Widow Woman’s Ranch, from the Archives

D. E. Larsen, DVM

I could see Dan waiting at the gate to the barnyard when I pulled into his driveway off of Pleasant Valley Road. There was still some snow on the ground from a late spring snowfall, and it added a chill to the air.

“Dan, I got the message that you wanted me to stop by, but I didn’t get any other information,” I said as I extended my hand.

Dan shook my hand. His hands were heavily calloused, and his fingers bent from arthritis. I am sure his handshake was much firmer in past years.

“I want you to look at my old horse, Joe,” Dan said. “This time of the year, I keep him in the barn. I’ve noticed that he has one heck of a time eating. He takes a mouthful of grain, and more of it dribbles back into the feed rack than he swallows.”

“That might be something pretty simple,” I said. “How long has it been since his teeth have been floated?”

“They probably have never been floated, since I don’t know what that means.”

“The horse’s teeth continue to erupt throughout their life. They wear against themselves, and sometimes, when they get a few years on their mouth, they develop sharp points on the edge of the teeth that need to be filed off.”

“You just say, open wide, I guess,” Dan said.

“Some horses object to the procedure more than others, but we have a little device to help hold the mouth open. Some horses stand right there and let it happen, some need a twitch, and then there are a few who need some drugs to help them relax.”

“Joe, he’s a pretty mellow old horse. He’s sort of like Mom and me. He was a lot prettier twenty years ago than he is today.”

“Let’s go get a look at Joe,” I said.

“I’m a little embarrassed to take you into the barn,” Dan said. “This place looks like a widow woman’s ranch anymore. I’m too damn old to keep it up anymore. Our son, Stan, died in that war, and our daughter doesn’t live close. She tries to help some. But you probably know how it is when you are working and have a young family. There is just so much time you have to give to the old man.”

“I’m sorry about your son. There were far too many young men lost over there. I was in the Army for four years, but I was able to avoid Vietnam. I had a good friend who came home in a box, though. I am glad that it is over.”

Dan didn’t respond to my comment. He busied himself with the gate that we had stopped at on the driveway leading to the barn. Dan was having some trouble untying some baling twine that held the gate closed.

“I’ve never heard the term, ‘widow woman’s ranch’,” I said.

“Nothing is fixed. All the fences lean this way or that. Everything is held together by baling wire or twine. The wire lasts a lot longer than the twine, but they don’t bale hay with wire much anymore. Or maybe, I just don’t buy alfalfa much anymore. Twenty years ago, I would’ve replaced any leaning post. Or at least, reset it. Now I just support it with a mesh made out of twine. It is a good thing I don’t have much stock anymore. We feed out a steer for meat, for ourselves, and our daughter’s family. And then there is Joe. And Joe knows he doesn’t want to get out. He’s got it made here, three square meals a day, and nothing is expected in return. Even the grandkids don’t seem to want to ride him anymore.”

I helped Dan with the large barn door. We had to lift it a bit, and then it would slide. It looked like the rollers needed a little grease, but I wasn’t going to say anything. 

I was shocked at the inside of the barn. It was immaculate, like stepping into a barn twenty years in the past.

“I try to keep this place like Stan would remember it,” Dan said.

Joe was in a large stall. He whinnied and tossed his head happily.

Joe was old, a buckskin. He was probably a striking horse in his day. Now his face was grayed, and his muscle mass was fading.

“Let’s get a halter on him so I can look at that mouth,” I said as I reached for a halter and lead rope hanging on a hook at the gate leading into the stall.

“Don’t use that one,” Dan said. “Stan hung that one there the last time he rode Joe before going to Vietnam. Joe was Stan’s horse, you see. Joe is the only connection I have to Stan. I worry what will happen to him if this old guy outlives me.”

I could see some moisture in Dan’s eyes as he spoke. I had to look away for a moment and take a couple of deep breaths before I tried to talk.

“I’m sure your daughter will take care of Joe,” I said.

“She has nowhere to keep him, but I guess she could find someone to take care of him. I have it all spelled out. I have a place picked out for him behind the barn. Joe and I go out at times and talk about how things used to be when Stan was around.”

I grabbed the old halter that Dan had been holding and stepped into the stall. I needed to get to work to change the subject.

