Note to My Readers

D. E. Larsen, DVM

For the Fourth of July, I will have three of my books on a free book promotion on Amazon. This is for the Kindle Version. This promotion will run on July 3 and July 4 for The Last Cow in the Chute, Widow Woman’s Ranch, and Lambs and Crab Legs. Widow Woman’s Ranch will also be free on July 2.

I am busy finishing up Book 5, The Making of a Veterinarian. It comprises memoirs from my early life, school, Army days, college, and veterinary school.

There may be times during July that I will fill in a Monday or a Friday with posts from the Archives. I hope everyone understands.

I still enjoy writing, and I have not run out of material yet, maybe someday, but not quite yet.

Thanks for reading. Remember, guest authors are welcome. I just require a picture and brief bio of yourself. Articles should be based on animals in some manner and 1000 to 3000 words in length, but those are guidelines, not rigid rules.

Thanks for reading. Dave Larsen

Hot Tub Skin Infection, From the Archives

D. E. Larsen, DVM 

 “Doc, this is Dave, I just brought in an old cow from the back pasture,” Dave said into the phone. “I think she has a dead calf in her. I have been busy, and It has been several days since I checked those cows. I guess I didn’t even suspect this old gal was pregnant. But she is sloughing a lot of fluid and smells pretty bad.”

 “I can up there this afternoon if that works for you,” I said. “Do you have the cow in the barn?”

 Dave had the old cow in the crowding ally when I pulled up to the barn. I enjoyed going to Dave’s place. He had a commanding view of Sweet Home, plus his facilities for working his cows were some of the best around.

 This was a big old Angus cow. I could smell her when I stepped out of the truck. 

 “The way she smells, that calf must have been dead for several days,” I said.

 “It’s been several days since I checked that pasture,” Dave said as he loaded her into the squeeze chute.

 This was one big old cow. Reaching the depths of this old girl’s uterus will be impossible for me. With the volume of fluid she is discharging, and the odor, this was going to be a real mess. After scrubbing her well, I pulled on a plastic OB sleeve on each arm.

 I ran my left arm into the vagina. I ran into a shoulder of the calf lodged into the birth canal. Feeling around, the head is turned back to the right side of the calf. Both front legs are retained. I could feel the hair slipping off the calf while I maneuvered my hand around him while exploring his position.

 When I pulled my arm out, the sleeve was covered with black hair. 

 “Dave, this calf has been dead 5 to 7 days to be losing hair like this,” I said. “This is going to be a mess. I think the best thing for the cow is to do a fetotomy. I always try to do a fetotomy on a dead calf first. I think we see better fertility in the cow following a fetotomy versus a C-section.

 “That sounds good to me,” Dave said. “What do you need from me?”

 “Aw, actually, you are going to have to do a lot of the real work,” I said. “You are going to have to do all the sawing. I will have to position the wire saw and hold the fetatome in position while you do the work.”

 With a fetatome, I could make right angle cuts on the fetus. My first cut would be to remove the head and neck. That should allow me room to bring the front legs into the birth canal. Then t will depend on how much air has accumulated in the abdomen of the calf. 

 Passing a wire around the neck of the calf proves nearly impossible. I finally have to strip down to my waist and go in with a bare arm to drop an OB chain over the top of the neck. 

 “Dave, I need something to stand on,” I said. “This big old cow is a long reach for me.”


Dave brings a big block of wood, an oak round, for me to stand on. Standing higher, I reach as deep as I can, my shoulder is in the vulva now. Finally, I grab the chain on the underside of the neck.

 Tying the OB wire saw to the chain, I can pull the wire around the calf’s neck. Then I thread the wire through the two barrels of the fetatome. This fetatome sort of looks like a cross between a double-barrel shotgun and a trombone. 

 With everything in position, I give Dave a brief lesson on how to run the saw handles. He is a strong young man, this won’t take long.

 “The only thing I want you to remember is my hand is holding the end of the fetatome in position,” I said. “If you hear me holler, you stop. That saw will take a finger off in a single pull.”

 Severing the neck takes less than a minute. I quickly set the fetatome aside and run my arm back in to try to grab the head. The head has slipped into the depths of the uterus.

 I can reach the front legs, but I had to stand on the block of wood to accomplish that feat. With the aid of a little J-Lube, I can pull the calf with little difficulty. 

 Now the only thing is to get the head. Reaching as far as I can into the uterus, I can only just touch the head. I try again and again. There must be another way.

 “When I was in school, the thing that was always stressed was time,” I explained to Dave, as much for my benefit as his. “If you haven’t accomplished what you are trying to do in 20 minutes, you better be doing something else.”

 “So, what else is there at this point?” Dave asked. “Are you going to do a C-section for the head?”

 “That would be like doing a C-section for the last puppy after spending half the night to deliver the first 10 pups,” I said. “I have been there, done that. If worse comes to worst, we might have to do that. But first, we are going to use some tincture of time. I will put a package of tetracycline powder in this uterus and load her up on some antibiotics. I will recheck her in the morning. Hopefully, this uterus will shrink up enough that I can get ahold of the head and pull it out.”

