Catching Creek 

D. E. Larsen, DVM

I acquired this rendition of the Davenport portion of Catching Creek this Fourth of July. A good part of my early life occurred within the bounds of this sketch. 

If we refer to my story of Hallowed Ground, https://docsmemoirs.com/2020/05/24/hallowed-ground-prefaced/, I can explain the locations of that story.

At the time of the story, we lived on the Lundy ranch. It was off the page at the bottom. The Cow Horn field was part of the Lundy Ranch. This sketch is laid out as the creek flows from the top of the page to the bottom. Unlike most maps, the top of this sketch is west. Just over the hill at the top of Catching Creek Mountain, one goes downhill to the coast. Going down Flores Creek to Langlois.

The Hallowed Ground story starts at the cow bridge, seen crossing the creek near the top quarter of the sketch. We would have started the hunt by walking the road up to the Davenport Grove, framed by a large bend in the creek. This grove has been the setting for an annual Fourth of July celebration since 1904. The bend of the creek always held many ducks.

After hunting the grove, we followed the creek to the cow bridge. That is where the story starts and where the grouse was shot. The field across the creek had a massive myrtle tree in the center. That tree is not on the sketch.

The creek crossing, where we almost fell on the second crossing, was on a line from the cow bridge to the logging truck. The Bartlett land was located just up the creek as it disappeared off the sketch at the top of the page.

The two houses at the top of the sketch were located a little more up the creek. The first house is about where the log truck is, and the second is about where the first house is. Jim’s cabin was before my time. I had heard stories of the place but had never been to it.

We lived in the first house until I was four years old. The sketch doesn’t illustrate how the outhouse was located on a hillside behind the house. That was a difficult trip in my memory.

On our trip back down the creek, we would have crossed the cow bridge again and walked (or ran) down the middle of the field to the upper barn, where we would have returned to the road. 

The house on the driveway from the barn was Uncle Dutch’s house, and the next large house near the road was my grandparent’s house. My mother had been on ten children in their family. 

The lower barn is just across the bridge from up the creek; the other building has a garage. The outbuildings behind my grandparent’s house were the woodshed and the outhouse. Remember, they had a large family with six girls and four boys. The outhouse was an impressive three-seater.

We then ran down the road, past the Bee Tree, and around the creek to where the road left the stream at the bottom of the sketch. There were never ducks in the creek where it ran along the road. 

The cow was in the creek just above the “a” in Catching Creek at the bottom of the sketch. 

The creek was loaded with ducks from where the road left the stream, all around Horse Shoe Bend and around the tip of the Cow Horn to Camphor Creek. There were ducks from Camphor Creek down the creek, but the Catching Creek became brushy from there to the river and was hard to hunt.

Today there are no dairies on Catching and fewer cows in the pastures along the creek. The creek is brushy along most of its course. There are likely still a lot of ducks in the stream in the fall, but hunting them is almost impossible.

Davenport Grove is still a gathering place, but my generation is fading fast. Next year we will celebrate a hundred and twenty years of Fourth of July Celebrations.

Time marches on!

Sketch done by C. Vincent.

Jack, From the Archives

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Sandy and I were standing in the garage talking when Robert pulled into the driveway with his load of boxes. Robert was our UPS delivery guy and was a regular visitor to our clinic in the garage.

Robert dropped the boxes on the table in the back of the garage and returned waited for a signature.

“Did I hear you two talking about getting a puppy,” Robert asked?

“We are just getting settled into this place, and we figured it was about time for a puppy.”

“I just happen to have a litter of Springer Spaniel pups who are ready to go next week,” Robert said.

“We haven’t even discussed what kind of a puppy we need, but a Springer might fit this place and this family well,” I said.

“They are good pups, all liver and white, and I have both parents. Drop over this weekend if you want to look them over,” Robert said.

“We will do that. The kids will enjoy looking at the litter.”

“I will give you the pick of the litter,” Robert said. “You know you will take home a puppy if you bring the kids.”

The girls were excited when we loaded up to go look at the puppies. It was chaos when they got down on the ground with the pups. Three girls and eight puppies all trying to lick a face.

As Robert predicted, we went home with the best of the pups. He was Jack before we got very far down the road.

Like all puppies, Jack grew rapidly. In the process, he cemented himself as part of the family. It was good to have a puppy grow up with the kids who were also growing up.

Jack was an active dog. He covered the ground on our small acreage daily. Fences were a barrier at first, but as he reached his adult size, he could sail over any fence on the place. 

One Spring day, I took the girls down to the creek behind the house to fish. Jack went along. The first fish out of the water was held in the air, wiggling on the end of the line. Jack took no time to grab it. I was right there to catch him and retrieve the fish. The fish looked like it was none the worse for wear.

“You kids don’t tell your mother, or she won’t cook this fish,” I said.

My biggest concern, however, was Salmon Disease in Jack. I monitored him close, and sure enough, seven days later, Jack was sick. He could not have had that fish in his mouth for more than ten seconds, and I could not even see a puncture wound on the fish. That changed my thinking on what kind of exposure was required for a dog to contract Salmon Disease, and that was the first lesson taught by Jack.

