Mutt and Jeff

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Here they come, I could see them walking over from Safeway. My memory fails me to remember their names. Maybe a gap in my memory, but more likely, it was because of the nicknames I attached to them. I only used those names privately, mostly between Sandy and myself. But they fit the roles perfectly.

I think I probably reversed the names from the cartoon classics. I called the short one Mutt and the tall one Jeff. Mutt was shorter than I, maybe 5 feet 4 inches. He was stocky, and he had the face of a prizefighter, or perhaps a barroom brawler. His nose was squashed flat, and the deep wrinkles told of a rough life. Jeff, on the other hand, was tall and sort of thin, with a bit of beer belly. Jeff did most of the talking.

They were frequent visitors, mostly just after free information. But they would bring their dog in to visit a couple of times a year. 

I freely gave advice and instruction to established clients. I felt that education was part of my responsibility to my clients. Most clients respected this, and almost nobody abused my generosity. In those early years, I only sent a bill for consultation on a couple of occasions. Both of those small fees resulted in loud screams, but they served the desired purpose.

Jeff pushed through the door with Mutt right on his heels.

“Good morning, Doc,” Jeff said. Mutt nodded his head.

“Good morning,” I replied. “What brings you in today?”

“We have gone in partners and bought a steer,” Jeff said. “We got an outstanding deal, and he is a nice steer. We are planning to save a lot of money on meat when we butcher him.”

“You will probably do well if you take advantage of the Spring and early Summer grass and feed him a little grain also,” I said. “If he gains well, butchering him in the fall will save on buying a lot of winter feed.”

“He has a little problem this morning, and we are pretty worried about him,” Jeff said.

“He drooling slobber all over the place,” Mutt added.

“Yes, and he is not eating, holding his head funny, sort of extended,” Jeff said. “I think he might be bloated, but Mutt here doesn’t think that is the problem.”

“Well, I can’t tell you what his problem is without looking at him,” I said. “But it sounds like he is choked. Do you have an apple tree around?”

“Yes, we have him in Mutt’s sister’s orchard,” Jeff said. “There are apple and pear trees everywhere.”

“Maybe I should come out and get a look at him,” I suggested.

“If it is just an apple, maybe we can get it out. I think we will try that first,” Jeff said as they turned and headed out the door. 

Just as the door was closing, Jeff leaned back in and said, “Thanks, Doc.”

“Give them an hour, and they will be back,” I told Sandy. “You better mark me off for a farm call in the afternoon.”

“They never call, they must not have a phone,” Sandy said.

It was less than an hour, and they were back at the clinic. Pulling up to the front in their old pickup this time.

Jeff was talking even before he got through the door, a little excited this time.

“Mutt thinks you need to come to look at this guy right away,” Jeff said. 

“I think he is bloating,” Mutt added. “And we don’t want to lose him now.”

“Okay, I will come now and eat a late lunch,” I said. “Where do you have him?”

“You can follow us,” Jeff said. “It is almost to the top of the hill on Turbyne.”

As I headed out to the truck, I stopped and grabbed a wire coat hanger from the coat rack. Jeff sort of looked at that a little funny but did not say anything.

The trip up the hill only took a few minutes, and we pulled in a driveway that leads to a level spot where the orchard was located. The steer was tied to the corner of a small shed in the middle of the orchard.

It only took me a couple of minutes to ascertain that the steer was indeed choked. There were apples on the ground everywhere. Most of them were small.

“How are you going to get the apple, Doc?” Jeff asked. “Mutt wants to know.”

“This one is going to be easy,” I said. “It is just in the back of his throat. They are more difficult and even life-threatening if they are stuck in his esophagus in his chest.”

“Do you think you can get this one?” Jeff asked, anxiously. 

I went to the truck and retrieved the wire coat hanger and the nose tongs. I stepped on the coat hanger and stretched it out, leaving a bend in the middle about the size of the toe of my boot.

After securing the steer’s head with the nose tongs, I slide the bent end of the coat hanger down the roof of his mouth. I could feel the loop slip over the apple. One quick jerk on the hanger and the apple popped into the steer’s mouth. A loud belch of rumen gas followed the apple. It would be fine, but I looped it one more time and pulled the apple out of his mouth.

“He will be fine,” I said. But I would pick up these apples or at least cut them into a pieces. You don’t want to have me up here again.”

“That looked pretty simple,” Jeff said.

“Everything is simple when you know what you are doing,” I replied.

We didn’t see these guys again until an early morning in October. They pushed through the door, and Jeff had both elbows on the counter.

“How much do you charge to neuter a tomcat?” Jeff asked.

“By the time we vaccinate, deworm, and neuter him, it runs about forty dollars,” Sandy said.

“That’s a lot of money for a tomcat,” Mutt said. “Maybe we should do it ourselves like my grandfather used to do.”

Jeff looked at Mutt for a full minute. “You really think we can do that on him,” he said.

“Okay,” Jeff said, “We are going to do it ourselves.” And they turned and were gone in a flash.

Sandy came back to the treatment area and related the story to me.

“They will be back in a couple of hours, probably with the cat,” I said.

Sure enough, in the early afternoon, their old pickup pulled up to the front of the clinic. They were struggling to get a large box out of the cab.

I came up and stood behind the counter. I didn’t want to miss this story.

“We are just going to leave this cat here, Doc,” Jeff said, almost out of breath.

“You just take care of him, and we will be back in a day or two to pick him up,” Mutt said.

“Yes, we tried to neuter him,” Jeff started. “Mutt here figured he would do the cutting, and I would do the holding because I was taller. So I sat in a chair and clamped this guy between my thighs. I have ahold of the back of his neck and his tail. I am hold him real tight. Then Mutt, here, takes his pocketknife that he had just sharpened, and grabs the nuts of this cat.”

“Doc, I am telling you, it started as a low rumble, then it just sort of exploded. I am telling you, Doc, for a couple of minutes there, I didn’t know who was going to get neutered. This cat damn near ruined me.”

“Jeff, you go take care of yourself,” I said. “You might want to see a doctor if you have bite wounds. We will take care of the cat until you get back to pick him up.”

Published by d.e.larsen.dvm

Country vet for over 40 years in Sweet Home Oregon. I graduated from Colorado State University in 1975. I practiced in Enumclaw Washington for a year and a half before moving to Sweet Home to start a practice.

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