The Last Cow in the Chute, from the Archives5

D. E. Larsen, DVM

I stepped through the small gate into the crowding ally behind the chute. Ag swung the tailgate open, and I grabbed the tail of this large Charolais cross heifer with my right hand. I worked my gloved left hand into her rectum. There was enough squeeze on her that she could bounce around.

I had been doing this for most of the day. We took some time for a lunch of a special soup Ag had made for the day. Homemade bread and a hearty soup would make the afternoon go faster. The most significant advantage of the lunch break was my left arm got a rest. 

In the big cattle country, a cow doctor might have herds of 400 cattle to check every day for a couple of weeks. Their arms became accustomed to the workload. For me, it was one or two herds a week, and most of those herds were less than 100 cows. My arm was in shape enough to do over a hundred cows, but I had to rest it every chance I could.

I was skilled at rectal palpation. Using my left hand, I would first attempt to retract the uterus. This would bring the uterus into the pelvic canal where I could feel along the entire length. I would first feel the membranes slip between my fingers when I pinched the body of the uterus near the bifurcation. If present, this slip was a positive sign of pregnancy. Then I would explore down each horn of the uterus to find an amnionic sac or a fetus. Based on the size of the amnion sac or the fetal head, I could age the pregnancy to plus or minus 3 days.

A uterus with pregnancy over 90 days duration could seldom be retracted. One could usually find a fetal head by sweeping your hand along the length of the pregnant uterine horn. After 120 days of pregnancy, the fetus was generally out of reach until very late in pregnancy. Aging a pregnancy after 120 days was difficult, and getting between plus or minus 15 days was considered the best one could do. Inexperienced veterinarians could miss the age by months.

The obvious benefit of pregnancy exams in a commercial herd was to enable ranchers to cull the cows that were not pregnant. In that way, they would avoid the expense of winter feed for those cows. On rare occasions, I would detect a problem in the breeding program by finding a high number of open cows. Most of those problems could be seen by adequate observation during the breeding season.

The primary goal was to have cows fall into a 42 – 84-day pregnancy window. Cows outside that window would be culled. This would select for productive breeders, cows who would become pregnant on the first cycle she was exposed to the bulls. Then those cows not pregnant on the first cycle would have a second chance at pregnancy. By culling cows who could not breed back with two cycles, we were able to condense the calving season to a shorter time. This would allow ranchers to concentrate their observation of the calving and render help as needed. Having the age of pregnancy helped in knowing just when a cow was due to calve.

Failing to cull a cow who was outside the prescribed pregnancy window selected for infertility. First, you would have one cow that was a problematic breeder, then 5 years later, you would have that one cow and three of her daughters. The ball game was lost then.

It obviously would take several years of work to arrive at the desired calving window. With Ag’s herd, we probably had over 70% of the herd calving in the first 21 days of the calving season. This was ideal, and it allowed for some elective culling.

Elective culling would allow you to cull individuals based on other factors than fertility. Cows with better milk production would wean calves with a higher weaning weight. Cows with poor udder conformation might cause a lot of extra work at calving and could be susceptible to mastitis. In any herd, there are cows with behavior issues, culling them would reduce stress on the rancher and on the herd.

I always told my clients to cull the last cow in the chute.  If you have 100 cows in the corral to work through the chute, there will always be the last cow. She is seldom last by chance. 

Ag never listened to me on this point. She had to large Brahman cross cow that was almost impossible to get into the chute. So difficult, in fact, that I had only checked her one time. We would try and try to get her in the chute.

“Let’s just forget her,” Ag would say. “She is always pregnant. She is too mean to not be pregnant.”

“I am telling you, Ag, you need to get rid of that cow,” I would always say.

And true to form, after 5 years, there was the old mama cow and then 3 of her daughters, all trying to be the last one in the chute.

Photo by Jorge Zapata on Unsplash

The Meat Fork

D. E. Larsen, DVM

“David, I want you to set the table tonight,” Mom said as I came through the door.

My shoulders slumped. I had just finished my chores at the barn. The table setting was women’s work in my mind.

“Where is Linda?” I asked.

“She will be late tonight,” Mom said. “Now you go change your clothes and clean up. Then, get the table set. Your father will want dinner when he gets in from the barn.”

There was no sense in arguing. I was stuck with the chore. I raced upstairs and changed out of my work clothes. Then I bounded down the stairs with a leap down the last four stairs as I tried to touch the closet floorboards over the stairs. One day, I would reach them. Gary thinks he is so big just because he can touch those boards.

“Should I set a place for Linda?” I asked Mom as I pulled the plates out of the cupboard.

“Yes, she could be home anytime,” Mom said. “Now get busy. I see your father and brothers leaving the barn now.”

I quickly set the plates around the table. Then, I grabbed the silverware and put a knife, fork, and spoon at each table setting. I grabbed a napkin and put it on each plate.

“David, that is not how we set the table in this house,” Mom said.

“I know, but everyone is going to pick up the napkin first,” I said. “Why does it need to go under the silverware?”

Mom just frowned. I quickly arranged things to her liking.

“Here is the platter of roast beef,” Mom said. “You get it on the table and then return for the potatoes and gravy.”

Finally, everything was on the table. Dad and my brothers were all washed up, and we sat down.

Dad picked up the meat platter.

“Where’s the meat fork?” Dad asked.

“David, you know we need a meat fork on the platter,” Mom said as I was halfway to the kitchen to grab a fork.

“We could just use our forks,” I said as I placed the meat fork on the platter.

“It’s just easier to use a meat fork,” Dad said.

Dinner was almost over before Linda got home. Then, we all had to sit and listen to her story about singing lessons.

“Where’s the meat fork?” I asked.

“What are you talking about?” Sandy replied.

“The meat fork,” I said. “There should be a fork on the meat tray.”

“Just use your fork,” Sandy said. “We never had a fork on the meat tray when I was growing up. If we did, it would never make it around the table.”

We hadn’t been married a week, and now I find out she doesn’t want a meat fork.

“There should always be a fork on the meat tray,” I said. “It just makes things easier.”

“Well then, you can just jump up and go get your meat fork,” Sandy said in a bit of a huff.

I jumped up, grabbed a fork from the drawer, and returned to the table. I gently placed it on the meat tray.

“And you can wash the damn thing,” Sandy said.

I did not reply. And I did make it a point to wash the meat fork before anything else was in the sink that evening.

A meat fork was on the meat tray at dinner the following evening. Sandy never mentioned the meat fork again. And the marriage survived.

Photo by Andrea Mosti on Pexels.

Treating Blossom, From the Archives

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