When Robert had his next litter, he had a little female who nobody had selected. The pressure was applied, and we ended up adding Jill to the household. 

Jill was older when she came to live with us. She and Jack got along well, but like all things female, she led Jack astray. We had virtually no problems with Jack before Jill came along. Now they were straying up the creek further each day. Neighbors were not happy.

We made the decision to find Jill a new home. That was an easy task, and tranquility returned. Jack was immediately back to his old stay-around-the-house dog. Lesson number two.

We had acquired a few bummer lambs to keep the girls busy. Bottle feeding lambs are a chore that kids find fun. That makes it easy to start teaching responsibility and a work ethic.

Ray Michalis had given me a bummer lamb that had an infected knee joint. The chances of saving it were slim, and for Ray, the expense was not justified. 

I took the lamb. I drained the joint’s pus and placed a drain in the joint that I could flush a couple of times a day. We had all the lambs in the stall on the far end of our little barn.

It was a busy afternoon at the clinic when Dixie said Sandy was on the phone.

“You need to come home right now and take care of this lamb,” Sandy said in a voice mixed between hysteria and tears.

“What is the matter with the lamb,” I asked?

“The county tax assessor was here this afternoon, and he locked Jack in with the lambs,” Sandy said.

“That doesn’t sound very smart, but that is not the end of the world,” I said.

“Jack chewed the leg off the little lamb that Ray gave you,” Sandy said, though tears now. “You need to come home right now and take care of this lamb. The girls are hysterical.”

“I will be right there,” I said.

I took a dose of euthanasia solution and apologized to the clients as I ran out the door. By the time I got home, the little lamb was actually doing pretty good on three legs, and all the bleeding had stopped. But I went ahead and put it to sleep.

Now I had two problems. How to deal with a dog who probably couldn’t be blamed for his actions but needed to know that it couldn’t happen again. And how to deal with a tax assessor who most likely would take no responsibility and who could hold my assessment over my head.

For the dog, I took the lamb’s severed leg and tied it around Jack’s neck. You would have thought I had beat him with a stick. He was mortified. 

For the tax assessor, I called him and complained. Restraining myself from calling him a name or two. As expected, he took no responsibility and flexed the muscle of his position at the end of the conversation.

“So, what are you going to do about it,” he said.

Nothing, of course. I wished I had tied the lamb’s leg around his neck.

When I removed the leg from Jack’s neck after the third day, he was the happiest dog you could imagine. And Jack would not even look at the lambs in the pasture again. Lesson three.

It was a warm Saturday afternoon. Jack had gone for a short run on the hillside across the road from the house. The kids were playing in the front yard. I was working on cleaning and checking the vet box’s inventory on the back of my truck.

Jack came down off the hillside and started across the road. The old man from up the creek was speeding down the road. He always drove way too fast. He and Jack collided in the middle of the road. The force of the impact knocked Jack over 30 feet. He landed in the front yard beside where the kids were playing.

Jack stood up and yelped once. Then Jack fell over. He was dead by the time I got to him. 

The kids were wide-eyed, not fully coming to grips with what had happened. Sandy was coming out of the house. I am sure she wanted to slow me down as I headed to the road to talk with the old man behind the wheel.

“Is he dead,” the old man asked?

“He is dead,” I said through clenched teeth. “What the hell do you expect when you knock him thirty feet. You need to slow down, old man. What if that had been one of the kids? I would be dragging you out of the car and beating your ass to a pulp.”

The old man learned to drive a little slower. A hard lesson for Jack to teach, but well taught. Lesson four.

The kids learned the dangers of the road. We never had to caution them about the road after that day. Even Derek, who was just two at the time, absorbed that lesson. Another challenging but valuable lesson from Jack. Lesson five.

And maybe the best lesson of all was Lesson six. The loss of someone close is always distressing. And for kids, their first loss often comes with the loss of a pet. Sometimes traumatic, like in Jack’s case, sometimes from old age, but it prepares them for one of those rigors of life that we all must cope with sooner or later. I think it is one of the best lessons that pets provide for kids.

Jack’s life was short. But one’s life should not be measured by length but rather by the quality and how well it is lived. 

Photo by William Buist on Unsplash

You Can’t Make a Cow Dog out of a Hound Dog, From the Archives

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Dr. Jensen carefully placed Blue on the exam table. Blue was a growing Bluetick Coonhound. He was about 5 months old. Dr. Jensen had acquired him to replace one of his border collies that he had lost a few months ago.

“Good morning, Mark,” I said as I entered the exam room. “What’s up with Blue this morning?”

“I was driving out to the cows in the far pasture with the dogs in the back of the pickup,” Mark said. “I wasn’t going very fast, and this damn little cottontail darts across the road and into the grass. Blue makes a dive for the bunny and does about three cartwheels when he hits the ground. So he comes up carrying a hind leg. My guess is he either blew out a knee or injured his hip.”

“Did you get any x-rays?” I asked with a smile.

“I know. All you need is someone coming in with all the answers before you even get a look at the patient.”

“Let’s get at this guy. It looks like he has been growing since his last visit,” I said. Which leg is he carrying?”

