Treating Blossom

D. E. Larsen, DVM

“David, don’t move for a minute!” Mrs. Bishop said as she came at me with a pitchfork.

Blossom, a Guernsey milk cow, was secured in her stanchion of the Bishop’s small barn. She supplied the Bishops and several neighbors with milk for most of the year. 

Today, her stall area was bedded down with a thick layer of fresh straw in preparation for my visit and exam. Mrs. Bishop keeps this little barn spotless. I envisioned Mr. Bishop milking and Mrs. Bishop standing guard with a shovel, making sure no manure hit the floor.

I managed to dodge the pitchfork as Mrs. Bishop retrieved the handful of manure that I had dropped onto the straw. I was cleaning out Blossom’s colon to do a good rectal exam, and there would be more handfuls to follow.

“Blossom has a full colon today,” I said. “This is going to take me a couple of minutes to clean things out, so I do a good exam. I have some boots on, so it might be better if you wait until I get her all cleaned out before you pick things up.”

“David, if you get this stuff on your boots, you will track it all over the barn,” Mrs. Bishop said. “You just don’t get in a hurry.”

Mr. Bishop was standing to the side, just watching the show. He was a quiet man, mostly bald but with some gray hair on the sides. He smiled and winked at me, just to let me know that Mrs. Bishop ran the show on this place, so I best just better relax and let it happen. I just didn’t want her to get my foot with that pitchfork.

With each handful of manure, Mrs. Bishop was right there with the pitchfork. I was sort of amazed at the thickness of the straw she had laid down.

I was finally at a point where I could start a good exam.

“Give me a little history on Blossom,” I said. “When did she calve?”

“She calved a little over six weeks ago,” Mr. Bishop said. 

“Yes, David, she calved six weeks ago, and she has not cycled yet,” Mrs. Bishop said. Her voice was stern, giving Mr. Bishop a look to let him know that she was the one that was going to answer all the questions. “She has been fine otherwise. We noticed a couple of days ago that she was not eating all of her grain and her milk production has down almost to half of normal.”

Holding onto Blossom’s tail with my right hand, I ran my arm into her rectum past my elbow. Then I swept the pelvic floor with my left hand. Blossom’s uterus was bulging under my hand. I could bounce my hand on it, but it was so distended to discern any content other than a lot of fluid.

“Did she have any problems calving?” I asked.

“She retained her membranes for a time,” Mrs. Bishop said. “We called your office, but Vicki said that you didn’t like to look at those for at least two days after calving. I think she passed those membranes sometime during the night of the second day. The membranes were really stinky. I had Robert bury them in the far corner of the pasture.”

I have been coming to the Bishop’s small farm on Gap Road out of Brownsville for a couple of years now, and that was the first time I heard Mrs. Bishop call Robert by name. I wondered to myself what would happen if I called him Bob.

“She must have a residual infection in her uterus,” I said. “Have you noticed any vaginal discharge?” 

“No, she has been fine,” Mrs. Bishop said.

I removed my arm and peeled my OB sleeve off, being careful to turn it inside out as I removed it and to not knock off any manure onto the straw. As soon as I had it off, Mrs. Bishop snatched it from my hand and disposed of it in her little garbage can.

I washed Blossom’s rear in and then scrubbed her with Betadine surgical scrub. I could see Mrs. Bishop watching me with questioning eyes as I pulled on a new OB sleeve.

“I am going to do a vaginal exam to see if her cervix is open,” I said.

“Don’t you need a speculum for that kind of an exam?” Mrs. Bishop asked.

“I have a large bovine speculum,” I said. “But I seldom need to use it. After a few years of training myself, I can almost see with my fingertips of my left hand.”

After applying lube to my hand and arm, it inserted my hand into Blossom’s vagina. The vagina was tightly closed at a point before my hand was in to my wrist. I frowned.

“You frowned,” Mrs. Bishop said. “There must be something wrong.”

“Just give me a minute,” I said. “Her vagina has some adhesions.”

I had never encountered anything like this before. My mind whirled through its database, but I could bring nothing up. I suspected a pyometra was present, but I had never heard of a vagina closed off from adhesions.

I pinched my fingertips together and advanced my hand and arm into the vagina. I could feel the walls of the vagina separate. It almost felt like they were unzipping. Just before I got to the cervix, it was open. And filled with fluid. The cervix was open to where I could insert three fingers. 

I pulled my arm out of Blossom’s vagina. The OB sleeve was covered with blood. When my hand came out, gallons of thick white pus followed and splattered into the straw.

“Oh, my God,” Mrs. Bishop said.

I was unsure what she was upset about. The obvious serious problem with Blossom’s reproductive tract, or the fact that now there were gallons of pus mixed with her straw and splattered around the stall.

