The Old Man

 D. E. Larsen, DVM

I stopped at the mailbox and double-checked the box’s address against my call slip. This was the right place, but it really didn’t look like anybody was home, and it didn’t look like a place that had room for a cow.

I pulled into the drive and waited a moment, hoping someone would come out of the house to greet me or turn on a porch light. 

With no activity from the house, I reached under the front seat for my flashlight. It was good that I had the light; otherwise, I would have tripped over the tricycle parked in the middle of the walkway to the front door. 

Not seeing a doorbell, I knocked on the door. I listened for some movement in the house. I couldn’t hear any from the inside. I knocked again.

Finally, I hear a chair scoot on the floor, like someone standing up from the dinner table. A full minute later, the door opens.

“Good evening,” I said. “I’m Dr. Larsen. You called about a cow having problems.”

“Oh, that must have been Billy,” the old man said. “He had to run to town to buy some beer.”

“He must not have been too worried about his cow,” I said.

This old man was tall and frail. He had to be in his eighties. He was dressed in pants and an old shirt, and he was mostly bald, with maybe a few hairs on the top of his head. His face was terribly wrinkled, and he sported a large gray mustache.

“Billy has come to live with me after the old lady died,” the old man said. “He does pretty well, but he needs his space at times. And he likes his beer. His beer and his hounds. The cow was just sort of an afterthought.”

“Do you think he will be back pretty soon?” I asked.

“My guess is he went to a tavern to buy beer,” the old man said. “If there is some old barfly in there, he ain’t going to be worried about this cow, not for a second.”

“Maybe I should go home and plan to look at this cow in the morning,” I said.

“Give me a few minutes to get on a pair of boots,” the old man said. “I can take you out to the cow shed. I can’t be much help, but I can hold the light. You’re a strong young guy. You should be able to handle that cow by yourself.”

“That sounds good. No reason for the cow to suffer just so Billy can have his beer and barfly,” I said.

“You grab your stuff and just come through the house,” the old man said. “I should have my boots on by then.”

“So, I will have a bucket of water; maybe I should bring it around the house to the back,” I said.

“Just bring the empty bucket. We can fill it at the sink,” the old man said. “That way, you can have warm water.”

I gathered my stuff, hoping this would be a simple delivery, and went back to the front door. The old man had left the door open. He was sitting at the table, struggling to get his feet into a pair of rubber boots.

The house was a mess. My guess was that Billy didn’t do much around the house, and the old man probably couldn’t bend over to pick something off the floor.

“The sink is right there,” the old man said, pointing to the kitchen. “It is probably full of dishes and stuff. You will have to use the spray hose to fill your bucket.”

It took me forever to fill my bucket. I gave some thought to washing a few of the dirty dishes while it was filling, but it gave the old man enough time to get his boots on.

He pushed himself out of the chair using his arms as much as his legs. 

“Let me grab a flashlight,” the old man said as he retrieved a light from the end of the counter and slid open the back door.

He flashed the light across the backyard, and the hounds came alive. There must have been a dozen dog houses scattered across the backyard, with a hound attached to each one via a long chain.

“We sort of have to run the gauntlet,” the old man said. “These are all good dogs. They just think we are going to go hunting.”

We started out through the dog houses. I was carrying a bucket of water in one hand and my calf puller and medical bag in the other hand. The dogs were all baying and stretched out to the end of their chains, swinging back and forth as they tried to get closer to the old man.

Then it happened; the old man tried to dodge one hound and stepped into the bite of the chain of the neighboring hound. I saw it coming, dropped my things, and caught the old guy as the dog chain ripped his feet from under him. I was surprised; the old guy was light as a feather. I doubt if he and Billy were doing much cooking.

“I think if you show me the shed, I will be able to take care of this cow myself,” I said. “This is too dangerous for you in the dark.”

“Maybe you’re right,” the old man said. “The cow is in the shed right over there.” 

He shined his light on the shed.

I ensured the old guy was clear of the dog chains and continued to the shed.

A shed was a good word for this structure. I thought I might pull it over when I had to pull hard on the door to get it open. The cow was inside, lying down and straining. I could see the feet and most of the head. This was going to be easy.

Without putting a rope on the cow, I attached a nylon OB strap to the calf’s front feet and gave a pull when the cow strained. The head popped out. One more stain and pull, and the calf slipped out onto the straw.

I washed up the cow and did an exam to make sure there wasn’t another calf. Then treated the calf’s navel with iodine and gave him a Bo-Se injection. I slapped the cow on the butt, and she jumped up and turned her attention to the calf. 

“That was easy,” I said to myself as I headed back to the house. “Now I just have to get passed these dogs again.”

When I returned to the house, the old man had his boots off and cleaned up the sink a little.

“There is room for you to wash up,” he said. “And I want to thank you for catching me out there. It’s no damn fun, this getting old stuff.”

