Stuck in the Barn

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Looking over the field carefully, I could see the guard dog with sheep in the far corner. He had stood up when I pulled into the driveway, and he was watching me now. He was a large Great Pyrenees and a large one at that. He towered over the sheep who were grazing around him.

Jim had called earlier, asking me to check a ewe in the barn which had lambed last night.

“I just don’t like how she is acting this morning,” Jim said. “I don’t have time this morning to check her. I have a meeting this morning that I can’t miss. I should be home by early afternoon.”

“Is she straining any?” I asked. “I guess she might have another lamb.”

“I don’t know,” Jim said. “She is the only ewe in the barn, so you shouldn’t have any problem finding her. My one concern is you might have a problem with our guard dog. He is pretty protective of his flock. But the barn is closed up. I don’t think he can get in there. Just remember to close the door behind you when you go inside.”

“Do you think he would bite?” I asked.

“He is extremely protective of his sheep,” Jim said. “He hasn’t bit anybody, but I would use some caution. I wouldn’t trust him if I’m not around.”

I poured a bucket of warm water and gathered my stuff. I glanced at the dog. He had changed his position and taken a few steps toward the barn. He started toward the barn at a trot when I went through the gate. I hurried through the door and latched it closed after I was inside.

The ewe was penned with her lamb in a small pen fashioned from four panels that were lashed together with baling wire. The ewe looked like she was still discharging some fluid but was not straining at the moment, and the lamb was doing well but working on her udder.

I grabbed a rope sheep halter hanging on a nearby hook and climbed into the pen with the ewe. 

Sheep always seem easy to work on, but it is a mistake to think of them as small cows. Sheep are born looking for a place to die, and if one is looking like she isn’t feeling well, she needs to be treated aggressively.

With a bit of struggle, I finally got the ewe haltered and tied to a corner of the pen. I leaned over the panel and grabbed my bucket and my bag. As I leaned over, I could hear a low growl. The guard dog was eyeing me through the crack in the barn’s side door.

My first chore was to take care of the ewe. Then I was going to have to figure out how I would escape from the barn.

When I took the ewe’s temperature, it was actually a little low. I cleaned up her rear end and did a vaginal exam. Her cervix was starting to close, and there was no apparent content in the uterus. I inserted a nitrofurazone bolus into the uterus just to be safe.

Then I palpated her udder. The right side was soft, and the lamb had drained its milk. The left side was hard and cool to the touch, and the teat was slightly purple. I stripped a little bloody fluid from the teat. 

The ewe had acute mastitis, and she could lose the left side of her udder. Plus, this could be a life-threatening infection.

The teat was still viable. Otherwise, I would amputate it to provide some drainage. I instilled a couple of mastitis tubes into the infected side of the udder and loaded the ewe up with antibiotics. I would make a point to stop by tomorrow and recheck her. Hopefully, Jim would be home then, and I would not have to deal with the dog.

Now, how was I going to get back to the truck without having a dog attached to my rear end?

I packed everything up and set it by the front door. I went to the side door and rattled it. A loud growl said the dog was still there. 

I looked around the barn. A typical sheep barn with a maze of little pens. It looked like I could let the dog in the back door, run to the front door, and make my exit before the dog could get through the maze of pens and panels.

I went to the back door and rattled it. It only took the dog a moment to be there. Leaning over a pen, I slid the door open just enough for the dog to get his head through the opening. He looked at me and growled. These dogs seldom barked.

I headed for the front door, and the dog struggled to get through the back door. He finally pushed through the door just as I reached the front door. He was confused for a moment, not knowing if he wanted to go out the door and around the barn or work through the pens to get me. I waited for him to make a decision.

When he jumped over the first row of panels, I exited the front door in a hurry. I was loading things into my truck when the dog tore back around the barn and ran up to the gate. I knew he wouldn’t leave his pasture, but he growled enough to tell me that I was not going to get back through the gate.

When I got back to the office, I called and left a message on Jim’s answering machine that I would check back in the morning and that the ewe had severe mastitis. I also suggested that he should supplement the lamb for a few days.

***

The guard dog came running as soon as he saw my truck. I was lucky that Jim was waiting at the open barn door.

“She is feeling a lot better this morning,” Jim said as I stepped out of the truck. “She is eating and paying attention to the lamb. And you were right about the lamb. That little guy drained a bottle last night in record time.”