“What has happened to our Blossom?” Mrs. Bishop asked.

“She obviously has a uterus filled with pus,” I said. “That happens at times. Why the vagina was closed with adhesions, I don’t know. I have never seen or heard of that problem before. But I think we can help her out now. I will give her an injection to ensure that she empties that uterus. Then, I will flush it with some antibiotics today. We will also give her some antibiotics by injection, and I will recheck her in a couple of days.”

“Okay, David, but you are going to have to give me a few minutes to get this mess cleaned up,” Mrs. Bishop said. “You need to go wash those boots of yours.  Robert, you need to get the big wheelbarrow in here. This is a real mess.”

As instructed, I went and hosed off my boots. It also gave me time to get all of Blossom’s medication ready. And I could watch the circus in the barn. Robert took his instructions without saying a word. Those instructions were detailed to the point where he was to dump the wheelbarrow.

When the barn was cleaned up enough, I got back to work. I flushed Blossom’s uterus with an antibiotic solution and gave her several injections.

“You are going to have to discard the milk while Blossom is being treated,” I said.

“Is it okay to give to the calf and the pigs?” Robert asked.

“Yes, Bob,” I said. “The pigs are probably going be happy to get it all for a change.”

“His name is Robert, David,” Mrs. Bishop said. “And the pigs always get a little bit of milk, but now they will think they should get more all the time.”

“I will be back the day after tomorrow to recheck Blossom,” I said. “I expect things to be much improved by then. You may have to deal with her discharging some pus today and tomorrow. After that, it should be better. You need to call Vicki or Sandy and schedule a time for my recheck.”

***

Blossom’s uterus was all but normal on my recheck, and the lining of her vagina was healed. I could hardly tell there had been a problem. I infused her uterus with some antibiotics and made sure the Bishops were up to speed on the antibiotic injections they were giving. 

“Can we have her bred when she comes into heat,” Mrs. Bishop asked.

“I would wait until the second heat cycle,” I said. “That will give her uterus more time to get back to normal. And when you have her bred, you should call me, and we should give her another infusion the day after she is bred.”

“You do that after she is bred?” Mrs. Bishop asked with a questioning tone.

“Yes, it takes about three days for the fertilized egg to get to the uterus. So we can infuse the uterus with a gentle antibiotic and just clear up any residual infection that might be present.”

***

Blossom continued to do well, and her breeding resulted in a pregnancy. My only concern now was that Mrs. Bishop would insist on an immediate exam if Blossom failed to pass her fetal membranes within a few hours of calving.

Photo by Frank Grün from Pexels

Note to My Readers

Good news this morning. My second book, Widow Woman’s Ranch is now available for purchase on Amazon.

Signed copies will be available by the week of August 9. Locally in Sweet Home at Lillies and Lovelies or through contact with me in Sweet Home or via email at: d.e.larsen.dvm@peak.org.

The ebook should be available in the next couple of days.

Click on the following link:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1736748467?ref_=pe_3052080_397514860

The Great Escape

D. E. Larsen, DVM

“Doctor Larsen, why is it so expensive to neuter a tomcat?” Vivian asked.

“So expensive?” I said. “I thought my fee was one of the most reasonable around.”

“Oh, I’m not questioning your fee. You are one of the most reasonable. But it just seems like a lot of money for a procedure that my father used to do out in the barn with his pocket knife.”

“Things have come a long way from when cats were neutered with a pocket knife,” I said. “I had an uncle who would neuter all the barn cats for the family. I was raised with a large extended family, and there were six family farms in a small area. Uncle Robert neutered all the barn cats.”

“So, if he could do it with a pocket knife, why does it cost thirty dollars for you to do it now?” Vivian asked again.

“After I got out of vet school, I was curious about just how he managed to do all those cats,” I said. “When I asked him, he said that his knife was always sharp. He would just pick up a cat, and with one stroke, cut off everything. The scrotum and testicles all at once, then toss the cat to let him runoff.”

“Oh, that sounds sort of gruesome,” Vivian said. “Those poor cats.”

“Yes, that is why I do a complete exam on the cat before surgery. And why I use anesthesia and pain medication, and I require cats have distemper and rabies vaccinations before surgery,” I said.

“That makes me feel a little better,” Vivian said. “I guess one gets what one pays for in most cases. Is your procedure safe?”

“Uncle Robert said that he never lost one of those cats,” I said. “At least not that he knew about. Of course, most of the dairy barns would have a dozen or more cats in those days. A young tomcat would not be missed in most cases. Here, we recover the cat from anesthesia and make sure everything is okay before sending him home. We have very few complications. But no procedure is without a possible problem. People make mistakes, cats have undetected problems, there is always a slim chance that there will be an issue with the surgery.”

