The Taint That Ain’t, from the Archives

D. E. Larsen, DVM

It was 12:30 on Thursday, and we were mostly closed. Thursday afternoon was reserved for golf. But the phone kept ringing, Sandy had stepped into the back, and I was tempted to not answer. But duty calls.

“Good afternoon, this is Doctor Larsen,” I say as I picked up the receiver.

“Oh, Doctor Larsen, I am so happy I caught you,” the lady said. “I know you close early on Thursday.”

I recognized the voice. It was one of the sisters who lived on a small farm not far out of Sweet Home. They were older, maybe spinsters, but I did not know much about them. They were Edith and Elsie, it was almost impossible to tell apart in person. On the phone, I had no chance of knowing which sister I was talking to. Most of the time, their emergencies were minor problems or no problem at all.

“Yes, we are closed, I was just about to switch the phone over to the answering service,” I said. “Is there something I could help you with briefly.”

“This is Edith, I know that you probably have a golf game scheduled this afternoon,” Edith said. “But we were feeding our pig just now and noticed that he has some large swellings on his rear end. He doesn’t act sick, but if he has a large abscess, I would hate to have to leave it for another day.”

“Tell me about this pig,” I said. “How old and how big is he?”

“He is young, I think we got him in February as a weaner pig,” Edith said. “He is growing fast. He is getting big enough that we are going to have him slaughtered sometime in October.”

“Has he been castrated?” I asked.

“Castrated, will I guess. Don’t they usually do that to weaner pigs?” Edith said.

“Just where on the rear end are these swellings?” I asked. I was convinced now that they had just noticed the testicles on this pig.

“They on just below his butt, they are just bulging out,” Edith said. “They can’t be normal, Doctor. We would really like you to check them.”

“It sounds to me like you are looking at his testicles,” I said.

There was a long pause on the phone. Then I could hear the sisters talking to each other.

“He thinks they are testicles,” Edith says. 

“Testicles?” Elsie says. “I don’t think they could possibly be testicles. They are way too large.”

Now I remembered, Edith always did the phone calls and most of the talking. Elsie just seemed to disagree with everything that was said.

“Doctor, we don’t think they could be testicles,” Edith says into the phone. “These swellings are larger than a grapefruit. Each one of them.”

This discussion was going nowhere fast. And it was not going to be resolved over the phone.

“I’ll tell what,” I said. “I will be going right by your place on my way to the golf course. I will stop and just get a look at this pig. If it looks like something that won’t wait until tomorrow, I will stop by on my home and take care of it tonight.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Edith says. “We were hoping you could get a look at him.”

“You be ready, I am leaving here shortly, and I won’t have much time,” I said. “I am just going to glance at him for now.”

“We will be waiting for you,” Edith said. “He is in a small pen, so it won’t be any problem looking at him.”

I pulled into the driveway, and both sisters were waiting for me. It was just a short walk to pigpen out beside the small barn. The thought occurred to me that I might not be acceptable on the golf course if I got splattered with pig manure, but I didn’t have time to put on coveralls and boots just to glance over the fence.

I could see the pig through the slats in the fence of the pigpen as we approached. This was a good looking young pig, probably over 200 pounds. He had a long body and black and white in color.

I approach the pen so I could get a good look at the rear end of this pig. One glance and I stepped away. 

“Those swellings are testicles,” I said.

“But Doctor, they are so large,” Elsie said. “Are you certain, I mean, I have seen lots of testicles but nothing like these?”

“I didn’t make the design, that is just way pigs are put together,” I said. “I am certain, and I have seen a few testicles also. Now you probably have a couple of choices to make with this guy.”

“What do you mean by choices?” Edith said.

“When pigs are not castrated, their testicles will produce products that can flavor the meat when they reach sexual maturity. This guy is close to market weight but has obviously gone through puberty. You may be okay if you slaughter him now rather than waiting until fall. Otherwise, castrating him now would be a good idea.”

“What do you mean when you say flavor the meat?” Elsie asked.

“It is called boar taint,” I said. “It is in the fat, and in bad cases, it will run you out of the house when you put sausage in the frying pan. Some people say it tastes like piss. It probably occurs in 20 to 30 percent of boars slaughtered. The larger he gets, the more the chances that his meat will be tainted.”

“We were hoping to get him bigger,” Edith said. “I mean, he is growing so well.”

“It might be a good idea to talk with the place you are going to have him slaughtered,” I said. “Some of those places won’t even consider hanging a boar in their cooler.”

