A Summer Evening on Strychnine, From the Archives

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Bill was brief and to the point on the phone. “I have a dog here who seems to be having a short seizure every few minutes,” Bill said. “We were wondering if you could get a look at him?”

“I have only been in town a couple of days, and I don’t have all my stuff,” I replied. “Does he have a history of seizures, or is this a new thing.”

“There is a bunch of kids here today,” Bill said. “They have been running all over the hills. One of the girls thinks he has been poisoned.”

  The sun was down, and the twilight was fading when I pulled into Bill’s driveway. It looked like a large group gathered on the front lawn of the farmhouse. Guys and gals all about high school age or a little older. A young liver and white Springer Spaniel was in the middle of the group. He was quiet, but immediately seizures when I closed the car door.

Dixie, a young blond, hovered over Max. The others showed little concern. 

“He has been getting worse, almost by the minute,” Dixie said. “He got into something down by the road, along the fence line. I think it must have been poison.”

“Was there an old deer carcass down there, or anything like that,” I said. “Sometimes, dogs can get pretty toxic from a belly full of rotten meat.”

“No, we stopped and looked,” Dixie said. “We couldn’t find anything.”

The guys were throwing a football, and it bounced past us. Max’s legs stiffened, and he stood like a sawhorse for a moment before falling onto his right side. All four of his legs were extended and shaking, and his head pulled back over his shoulders. His entire body was stiff, with every muscle contracted. His respiration was only is short, rapid, inefficient little puffs of air.

“This looks like strychnine,” I said. “Try not to stimulate him, I will get an injection for him.”

The bag that I carried was limited at this point. My pharmacy supplies were still arriving daily. I did have some Pentathol, which I mixed rapidly, with sterile water.

Max relaxed when the first few millimeters were in his vein. I continued the injection until he was completely relaxed and breathing comfortably. Then I placed an IV catheter in his front leg, capped it, and taped in securely in place.

“Strychnine kills when these convulsive seizures eventually cause respiratory paralysis,” I explained. “At this point, we need to keep Max quiet, in a darkened room and sedated.”

“How long does this injection last?” Dixie asked.

“Not long enough,” I said. “It is best to use some pentobarbital. It is longer lasting, but it is no longer available to veterinarians. This stuff is about the same, but shorter duration. It does accumulate, so with each dose, the duration is longer.”

Bill was standing over us now. “What are we going to do with him now?” Bill asked. “I’m not going to sit up with him all night. And I wouldn’t know how much of that stuff to give him.”

“I am without a clinic,” I said. “Right now, we are house hunting, and we are in a two-bedroom apartment with a baby and 3 other kids. And no pets are allowed. But I guess Max is a patient, not a pet. I can take him home with me and keep him sedated tonight. If I give you a call in the morning, can you come by and pick him up?”

“I am an early riser,” Bill said. “You give me a call, and I will run right in and get him. You sound like your pretty sure he is going to be alright.”

“You want me to be honest?” I said. “The only time I have seen strychnine toxicity was in a lab in school. There is not much to do unless you get to them early. At this stage, there is no way I can give oral medication. It is just a matter of keeping him sedated until things wear off. He will look a little hungover in the morning, but other than that, he should be good to go.”

“When I talked with Stan at the feed store, he said you seemed to be a straight shooter,” Bill said. “I like it when a guy is honest, even if it is not to his benefit.”

I gave Max a small second dose of Pentathol before loading him in the back of our station wagon. He was still asleep when I carried him into the apartment.

“Where are you going to put him?” Sandy asked.

We were bursting at the seams. The three girls are in one bedroom, and Derek, who is a couple of months old, is in our bedroom in a small crib. I bedded Max down in the bathtub. I would be up hourly for the first half of the night. Then I could probably stretch the checks out a little. With the darkened room and quiet environment, he probably won’t need too much more Pentathol tonight.

In the morning, Max was awake. Like I had told Bill, he looked like he had been out drinking all night. I offered him a small bowl of water from  Sandy’s best dishes. He lapped in it up and was looking for more. I gave him another bowl before I called Bill.

“Bill, Max is awake and doing well,” I said into the phone. “You can pick him up at any time. We probably are not going anywhere this morning, but the girls will be up shortly, and they will want to keep him if he stays around too long.”

“I’ll be right in,” Bill said. “His kennel mate is sort of acting lost this morning.”

The girls were up, and they squealed when they found a dog in the bathtub. 