“I am just so worried about Rocky,” Vivian said. “I just don’t know what I would do if I lost him.”

“One thing to think about is that tomcats that are left intact have a rough life,” I said. “And most of them don’t live very long. By their second year, they are out looking for the ladies, often at all hours. Cats like your Rocky, who have been pampered their entire life, are suddenly out fighting with the meanest old tomcat in the neighborhood. They are at high risk of getting diseases like the feline leukemia virus, and abscesses become common. When they are out prowling the neighborhood, they are thinking about that girl kitty across the street, and they forget to look for cars. Many get squashed on the street. Moneywise, you end up spending far more treating abscesses and wounds than you will ever spend on a neuter.”

“Okay, you don’t need to tell me all the bad things that will happen,” Vivian said. “I will schedule a neuter, but you just make sure you take special care of Rocky.”

“We try to take special care of all our patients,” I said. “You just schedule a morning to bring him in for surgery, and he will be ready to go home in the afternoon.”

“I don’t do mornings very well,” Vivian said. “Maybe I can bring him in the day before. Would that work out okay?”

“That should work out just fine,” I said. “We can work Rocky into our schedule on any day that you want to bring him down in the afternoon.”

“That is great. My daughter is taking me out shopping and having dinner for my birthday. We could bring Rocky in when we leave town tomorrow. That way, she could pay the bill. It is my birthday present.”

“Rocky will appreciate your daughter’s thoughtfulness,” I said. “We will look forward to seeing you tomorrow afternoon.”

***

Tuesday was shaping up to be a warm day. Wanting to get a jump keeping this clinic cool, we opened the garage door in the back and started the sprinkler on the roof right after lunch. The water coming off the roof was already running hot.

Vivian, with Emily following, came through the door carrying Rocky in her arms. Vivian took a seat and tried to console Rocky. Rocky could already smell a rat. This was not normal behavior for anyone.

“Hi, I would like to pay Vivian’s bill in advance if that is possible,” Emily said as she stood at the front counter talking with Sandy.

Sandy took care of the transaction, and she could see that Rocky was getting anxious.

“I’ll get one of the girls to take Rocky back to his kennel,” Sandy said.

“That will be nice,” Vivian said. “We need to get on the road if we are going to get any shopping done before dinner.

One of the high school girls working that summer scooped Rocky out of Vivian’s arms and held him as Vivian said her goodbyes. When Vivian and Emily left, The girl started to the kennel room in the back with Rocky in her arms.

As they approached the kennel room, Rocky heard a couple of dogs, and he had no interest in going through that door. At first, he struggled, then he exploded. With the open garage door right there, he was gone in a flash. 

The girl thought her career was over. We checked to see if, by chance, Vivian was still in the parking lot. No such luck. A crew of us went out back to try to retrieve Rocky. He was not interested in being returned to that house of horrors. I last saw him trucking down the railroad tracks. There was no chance for recapture.

I called Vivian’s home phone, no answer. We had no contact information for Emily. I would have to wait until morning to talk with Vivian. I was not looking forward to making that phone call.

***

“Good morning, Vivian,” I said when she answered the phone. “This is Doctor Larsen. We had a problem yesterday. When the girl who took Rocky from you got back to the kennel room, Rocky sort of exploded and got away from her and escaped out the back door. We tried to retrieve him, but he would have nothing to do with us.”

“So I am not going crazy after all,” Vivian said. “I thought that was Rocky at the food dish on the back patio. I was trying to tell myself that I was seeing things.”

“If you still want us to neuter him, I will send Sandy and one of the girls up to your place with a kennel to pick him up. We will do the surgery and return him in the afternoon, along with the money your daughter paid. I couldn’t charge you a fee in good conscience, not after yesterday’s events.”

“That would be fine, doctor,” Vivian said. “I appreciate your honesty, and I am sure my daughter will be pleased to get her money back.”

“If Rocky is at the food dish this morning, we will pick him up now, schedule the surgery for this afternoon and bring him home this evening.”

“Will he be awake enough to come home this evening?” Vivian asked.

“With the anesthesia we use, these guys wake right up,” I said. “He should be fine by this evening. And he will be happier at home than sharing the kennel room with a couple of dogs.”

“That is for sure, I will get him in the house now, and Sandy can come anytime.”

***

The surgery went well, and the trip to and from the clinic in a kennel was a snap. Rocky was the only patient to escape from the clinic in our forty years of practice. We got lucky that he was an outside cat that knew the town well.

Photo by Levent Simsek from Pexels