“A boar, I have been told you can’t eat a boar,” Elsie asked. “When do you start calling him a boar?”

“I would say about when those testicles start hanging there, so they are noticed. That is why I would suggest you either slaughter him now or have him castrated.”

“And I suppose that castrating him is going to cost some money,” Edith said. “That will sort of change the economics of this whole project.”

“At this age, if I castrate him, it will require anesthesia,” I said. “And yes, it will cost a little money. Actually, there will be more expenses than just the surgery and anesthesia. The procedure always comes with some risks, and he will lose some of his growth. That is why it is so much easier to do it when they are a few days old.”

“We will give it some thought,” Elsie said. “But I think we will go ahead and slaughter him on our original schedule. The odds are in our favor.”

It was sometime in November when Edith stopped by the clinic to let me know that I was probably correct.

“Elsie still is determined to eat that pork, but I make her cook it outside on the barbecue,” Edith said. “It is just like you said it would be when it hits the frying pan, it runs me out of the house. I won’t touch the stuff, but Elsie isn’t going to admit that she was wrong in her decision. She says it ain’t too bad.”

Photo by Leah Kelley from Pexels

Malignant Catarrhal Fever

 D. E. Larsen, DVM

I stepped back from the chute to get a wider view of the cow. This was a sick cow. She was probably going to die. But what is going on with her?

“Bill, has this cow been anywhere other than here?” I asked. 

“No, she was born right here,” Bill said. “She hasn’t stepped off the place in her whole life.”

“I have only seen two cows that looked like this, and both were in school,” I said. “One had bluetongue, and the other had malignant catarrhal fever. Bluetongue is usually seen in sheep, but it can occur in cattle. I am not sure that it is seen in Oregon.”

“I haven’t heard of either of those, but they don’t sound good,” Bill said.

“I think it is more likely that she has a bad case of bovine virus diarrhea,” I said. “That is much more common, and I see a lot of it around here. But I haven’t seen a case of BVD that looked this bad.”

“What does all of that mean for the cow?” Bill asked.

“I think it means this cow is going to die,” I said. “Some cows will recover from BVD, and a few will recover from bluetongue, but the cows with MCF all die. My guess is this cow is going to die. Her eyes are both infected, making her blind. The mucus membranes in her mouth have many blisters and ulcers. It looks like the skin on her tongue is going to slough off. She has swollen lymph nodes and is draining mucus from her nose. She has a lot of trouble breathing, but I think most of that is upper airway issues.”

“Maybe we should just shoot the poor girl,” Bill said.

“That might be an option. There is really no effective treatment for any of this, especially MCF,” I said. “But the state will want a say in this case.”

“That doesn’t sound very good,” Bill said. “They will want me to spend a lot of money finding out what is wrong with my dead cow.”

“I think they are going to want to know what is wrong with her,” I said. “But, the testing they do will be at their expense. They won’t be asking you to pay for any of it.”

“What about my other cows?” Bill asked.

“We have talked about BVD before, and we did some vaccines last fall,” I said. “That distracts from that diagnosis, but some individuals will still contract the disease, even if they are vaccinated. Bluetongue is spread by biting flies and is considered to have no direct transmission. MCF is

spread from carrier animals, usually sheep, and infected cattle are not considered a source of infection to herd mates.”

“So is the state going show up with a bunch of vets, or what?” Bill asked.

“I don’t think that is going to happen,” I said. “I will collect some blood and some tissue from her mouth, which might be all they need. I will give you a call after I talk with them.”

After I collected the samples, I returned to the office and called Doctor White at the state veterinarian’s office. He was an assistant state veterinarian but much easier to work with than the other veterinarian in the office.

“Doc, I am pretty sure I looked at a cow with MCF today,” I said. “I collected some tissue off her tongue, some serum, and a purple top tube of blood that I can send to your lab. Are you going to want to look at this cow?”

“The only thing we worry about with MCF is making sure we are not dealing with a wildebeest strain,” Doctor White said. “What is the status of the cow?”

“She is pretty sick,” I said. “I think she will die in a day or two, maybe sooner. I didn’t treat her with anything. In school, I was always told it was a waste of time and money.”

“If she dies, just have the rendering company drop her off at OSU’s diagnostic lab for a necropsy,” Doctor White said. “I will call them so the rancher isn’t charged for anything.”

“So, this guy thinks that shooting her might be a good option,” I said. “I guess there is no problem with diagnosis if we do that.”

“Well, one disease they like to rule out is rabies,” Doctor White said. “Shooting her in the head might disrupt the tissues for that diagnosis.”

