Schrodinger's Cat

According to Quantum Physicists, at least the nerdy guys on "The Big Bang Theory" that pretend to be Quantum Physicists, there's a mind exercise invented by a guy name Schrodinger about putting a cat in a box.  Supposedly while the cat is in the box it can be thought of as being both alive and dead, but it's not until the box is opened and observed that the cat is then fixed in a state of being either alive or dead.
     My question is what kind of a warped individual puts a cat in a box and leaves it there long enough for it to maybe be dead when the box is opened?  Furthermore, the real question should not be is the cat alive or dead, but how "pissed off" is this cat going to be after being released from the box.  Especially, if the said box is dark attached to your truck, and driven rapidly down bumpy country roads.
     Well, maybe I should have been a Quantum Physicist because the answer is the cat is most definitely alive, and it's REALLY "pissed off."  I know because I conducted this experiment over the course of the weekend.
     Saturday night at about 6:00 I was at a farm treating a couple of Holstein calves for scours.  It was getting dark, and it was starting to snow so I was anxious to get back in my truck.  So anxious that I almost drove off with the back of my Vet box hanging open.  The owner of the calves flagged me down, and closed the box for me.  I thanked him and drove off.
     Sunday turned out to be remarkably quiet, with me not having to make a single call that day.  So come Monday morning, when I go out to start my truck it's now been approximately 36 hours since I'd last opened the box. 
     I open it just like I do every morning, and blindly stick my hand in to turn on the refrigerator I have inside the box.  That's when I hear a "Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!" and see a blur of fur appear in the now open side hatch.  I jump back about 3 feet unsure what had just happened, other than knowing I now needed to go back in the house and put on clean underwear.  My girls look at me like I'm crazy and ask "What's wrong Daddy?"  That's when the cat attempts to exit the truck, and leaps over my head. 
    It's then that my youth soccer training kicks in from so many years ago, and I stick my hand up and catch the cat midflight (I was a Goalie, so I was allowed to use my hands).  I instantly realize where the cat had to have come from.  He must have climbed in there Saturday night at the farm just out of curiosity, or maybe because it was warm in there.  But the poor thing had been in there all weekend unbeknownst to me with no food and no water, and it wanted out. 
     Well the thing was kind of wild and I really didn't want it in the front with me, so I threw it back in the box, and closed the doors again.  Then I drove to the clinic, carefully opened the door one more time.  This time prepared to have to snag an angry cat.  He was even more "pissed off" the second time after almost obtaining his freedom twenty minutes earlier. 
     Here I put the poor thing in a cage, with some food, water, and a litter box until I was able to return it to the farm it came from.
     Now I've just got one question for those brilliant Quantum Physicists that like to put cats in boxes:  How do you get the smell of cat pee out of said box?

The insensitive jerk.

     The kids have had a Betta fish for sometime now.  He was a little blue thing, and they'd named him "Bubbles."  To me it was just a fish, but to them it was their first pet.  He hasn't been looking so hot lately, and I was sure that the inevitable was coming.  So when I came home from work today and found him upside down in the bottom of his bowl I wasn't surprised.
     I took him out of the bowl, put him in the trash and planned on trying to pull the old switcheroo with a new fish from the pet store before any of them noticed.  Well, Mom wasn't in on my evil plan and spilled the beans to one of them that the fish had died.  Of course now they all want to know where he is, and what we did with him?
     I guess in my line of work, on can get desensitized to death to some extent, and I hadn't fully thought of how this might affect the kids.  Now confronted with it, I realized that throwing the kids first pet in the trash can probably wasn't the most sensitive thing a caring Dad would do.
     So now I had to distract the kids, so I could go dig "Bubbles" out of the trash can.  I then emerge with a shovel, and little "Bubbles," and the story of how I'd saved him until we were all together and could have a proper burial for our friend.
     Even to an insensitive jerk like myself, this felt like a much more proper thing to do than my earlier actions had.  The oldest didn't seem to mind to much, she still has a fish that her younger sister gave her a few weeks ago for her birthday.  The boy seemed fascinated by it all, and was eager to help dig the hole.  The middle child though with her tender little heart was heartbroken.
     So I spent time talking with her about our religious beliefs, and how we believe in life after death.  That I believed her precious "Bubbles" had gone to live with our Heavenly Father.  This isn't much comfort to a 5 year old who has Great Grandparents pushing 90, it will be "forever" before she gets to see "Bubbles" again.
     I think it was a good learning experience for the both of us.  She got to learn about how life ends, and to experience emotions that are new to her.  I got to remember why I wanted to be a Vet to start with so many years ago, because I wasn't always the insensitive jerk I am today.  Once upon a time I was as tender hearted as she is, and wanted to be able to help the animals I loved so dearly.
     In honor of her beloved blue "Bubbles" she thought we needed to have a blue dinner to remember him.  I almost said well we already buried the blue fish under the tree, if you wanted blue food we should have filleted him and fried him for dinner.  But I put my insensitive tendencies on hold, and kept my mouth shut.  Instead I made rice for dinner, and added blue food coloring to the water.  She was pleased, my wife was disgusted.  A win / win situation in my book.