“No, he is not ours, and you can’t keep him,” I explained.

Max was licking hands and faces, I think he enjoyed the attention but was looking for a bite to eat also.  

“Can I give him some cereal for breakfast?” Brenda asked.

“You can just give him a small handful,” I said. “His stomach is probably a little upset right now.”

Bill knock at the door was a welcome sound.

“Good morning,” I said as I opened the door. “Max is going to be happy to see you, I think. He hasn’t quite figured out where all these little girls have come from yet.”

“He likes kids, always has,” Bill said. “Is he walking, or do I need to carry him?” 

“I haven’t had him up, but when the girls got up, he really perked up,” I said. “I am pretty sure he will walk out of here. Did you bring a leash?”

“He wouldn’t know what a leash was,” Bill said. “He will just follow me.”

We stepped to the bathroom door, and Max looked up and jumped out of the tub in an instant.

“Come on, Max,” Bill said as he handed me a check. “Thanks a lot, we are happy to see you in town. Let’s go home, Max.” 

Max’s tail stump was going a hundred miles an hour as he crowded to get through the door ahead of Bill. Bill smiled and chuckled, something I would learn was characteristic for him.

In the following year, Dixie would come to work with us. She was our most stable employee, working on and off for over over 30 years.

Photo by Tanino from Pexels

A Full Belly Comes to those Who Seek It 

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Preface:  

This short story comes from my family’s lore, and I write it now because it has implications for the current times. Today young mothers are having extreme difficulty in obtaining commercial baby formula to feed their infants. The medical profession and the social media “fact-checker” caution them not to resort to homemade recipes. So what are they supposed to feed a kid if there is no breast milk and no baby formula?

***

Annie Coats was born in January 1880. She was the oldest of a family of eight children. This story takes place on a small farm outside of Juliaetta, Idaho, a small town in the southern panhandle of western Idaho. It is the spring of 1891.

“Annie, we will be in town all day today as your father takes care of some banking business, and then we have to buy supplies for the spring planting,” Sarah Coats explained to her daughter. “You will be fine with the kids, and Mollie is old enough to help you out if there are any problems. After you kids help your father with the morning chores, you just keep everyone in the house. I will nurse Tommy before we leave, so he should be okay until we get home in the evening. You can mash some carrots for him at lunchtime.”

“Okay,” Annie said. “But what do I do if you don’t get home?”

“Nothing is going to happen,” her mother said. “We just can’t take all you kids with us on this trip.”

Annie, Mollie, who was almost nine, and Lewis, who was six, went with their father to the barn to do the morning chores while Sarah nursed Tommy and tended to the two younger girls. The final two family members would not arrive for another few years.

Thomas, Annie’s father, and Sarah crawled into the buckboard, and Thomas snapped the rains against Old Joe’s rump. 

“Giddy up,” he commanded the team.

“We will see you kids this evening,” Sarah yelled back to the kids. “You mind your sister. She is the boss today.” 

The kids stood at the cabin door and watched the wagon disappear as the trail to town turned into the trees.

“Okay, mom wanted us to stay inside today,” Annie said as she ushered the kids into the cabin. “Mom has a full basket of darning to get done, and it’s time you guys learned how to do some of the stuff around the house.”

The day wore on, and the little kids tried to be helpful, but Annie learned that sometimes it is easier to do things yourself than to have little hands helping.

At lunchtime, Annie boiled a carrot and a couple of potatoes. That was served to the kids along with some ham that she had trimmed off the new ham hanging in the smokehouse.

She smashed the carrot into a mush with some added butter. Tommy started to reject Annie’s attempts to spoon some of the carrot mush into his mouth, but he must have realized that it was all he would get.

As the afternoon turned into evening, Annie spent more and more time outside, watching for the wagon.

“Mom said they would be home this evening,” Mollie said. “Tommy is getting hungry, and I don’t think you can nurse him.”

***

In town, Thomas and Sarah were putting the last of the supplies into the wagon when Sarah heard a ‘snap.’

“What was that?” Sarah asked.

Thomas walked around the wagon, and there it was, a broken spoke in the right rear wheel.

“We can’t haul this load home without fixing that wheel,” Thomas said. “I guess I better go talk with Josh at the livery stable.”

“Tom, I can fix that wheel, but not until morning,” Josh said as he pumped the bellows to his forge. “I promised Mel I would get this job done tonight.”

“We have the kids home alone, and the baby will be starving if he doesn’t get to nurse his mother tonight,” Thomas said. 

