Old Mister Nielson

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Old Mr. Nielsen sat on a stump by the head of the squeeze chute, watching me closely as I cut a length of OB wire and attached handles to each end. He was s short, stout Norwegian. He covered his thinning gray hair with a tattered old ball cap that sat a little crooked on his head. His weathered face and hands told of uncounted hours of labor in the outdoors. Mr. Nielsen had milked cows for years but now used his farm to raise replacement heifers.

“How do you spell your name, Doc?” He asked. Of all his questions, this was the most important one for him.

“I spell it with an ‘en,’ Larsen,” I replied. “My Grandfather was a Norwegian sea captain who sailed lumber ships on the West Coast.”

That satisfied his curiosity. I was new to Enumclaw, and I was surprised at how ethnic the community was around here. Dr. Larsen could mean Norway, Denmark, or Sweden. Now I would be in solid with the Norwegians.

“What are you going to do with that wire, Doc?” was his next question.

The old veterinarian in the practice, Jack, dehorned these older heifers with the old fashioned guillotine type dehorners. These were almost a medieval instrument, and I had no intention of using them. Four foot long wooden handles attached to a cutting head that was positioned over the base of the horn. When the handles were closed, the guillotine blade half cut and half crushed the horn off. Local anesthesia didn’t help much. Blood would fly, and the heifer would bellower. It did a terrible job, and partial regrowth of the horn was common due to the incomplete removal of the base of the horn.

“This is what I use to remove the horns. It is a wire saw. I think you will be impressed,” I replied.

I think he was less than convinced as we loaded the first heifer into the chute. We had a dozen heifers to dehorn today. They were all yearlings, I hoped I would hold up to this number, but I was young and robust and calculated that I could get the job done. With the head secured with nose tongs, I injected each horn base with Lidocaine for local anesthesia. I seated the OB wire at the base of the horn. Then I started with long, rapid strokes. Smoke rose from the horn as the wire engaged the bone. It smelled like the old, slow dental drills. The process was brief, there was no apparent pain, and no blood as the hot wire seared the vessels. I grasped the exposed arteries with a forceps and pulled them slowly until they broke deep in the tissues and snapped back. This would allow a secure clot to form, and there would be almost no bleeding.

I repeated the process on the second horn. Then I applied some antibiotic powder on the wounds and into the open frontal sinus. The open frontal sinus made an impressive wound that alarmed the neophytes, but Mr. Nielsen had seen it many times before. After applying a good spray for flies, I released the nose tongs. Then I went back and sprayed the switch of her tail. Out of the chute, she ran, no pain, only a drop of blood and standing out in front of the chute like nothing had happened.

     “That is a pretty neat wire you have there. I think I like it, and that heifer acts like nothing happened,” Mr. Nielsen added. Obviously pleased with the job.

“Why did you spray her tail?” Mr. Nielsen asked. 

“Just to make it a little more effective against the flies,” I said.

The other heifers that followed were completed with an identical procedure. I changed the wire saw after every heifer to ensure the speed of the cut was not slowed by a dull wire. The last couple of heifers bled a little more as my strokes became a little slower, and the OB wire failed to sear the arteries. Even then, the bleeding was quickly controlled when the arteries were pulled. 

“This is so much better of a job than what that big old lopper does,” Mr. Nielsen said. 

After cleaning things up, I headed back to the clinic.

When Don, the other veterinarian in the practice, came in that afternoon, he had already heard the story of my dehorning job.

“I think you are going to be doing our dehorning from now on. Old Mr. Nielsen has told almost everyone about the job you did this morning,” Don said. “And your Grandfather’s story didn’t fall on deaf ears either. I think all the Norwegians will be lined up at the front door pretty soon.”

Photo by Lomig on Unsplash

Buck and the Colt

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Buck was resting under the giant oak tree on the corner of his barnyard. He was chewing on the remains of the trimmings from the horses’ hooves that he had gathered yesterday when Dale, the farrier, had visited his farm. This was a perfect June morning with bright sunshine and a cooling breeze coming up the creek.

He looked up with a start when he heard his favorite truck in the distance. It would be visible coming down the road shortly. This was Doc’s truck, and it usually meant that there would be better treats that these old hooves. Buck started down to the barnyard. Doc’s truck was still not visible on the road, but he wanted to be there to meet him when he pulled into the yard. Buck had suspected that something was going to happen when Ellen had him bring in the calves this morning. He loved to herd his calves, even better than the cows because they would never challenge him. It was his job, and he lived for it.

Ellen came out of the house as Doc was pulling into the barnyard.

“I’m glad you could come on such short notice.” She said as she extended her hand to Doc. “Walker wanted the bull calves marked so they would be healed for sale in a couple of weeks. I’m sorry that he couldn’t be here today. Will you need any help from me?”

“I might need you to hold a tail or two, but I’m sure that Buck will herd them into the chute with no problem. There are only 3, so we should be done in a jiffy,” Doc said.

“That will be great. I wanted to be able to move the colt to the upper pasture today,” Ellen said.