“It’s his right hind leg,” Mark said. “I haven’t seen him touch it down, so it must hurt.”

“You have to watch it with those observations,” I said. “Someone might think you are a real doctor.”

Starting at Blue’s toes, I went over every bone in his foot and hock. Then, after palpating the lower leg bones, I came to his stifle.

I carefully slipped my left hand under Blue’s stifle and elevated it slightly. Blue didn’t say anything, but he lifted his head off the table and looked at me. I took his stifle in both hands and tested for a ligament tear.

“His knee is pretty stable,” I said. “It must be his hip.”

With my left hand on his hip, I moved his leg forward and back. I could feel some grinding deep in the hip joint.

“There is some crepitus in his hip,” I said. “We need to get an x-ray, but my guess is he fractured his femoral head. Most likely at the growth plate.”

“Let’s get a picture, then there will be something concrete we can discuss. I need to sedate to get a good x-ray. Do you have something to do in town, or do you want to just check back later?”

“I will run over to Mollie’s and get a cup of coffee and read the newspaper,” Mark said. “How much time do you need?”

“A half an hour should be fine,” I said. “In the off chance that you get lucky, and this is just a luxated hip, I will go ahead and replace the hip while he is sedated.”

“But you seem pretty sure this is a fracture,” Mark said.

“Blue is five months old. The growth plate in the femoral head doesn’t close until 6 months. It takes less force to fracture the grown plate than to luxate the hip. So at this age, it is almost always a fracture.”

•••

“Well, that is quite a picture, and it makes it pretty obvious,” Mark said as I put the x-ray on the viewer. “What are my options?”

“Some will say that a surgical repair is the best option, but I am not sure that I agree with that opinion,” I said. “Actually, it is a simple repair. You just reduce the misalignment and place a couple of small pins to hold in place.”

“Why the hesitancy then?” Mark asked.

“That little piece of bone that is knocked off the femoral head has a precarious blood supply. It is an easy repair, and it heals well, then in a year or two, you end up with avascular necrosis. Sort of like Bo Jackson.”

“That doesn’t sound good. Then you are looking at a new hip, I guess.”

“At this point in time, nobody that I am aware of is hip replacements in the dog,” I said. “What you end up with is a femoral head ostectomy. So I am beginning to think that we should just be doing the ostectomy from the get-go.”

“An ostectomy! You just take the femoral head off and throw it away? That sounds pretty drastic.”

“The dog has four legs. The ostectomy removes the bone to bone contact and actually works pretty good. Not perfect, but pretty good. You will always see a difference, but your neighbor never will notice.”

“What about a duck cast?” Mark asked. “That is what they do with kids.”

I gave some thought to that possibility. However, I had no idea if it would work, and I had no idea how the pup would tolerate it.

“To be honest, I doubt that it is written up anywhere,” I said.

“I don’t want to get a lot of money into this pup,” Mark said. “He might not work out well for me on the ranch. I would like to try a duck cast.”

“One problem is Blue is his rapid growth phase. Six weeks might not be a big deal in growth in a five-year-old kid, but it is a big deal in a five-month-old hound, and a cast will become constrictive. But with a little thought, I could probably fashion a spica splint that holds that right hind leg up. We might be able to make it work. And the good thing is that if it fails, we can always resort to the ostectomy.”

“Do you want me to leave Blue here now?” Mark asked.

“Yes, I should be able to get this done and have ready to go home this afternoon,” I said. “You can plan to pick him up around four or five.”

•••

It took a couple of tries, but I could get the hip in place and fashion a splint to hold his right hind leg up at a near ninety-degree angle and still be able to poop and pee. He looked a little funny, but I think it might just work.

Dr. Jensen was in the office right at four to pick up Blue.

“He looks a little funny, but this might just work,” I said. “You need to keep him restricted, and this splint needs to be clean and dry at all times.”

“I think his buddies are going to laugh at him,” Mark said.

“I want to check him every week to make sure we don’t have to adjust this for his growth,” I said. “I am really interested to see what kind of results we get.”

•••

Six weeks passed rapidly, and Blue was on the x-ray table with the splint removed. The hip had healed beautifully, and Blue was happy to have four legs under him as I lead him out front to see Mark, who was waiting anxiously.

“The x-ray looks great,” I said. “Blue should be good to go. Just take it easy for a few weeks until he has all the strength back in that leg.”

“My only problem will be keeping him in the back of the pickup when the rabbits are scurrying around in the pasture,” Mark said.

“I can tell you the real problem that you have,” I said. “You can’t make a cow dog out of a hound dog. These dogs have memories from their grandfathers buried deep in their DNA, and when that rabbit ran across the road in front of him, Blue knew he was a hound, and he gave chase.”

“Well, you might right, Doc,” Mark said. “But he is just going to have to learn his place. And thanks, Doc. Blue thanks you also.”

I followed Blue’s status for a couple of years before Dr. Jensen decided to change his status and concentrate more on his doctoring and less on the cattle market. Blue was perfectly normal on his hip as long I knew him.

Photo by Cynthia Smith on Unsplash