Ignorance is Bliss.

Monday I was at a dairy doing preg checks on their cows, when the herdsman asked me if I would mind looking at a cow that he thought had Milk Fever.  Milk fever is a condition where the cow has low circulating levels of Calcium in the blood stream, and will cause the cow to not be able to rise.
     I agreed with the herdsman that the cow did indeed have milk fever, so I went to my truck and got a bottle of Calcium to administer IV to this cow.  While I was doing this, another cow approached me.  The down cow was between the two of us, but this cow appeared very angry.  She was blowing snot, and pawing at the ground.  My tech saw what was going on and said, "Mike, be careful, I don't think that cow likes you."  I was already fully aware of this, the question was, what should I do about it.  I didn't want to make any sudden movements to set this cow off, but I was also out in the middle of the pen, and didn't really have anywhere to go to get away from her.
     I slowly rose to my feet, trying to keep the down cow between us.  I figured the angry cow would at least have to jump the down cow to get to me, and maybe that would give me time to run to the nearest fence.  As I backed slowly away, the cow started to charge.  I was fortunate to make it to the fence just before she did, she actually helped me up and over the fence with her head.  Maybe I need to get back into training for another Marathon, that was a little to close for comfort.
     On the other side of the fence, I talked with the herdsman about the need to get the angry cow out of the pen, so that we could treat her for Nervous Ketosis, a condition which can cause aggression in recently fresh dairy cows, and that I was quite certain this cow was suffering from.
     So with the help of several people we were able to get her to a chute, where I administered several different products to her to try to treat the ketosis that she was suffering from.  I then left instructions with the herdsman on follow up treatment for this cow in the days to come.
     Well, several days went by and I'd forgotten about this cow, until the owner of the dairy called me yesterday and said he thought he had a cow with a displaced abomasum (a condition where the cow's true stomach fills with gas and displaces from it's proper location.), and that he'd like to bring her to the clinic to have me surgically correct it.
     When he arrived, and my tech opened the trailer gate, he instantly recognized the cow as she helped him over the fence.  Once we got her in the chute at the clinic, and she proceeded to blow snot on all of us, and to hit anyone with in striking distance with her head.  I said to the owner "I recognize this cow."  "You do?" he questioned, "How come?"
     So we shared the whole story with him, of her trying to hurt us on Monday.  "No wonder the guys asked me to check her he said.  They new how upset she was and didn't want to mess with her.  Those rotten buggers didn't even bother warning me that she was ketotic.  She could have killed me like three times this morning!"
     Fortunately we were able to get her treated and no one had gotten hurt.  The owner of the cow was now much more careful loading her up to take her home.  You might say he was even a little scared of her, whereas when he'd brought her over he was blissfully unaware that she posed any danger to him.

Higher Math.

     During the course of a day, I'll quite often come across a young high school kid who will tell me that they want to be a Vet.  Then they'll ask me what they need to do.  I usually tell them to take a lot of math and science classes, and to make sure they get good grades in those classes.  "Oh."  They'll say in a depressed voice.  "Maybe I don't want to be a Vet.  Why does a Vet need to be good at math?"
     Well, I have one client that every year will bring her steers to me to castrate.  Wait did I say steers?  Haven't steers already been castrated.  The answer to that question should be a simple yes.
Unfortunately, she somehow seems to always miss one of the nuts on about half of the "steers" that they banded.  Sometimes they've actually missed them both.
     Every year I'll patiently tell her that when she bands her bull calves that she needs to make sure she counts to two, as there are two nuts and she needs to get them both in the sack before applying the band.
     Every year she has a new excuse too.  One year it was "I had my husband do them."  Another year it was "I really thought I did count to two on all of them."  One year it was "Those little buggers always squirm so much that I can't tell."  This year it was "I had my son do them."
     You see there is higher math involved in Veterinary work, you need to at least be able to count to two.  Apparently it's more difficult than I was led to believe as a kindergartner.
     I guess there is one other possible explanation.  I recently had a different gentleman bring me a "steer" with the same problem.  He said he had banded it himself when it was young.  But when it started trying to ride his heifers he ran it in and checked it.  Sure enough there was still one nut there.  His explanation - "I forgot to check for that third nut when I banded them.  Seems like every year we have a couple calves that must be born with three nuts 'cuz after we've already banded them, they end up still having one."  Yeah, I'm sure that's the problem. They had three nuts to start with.

Why wasn't I paying attention in school?