Joe nuzzled me when I slipped the halter over his nose. I tied the lead to a ring hanging on the feed rack. Joe had no problem when I ran my index finger along the insides of his cheeks to feel the points on his back teeth.

I grabbed Joe’s tongue and pulled it to the side, causing Joe to open his mouth a little. With a small penlight, I got a good view of the left side of his mouth. Switching hands and pulling the tongue to the other side, I viewed the right side of his mouth.

Joe had jagged points on the inside of his lower cheek teeth and the outside of his upper teeth. I could see sores on both sides of his tongue and on the inside of both cheeks. Joe should feel much better with these teeth floated.

Joe was remarkably tolerant. I grabbed his tongue and inserted the float in the left side of his mouth. With long slow strokes of the float blade, you could hear the points disappear as the sound went from a rough rasping sound to a smooth, almost silent sound. I finished the floating in a couple of minutes.

I smiled as I felt Joe’s teeth after I was done.

“These are as smooth as can be now. I think you’ll see a big difference for Joe.” 

“I hope so. I am a little surprised that Joe wasn’t bothered by that whole thing,” Dan said.

“Yes, he is pretty exceptional to stand there and take it with no restraint and no speculum.”

“Do you think he is going to be able to eat now?”

“I think you’ll find he is a new horse. But to be sure, I’ll check with you in a few days.”

***

I was driving by Dan’s place a few days later, and when I noticed him coming out of the barn, I stopped to ask about Joe.

“Good morning, Dan,” I said. “I just wanted to check on how Joe was eating after I worked on him the other day.”

“He’s doing great. Doesn’t dribble a bit of grain. I think he enjoys eating now. If I had known that was a problem, I would’ve had you do his teeth a long time ago.”

“At his age, we should plan to check him every year, just to keep him as comfortable as we can for his old age.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” Dan said. “I’ll try to remember to give you a call.”

***

It was probably 3 years later when Dan gave me a call. He wouldn’t talk to Sandy when she answered the phone. He only wanted to talk with me.

“Doc, this is a terrible day for me,” Dan said. “I think I need you to come and put Joe to sleep for me. He sliped going out of the barn the other day, and he must have hurt a hip or something. He can hardly walk.”

“Do you want me to examine him first?” I asked. “It could be something simple that we help with some medication.”

“No, I think it is time for him to go see Stan. I’ve already had a neighbor over. He dug a hole with his backhoe, out behind the barn, under that big maple tree.”

“When do you want to do this, Dan?” I asked.

“The sooner, the better, do you have time to come now?”

“I’ll make time, Dan. I’ll be out there in a few minutes.”

Dan was waiting for me at the Barn door. I helped him with the door again. Joe was lying down when we entered the barn. It was quite a struggle for him to get on his feet.

Dan had tears in his eyes and one running down his left cheek.

“Can you get Stan’s halter down for me?” Dan asked. “This getting old stuff is no fun for me either.”

I remembered that Dan didn’t want to use this halter when I was out before to look at Joe.

“You want the one that Stan hung up?” I asked.

“Yes, we are going to bury him with it. I figure that is what Stan would have wanted.”

I carefully, almost reverently, lifted the halter and lead rope off the hook. Dan took it and held it close to his chest as he walked through the gate to Joe’s stall. Joe snickered softly as he smelled the halter. Dan slipped in on the halter and patted Joe on the neck.

“We can go out the back door,” Dan said as he started Joe toward the door. Joe was hardly bearing any weight on his right hind leg. Dan was correct. It was probably time.

Dan lead Joe out and had him lying down by the large hole that was recently dug. 

“He knows the routine. I’ve been bringing him out on good days for the last year. He lays down, and I sit here with him, and we talk about the old days.”

“Dan, do you want to stay for this?” I asked. “You could wait in the house or the barn.”

“No, Joe wants me to be here. It’s okay, Doc. Joe’s going to see Stan.”

“This is pretty fast stuff. I’m going to give him an injection to sedate him a little. Then, when I give him the big injection, he’ll be gone in an instant.”

“Okay, let’s get it done.”

Joe went quietly, resting his nose on Dan’s legs when he was sedated.

Dan shed a couple of tears, patted Joe’s neck, and stood up.

“Do you need me to help to put him in the hole?” I asked.