“I was glad I was there,” I said. “The calf is born and is doing well. You tell Billy we are in the office this Saturday morning, at least until eleven. He can come in and pay the bill, and I can talk with him about managing his cow, calf, and hounds.”

“I will make sure he is there,” the old man said.

***

Billy did come in on Saturday morning. He paid the bill, and we talked about his cow and calf. I suggested that if he kept his dogs tied, he should spread them out more to make things safer for his father. I also suggested he build a kennel for the dogs. Then we discussed what his father would need in the next few years. 

Billy listened, but I doubt things will change much around his house.

Photo by Krunal Parmar on Pexels.

You Can’t Get There From Here

D. E. Larsen, DVM

It was finals week for Spring term at Oregon State University. I had been out of the Army for almost a year now.

I never had to study much, but tomorrow I have a final exam in Physics. Courses requiring math made me do a little review. I was a whiz at math in high school and the first couple of years of college. But after nearly four years in the Army, not using math at all, I had to work a little now.

I got up from the kitchen table in my little trailer house and poured the last few drops of coffee into my cup. I had bought this old trailer house for two thousand dollars and lived in a trailer park on the western edge of Corvallis. It wasn’t much, a model from the 1950s. It had probably been a showpiece in its day. But it served its purpose for one or two people, and the living expenses were cheap.

It was dark out, so it must be after nine.

Just as I returned to the table, there was a knock at the door. It startled me enough that I slopped a little coffee on the math problem I had been studying.

I set my cup on the table and opened the door. Everything was very compact, so I only had to take a step or two to reach the door.

There, standing in front of me, were two guys from the shop in Germany, Ron Tibbits and Jamie Marks.

“What the hell are you two up to?” I asked.

“We both just got out of the Army,” Jamie said. “I was out here visiting my sister in Portland, and Ron drove down from Tacoma to say hi. We sort of ran out of stories to tell each other. I mean, we both knew the stories anyway, so we figured we would run down here and see if we could find you.”

“Come on in,” I said. “Things are sort of a mess, this is finals week, so I have been a little busy.”

The three of us just about filled the room. I realized that the coffee pot was empty, and I knew that neither one of these guys drank beer. I didn’t have much to offer them.

“We had quite a time finding this place,” Ron said. “We had your address from the phone book, but I sort of got turned around, and we ended up on some hill over on the north side of town.”

“There was this old guy out walking his dog,” Jamie said. “We stopped and asked him how to get to fifty-third Street. He turned in circles like a dog getting his bed ready, almost tripping himself with his dog’s leash. He finally looked at us, confused like, and said, ‘You can’t get there here.”

“I thought Jamie was going have a heart attack. He was laughing so hard,” Ron said. “Anyway, we turned around, got back downtown, and figured out the street numbers, and here we are. We would have been here a lot soon if that old guy knew his town a little better.”

“So listen, I’m a little cramped for quarters here,” I said. “If you guys plan to stay the night, one of you gets the couch, and the other gets the floor.”

“We told Jamie’s sister we would be back tonight,” Ron said. “So she is planning on us tonight. It looks like you are busy anyway. We don’t want to have you flunk a test just because we showed up.”

“I really don’t have to study much,” I said. “This will be a multiple choice test, just like one of those Army tests. I will breeze through in half the time, miss a few questions because I failed to read the negative in the question, but I will get a solid B. That’s all I need out of this class.”

“You sound like you are doing okay here,” Jamie said.

“School is much easier now than before the Army,” I said. “I have more money for one thing, but I also realize there are worse places I could be.”

“Like a hundred feet up a frozen antenna tower,” Jamie said. “My feet still bother me from that climb.”

“Say, why don’t we run downtown, and I will buy you guys a cup of coffee and a bite to eat before you head out of here.”

We went downtown and talked over a couple cups of coffee until after midnight. We rehashed our time together on the East German border and then on our plans for the future.

My future was well planned, with another five years of school. Ron was hoping for an apprenticeship as an electrician. Jamie was still hoping to plan for next year, as the ink was not dry on his discharge papers.

They loaded into their car and headed back to Portland, over an hour’s drive, and I went home and closed the book on my physics review.

Morning came, I got my B in physics, Ron did land his apprenticeship, and Jamie ended up working back east. Five or six years later, I visited with Ron while I was living in Enumclaw. Jamie, I never saw again.

Photo by Dirk Schuneman on Pexels.

Meter Reader Mishap, From the Archives

D. E. Larsen, DVM

“Dale is waiting on the phone for you,” Judy said. “He is the manager of PP&L.”

I knew Dale from the Rotary Club, but I wasn’t aware that he had any animals. I put the little pup back in the kennel. Dale was lucky. Another few minutes, and we would have had the puppy sedated, and he would have had to call back.