     One day in Vet school I was on an anesthesiology rotation.  The patient that I was scheduled to run anesthesia on was an Oncology patient.  This poor dog had a tumor about the size of a volleyball hanging off of the side of his chest, that was to be removed.
     Once I had the patient into the surgical suite, I met up with a resident and two senior vet students who would be scrubbing in on this surgery.  We were only missing one member of the surgical team, the Doctor in charge.  As we waited the resident proceeded to expound to all of us how lucky we were, because the Doctor who would be performing the surgery was a legend, a true pioneer in the field of Oncology.  She then explained how in her two years of residency so far, that this was the first time that she was privileged to watch this legendary Doctor operate.  How lucky for us lowly senior Vet students to be able to witness this man at work.
     I'll never forget the work of this legendary Doctor either.  He walked into the room gowned and prepared to operate.  He picked up the scalpel, made one quick cut that took the entire tumor off in one slick motion.  Then with what now appeared to be the scene of a slasher movie, blood on the ceiling, blood on the walls, blood covering everyone in the room, and blood continuing to pour from the incision at an incredible rate, this legendary Doctor took his gloves off, threw them in the trash and as he walked out the door said "I'm done, close it up for me."
     It's a good thing that the Resident who had been singing the praises of this legendary Doctor had her surgical mask tied on securely, I believe it kept her jaw from bouncing off the floor as the great Doctor walked out of the room.  I couldn't help but laugh.
     Well fast forward several years.  I'm now the Doctor, and I was at a Dairy where the herdsman asked me to look at the leg of a heifer with a large growth off the inside of it's hock.  He asked me "Is there anything you can do for that Doc?"  Well after palpating it with my hands I determined that I thought we could successfully remove this tumor surgically. 
     So after carefully sedating the cow, laying her down for surgery, and preparing the surgical site.  I was prepared to cut.  Just before I made my first incision visions of the dog from the slasher movie flashed through my head, and I wondered out lout "What have I gotten myself into?"  Well the tumor came off easily enough, but just like the dog so many years before, blood was spraying everywhere.  Then the real work of stopping the bleeding and closing the incision began.
     That's when I realized that I didn't pay very good attention in school.  I still live in close proximity to a Vet school, and quite often have eager young Vet students riding with me.  Had I been smart, I would have waited to do this surgery on a day when I had a  couple of Vet students with me.  That way, I could have removed the tumor, peeled off my gloves and said "Close it up for me, won't you?"

Out of the mouths of Babes.

     Recently I had the privilege of baptizing my oldest daughter as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.  It was a special day for our family, with many family members making quite a trip to be here with us.  I couldn't have been more proud of my daughter for her decision to follow the example of our Savior Jesus Christ by being baptized.
     After the ceremony was over, one of the presiding members of our congregation was making a few remarks.  At this point my two year old boy began to get restless, and started to make some noise.  So in an attempt to keep him quiet, I started making conversation with him.
     I said "Did you see Taylor get baptized?"  To this he nonchalantly replies "Yeah, she was in the water with Jesus."  To which I replied "Did you see Jesus?!"  Again he says "He was in the water with you and Taylor, but he's not there now."
     Now, I didn't see Jesus in the water with us, and I don't know if he was there.  But I do believe that he is my older brother, and that he loves our family, and was especially pleased with the decision my daughter made that day.  I also believe that if it was possible for him to be there that day, and he didn't have more pressing matters to attend to that there is probably no place he would have rather been than at the baptism of a beautiful young lady making a good decision.
     Taylor I love you, and the decision that you've made.  I hope and pray that now you have entered in by the gate, that you will stay on the straight and narrow path that leads to life eternal, by always staying close to your Savior Jesus Christ.  He loves you very much just as I do, and according to your little brother he was at your baptism standing in the water with you.

A role model for my son.

     Sometimes I worry about my son. Not that there is anything wrong with him.  It's just that he is the youngest in the family, and he has two older sisters who have a questionable influence on him.  Maybe if he had a dog that would help.  After all don't all little boys need a dog?  A dog would give him a partner in crime, someone to get in trouble with rather than playing kitchen with his sisters.  Someone to blame things on, when he gets in trouble.  You know the whole the dog ate my homework routine.
     Fortunately, he has a good role model in his life.  This role model takes the shape of a cousin who is several months older than he is.  A cousin who has no older sisters to corrupt him.  A cousin who is all boy.
     Recently this cousin was visiting.  Somewhere during the visit someone noticed that the two little boys were missing, and that they were awfully quiet.  That's when the search began.  It didn't take long to locate the two of them.  They were in the bathroom, and the toilet was completely full with all of my son's toy cars. 

 

     The cousin quickly denied any involvment "Corey did it!" he says.  The mothers  of said boys instantly start scolding them.  I on the other hand couldn't have been more proud.  Not only had the cousin helped Corey get in trouble, but he'd also shown him how to blame it on someone else.  A valuable lesson for a little boy to learn.

     Then Corey's cousin set a good example for me too.  I was ready to help the boys get the toys out of the toilet and clean them up.  As were the little boys.  Corey's cousin reached in and grabbed one, and his mother yelled "Don't touch that they're dirty!"  So the boys didn't touch them, and neither did I.  We sat back and watched the mothers dig them out of the toilet, and bleach them in the sink.  To think I was ready to go to my truck and get one of the shoulder length sleeves I use for preg-checking cows to cover my arm while cleaning the toys. 

     I'm so grateful that Corey's cousin set a good example for me too.  Why clean up a mess you've made, when you can get your wife or mother to do it for you?  I'm so glad that I've found a good role model for my boy, I think maybe I can learn a thing or two from this kid too.