“How are things going with the colt? He was sort of jumpy the last time I worked on him,” Doc asked.

“He is better, but I still have to keep a firm grip on him. He is almost more than I can handle at times,” Ellen said.

Doc had gathered his things and headed to the chute. It was a joy to work the chute with a dog like Buck. He was probably one of the best cow dogs around. It was sort of a shame that Ellen and Walker had such a small herd, Buck deserved better.

With the first bull calf in the chute, Doc grabbed the tail and bent it over his back to give a little nerve pinch for restraint and some pain control. Castration was a quick procedure on calves this size. He showed Ellen how he wanted the tail held, and she performed like a pro.

Doc grasped the scrotum and stretched it down, with one quick slice of the scalpel he removed the bottom third of the scrotum. Then grasping the ends of the two exposed testicles with a large Oschner forceps, he stretched them down until he could feel the cremaster muscles separate. He moved the forceps up to clamp across the cords at the scrotum, then retrieved the White’s emasculator from his bucket, and the testicles were quickly removed.

Doc looked at Ellen as he held the emasculator firmly. “Do you want these?” he asked as he held them up.

“No, are you kidding? You know Buck has been waiting for them all morning,” she replied.

Doc looked at Buck, he was fixated on the morsels he held. Doc threw them up in the air, and Buck followed their arc. They bounced once, and with one quick swoop, he caught them both and made a quick swallow.

Ellen released the tail and smiled. She enjoyed how Doc truly liked Buck. Doc applied fly spray to the tail switch and around the wound and on the back of the calf. Probably a little early for flies, but just insurance. The other two bulls went the same, and in no time, Doc was cleaning up and loading things back in the truck.

Buck knew the event was over. He loved the work, loved the treats, and enjoyed Doc when he was in his barnyard. He always had conflicted emotions when he went to town to see Doc.

As Doc pulled out of the barnyard, Buck went back to his resting spot under the oak tree. This was his spot, and he could survey the entire farm from this spot, and nobody would bother him here.

As soon as Doc left, Ellen headed to the barn. She had haltered the colt earlier and was anxious to get him up to the upper pasture and see him run in the open field. It had been a wet spring, and the pasture was finally dry enough to turn him out. The colt snorted as she opened the stall and led him toward the barnyard. She headed for the road; the upper pasture was about a quarter-mile up the road. She had some concern about how the colt would react to a car on the road. This time of the morning they should able to make the trip without any traffic.

Buck watched from his spot under the oak tree. He didn’t like this colt, it did not respond to him like the cows did. Buck decided that he better follow along. Ellen might need his help, he could at least bite a heel, if the colt required correction. Buck trotted to catch up and fell in line behind the young horse.

They made it to the gate of the upper pasture just in time. Ellen could see a pickup coming up the road at a pretty good speed. She hurried to open the gate but had some difficulty with the latch. The colt heard the truck also and turned his head to get a better view. He reared up a little, and Ellen took a better grip on the lead, taking a wrap around her hand.

Buck didn’t like this colt, there was no reason for him to be causing problems. If he didn’t settle down, he would bite him on the heel.

The gate finally swung open, the truck roared past them. The colt reared again, and Ellen used all her weight to control him.

Buck moved in and bit him on the heel, that should settle him down, he thought.

The colt jumped forward and lurched toward the open pasture with one motion. The lead that was wrapped around Ellen’s hand tightened and in an instant, two fingers separated from her hand and flew into the air.

She watched as her fingers tumbled in the air. Time seemed to stand still for the moment. She thought she could reach out and catch them, but she could not make herself move. She thought about life without two fingers. She thought about all the miracle things they do in surgery today, maybe they could be reattached. She watched as they began to fall. There was no pain, no blood, she just watched as they hit the ground and bounced.

Then there was a blur, it was Buck. He swooped in and caught both fingers with one motion, and they were gone with a quick swallow.

Ellen sank to the ground. Now the pain came and the blood. She held her injured hand tightly. “No, Buck! No!” she screamed. “Damn you, Buck! Damn you!”

Buck had never heard that tone of voice from Ellen. He turned and ran back to his barnyard as fast as he could go. Buck settled into his spot. He would wait here until Walker got home, he thought, as he aimless picked up a sliver of hoof trimming from the last time the colt the farrier visited the farm. Things would be okay again. He never liked that colt anyway.

A Stone for his Mantle

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Urinary stones in beef cattle in the Willamette Valley were uncommon, meaning that I would see a case once or maybe twice a year at the most. Often going several years between cases. I do not recall ever seeing more than one case on any one ranch.

With that in mind, I found it uncommon when Walt called with a little steer calf who was standing around twitching his tail and stomping his hind feet. Uncommon, in the fact that Walt would recognize that as enough of an issue to call me early. It demonstrated how some of these old farmers were so in touch with their animals that they knew when there was a serious problem.