“No, the neighbor is going to come back with his backhoe. Our daughter will be here before too long. She and her husband will be able to take care of everything. You can stop at the house, and Sue will give you a check.”

“There’s no charge for this, Dan. Stan paid the bill some time ago.”

I walked back to the truck alone, leaving Dan to pay his last respects to Joe. I sat in the truck for a moment, took a few deep breaths, and dried my eyes before pulling out onto the road.

Photo by Idella Maeland on Unsplash

Elbow on a Grinder 

D. E. Larsen, DVM

The morning looked like it would be a nice early summer day in Encumclaw. The winter had seemed to run into spring, and anything approaching summer weather was yet to be seen.

I was at the front counter when young Ed Carter came through the door with Max. A large Great Dane, Max was a good dog. I knew Ed from several farm calls. Ed ran a large dairy with his dad. Max was always by his side on the farm.

“Max got hit by a little car a few minutes ago,” Ed said. “I think the car probably got the worst of the deal, but Max was dragged down the road a piece. He seems fine, but it tore up his elbow a little. I was hoping you guys would have time to take care of him.”

I stepped around the counter to get a better look at Max’s elbow. My approach caused Max to take a step back. His right elbow collapsed with the movement, and Max ended up on the floor.

When I looked closer, it looked like someone had taken a grinder to Max’s elbow. The lateral third of the joint was gone, along with all the soft tissue. There was nothing holding the lateral side of the joint together. 

I placed my hand under the elbow and lifted it from the inside. The joint gapped open. The only way to stabilize this joint would be by fusing the joint.

“Ed, this is a major injury,” I said. “The only way to fix this is by fusing this joint.”

“That sounds a little drastic,” Ed said. “Will he be able to use his leg?”

“It will impair the function of the leg, but there is no other way to fix this injury that I know of.”

“Can you do it here?” Ed asked.

“No, that is way above our capabilities at this clinic,” I said. “I was just at a meeting last week with a veterinarian who is starting a new specialty clinic in Seattle. He is an orthopedic guy. He could fix this leg, but it won’t be cheap.”

“Are there any other options?” Ed asked.

“The only other option would be to take the leg off,” I said. “Most dogs do well on three legs, but an old Dane might not do so well.”

“So, I should probably at least go talk with this guy,” Ed said.

“Yes, and the sooner, the better,” I said. “I need to clean up this wound and get a good wrap on the leg and a little splint to stabilize the joint. I will sedate Max just a little to clean any debris from this wound.”

We moved Max back to the treatment table, and I gave him just enough IV Surital to allow me to quickly clean the wound and get a wrap on the leg.

This wound looked like someone had held the elbow against a grinder. The lateral bone of the joint was coarsely ground away. There were deep striations in the bone, tiny bits of gravel in the bone, and soft tissues around the wound.

I cleaned things up the best I could and applied some Furacin Ointment under a non-stick gauze pad. Then I put a large pressure wrap on the entire leg. Max was waking up as I gave him a dose of IV ampicillin.

Let me call Dr. Willard to see if he can see Max right away. He is just starting his practice, and we will probably have no problem getting in to see him.

Dr. Willard was happy with the call and wanted Max as soon as possible.

“With a wound like this, we need to get it really cleaned up and into surgery as soon as possible after the injury,” Dr. Willard said.

We loaded Max into the front seat of Ed’s pickup, and Ed squeezed into the driver’s seat and headed to Seattle.

About an hour later, Dr. Willard called.

“Dave, this is quite a wound, but it looks like you did a good job cleaning it up,” Dr. Willard said. “I am a little concerned about the radial nerve. Were you able to evaluate it before Max was sedated?”

“Max walked into the office if you can believe that,” I said. “The leg gave out on him as he stood at the counter.”

“It is amazing that he could walk on that leg,” Dr. Willard said. “There is nothing holding that joint together. But I guess that answers my question about the radial nerve.”

Dr. Willard was able to do a good arthrodesis on Max’s elbow joint. The procedure was easy compared to working on an intact joint because the injury gave him total access to the joint. And the flat surface where the bone was ground down by the pavement made fitting the plate on the bone much easier.

Max healed well. He did walk with a limp, but it was much better than being without that leg. Ed was pleased with the repair.