 “You think she will be okay?” Dave asked.

 “I think so,” I said. “The cow is a funny beast, though. This calf has been dead in there for a week, and she is looking pretty good. Then I come and dig around in there, and it knocks a lot of bugs off into her bloodstream. We have to load her up on antibiotics. Otherwise, she will be in a problem in the morning. The biggest risk with this plan is if the uterus closes up too much, and we can’t get the head out. Then it will be like that last puppy.”

 With the cow taken care of, I started washing up. I exhausted my water supply in the truck, and my arm still smelled.

 “Maybe you should come in the house and wash again,” Dave suggested.

 I was quick to take him up on that. I scrubbed and scrubbed on my arm before I felt comfortable putting my shirt back on.

 The next morning, the view from Dave’s place was eerie, Sweet Home was covered with a dense layer fog. Standing beside the barn and looking out over where you knew the town was, and it looked like you were looking out the window a jetliner at 20,000 feet: nothing but a layer of clouds.

 The cow was in the chute, and it was an easy trip. I scrubbed up the old cow and ran an arm in, and there was the head. She probably would have delivered it if I had given her a little more time. Removing it was no problem. I put some more antibiotics into the uterus, and the cow was good to go.

 In most cases, that would be the end of the story. But when I stepped into the shower on Saturday morning, I noticed that I had little pustules at every hair shaft on my left arm. Had I lived by myself, I would have taken antibiotics off the shelf at the clinic. But Sandy would not hear of that, so it’s to the doctor of me.

 On Saturday morning, I have a little trouble convincing Dr. T that I should be looked at today rather than Monday. I think he relented more out of professional courtesy than real concern for my arm.

 Dr. T looked at my left arm carefully. The pustules ran almost to my shoulder. They were small pustules, and there was no real discomfort.

 “If you want my opinion,” I said. I always gave the MDs my opinion. “I think I just need some antibiotics and a few good scrubs.”

 “I can’t figure this out,” Dr. T says. “This arm looks just like someone who was in a real dirty hot tub. But the rest of you looks fine.”

 “Vagina, Doctor, this arm was in a real dirty vagina,” I said.

 Dr. T shook his head, “What you guys go through, I will never understand.”

Photo Credit: Photo by Harry Cunningham @harry.digital from Pexels

Poor Planning 

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Darrell was waiting at the gate when I pulled up. I hadn’t met Darrel before. When Darrell called, he told Sandy that he had just bought this place and it needed a lot of work, but he had bought a herd of cows to run on it.

“Hi, Doc,” Darrell said as I pulled through the gate. “You can just pull out over there to park.”

I got out of the truck and surveyed the landscape quickly. There was no house, no barn, no cross fences, nothing. I didn’t even see any cows.

“Hi, Darrell,” I said as I extended my hand. “This is nice looking pasture. The gals in the office said you had a cow with a sore foot.”

“Yes, she is carrying one of her front feet,” Darrell said. “I was hoping you could help me out with her.”

I looked around again. There was no sign of any cows. I probably couldn’t see the entire property, but I didn’t have a good feeling about how this call would turn out.

“How long have you been on this place, Darrell?” I asked.

“I just moved here from California last week,” Darrell said. “I bought this place when I came to town. I know it needs a lot of stuff done, but that is what I was looking for when I moved.”

“There are no buildings here,” I said. “Where are you living?” 

“I’m at the motel for now,” Darrell said. “But I had a contractor out here yesterday. He has some house plans and thinks he can get things started right away.”

“You know, you have to make sure you have water and that you can get septic approval before you build a house,” I said.

“Well, the contractor never mentioned those things,” Darrell said. “But water shouldn’t be a problem. I have a creek over this rise, and it has plenty of water.”

“It is not safe to use surface water in the house these days,” I said. “And a lot of these little creeks are seasonal. They run full in the winter and spring, but they dry up when summer and fall come around.”

“Well, I will have to talk to the contractor about those things,” Darrell said. “Maybe we should go get a look at the cow with a problem. That’s what I called you for.”

“Where are your cows?” I asked.

“I am not sure. They move around a bit,” Darrell said. “They are probably over the rise and down by the creek.”

“And where is your corral?” I asked.

“I don’t have any of that stuff built yet,” Darrell said. “I plan to build a barn and a corral system up the hill from the house. But that will probably not happen until I get the house built.”

“What are you going to do with your cows next winter?” I asked.

“I haven’t given it much thought,” Darrell said. “Can’t they pretty much take care of themselves?”

“We will need to talk about the needs of your cows this winter after I look at this cow,” I said. “You want to get in my truck, and we can drive out there.”

“I would rather have you walk,” Darrell said. “I really don’t want to tear up the grass by driving out there.”

“You understand that my fees are based on time,” I said. “We are going to stroll out there where you figure the cows might be, and there is not going to be any way to get ahold of this cow once we get there.”