Walt was a tall, thin man with a broad smile on his face most of the time. Thin does not mean that he was not strong. Thin and wiry, he was tough as nails, and could work most men into the ground. Walt had a team of draft horses, Belgiums, that he used every year to put up hay in the field that was next to the highway. I am sure that many people would observe him and fail to realize how rare the spectacle was today. I always enjoyed watching the horses work and would often take the back road so I could stop and watch for a time.

Today was a nice late spring day with mostly blue sky, but some heavy dark clouds. Walt was waiting when I and Ruth Slagoski pulled into his barnyard. Ruth was short with dark hair. She had worked for me for a couple of years and although not a farm girl she really enjoyed the farms we visited. Walt’s farm had offered a variety we didn’t often see, with draft horses, along with the cattle.

Walt greeted us with his beaming smile and an outstretched hand. His hand shake was firm and sincere. I knew these men judged the men they met by their hand shake, something I didn’t learn in school but I had learned long ago growing up around men who earned their living working with their hands.

“I have them in the back of the loafing shed. The little guy is really uncomfortable,” Walt said. Showing his obvious concern with a fading smile.

We walk into the shed and the black baldy mamma cow and her calf were standing on the back wall. The calf was twitching is tail constantly and stomping both hind feet as if to a rhythm. “Walt, this guy probably has a stone plugging up his urethra and he can’t pee,” I explained. “It is early yet and he is uncomfortable because of his distended bladder. In a little while, one of two things are going to happen, either his bladder breaks or his urethra breaks. When that happens, the pain goes away but the problem becomes much more difficult to fix. It is a very good thing that you called early.”

The calf was easy to catch and we tied his head and then ran the mamma cow outside. I was sure of my diagnosis but completed a quick exam. Temperature was normal and his chest was normal. I did a digital rectal exam and laid my finger tip on his pelvic urethra. It was pulsating constantly.

He was a small calf, I am not sure I had seen a stone in this young of a calf before. I took another rope and tied a loop in the middle of the bite of the rope. I slipped this loop over his neck with the knot laying between his front legs. Then both ends of the rope went up over his back, crossing in the middle of the back, then down his sides and out between his hind legs.  This was called a “flying W” and is a standard method to throw a cow, generally not used on a small calf but we were going to have to tie him down for surgery.

I grabbed the two ends of the rope and pulled, the calf stiffened and fell on his side. We rolled him up on his back, flexed his hind legs and tied each leg with the ropes in a manner that when he would kick, it would put more pressure on his back and add more restraint.

Once restrained, with me on my knees, I could palpate the length of his penis. Stones generally lodge at the point of the attachment of the retractor penis muscle in the sigmoid flexure of the penis. I grasped this portion of the penis with my left hand to stabilize it. With my  right hand I could easily palpate the stone.

“This is going to be easy,” I said to Walt. He was watching close. Most of these guys had not watched a calf thrown so easily before.

We clipped and prepped the site for surgery and Ruth opened the surgery pack while I put on gloves. This was barnyard surgery at its best. There was fresh straw down but the softness of the ground under my knees told me we were on top of a foot or more of straw and manure.

The surgery was brief, as I had promised. After clipping and prepping the area, I injected the area with Lidocaine for local anesthesia, grasped the penis to stabilize it, palpated the stone and made about a two inch incision over the stone. With a pair of forceps, I bluntly divided the tissues to expose the urethra with the bulge where the stone was located. Once this was exposed I elevated the penis and drove a scissors under the penis and out the other side to maintain the exposure, stabilize the urethra, and free up my left hand. I palpated the stone again, then carefully incised the urethra, feeling the grit of the stone as the scalpel pulled across it. With a forceps, I grabbed the stone and pulled it out of the urethra and placed it on the surgery pack. It was about the size of a pea, off white in color. I took a 22 inch, 8 French urinary catheter and ran it up the urethra toward the bladder. It was just long enough to reach the bladder. We relaxed as urine drained out of the catheter. I could imagine that the calf was feeling some relief at this point. When the urine stopped, I removed the catheter and then ran it the other direction to make sure the rest of the urethra was open.

Now we had some decisions to make, to close or not to close. We had the option of leaving the incisions open. I sort of favored this option because if there are more stones in the bladder they have the chance of passing out the incision. Barnyard surgery is not the best in the world, and closing the incision always gives a possibility of infection. And closing the urethra on such a small calf could lead to an even more narrow spot that could cause problems later. The only problem with leaving the incisions open was that urine would flow out of the incision for a week or so until there was enough healing to allow normal flow.

I was getting ready to discuss all of this with Walt when the calf kicked and got one hind leg free from the restraint. He kicked again and the surgery pack went flying. The decision was made by the calf. I grabbed the scissors, releasing the penis to return to normal position. Ruth started gathering instruments that were scattered through the straw.

Walt was crawling across the straw on his hands and knees, concentrating on one spot. He ran his hand across the straw a couple of times. The with a beaming smile raised his hand, he had found the stone.

“This is going on my mantle,” he said, still smiling. 

We let the calf up, sprayed for flies and explained the urine flow issue to Walt. Things turned out okay, and I will never know how Walt was able to keep track of that stone in all the commotion.

Photo by Matt Seymour on Unsplash