The Old Man

 D. E. Larsen, DVM

I stopped at the mailbox and double-checked the box’s address against my call slip. This was the right place, but it really didn’t look like anybody was home, and it didn’t look like a place that had room for a cow.

I pulled into the drive and waited a moment, hoping someone would come out of the house to greet me or turn on a porch light. 

With no activity from the house, I reached under the front seat for my flashlight. It was good that I had the light; otherwise, I would have tripped over the tricycle parked in the middle of the walkway to the front door. 

Not seeing a doorbell, I knocked on the door. I listened for some movement in the house. I couldn’t hear any from the inside. I knocked again.

Finally, I hear a chair scoot on the floor, like someone standing up from the dinner table. A full minute later, the door opens.

“Good evening,” I said. “I’m Dr. Larsen. You called about a cow having problems.”

“Oh, that must have been Billy,” the old man said. “He had to run to town to buy some beer.”

“He must not have been too worried about his cow,” I said.

This old man was tall and frail. He had to be in his eighties. He was dressed in pants and an old shirt, and he was mostly bald, with maybe a few hairs on the top of his head. His face was terribly wrinkled, and he sported a large gray mustache.

“Billy has come to live with me after the old lady died,” the old man said. “He does pretty well, but he needs his space at times. And he likes his beer. His beer and his hounds. The cow was just sort of an afterthought.”

“Do you think he will be back pretty soon?” I asked.

“My guess is he went to a tavern to buy beer,” the old man said. “If there is some old barfly in there, he ain’t going to be worried about this cow, not for a second.”

“Maybe I should go home and plan to look at this cow in the morning,” I said.

“Give me a few minutes to get on a pair of boots,” the old man said. “I can take you out to the cow shed. I can’t be much help, but I can hold the light. You’re a strong young guy. You should be able to handle that cow by yourself.”

“That sounds good. No reason for the cow to suffer just so Billy can have his beer and barfly,” I said.

“You grab your stuff and just come through the house,” the old man said. “I should have my boots on by then.”

“So, I will have a bucket of water; maybe I should bring it around the house to the back,” I said.

“Just bring the empty bucket. We can fill it at the sink,” the old man said. “That way, you can have warm water.”

I gathered my stuff, hoping this would be a simple delivery, and went back to the front door. The old man had left the door open. He was sitting at the table, struggling to get his feet into a pair of rubber boots.

The house was a mess. My guess was that Billy didn’t do much around the house, and the old man probably couldn’t bend over to pick something off the floor.

“The sink is right there,” the old man said, pointing to the kitchen. “It is probably full of dishes and stuff. You will have to use the spray hose to fill your bucket.”

It took me forever to fill my bucket. I gave some thought to washing a few of the dirty dishes while it was filling, but it gave the old man enough time to get his boots on.

He pushed himself out of the chair using his arms as much as his legs. 

“Let me grab a flashlight,” the old man said as he retrieved a light from the end of the counter and slid open the back door.

He flashed the light across the backyard, and the hounds came alive. There must have been a dozen dog houses scattered across the backyard, with a hound attached to each one via a long chain.

“We sort of have to run the gauntlet,” the old man said. “These are all good dogs. They just think we are going to go hunting.”

We started out through the dog houses. I was carrying a bucket of water in one hand and my calf puller and medical bag in the other hand. The dogs were all baying and stretched out to the end of their chains, swinging back and forth as they tried to get closer to the old man.

Then it happened; the old man tried to dodge one hound and stepped into the bite of the chain of the neighboring hound. I saw it coming, dropped my things, and caught the old guy as the dog chain ripped his feet from under him. I was surprised; the old guy was light as a feather. I doubt if he and Billy were doing much cooking.

“I think if you show me the shed, I will be able to take care of this cow myself,” I said. “This is too dangerous for you in the dark.”

“Maybe you’re right,” the old man said. “The cow is in the shed right over there.” 

He shined his light on the shed.

I ensured the old guy was clear of the dog chains and continued to the shed.

A shed was a good word for this structure. I thought I might pull it over when I had to pull hard on the door to get it open. The cow was inside, lying down and straining. I could see the feet and most of the head. This was going to be easy.

Without putting a rope on the cow, I attached a nylon OB strap to the calf’s front feet and gave a pull when the cow strained. The head popped out. One more stain and pull, and the calf slipped out onto the straw.

I washed up the cow and did an exam to make sure there wasn’t another calf. Then treated the calf’s navel with iodine and gave him a Bo-Se injection. I slapped the cow on the butt, and she jumped up and turned her attention to the calf. 

“That was easy,” I said to myself as I headed back to the house. “Now I just have to get passed these dogs again.”

When I returned to the house, the old man had his boots off and cleaned up the sink a little.

“There is room for you to wash up,” he said. “And I want to thank you for catching me out there. It’s no damn fun, this getting old stuff.”

“I was glad I was there,” I said. “The calf is born and is doing well. You tell Billy we are in the office this Saturday morning, at least until eleven. He can come in and pay the bill, and I can talk with him about managing his cow, calf, and hounds.”

“I will make sure he is there,” the old man said.

***

Billy did come in on Saturday morning. He paid the bill, and we talked about his cow and calf. I suggested that if he kept his dogs tied, he should spread them out more to make things safer for his father. I also suggested he build a kennel for the dogs. Then we discussed what his father would need in the next few years. 

Billy listened, but I doubt things will change much around his house.

Photo by Krunal Parmar on Pexels.