“That’s just great,” I said. “I never even considered rabies as a differential diagnosis. I was involved with a necropsy of a rabid cow when I was in school. We had a group of students and professors who had their hands and arms in the mouth of that cow. And I ended up getting some vaccines after that event. I think we will just wait for her to die. I doubt he will want to pay for a bottle of euthanasia solution.”

“Well, send me your samples, and send the cow to the diagnostic lab when she dies,” Doctor White said. “I will let you know about the diagnosis as soon as I have it.”

“The book says that there is no risk to the rest of the herd from this cow. Is that correct in your experience?” I asked.

“That’s correct,” Doctor White said. “This virus is probably carried by a sheep, and the sheep aren’t bothered. Transmission is somewhat of a mystery. It happens with direct contact but also from airborne transmission up to a few miles away. Don’t ask me how.”

“I don’t think there is a place in the valley where you can be over two miles from a sheep,” I said.

“Probably not, but the good thing is this a rare disease. If you see more than a couple of cases in your lifetime, that would be unusual.”

As soon as I finished my conversation with Doctor White, I called Bill to let him know the plan.

“She is going to make things easy for those state boys,” Bill said. “That cow fell over dead, not more than a half hour after you left.”

“Yes, that makes things easier,” I said. “We will call the rendering truck for you. They drop her off at the diagnostic lab in Corvallis. It might take a few days, but we should have a confirmed diagnosis.”

“What I don’t understand, Doc, is how the hell did she get this MCF stuff?” Bill asked. “I mean, she hasn’t left this place, and no new animals have come into the place in years.

“This virus is carried by sheep,” I said. “It doesn’t make the sheep sick. The book says it is transmitted by direct contact or through the air. They don’t know how it gets through the air, but it can travel a couple of miles.”

“Well, hell, there isn’t a place in this valley two miles away from some damn sheep,” Bill said. “What am I supposed to do about that.”

“It is rare, Bill,” I said. “Don’t lose any sleep over it. I will probably never see another case in my lifetime.”

***

The cow’s diagnosis was malignant catarrhal fever, and it was the usual sheep strain. I was relieved that the rabies virus was not involved.

Oddly enough, I did see another cow with MCF a couple of months later, about two miles down the road from Bill’s place. And there was a flock of sheep between the two places.

So I saw the cow in school and the two cases in Sweet Home. There was never another case. Three cases in a lifetime, all coming within a few years of each other.

Photo by Kris Rae Orlowski on Unsplash.

https://www.merckvetmanual.com/generalized-conditions/malignant-catarrhal-fever/malignant-catarrhal-fever-in-animals#v3275876

The Land is Cheap There

 D. E. Larsen, DVM

When I pulled into the driveway, I could see Don waiting in the doorway of the little barn behind their house. He had one old Jersey cow when I called on him at his little place over on North River Drive. He had said he wanted his cows checked for pregnancy, so I figured he had more than one cow in this new place.

“This is a nice little place you have out here, Don,” I said as I got ready to check his cows.

“Yes, we enjoy it out here,” Don said. “But little is the keyword in your sentence. I only have four cows. I could probably run six if I bought more hay. But my pasture is pretty limited.”

“What do you do with your milk?” I asked.

“I suppose I should be careful telling you, but I jug it,” Don said. “Raw milk is pretty popular around here. I have people lined up at the milk house every evening.”

“I don’t know all the rules, I think there is a small farm exception, but raw milk sales on the retail level are illegal in Oregon,” I said. “When I was in Washington, I cared for a large raw milk dairy. There were a lot of rules and a lot of testing for them to keep their milk on shelves.”

“I don’t know why that is. Raw milk is probably better for you than the stuff you buy in the store,” Don said.

“That’s a discussion we won’t find common ground on, Don,” I said. “There are some arguments in favor of raw milk, but there is a whole list of diseases that can be transmitted by the stuff. Some of those are probably considered rare in a small, closed herd like you have here. But if they start selling raw milk in a big way, there will be problems. I say that even though I grew up on the stuff. The immune status of a farm kid is probably far stronger than in the little girl in town who seldom gets out of the house.”

“Well, let’s get these cows checked,” Don said. “I am selling them next week. We are going to sell this place and go to Iowa and buy a farm.”

“I will be sorry to see you go,” I said. “But what made you choose Iowa. It gets pretty darn cold there in the winter.”

“My wife is from Iowa,” Don said. “Land is a lot cheaper there.”

