A Morning Call, from the Archives

A Morning Call 

D. E. Larsen, DVM

I woke with a jolt and glanced at the clock. It read five in the morning. 

“Damn, did I talk with Larry and then go back to sleep,” I said aloud.

Larry Solar had a dairy out of Buckley, Washington. Unfortunately, he had received some terrible marketing from a huckster selling calcium tablets for cows.

To the ill-informed, it would almost make sense to give a cow calcium for a time before her due date to help prevent milk fever at calving. Milk fever results from the precipitous fall in blood calcium levels when milk production starts in dairy cows.

It is a bit complex, but the exact opposite is true. Cows have a tremendous reserve of calcium in their bones. The problem is that they can’t activate the mechanism to mobilize that calcium rapidly enough when they start producing milk around calving.

The best way to reduce the incidence of milk fever is to force the cow’s body to draw on her calcium reserves during late pregnancy. That way, she has little trouble mobilizing additional calcium when milk production starts.

We do this by feeding a calcium-deficient diet during the dry period. A ration that has abundant phosphorus, so the cow has to balance the calcium-phosphorus ratio by drawing on her reserves.

By following this salesman’s advice and giving his cows a daily dose of calcium for several weeks before calving, Larry’s herd had suffered an epidemic of milk fever cases. 

We had been treating many of his cows, not just once, but often for 3 mornings in a row. So it was almost a routine event during my week on call to visit Larry’s dairy every morning at three. 

Now, I’m sitting on the edge of the bed at five in the morning, wondering if I took his call at three and went back to sleep. The previous two mornings, I had been out to his place to treat one of his cows. I would expect to treat her again this morning. 

What do I do now? My first thought is to run out there, just to make sure. I turn on the light and getting dressed.

“What are you doing?” Sandy asked as she is coming aware of my movements.

“It’s five in the morning, and I’m afraid that I missed Larry’s call at three.”

“I didn’t hear the phone ring,” Sandy said.

“I don’t know what to do. I can almost remember talking with him,” I said.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just give him a call,” Sandy said, trying to interject some reason into my early morning confusion.

“I could do that. Most of those guys have a phone in the barn,” I said. “But I don’t have that number.”

“Call information,” Sandy said as she turned over away from the light to let me know the conversation was over.

Now, half-dressed, I went out to the kitchen, so Sandy could go back to sleep. I still thought it might be easier to just run out there. I could tell him I was coming back from an early call and just wanted to stop by and check on the cow. That would work unless he talked to me at three.

I started the coffee and picked up the phone, and dialed the operator. 

When the operator answered, I said, “Information, please.”

Another operator comes on, “Information,” she says.

“Do you have a number for Larry Solar in Buckley?” I asked.

There was a pause as she looked up the number.

“Actually, there are two numbers for that listing,” the operator said.

“Does one say the barn?” I asked.

“No, there are just two numbers,” she said.

“Give me the second number,” I said. “I guess I better take both numbers, now that I think about it.”

I poured a cup of coffee and took a drink. I had to think about this a bit. I didn’t want to sound like a complete idiot. I took another long sip from the cup. I don’t understand how people can live without coffee.

I dialed the second number. It ran three times before Larry answered.

“Hello,” Larry said.

“Larry, this is Doctor Larsen. Did you call earlier?” I said.

“Nope, I didn’t call this morning, Doc,” Larry said. “That is sort of strange, I know. But the old cow is doing fine this morning.”

“Sorry to be a bother, I just woke up at five and had the feeling that I had talked to you and went back to sleep.”

“With any kind of luck, I might be getting out of this problem a bit,” Larry said. “This cow only got a couple of those pills before you guys told me to throw them in the trash. But thanks for calling and checking.”

“That’s a good sign, I guess,” I said. “My guess is that guy won’t be too welcome at your place again.”

“I have already given him an earful,” Larry said. “I think that I was not the only one to have problems, just from the way he talked.”

“I’ll let you get back to your milking, Larry,” I said. “I think I will sit here and watch the sunrise this morning while I finish my coffee.”

Photo by Oliver Augustijn on Unsplash

The Lost Snake 

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Bob Lester joined my practice in Sweet Home in the late 1980s. It was good timing because I had trouble keeping up with the workload.

I had found that solo practice was somewhat self-limiting. Clients would feel slighted when the workload was too much, and a few would go elsewhere for their services. It was the sad part of doing things by yourself. I thought it was better than limiting the practice by not accepting new clients, especially when we were the only show in town.

We went from a hectic one-man practice to a slow two-man practice. Bob was more into marketing than I was, mainly because I never had to worry about it. At least with the two of us, we were afforded a little time away from the practice.

On a Thursday morning, Dennis placed a cardboard box on the front counter. Ruth had learned that cardboard boxes could mean almost anything, and most of those things were not good.

“What’s in the box?” Ruth asked.

“My boa constrictor,” Dennis replied. “Don’t worry, he’s dead. I was wanting one of the docs to do an autopsy and tell me why he died.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ruth said. “Just a moment, and I will get Dr. Lester.”

