Dottie

David E. Larsen, DVM

It was a warm afternoon as we crowded into the Large Animal Surgery class. In early fall, Colorado could still see some warm days. 

I was in my final year of Veterinary School, and this class was one of my most enjoyable. Of course, the fact that Dr. Annes was the instructor helped. He had become one of my favorite professors.

“Today, we are going to amputate a digit on a steer,” Dr Annes said. “This is an excellent salvage procedure for a steer with a fractured digit or severe disease in a single hoof claw. It will allow the steer to function well and continue to gain weight for several months, maybe up to a year or so, This is not a procedure to use on a cow or bull that has plans for a lifetime of production. The foot will not hold up for years following this procedure.”

We worked in teams of two, each with a lower leg gathered from the slaughterhouse in the last day or two. The procedure was easy, with the leg lying on the table. It would be more difficult with a live animal.

We did nerve blocks on the digital nerves, reflected the skin from the hoof to the pastern joint, and severed the digital bone using an OB wire saw at a sharp angle to make a smooth appearance on closure. After suturing the skin back over the exposed bone, it made a pretty good-looking foot with just one claw.

At the end of the class, Dr. Annes again cautioned us that this was a salvage procedure.

In Colorado, we were in the middle of cattle country. Feedlots were everywhere. It would be a valuable procedure in those feedlots. I put it in my memory but doubted I would ever need it.

***

After several years in Sweet Home, the practice was getting busy. It was a warm afternoon that was drawing to a close, and I was thinking about taking the kids swimming when Sandy came back and said that Ginger was on the phone.

“What does she have going on?” I asked.

“She has an old ewe with a sore foot,” Sandy said. “It has been a problem for some time, but now the ewe is not using the foot. She wants you to look at today.”

“Okay, it is probably just a foot rot,” I said. “I can run out there now, and we can still have time to take the kids to Foster Lake for a quick swim. Just make sure you get a good address and directions.”

Leaving Dixie to finish cleaning up the clinic from the busy afternoon, I grabbed the file from Sandy and headed to the truck. I got the truck turned around and ready to pull out onto the street. I opened the file to check the address. 

Forty-ninth Street, this is in the middle of town. It can’t be much of a sheep flock. Sweet Home had just completed the annexation of Foster and Midway. Keeping livestock in those areas was grandfathered in, with limitations based on adequate lot size.

Ginger stepped out of the small yellow house as I pulled into the driveway. I could see a lone ewe in the small lot behind the house. The ewe was holding up her right front foot.

“I am so glad you could come today,” Ginger said. “Dottie has been holding up her foot for the last week. She must be in terrible pain.”

“Is this something that just happened?” I asked.

“Oh no, she has been limping for months,” Ginger said. “It has just been part of her. I never gave it much thought. She is getting pretty old, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know,” I said. “How old is Dottie now?”

“I am not exactly sure,” Ginger said. “We got her as a young ewe when our daughter was in 4-H. That was almost twelve years ago. So she must be twelve or thirteen.”

“That’s pretty old for a sheep,” I said.

“I know she is old, but she is such a pet. We want to take care of her as long as we can,” Ginger said.

“Well, let’s get a look at her,” I said. “Are we going to be able to catch her?”

“She is so arthritic, she doesn’t move much,” Ginger said. “And now, with this foot problem, she hardly moves. But I will grab a little can of grain to make sure she stays in place.”

Dottie didn’t move when we approached her in her little pasture. I put a rope on her just in case we needed it when I looked at her foot. Ginger dumped the grain on the ground in front of Dottie, and she started lapping it up.

I did a quick exam while Dottie was eating the grain. Her wool was thick and soiled; she hadn’t been sheared in a few years. Her wool was full of keds (a wingless fly that parasitizes sheep). Palpating her chest wall, hiding under her thick wool, revealed prominent ribs. Dottie was quite thin, likely due to a heavy intestinal parasite load along with the keds.

I turned my attention to Dottie’s sore right front foot. I leaned into her to provide a little support as I pulled up her foot with my left hand. The hoof on her lateral claw was a mess. With my hoof knife, I cleaned away the debris and rot from the hoof. Once I removed the material, I was looking at the coffin bone. There was no saving this hoof.

I set the foot down and allowed Dottie to return to cleaning up her grain.