“I used to tell people that when I was in school in Colorado, we used to go up in the mountains so we could watch the riverboats on the Mississippi River,” I said as seriously as I could. “We could do that because there was nothing in-between. All the land is flat.”

Don was quiet for a few minutes. Deep in thought as he processed my statement.

“That must be a joke,” Don finally said. “I don’t think you could see that far.”

“It’s a joke, Don,” I said. “It is meant to illustrate that there is a lot of flat land between the Rocky Mountains and the Mississippi River.”

“It might be flat, but it’s good land,” Don said. “And it is cheap. I can sell this little place and go back there and buy a hundred-and-sixty-acre farm. And I will probably have money left over to buy cows. That is what I am going to do. I am going to buy a little dairy instead of playing around with three or four cows.”

We went in the barn to check the cows.

“How far along are these cows?” I asked.

“I only had a bull for a month, so if they are pregnant, they will be about five months along,” Don said. “I really don’t need a close timing. The guy who is buying them just wants to make sure they are pregnant. I haven’t seen any of them in heat, so they have to be pregnant. He just wants your opinion on a piece of paper.”

“At five months, I can’t give you much more than an approximate month,” I said. “Before ninety days, I can get that down to plus or minus five days.”

I pulled on a plastic OB sleeve and checked the first cow. The fetus is often out of reach in the cow at three and four months of pregnancy, but I can usually feel the calf at five months. Size is pretty variable, however.

“This cow is pregnant, and five months is a good estimate. I can feel the head,” I said as I changed sleeves.

I worked through all the cows, changing sleeves between each cow. That was not something I usually didn’t do, but the numbers were small, and with Don selling raw milk, it was probably a better practice.

“Everybody is pregnant,” I said. “I think they are closely grouped. That bull must have had a busy few days.”

“He was a little Hereford bull,” Don said. “I like using a Hereford bull on these jerseys. They spit those calves out like nothing is happening.”

“I grew up on a Jersey dairy,” I said. “I never saw a calf pulled until I got to vet school. The shape of the Jersey pelvis makes them the easiest calving cow of them all.”

“Thanks for services over the years, Doc,” Don said as he shook my hand. “I might not see you again. These cows go next week, and the realtor says this place won’t take long to sell. I will probably buy cows in Iowa by next month.”

“Good luck, Don,” I said. “You probably want to buy some long johns and insulated coveralls, along with those cows.”

***

It was months later, in the middle of November, when I came in from a farm call, and Sandy handed me a note with a telephone number.

“Don called from Iowa,” Sandy said. “He sounded a little upset and wanted you to give him a call if you could.”

“Hello, Don,” I said as soon as Don answered the phone. “How are things going, and what can I do for you?”

“I guess I will never be smart enough to know how you can be so smart,” Don said. “I finally broke down and bought a pair of the insulated coveralls you told me about. It is so damn cold here. I don’t understand why anybody settled in this country in the first place.”

“They didn’t know to fix their wagon wheel when it broke,” I said. “So they were stuck and decided to make the best of it.”

“You might be right, Doc,” Don said. “The other morning, a cow pissed on the floor and plastered it everywhere. The damn stuff froze in no time, and I slipped on it and fell. I spilled a bucket of milk and thought I broke a hip at the same time. My hip is okay, but I am still crying over that bucket of spilled milk.”

“You be careful, Don,” I said. “You are starting to talk like me. You didn’t call to tell me stories. How can I help you?”

“Doc, I need help finding a veterinarian,” Don said. “The guy I had out here this week seems like a quack to me.”

“Don, I don’t know any veterinarians in Iowa,” I said. “You might call the vet school at Iowa State and ask them for a list of veterinarians in your area they could recommend. In fact, it might be better to try to talk with one of the large animal professors and ask him. He probably will remember all the ones he thought should be washed out of school.”

“This guy came out to pregnancy check a bunch of cows for me, and he didn’t even change sleeves between cows,” Don said.

“Don, in a large group of cows, that is common practice,” I said. “It is different with I checked your cows here. You only had a few cows.”

“Okay, maybe I was too rough on him,” Don said.

“If it is important to you, just ask him to do it,” I said. “I would guess he would not be bothered by the request. He might make you pay for the extra sleeves, but that is only fair.”

“Okay, I will do that,” Don said. “And I wish you had told me to come back here for a winter before I bought into this place.”

“Just wait, Don, it’s only November,” I said. “You have a long way to go before spring.”

Photo by Get Lost Mike on Pexels.