Bob was just finishing up in the treatment area when Ruth found him.

“Dennis is out front with a boa constrictor,” Ruth said.

“Oh, great!” Bob said. “That’s just what I want to do this morning: look at a big snake.”

“It’s dead,” Ruth said. “He just wants to find out why it died.”

“That’s better. I’ll be out and talk with him in a moment,” Bob said.

“Dennis, Ruth tells me you have a dead snake in that box,” Bob said. “When did it die?”

“He was dead in his cage this morning,” Dennis said. “I had no idea that he had a problem. That’s why I would like to find out why he died.”

“The best way to do that would be for you to take him over to the diagnostic lab at the vet school in Corvallis,” Bob said.

“I’ve got a full schedule today,” Dennis said. “There is no way that I can get him to Corvallis.”

“We don’t have a courier service here, but if we hurry, we can get him on the bus to Corvallis,” Bob said. “That works pretty well most of the time. Once the box gets to the bus station in Corvallis, the lab sends someone down to pick it up. They should have results in a few days.”

“How much is this going to cost me?” Dennis asked.

“That depends on how much you want them to do,” Bob said. “If you want them to do a gross necropsy where they open him up and look through his systems, it won’t be too much. Sometimes that is all they need to do for a diagnosis. If you want them to do cultures and microscopic exams of the tissues, then it can be a little expensive. But you get a more accurate diagnosis.”

“I don’t need a bunch of lab work,” Dennis said. “Let’s just do the gross thing.”

“Good, let me take the box, and we will get him packaged up and on the bus,” Bod said. “I will give you a call when we get results.”

Bob took the snake in the box and glanced over it just to make sure there was no external injury that would account for the death. Then, after finding no external damage, he packaged it for shipment and placed several ice packs in the box to keep it cool in the summer heat.

Ruth ran the box to the bus depot, and the snake was out of our hair. Now we just needed to wait for a call from the diagnostic lab for the results.

***

The following week, Dennis stopped by the clinic to check on the results from the diagnostic lab.

Sandy pulled his file and found the request that Bob had filled out but no report from the lab.

“I don’t find any result,” Sandy said. “Just a minute, and I will see if Dr. Lester has had a call from the lab.”

Bob and Ruth were working on a cat in the treatment area. 

“Dennis is out front wondering about the necropsy results on his snake,” Sandy said.

“I haven’t heard a word,” Bob said. “I guess I sort of forgot about it. Why don’t you call the lab? They should have had results by now.”

Sandy called the lab, and they had not received any shipment from our clinic.

“What does that mean?” Dennis asked.

“I guess that means the snake is lost somewhere,” Sandy said. “We will try to track it down, but it will probably be too late for the lab to give you any information if we find it.”

The bus depot had information that they had shipped the box, but Corvallis depot had no record of receiving it. The snake had just disappeared.

***

It was several weeks later when Ruth took a phone call. She had Bod take the call.

“I think they have found the snake,” Ruth said. “The guy on the phone doesn’t sound too happy. I think you should talk with him.”

“Good morning, this is Dr. Lester. How can I help you?” Bob asked the guy on the phone.

“Yes, this is the depot manager for Greyhound in Yreka, California,” the guy said sternly. “I just pulled this box from one of our bus’s cargo compartments. It was stuck in a back corner. It is the most God-awful-smelling box I have ever handled. It is addressed to Oregon State University and has your return address. What the hell did you send them, and what should I do with it now?”

“Ah, we wondered what happened to that box,” Bob said. “Whatever you do, don’t open it. Just throw it away. It has no use at this point in time.”

Photo by deedee on Pexels.

The Telephone Pole

 D. E. Larsen, DVM

l pushed through the door of the Corvallis TV Cable Company office building. A pretty, petite blond gal stepped up to the counter to welcome me.

“What can we do for you today?” she asked.

“I was here to apply for a job,” I said.

“You must be the guy the employment office sent over,” she said.

“No, I just walked through the door,” I said. “Nobody sent me, but I’m here.”

“Just grab a seat for a minute,” the young blond said. “I’ll see if Ray can speak with you.”

Karen walked to the back of the office and spoke with someone. When she returned, she motioned me to follow her.

“They really need to hire someone right away,” Karen said in a hushed voice. “If you have any experience, Ray will hire you on the spot.”

Karen opened the door to Ray’s office and ushered me into his desk.

“Ray, this is…,” Karen started without realizing I hadn’t given her my name.

I stepped up and extended my hand.

“I’m Dave Larsen,” I said. “I got out of the Army a couple of weeks ago, and I’m here going to school at Oregon State. All my classes are in the morning. I finish up at eleven and have a lot of free time in the afternoon. I just thought I would find a job.”

“So, why did you come to this office?” Ray asked.

“I was in the Army Security Agency,” I said. “I was an electronic equipment repairman. We maintained highly sophisticated radio and radar intercept equipment. I was in Korea and then Germany. I just figured my experience could be useful to you.”

“That sounds impressive,” Ray said. “But what we are looking for right now is someone to help us reconstruct some of the older sections of our cable lines. We were hoping for a full-time person, but if you could start at eleven-thirty that could give us six hours. I would assume you have worked with coaxial cables.”