Photo by Christian Álvarez on Pexels.

The Monsoon Rains 

D. E. Larsen, DVM

I went to the door again and opened it just a bit to see if the rain was coming down in sheets. I could see the officer’s quarters across the street.

“Is it still raining, Larsen?” Steve Cross asked from the bar.

“It’s raining harder than I have ever seen it rain,” I said as I sat back on my bar stool. 

We were sitting in the NCO club at Camp Humphreys in South Korea. 

“The good thing is it’s pretty warm out there,” Steve said. “I mean, here we are in the middle of July, and it is raining harder than anything we have seen in Oregon. I hoped to go to the village tonight, but not in this stuff.”

South Korea typically gets most of its rainfall during the monsoon season, which starts in late June and runs through early August. 

“We are both from Oregon,” I said. “You must have learned that if you don’t do stuff in the rain, you just don’t do stuff.”

“Well, you are right there,” Steve said. “Rain never caused me to change plans back home. I guess it shouldn’t over here.”

“Yes, what is it, maybe a mile down to Duffy’s Tavern in the village?” I asked. “A couple of Oregon guys should be able to walk that without worrying about a little rain.”

“This is big rain,” the Korean bartender said. He had been listening to our conversation. “This rain might last all night.”

I have watched some of these rains in the last few weeks. Most of the time, they were during the day. There would be torrential rain for a few hours. The water would cover the ground around our operations building. Sometimes it looked like it was a foot deep. Then the rain would stop, and the sun would come out. Steam rose from everywhere, and a half hour later, all the water was gone. It was absorbed by the porous soil and also ran into the rice paddies that flanked our building.

“Most of the time, these rains only last a few hours,” I said.

“That happens during the day,” the bartender said. “At night, they last a long time.”

“I say a couple of Oregon kids should walk down to Duffy’s,” Steve said as he stood up and pulled on his field jacket. “A little rain isn’t going to hurt us.”

“Okay, let’s go,” I said as I finished my beer and grabbed my field jacket and hat.

We opened the door, and I took a deep breath. The rain was heavier than it was at my last check.

“This is your last chance, Cross,” I said. “You can withdraw from this adventure now if you want. Once we start, there is no withdrawal.”

Steve pulled his hat down so it fits tight. He glanced at me.

“Let’s get going,” he said.

We stepped out into the rain. It was raining so hard we could hardly see the edge of the road. We quickened our pace a little. When we came to the main gate, the MPs were all huddled inside the guard house. They never looked up.

When we walked down the middle of the street in An Jung Ni, we could just make out the front of the shops on either side of the road. Our combat boots kept our feet dry, but we were walking in a couple of inches of water on the street.

Our summer field jackets were not designed to be waterproof for any period of time. By now, water was soaking through our hats and running down our faces. My shoulders were wet to the skin, and I could feel water running down my back.

“I think we are getting wet,” Steve said. “This is no Oregon rain.”

Finally, we came to the ally that led to Duffy’s Tavern. We pushed through the door and were greeted with a near-empty bar. Just a few GIs from our company and the bartender. Even the business girls were smart enough to stay home.

 We stood dripping wet, with a large puddle growing around our feet. We started peeling off our wet things, and Duffy, the tall Chinese owner, came over with a couple of bar towels.

“It’s very wet outside,” Duffy said. “You should stay inside.”

Max got up from his bar stool and came over to help us hang some of our wet things on the back of the chairs. He was noticeably dry.

“Did you two walk down here in this downpour?” Max asked.

“We’re from Oregon,” Steve said. “We don’t let a little rain stop our parade.”

“Look around,” Max said. “Everyone else seems to have the sense to come in out of the rain.”

“That’s not the worse part of it,” I said.

“What’s the worse part?” Max asked.

“We have to turn around and walk back to base in a couple of hours,” I said.

“Not me,” Max said. “I’m staying the night in my hooch.”

“Maybe this will let up before we need to head back,” Steve said.

We stayed and had a couple of Korean beers. OB was the brand. Stood for Oriental Brewery. Actually, it was a pretty good beer. 

The rain did let up, and our trip back to base was a little more comfortable.

In the morning, our field jackets were still wet. The good thing was it was warm enough that we could carry them.

Photo by Egor Litvinov on Pexels.