“These cows are tame,” Darrell said. “I can walk right up to them.” 

“I can guarantee you that when they see a stranger coming, they will run off,” I said. “And walking up to a cow is a little different from lifting up a foot to look at it.”

“Doc, you’re not sounding like you want to look at this cow,” Darrell said.

“Darrell, I don’t know what your expectations are, but you have to have some way to catch a cow and handle her after you catch her. We could chase your cows around these twenty acres for several hours and never lay a hand on them.”

“What do you think I should do?” Darrell asked.

“I think you go down to the farm store and buy a portable corral system and set it up over there in the corner of the pasture,” I said. “Then, if you start feeding the cows in the corral, they will get used to going in there. Right now, you have put the cart before the horse. You have cows, but you have no infrastructure to care for them. By the middle of winter, you are going to have dead cows. And your neighbors will be reporting you to the sheriff.”

“You make things sound pretty bad,” Darrell said.

“Darrell, it is like anything else,” I said. “I understand your excitement with your change of life, but before you can make a massive change, you have to do the planning and have the infrastructure in place. Otherwise, you just end up with a big mess. And Darrell, that applies to almost any big change, not just cattle.”

“So, can you help me out with this cow?” Darrell asked.

“Get in the truck,” I said. “We will drive out there and at least eyeball her. I can get you some antibiotics to put in the feed or water.”

We drove over the rise, and there was Darrell’s herd. Five Angus cross cows, bedded down by the small creek, already running low for late spring.

As soon as the truck got close, the cows were up and headed for the far corner of the place. I could see the cow Darrell was concerned about. She was limping a bit but not bad.

“Okay, Darrell, I can give you some powdered antibiotic you can mix with a little grain and give to that cow once a day. If that doesn’t take care of the problem, then we will need to get her into a corral when we can get her looked at and examine that foot.”

“What are you thinking is wrong with her, Doc?” Darrell asked.

“I am guessing that she has foot rot,” I said. “If I am right, the antibiotics will take care of the problem. If it doesn’t get better, we need to look closer.”

We drove the truck back to the gate, and Darrell didn’t have anything to say the entire time. I got out and retrieved several packages of powdered antibiotics from the back of the truck.

“Give her a half of the package mixed with a little grain once a day,” I said. “If the other cows get some of it, it won’t hurt them, but it will reduce the dose the sore footed cow is getting.”

“What do you think I should be doing with this place, Doc?” Darrell finally asked.

“You have to slow down and make a plan,” I said. “If your contractor didn’t talk to you about a well and septic system, you need to get a few others out here to give you a bid. You either need to build some sort of a shed for these cows for winter or send the cows back to the sale. It doesn’t need to be a barn, but it needs to store some hay and give the cows protection from the rain and the cold. Then you need to get a well driller out here and get a good water supply. You get that done, then stop by the office, and I can discuss your plans for a barn and corral system with you. Then you can build your house.”

“You sound like you think I am way ahead of myself,” Darrell said.

“Darrell, I have just seen too many wrecks in the middle of winter where it is the cows that suffer,” I said. “To be frank, I see a Californian who probably sold out in California and has a pot of gold by Oregon standards. Many folks around here will help you spend it, and you just have to slow down enough to ensure those folks have your best interest at heart.”

“You think I should sell those cows, don’t you?” Darrell asked.

“Yes, I think you are not set up for cows right now,” I said. “Get your well drilled, your house and barn built, and get some fences and a corral built. Then get someone to help you pick out a good set of cows. Know the cow’s pregnancy status and have their winter feed in the barn. I can help you with things if you want. If you do all that, your life as an Oregon rancher or hobby farmer will be much better.”

“What should I do with this grass if I sell the cows?” Darrell asked.

“Stop in to the office, and I can hook you up with Sudi,” I said. “She will be happy to make hay for you. Probably for a fee if you want to keep the hay. And if you aren’t set up to keep it, she would take it, maybe even pay you a few dollars.”

“I guess I could probably just stack it here,” Darrell said.

“This is not Colorado or Eastern Oregon,” I said. “We get far too much rain to store hay outside.”

“Okay, I think what you say has some merit,” Darrell said. “I will give that cow some antibiotics and find somebody to help me take these cows back to the sale barn. I never even thought about their pregnancy status when I bought them. They probably took advantage of me there also.”

“If you talk with the sale barn, they can probably get someone to come to pick up the cows for you,” I said. “Just make sure you tell them they will need to have some panels with them because you don’t have a corral or holding pen.”

“Okay, Doc, I will get things going on the right track, and when I have things all planned out, I will come by your office and go over things with you,” Darrell said.

As things turned out, Darrell did okay. He was appreciative of my advice. That first contractor was hoping to take him to the cleaners, but he got that straightened out. 

The following spring, his place was set up, and Darrell came up with a good herd of cows. And he remained an excellent client.

Photo by Andrew Hall on Unsplash.