some geese that had landed in the field in front of their house.  I pulled over, pulled my shotgun out from behind the seat.  Snuck up as close as I could get before the geese took flight, then unloaded my gun at them.  They all flew peacefully off into the distance.  Hey, I said I loved hunting, I didn't say I was any good at it.

I then got back in the truck.  Drove around the house, and parked near the chute.  Here was the farmer with his two teenage daughters.  Normally their younger brother is also there to help, as he loves anything to do with cows.  So I ask "Where's Connor today?"  "Oh, he's in the house pretending to be sick.  But we know he's not.  Because we just heard three gun shots in the front yard, and then watched a flock of geese fly over the house.  The little turkey is "too sick" to help with the cows, but amazingly feels well enough to go hunting.  Little brothers can be such a pain." "Yeah, I know what you mean, little brother's can be a real pain."  "Oh, do you have brothers too."  "As a matter if fact I have three of them.  One is a surgeon, one is a dermatologist, and one works for the Division of Wildlife resources."  "Wow! You have three Doctors in your family.  What a smart group."  "Too bad we weren't all as smart as the one who works for the DWR, he's the smart one in the family.  He actually gets paid to hunt and fish.  I'll call him and ask "What are you up to today Troy?"  And he'll respond "Oh, we're doing a fish count today."  "How exactly do you count fish?"  I'll ask.  "Well, you have to catch 'em he'll reply."

Then I decide to regale these girls with the tale of one of our recent hunting trips:

I'd found the perfect field.  It was owned by one of my clients, and it had geese landing in it by the thousands.  I'd obtained permission from the owner of the field to hunt in it.  Then called my brothers.  "You have to get out here!  This is going to be a goose hunt you'll never forget!"  Of course the doctors were too busy with work to make it.  So it was just Troy and I.  We'd set up our decoys and had just settled into our blind.  Daylight had broken just a few minutes earlier, and already we could see the first wave of geese approaching us.  That's when we noticed this rusty old pickup bouncing across the field towards us. Then he starts honking his horn.  "Who is this jerk, my brother asks?"  "Be nice" I reply.  "This jerk is the man letting you hunt in his field."

"Hey Doc" the man yells as he gets out of his truck.  "I need your help.  One of my cows prolapsed her uterus this morning, I need you to come put it back in.  Lucky thing, you were right here in my field."  "Yeah, lucky thing."  I reply, as I crawl into his truck with one last longing look at our goose blind.

The dairy is about half a mile from where I'd been hunting.  As I lay in the mud and manure behind this cow, struggling to push the heavy, bloody uterus, back into the little round hole where it came from.  I watch wave after wave of geese descend towards my brother's hunting spot.  I'm also close enough to hear the shots that he's firing. "Wow, that's a lot of shots."  I think.  "He must be a worse shot than I am."

When I finally get the uterus returned to its rightful location, and get the cow back on her feet.  The farmer returns me to my hunting location.  I'm tired, muddy, bloody, and feel beaten.  Yet I'm hopeful I can still manage to get a few geese.  That's when I notice that my brother is cleaning up all the decoys.  "What are you doing?"  I ask.  "We're done hunting." He replies.  "We've both limited out already."  He says with a satisfied grin on his face.

"You see" I tell the girls, "I know exactly what you mean about little brothers being a pain."  "Wow" they reply "He really is the smart one in your family, isn't he."  I never did tell them that their little brother really was in the house sick, and that it was me that had shot at the geese.  As a little brother, I think he had it coming to him.