“Ginger, I’m not sure there is much I can do for Dottie,” I said. “When you feel her ribs under all this wool, she is skin and bones. Her wool is full of keds. Keds are wingless flies that spend their entire life in the wool, sucking blood from the sheep. I would guess she is also loaded with intestinal parasites unless you have been deworming her on a regular schedule.”

“We had no idea she had any problems,” Ginger said. “She always looked fine. But I guess we never handled her like you just did. I hope you are not suggesting we put her to sleep.”

Now, what am I going to do? Here I have an old ewe, skin, and bones, heavily parasitized, probably missing some teeth, and with a foot beyond repair. She has probably been out in this pasture for years and hardly looked at in that time, but now we will have to save her.

I thought for a moment before I spoke. My mind drifted back to Dr. Annes and his large animal surgery class. Could I buy Dottie a year or two using the salvage procedure Dr. Annes recommended for saving market steers?

“So, this is what will have to happen to give Dottie a chance at living another year or two,” I said. “First, we must get her sheared and treated for intestinal parasites and keds.”

I pulled Dottie’s head up and looked in her mouth. She was missing three incisor teeth. I turned her head so Ginger could see the missing teeth.

“We are not going to be able to replace those teeth,” I said. “So that will mean more grain and maybe some pelleted feed, like small alfalfa pellets or calf manna. And then we need to take care of Dottie’s feet.”

“The lateral hoof on her right front foot is beyond saving,” I said. “There is a salvage procedure to amputate that toe to remove the pain. Dottie will be light enough that it might work for her for a year or two. If she lives beyond that time, that foot will be a problem. Now, you have to know that this surgery is meant to be used to get injured market through a few months before they go to slaughter. It is not meant for use on animals that will live a long time. But it might just work for Dottie.”

“If that is what it takes to save Dottie, let’s do it,” Ginger said.

“This is going to cost more than you would pay to buy three or four pregnant young ewes,” I said.

“I don’t want a bunch of young ewes and lambs,” Ginger said. “I want to give Dottie a chance at another few years of life.”

“Just so you know the score,” I said. “And I said another year or two, not a few more years.”

“What do we have to do to get started?” Ginger asked.

“I am going to give her some injections today: a long-acting antibiotic, a deworming injection, and a Bo-Se injection,” I said. “You can call the office, and they will give you the name of someone who will shear Dottie for you. After you have her sheared, I will leave you some powder for the keds. Then, stop at the feed store and pick up some small alfalfa pellets. After that is all completed, I will come out and take care of Dottie’s feet.”

***

A couple of weeks later, I returned to take care of Dottie’s feet. After getting three years of wool removed, she was a different-looking animal. The pelleted feed was making a difference. Her ribs were visible but only slightly. She tried to move away from me as we approached, although she was still not using her right front foot.

I placed a rope on her just for insurance, and leaning over her from the left side, I grabbed her right flank and right armpit, lifted a bit, and dropped her on her left side.

I checked all her feet while I had her down. Surprisingly, there was little foot rot on her other feet. I cleaned them up some with my hoof knife and foot trimmer. Then, I concentrated on her right front foot.

There was very little change from my first exam. Dottie’s only chance was to amputate this diseased digit. I just hoped it would buy her some time.

I clipped the lower leg and foot with battery clippers and scrubbed the lower leg with Betadine Surgical Scrub. Then, I used three ccs of lidocaine to block each digital nerve. I scrubbed the entire lower leg and foot again while waiting to make sure the nerve block was working.

The remainder of the procedure was brief. I incised around the top of the lateral hoof and up both sides of the digit, then reflected the skin away from the bone. With a short piece of OB wire, I severed the pastern bone and closed the skin over the wound using interrupted nylon sutures.

I rinsed the scrub from the leg and helped Dottie to her feet. She stood on all four feet, and after I removed the rope, she walked away, using the right front foot normally.

***

The following week, Ginger was in the clinic to pay the bill and reported that Dottie was doing well and using her right foot. Ginger was well pleased.

 I checked Dottie two weeks after surgery. The incisions were well healed, and, just as Ginger had said, Dottie was walking normally. I observed Dottie in her pasture occasionally when I would drive by, and she continued to have no problems.

Unfortunately, Ginger and Dottie moved about a year later, and I lost track of them, so I have no idea how long Dottie survived with her salvaged foot. At least she had one good year. 

Photo Credit: Giovanna Kamimura on Pexels