“Yes, we didn’t do the formal installations, but we worked with a lot of coaxes,” I said.

“We do a lot of climbing. Are you comfortable with that?” Ray asked.

“Sure, the last site I was at in Germany, we had a half dozen towers, all around two-hundred feet tall,” I said.

“I was talking about telephone poles,” Ray said. “Have you done any telephone pole climbing?”

Now I had to be careful to ensure I was honest and present myself in a manner that would get me this job.

“Well, pole climbing was not something we did regularly, but I did some climbing,” I said.

That was an honest statement. I had climbed a pole in Germany. I didn’t think it would be a good idea to relate the story to Ray just yet.

 ***

It was the middle of January in northern Germany. There were six inches of snow on the ground, and the temperatures had been plunging since the sun had disappeared on the western horizon.

I was relaxing in what we called the Swing Club. A small bar that the Army ran in the Bahnhof Hotel in the small village of Schöningen. It was close to closing time, and the group had all had one or more beers during the evening.

“We thought we would find here,” Sergeant Koning said from behind me.

I turned around to see a group of three GIs standing behind Koning. They were all decked out in parkas.

“We are in need of your services this evening,” Koning said. “The telegraph line to the comm center is down, and we need someone to climb the telephone pole where our line joins the German line. All this snow has probably shorted something out.”

“I have had a couple of beers tonight,” I said. “Why don’t you find someone who is sober.”

“You don’t get out of this that easy. Come on, we need your help,” Koning said. “You still have your combat boots, so you should be set. You guys have some climbing gear in that shop of yours, right?”

Once we got to the site, I realized how cold it was. I only had my field jacket, which didn’t offer much insulation.

“Where is this pole?” I asked Koning as I gathered a climbing belt and spikes.

“It’s about three hundred yards beyond the perimeter fence, out in The Elm,” Koning said.

The group of us squeezed through the small back gate in the perimeter fence and started out through the ancient forest, following a worn path through the snow. Once we were away from the perimeter lights, it was dark. 

“Do you believe all the stories about the witches in this forest?” I asked Koning.

He didn’t respond, but a couple of the young guys turned the flashlights into the forest to check that we were alone. We finally came to the pole. 

“You call this a telephone pole?” I asked Koning.

This pole was six inches in diameter and leaned to one side by almost fifteen degrees. I could see from the ground that the snow and ice had the incoming German line sagging a great deal.

“That sag in the line has probably pulled the splice apart,” I said. “The guys who installed this site didn’t do very good splices. We have had to redo a number of them.”

“All you have to do is climb up there and fix it,” Koning said.

“I’m not sure this pole is climbable,” I said. “It is a sad example of a telephone pole.”

“Just get your spikes on and fix the splice,” Koning said again.

I started up the pole, feeling it lean a bit more from my weight. Halfway up, my spikes kicked out, and I started to fall. I leaned back on the belt and aimed spikes at the pole. I caught myself halfway to the ground.

I took a deep breath and finished climbing the pole. At the top, I hooked my left arm over our line to provide a little more stability, not trusting this skinny pole. I whacked the sagging line with my large pillars, knocking snow and ice off the line. The line sprang back to a normal position, and the pole slightly righted itself.

I could see the two wires in the splice were separated.

“What color is the hot wire?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Koning said. “Do you have to know?”

“It would be nice to fix this right the first time so I don’t have to climb this puny pole again,” I said. “I didn’t bring a meter. I guess we will just have to find it the old-fashioned way.”

“How is that done?” Koning asked.

“The hot wire will shock you,” I said as I touched the yellow wire. I could almost feel the jolt in my teeth as it shocked me. “Damn, I hate that.”

I finished the splice and climbed down with no issue. Koning called the comm center to make sure the line was working, and we started back through the snow.

***

“Okay,” Ray said as he stood up and shook my hand. “Can you be here in the morning at eleven-thirty?”

“If there is somewhere here where I can change clothes, I will come right after class,” I said. “It shouldn’t be much past eleven.”

The following morning, I was working with Darrel. I did most of the groundwork for the first couple of hours, but then I started feeling guilty that Darrel was doing all the climbing.

“I’ll get the next pole,” I said as I strapped on climbing spikes.

I climbed the pole with no problem, did the work, and started down. I missed my second step, and my spikes both kicked out, and I started a free fall down the pole.

Just as in Germany, I leaned back on my belt and aimed my spikes at the pole. Halfway down the pole, I caught myself. I continued on down the pole as if nothing had happened. Darrel was right there to help me unhook.

“I have been in this business for almost twenty years,” Darrel said. “I have never seen someone catch himself after a kick out and they fall all the way to the ground. I have seen some terrible injuries. Where did you learn to do that?”

“It was nothing, just a little trick I learned in Germany,” I said.

I was a little more careful with my climbing. The cable company job proved good for most of the two years I was at Oregon State. And then, I worked for the cable company in Coos Bay for the summer before moving to Colorado to attend veterinary school.

Photo take by Sandy Larsen.