“Sorry, Tom,” Josh said. “It can’t be helped. You can pull the wagon over here and put your horses in a stall. I have a small room in the back that you and the missus can use. It ain’t much, but it is better than paying the hotel.”

“Okay, I guess the kids will survive,” Thomas said. “Annie is pretty smart, and she will figure something out for the baby.”

***

“We need to get the animals fed before dark,” Annie said. “Lewis, you and Sarah, come give me a hand. Mollie can stay and take care of Tommy and Lillie.”

Annie was rushing through the chores to get back in the house and figure out what she was going to feed Tommy. She thought she could try to mix up some flour and water. Their milk cow was getting ready to calve, and they wouldn’t have milk again for another couple of weeks.

When Annie got to the pigpen, she noticed the sow laid out on her side with eight little piglets nursing. She watched her for a moment, thinking.

“Sarah, you run to the house and have Mollie bring Tommy out here,” Annie said. “And have her bring an old blanket. And hurry!”

Little Sarah was off like a shot. 

“Lewis, we need to spread some new straw down in this pigpen,” Annie said. “And we need to be careful not to disturb the old sow.”

When Mollie arrived with Tommy and the other kids, Annie and Lewis had just finished bedding down the pigpen. Annie was standing in the pen.

“Hand me Tommy and the blanket,” she instructed Mollie.

“What are you going to do?” Mollie asked.

“Tommy needs some milk, and this sow is the only girl on the place giving milk,” Annie said. “I will be careful, but Tommy is going to nurse this sow.”

Annie took Tommy to the middle of the line-up of piglets. She moved two piglets from the middle of the pack to the sides. She spread out the blanket and laid Tommy down beside the piglets in the middle of the group.

The old sow didn’t seem to mind as Annie stripped some milk from a teat into Tommy’s mouth. She pushed Tommy’s mouth against the teat, and he hooked on and started sucking.

Annie sat back and relaxed, watching the sow and Tommy. The piglets that had been moved to the side were starting to fight for a better position. The hind teats were not the most favorable. When one of the piglets pushed against Tommy, Annie began to intervene, but she didn’t have to do anything. Tommy pushed the piglet away. He wasn’t going to miss this meal.

When Annie felt Tommy was getting full, she picked him up and brushed him off before handing him back across the fence to Mollie.

“Now, what are we going to have for supper?” Little Sarah asked.

“We are going to have eggs and maybe a potato,” Annie said.

“Lewis doesn’t like eggs,” Mollie said.

“I will scramble them, and I have a little of the ham left from lunch that I and cut up and put in the eggs,” Annie said.

“But Lewis doesn’t like eggs,” Mollie said.

“Scrambled eggs and ham with some fried potatoes are what we are having for dinner,” Annie said. “If Lewis doesn’t want any, I guess he is just not hungry enough.”

The kids returned to the house and cleaned up Tommy. Annie fixed a supper of scrambled eggs and ham with some fried potatoes. Lewis had figured out that this was all there was, and he ate his dinner with the other kids.

***

Morning came, and Tommy was hungry. Annie made another trip to the pigpen with him, and he was an old pro this morning. Snuggling into the line-up of piglets and fighting for his teat.

With the wagon wheel fixed, Thomas and Sarah pointed Old Joe toward home.

“I am worried to death,” Sarah said. “Tommy will be starved by the time we get there. And I will feel better, getting some of this milk drained from my breasts.”

The kids were dancing outside the cabin door as the wagon came into view. 

Sarah took Tommy from Annie and headed for her rocking chair with a towel.

“He will hardly nurse,” Sarah said. “What did you feed him when I was gone?”

“We just made do with what was available,” Annie answered.

Epilogue:

Tommy survived his meals with pig milk and grew into adulthood with no significant problems. Annie showed her pioneer spirit and ingenuity by using the only milk available to her at the time. 

The Beard

D. E. Larsen, DVM

There was a fresh dusting of snow on the road as I pulled into the back of the clinic. It was early, but I had just finished treating a cow with milk fever.

Don, the other associate veterinarian in the Enumclaw clinic, came through the door before eight.

“I’m thinking we should grow beards,” Don said as he looked through the morning appointment schedule. “I was at the sale barn yesterday, and many of the guys are growing them for the bi-centennial. What do you think?”

This was February in 1976, and the weather was cold for western Washington. I had been working here for almost a year, and most of the dairymen accepted my services. 

