Please! 

D. E. Larsen, DVM

The sun was bright, and not a cloud in the sky as we headed east out of Fort Collins. I was with Dr. Hopkins, a second-year resident, and we were on a farm call to check on a group of cows.

This was the first summer quarter that Colorado State Veterinary School conducted. The plan was to have a quarter of the class on break during each school year term. That way, the student load in the clinic would be reduced so everyone could have more hands-on experience. I jumped at taking this summer and having my free quarter during the spring term. That way, I could start work three months early. I needed the money.

I enjoyed working with Dr. Hopkins. He was a cow doctor, which was my goal in this profession. He was a big guy, probably younger than I was, probably by a couple of years. 

“We have to about ten cows to check today,” Dr. Hopkins said as he turned south onto a country road several miles out of town. “These are all rechecks. This guy had an old veterinarian doing some work for him for the last couple of years. This whole group of cows had retained membranes last fall, and the old guy manually removed those membranes.”

“Dr. Ball says that is something we should no longer be doing,” I said.

“That right,” Dr. Hopkins said. “But you will find out that is easier to talk about than it is to do. All the older practitioners are still cleaning these cows. It is probably a significant income producer for them. You will get a lot of kickback from the older veterinarians and their clients if you try to convince them that it is better not to manually remove those membranes.”

“Anyway, these cows all had uterine infections that were hard to clear up. So here we are in July, and hoping that they are finally pregnant.”

“We have almost lost a year with them,” I said. “I would guess if they are not pregnant at this point, it will probably be best to salvage them.”

“Yes, we are probably at that point already,” Dr. Hopkins said. “Sending them to the sale pregnant increases their value. Otherwise, they are immediately sold as hamburger. They may end up there either way.”

“So, we are nine months into their milking year, and if they are only two months pregnant, that will mean another five months of low-yield milking,” I said. “You can’t afford to feed one of these Holsteins for an extra five months with enough milk to pay their way.”

“Exactly, so we will check these cows; if they are not pregnant, they go to hamburger,” Dr. Hopkins said. “They should also go to the sale barn if they are pregnant. Unless there is some overriding reason to hold them over. Some special genetics, or great milk production, are acceptable reasons to hold a cow over. Being a favorite cow should not be a good reason.”

By the time we finished the discussion, Dr. Hopkins had turned the truck into the barnyard. Ted was waiting for us as we pulled up to the barn.

“I have these gals waiting for you,” Ted said. “But, you know, I’m not sure it is worth checking these gals. They are so late; they are all going down the road anyway.”

“We were talking about that on the way out here,” Dr. Hopkins said. “The only value will be they are worth more than hamburger prices if they are pregnant. They might fit into someone else’s program.”

“Okay, let’s get it done,” Ted said. “I’m a little curious if all your work ended up with pregnant cows anyway.”

Ted had all the cows locked in stanchions, so the pregnancy exams didn’t take long. I went down the line first, and Dr. Hopkins followed along to check my work for the first few cows. I felt a little sorry for those cows. Dr. Hopkins’s arm was much larger than mine. 

Every cow was pregnant. That was pretty good, considering the history.

“I wish I had started using you guys a year ago,” Ted said. “I hate to see this group go down the road, but I guess what’s done is done.”

“You have enough replacements that you won’t notice the loss for long,” Dr. Hopkins said.

“Yes, I know,” Ted said. “My wife wanted you to stop at the house when we were done here.”

We were just getting to the truck to start cleaning up when Ted’s wife showed up with her horse in tow.

“I was hoping I could get you guys to worm my horse while you were here,” Jane said.

“I’m a cow doctor, Jane,” Dr. Hopkins said. “I’m not sure you will want me to worm your horse.”

“I know, but it will take weeks for me to get one of those horse doctors out here,” Jane said. “I trust you with anything.”

“I’m not sure I have the right stuff,” Dr. Hopkins said. He was trying hard to get out of working on this horse.

“Please!” Jane said. “Would you please do this just for me?”

Hopkins looked at me and sighed.

“I tried,” he said under his breath. “I hate this horse.”

We dug around in the truck and came up the stomach tube for a horse and a dose of worm medicine. Dr. Hopkins pulled a twitch out of the back of the truck.

“Oh, could you try doing this without the twitch,” Jane said. “Please! Those things look like the hurt.”

“That is what they are supposed to do,” Dr. Hopkins said. “They keep the horse worrying about their nose and not what I am doing.”

“Please!” Jane said, pleading.

“Okay, we will try, but there are no promises,” Dr. Hopkins said.

I grabbed the horse by the halter and leaned against his shoulder. The horse threw his head up as Hopkins reached over my left shoulder and grabbed his nose. I reached up and grabbed the horse’s ear, pulling his head down. Hopkins held on to the halter and started the stomach tube into the horse’s nostril.

The horse reared a little, lifting me off the ground. As I came back down with my feet on the ground, the horse violently threw his head to the side, striking Dr. Hopkins. 

The blow knocked Dr. Hopkins to the ground, and he rolled a full twenty feet down a slope. He was shaking when he got back up and returned to the horse.

“Get the damn twitch,” Dr. Hopkins said through cinched teeth.

I retrieved the twitch from the truck and grabbed the horse’s nose with my hand through the chain loop. I slipped the noose onto the nose and twisted the loop tight.

“Tighter,” Hopkins said. “I hate this damn horse.”

I took another half-turn on the twitch.

The horse stood still, with his eye watching me, as Dr. Hopkins placed the stomach tube and administered the dose. He pulled the tube, and I released the twitch. I handed the lead rope back to Jane.

“I’m so sorry,” Jane said. “I guess those twitches are for naughty horses.”

“We use them a lot,” I said. “They really keep everyone safer, even the horse.”

We got cleaned up and back in the truck, with Dr. Hopkins not saying much. As we pulled out of the driveway, he relaxed a little.

“That’s why I do cows,” Dr. Hopkins said. “It’s not the horses so much; it’s the women who baby them. The horse is a dangerous animal if it is undisciplined.”

Photo by Elina Sazonova on Pexels.