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.”