“It’s cold enough that a beard might be a good thing,” I said. “I think Sandy would be okay with it.”

“Well, I didn’t shave this morning,” Don said as he collected his invoices for the morning schedule.

***

That was the start of the beard. In those years, my beard came in thick and heavy. It quickly got longer than Sandy’s liking, but she was tolerant, thinking that it would be gone after July fourth.

When we visited Sweet Home and met with the bank and Jim Stock to arrange for the clinic’s construction, I was in a full beard, and I would guess that I was close to the only person in town with a beard.

As things turned out, we moved to Sweet Home shortly after Derek was born in May, our fourth child. And, not wanting to look like a hippie to new clients, I shaved without giving it much thought.

***

When the weather turned cold in the fall of that first year in Sweet Home, I quit shaving and grew a full beard again.

Sandy tolerated it, and there were no clients who objected. Masking for surgery was a bit of an issue. I would use a hood to cover my hair and face, and the standard surgical mask sealed against the hood with no problem.

I shaved in the late spring and summer months for several years and grew a beard in the fall, winter, and early spring months.

***

It was a warm spring day when I pulled into the driveway of the Marble ranch. I was scheduled to do pregnancy exams on their cow herd. It was one of my large herds. Large for western Oregon, but small compared to some of the herds we checked when I was in school in Colorado. Checking over four hundred cows by rectal exam tested one’s endurance. My herds in Sweet Home were usually less than a hundred cows, with a few herds over that number.

I liked the work for a couple of reasons. The pace was slow enough that we had lots of time to discuss any number of herd health issues. We would discuss breeding strategies. I liked to have a herd shoot for a forty-two-day calving season. That was two cycles for a cow. I was pretty good at pregnancy exams. When checking cows from forty-five to ninety days of pregnancy, I could get within plus or minus five days with a rectal exam.

Pregnancy diagnosis and aging that pregnancy took practice. Actually, it took a lot of practice. The first step was to retract the uterus. This was not difficult with an early pregnancy. But after ninety days, it became more difficult, and a uterus that was over four months pregnant could not be retracted.

Once the uterus was retracted, one could carefully palpate the entire length of both uterine horns. At forty-five days of pregnancy, an amnion is easily palpated and is two fingers on its long axis. The fetal head can usually be palpated and sized at one finger width across the poll and a finger and half, poll to muzzle by ninety days.

Getting to that forty-two-day calving season usually took a few years. It required breeding heifers early so they would be the first to calve. That way, the rancher could provide his full attention to the heifer herd. It would also give those twenty percent of the heifers who had difficulty birthing a little more time to get their uterus in shape for breeding.

By paying attention to birthing problems and providing good nutrition following calving, most of the cows would be ready for the bulls. Turning the bulls in with the cows would see over seventy percent of the herd get pregnant in the first twenty-one days. Pulling the bulls out at day forty-two would cover over ninety percent of the cows. The others would be culled. Not that they had any problem, but if they were late in getting pregnant, one would never regain that time. Pretty soon, the ranch would be calving for half the year, and sooner or later, the cow would skip a year. 

The good thing about doing herd work at the Marble Ranch was lunch. Ag would always have a hearty homemade soup along with homemade bread. Served with ample casual conversation.

“It must be about time for you to shave your beard,” Ag said.

“Yes, it looks like spring is here, and summer will not be far behind,” I said. “Sandy doesn’t say much, but I think she likes it when I shave.”

“I think you should leave it,” Ag said. “When you shave, it makes you look too young.”

“Do you think so?” I asked.

“People like a certain level of maturity in their professionals,” Ag said. “I know you are in your mid-thirties, but you look too young when you shave and cut your hair like you are in the Army.”

“At the last State Veterinary Conference, a group of us young guys were talking,” I said. “It was pretty much the group’s consensus that anybody with a little grey hair would be believed over us, young guys. And it didn’t matter how outdated their opinion happened to be.”

“That’s exactly right,” Ag said. “You need to wear that beard to counteract that from happening.”

At dinner that night, I brought to subject up to Sandy.

“Ag thinks I shouldn’t shave,” I said. “She thinks I look too young when I shave. I sort of agree with her. Maybe I should wear this beard year-round.”

“Your mother will not be happy with that decision,” Sandy said.

“I’m not worried about my mother,” I said. “I was wondering what your thoughts were?”

“I am fine with it as long as you keep it trimmed,” Sandy said.

So, I didn’t shave that spring and haven’t shaved since.