I picked up the phone, “Dale, what can I do for you today,” I said?

“Doc, one of my meter readers, ran over a duck this morning,” Dale said. “The owner says it has a broken leg. I was hoping you could get a look at it for me. We will be paying the bill.”

“Dale, if it is a duck with a broken leg, you should maybe be talking with them about buying the duck.”

“I tried that, Doc,” Dale said. “This is some sort of special duck. She called it a Khaki Campbell. Does that mean anything to you?”

“I am not much of a bird person, Dale,” I said. “I do see farm birds once in a while. Chickens mostly, but I have treated a few geese and a duck or two. I would have to look up the breed.”

“We are between the old rock and a hard place,” Dale said. “Our truck ran over the duck in their driveway. We are obligated to fix it. And this old gal is so mad she is spitting nails.”

“Send her in, and I will see if there is anything I can do for the bird,” I said. “Do you want to approve any estimate on repair cost?”

“It is only a duck, Doc,” Dale said. “I would hope the cost would be in line with the value of the bird.”

“Dale, I would be broke if I based my fees on the value of the animal,” I said. “You will be paying for my time and expenses. You should understand that.”

“I know, and judging from what this gal says, the duck is worth a bundle,” Dale said. “When I told her to put it out of its misery, and we would send her a check for a hundred dollars, you should have heard the explosion.”

“Send her in, and we will do what we can,” I said.

Leah was visiting the clinic that day on a sixth grade career day visitation. She was full of information on the Khaki Campbell domestic duck. Apparently, it was a breed developed in England, and it was famous for its egg-laying and raising ducklings.

When Grace came in with the duck, she was still red in the face from her conversation with Dale.

“This is the best duck I have ever owned,” Grace started. “And he wanted me to wring her neck or something.”

“Let’s get her in the exam room and let the doctor get a look at her,” Judy said as she ushered her into the exam room.

“This is Waddles,” Grace said as soon as I came into the exam room. “She is the best duck I have ever had. She is a Khaki Campbell. Do you know anything about that breed?”

“I have been learning a lot about it in the last hour,” I said. “Our visiting student, Leah, is very knowledgeable about the breed. They a quite the egg layers, I am told.”

“I am impressed, Doctor,” Grace said. “If the power company had been the least bit concerned, you would have thought they would have at least tried to look her up.”

“Let’s look at this leg,” I said as I rolled Waddles over.

Waddles had a fractured tibia on her left leg. It felt like a pretty clean fracture without a lot of bone fragments.

“We might get lucky here,” I said. “I think I can pin this fracture without even opening the fracture site. We will need to get a set of x-rays, and I think we can get this done and send Waddles home this evening.”

“I don’t want you to leave a stone unturned,” Grace said. “I want this to be the biggest bill you can make. I want that guy at PP&L to spit out his coffee when he hears the fee.”

“I think Dale has come to understand your attachment to Waddles,” I said. “He said, “I am prepared to pay the bill”. But, my guess is he will choke a little when he gets it.”

The tibia in a duck is the bone we call the drumstick in a chicken or turkey. X-rays showed a simple fracture, and the surgery went very well. I was able to thread a steel pin down the bone from the stifle joint and get an excellent reduction of the fracture.

“This will heal really well,” I told Leah when I had finished.

“Do you leave the pin in the bone,” Leah asked?

“No, we will take it out in 6 weeks. Maybe we could bring your entire class down to watch that surgery.”

“Yeah, they would like that,” Leah said.

Waddles woke up from anesthesia and walked on the leg with no problem. We called Grace so she could pick her up.

“I want you to make sure she stays out of the water until this is healed,” I said. “It would probably be best to keep her in a cage until we take this pin out.”

“When is going to happen,” Grace asked?

“We will make an appointment to take sutures out and recheck her in 2 weeks. Then we will take that pin out in 6 weeks.”

When Waddles came in for her pin removal, you could see a slight limp when she walked.

“That will clear up as soon as we get this pin out of there,” I assured Grace.

We had Leah’s entire class in the clinic to watch the surgery. We lined them up against the wall in the surgery room where everyone could see. As was typical in these events, several kids tried to stay and watch, but as we got closer to the actual surgery, they had to go out front.

I don’t think any of the kids really knew what to expect. Pin removal is not much of a surgery, just a small incision over the pin’s head, grasp the pin with forceps, and pull it out of the bone. 

The real surprise comes when I pull the three-inch steel pin out of the tiny incision. It is sort of like the magician pulling the rabbit out of the hat. There were several gasps.

Waddles was happy after she woke up. And she enjoyed all the attention from the kids gathered around her kennel.

Dale was very quiet on the phone as I gave him the bill’s information for Waddles’ fracture repair.

“If she was a goose, I would expect her to be laying golden eggs,” Dale said.

Photo by Magdalena Smolnkcka on Unsplash