“Well, it must mean that I used the right antibiotic,” I said. “Let me grab a couple of things, and I will be right there. That dog doesn’t particularly care for me.”

“Yes, he is pretty protective of his sheep,” Jim said. “But he is fine when I am here.”

Jim pointed back to the flock in the middle of the pasture and told the dog to “go home.” The dog hesitated a bit but turned and headed back to his flock.

The ewe was definitely feeling better. The discoloration on the left teat was gone, and the side of the udder was soft and warm on palpation. I stripped as much milk out of the left side as I could, and it actually almost looked like milk.

“I’m a little surprised, Jim,” I said. “Had you been here yesterday, I would have told you that I thought she would lose this half of her udder. Now it looks like it will heal up fine.”

I squeezed a couple of mastitis tubes into the left teat and repeated the antibiotics I gave yesterday.

“I will fix you up with some injections to give her for a few days,” I said. “And I want you to infuse one of these mastitis tubes into her left teat once a day. You should  strip as much milk as you can out of that side of her udder before infusing the tube.”

“What about the lamb?” Jim asked. “Can I let him go ahead and nurse on her?”

“I think he will be fine left with her,” I said. “As long as you strip out the left side of her udder once a day and supplement the lamb with a bottle morning and night, he won’t bother that left side much until it gets back to giving good milk. I’ll give you a call in a few days. I would expect her to be pretty much back to normal by then. She will probably lose some milk production in that left side. That is typical in cows with mastitis and probably true in sheep. Just keep track of the weight of her lamb at weaning to see if she is keeping pace with the flock.”

***

When I called three days later, the ewe was doing well.

“When I stripped out her left side this morning, it looked as normal as the milk on the right side,” Jim said. “I would like to turn her out with the others if you think that is okay?”

“Yes, I think that is fine,” I said. “Just remember to keep track of her lamb and make sure he grows like the others.”

Photo by Tychon Krug on Pexels.

A Note to my Readers

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Sandy was just asking me this afternoon, “When do start making hay?”

“If Jake was around, he would be cutting hay today, and he would have dry hay in the barn by Monday. And Reese would be watching, and he would start cutting his hay on Monday. Reese’s hay would get rained on, almost every year.

Check out the story from not long ago:

https://docsmemoirs.com/2021/12/03/jakes-hay/?preview_id=3026&preview_nonce=9e9a060e07&preview=true&_thumbnail_id=3031

The Bear Barbecue

D. E. Larsen, DVM

We were just getting in the car when Joe pulled into our driveway on Ames Creek.

“I won’t hold you up,” Joe said as he stepped out of his pickup. “I just wanted to invite you guys to my barbecue this Saturday.”

“Thanks for the invite,” I said. “What’s the occasion?”

“I have had this bear tearing up my fences and getting into my beehives for the last couple of weeks,” Joe said. “I got the chance to shoot him the other day, and I figured it would be a good chance to get everyone on the creek together. I have a big pit dug out by my little pond, and I will build a big fire in that pit and roast this bear over the coals.”

“That sounds fun,” I said. “I helped barbecue a bunch of beef for an alumni picnic when I was at OSU. We did it that way, with a big fire in several pits and the meat on racks over those pits. We worked most of the night, turning the meat every twenty minutes.”

“That is just what I plan to do,” Joe said. “I have a couple of young guys who will do most of the cooking. I am getting a little too old for those all-night events, and I just have to furnish the beer.”

“What time do you think you will be ready for people to get there?” I asked.

“You are welcome any time,” Joe said. “We figure we will be ready to eat about one, but come early and meet a few people.”

“We will try to be there by noon,” I said. “Our kids are pretty young, and they tire of social events quickly. We don’t want to expose them to a long wait for dinner.”

“Good,” Joe said. “We will look forward to seeing you there.”

“You know, I guess, that bear meat is just like pork,” I said. “They have trichinosis, or you have to figure they do. You have to make sure the meat is well cooked.”

“By the time the bear is over the fire for most of the night, it will be done,” Joe said. “This thing is sort of a potluck. If you could bring a salad or something, that would be great.”

“We are looking forward to trying it,” I said. “I have never eaten bear meat before. I am sure that Sandy can make one of her potato salads. Her potato salad is always a favorite at our family gatherings.”

“That makes two of us,” Joe said. “It will be a new experience for most of us.”

I waved as Joe backed out of the driveway and continued up the creek.

“What was that all about?” Sandy asked.

“Joe is barbecuing a bear on Saturday,” I said. “He was just inviting us up to the event. Most of the people on the creek will be there.”

“Where did he get a bear this time of the year?” Sandy asked.

“He had this bear tearing things up on the ranch, so he just shot him,” I said. “I doubt if it was legal. Hopefully, we won’t get arrested for going to the barbecue.”

***

Saturday was a nice day, and Sandy had the kids ready when I got home from the clinic. We loaded the kids and the potato salad into the car and headed up the creek.

There was quite a crowd present by the time we arrived. Joe had dug a large pit for the fire. This pit was out by the road near a small pond that Joe had made. The pit was about four feet deep, four feet wide, and eight feet long. There was a roaring pile of coals in the bottom of the pit and a stack of wood nearby to keep the fire going.

Joe had quartered the bear, and each quarter was wired to a couple of pipes that laid across the pit. This allowed a couple of guys to quickly turn the meat as needed.

“This is a dangerous setup,” Sandy said. “If one of the kids were to fall into that pit, there would be no saving them. And the pond doesn’t look very safe either. Its banks are just cut straight down.”

“If I have to pick my poison, I will take the pond over the fire pit any day,” I said. “Let’s pick a spot in the back corner, near the pond, and keep the kids on a short leash.”

It turned out to be a good afternoon. Most everyone with kids migrated to our little corner as it was the only safe spot. All the kids had a good time getting to know each other.

Finally, the neat was declared done, and everyone lined up to fill their plates.

“Make sure you select your meat that is not too close to the bone,” I said to Sandy as she headed to the line while I watched the kids.

“What do you mean by that statement?” Sandy asked. 

“Just something I learned years ago,” I said. “When you want to make sure your meat is well cooked, pick the meat near the outside.”

When Sandy returned, I took the girls and headed for the line. We fell in line behind Stan Walters.

“I have never eaten bear meat before,” I said.

“It’s not bad,” Stan said. “Some people like it, but I find it a little tough and stringy. It takes a little chewing. But all these salads look good.”

“You make sure you take your mother’s potato salad,” I said to Brenda as I placed a spoonful on Amy’s and Dee’s plate.

“You bring them to a spread like this and have them eat their mother’s cooking,” Stan said.

“I was always taught to bring enough to a potluck to be sure you got what you brought,” I said. “That way, you know what you are getting.”

“Ha! That might be a good idea sometimes,” Stan said.

When we got back and sat down, Brenda was first to remark about the meat. She was never much of a meat-eater in her early years.

“I don’t think I like bear meat,” Brenda said.

“I think I might agree with your opinion,” I said as I continued to chew on my first bite of meat. “It almost seems like I need to take this piece out of my mouth and cut it again.”

After everyone had eaten and the visiting was winding down, we gathered up our things and prepared to leave.

“You guys have to take some of this meat with you,” Joe said. “There is way more than I can ever eat.”

“Okay, Joe, I’ll take a small plate with us,” I said. “But I’m not sure the girls will be game for eating it again. Maybe if we grind it up, they might eat it better. It is a little too tough for their liking.”

***

The following fall, I elk hunted with John Hauser, and he was telling me about the bear he had shot earlier.

“What did you think of the bear meat?” I asked.

“It wasn’t bad, maybe a little tough and stringy, but not bad,” John said.

“That is what another guy told me once,” I said. “The first piece I put in my mouth and chewed on it for a minute or two, I thought I would have to take it out and cut it again.”

“Eating it wasn’t so bad, but I had so much of it,” John said. “When the old lady went shopping with her mother in Eugene, I figured I would render the meat and get some bear grease.”

“How did that work out?” I asked.

“I got every big kettle I could find and filled them with water and bear meat,” John said. “I had a pretty good process going for a time. I was skimming the bear grease off the top of the water on all the kettles. Then the ladies came home.”

“And I take it they were not impressed with your process,” I said.

“Oh boy! Not impressed at all,” John said. “I’m still hearing about how the house smells like an old bear.”

Those events have convinced me that hunting for that bear rug is not worth the effort.

Photo by John Thomas on Unsplash.