D. E. Larsen, DVM

Parenting is one of those skills learned by trial and error. If you are lucky enough to have role models to pattern trials after, there may be fewer errors. And then, just to complicate the learning process, one usually has a spouse, which complicates decision-making. They often have a different experience base that makes them think they know more than you.

For Sandy and me, things were pretty simple. That is the way it is when you have good kids and good role models. We also agreed most of the time. The only real difference was that I believed that you helped the kids who needed help, and Sandy felt strongly that everything had to be balanced between the kids.

I often silently watched her balance the spending at Christmas. Each gift list had to match, almost to the penny. Everything would be matched until one total had $2.00 more than the others. Then the search would be for three other $2.00 gifts. But you could bet that one of those was $2.50. And it would go on and on, right up to Christmas Eve.

We tried to keep track of the kids’ classroom activities. Sandy was instrumental in selecting teachers. She wanted our kids in the best classrooms, and she was pretty blunt with the principals. I probably helped that I was on the school district’s budget committee and later on the school board.

Parent-teacher conferences were a little boring. One of Brenda’s teachers commented once that she wished the parents who needed to hear from her would attend the conferences like we did. And we really didn’t have to attend, because it was always the same. The kid is doing great.

It wouldn’t have taken much for me to skip a conference or two, but that wouldn’t fly in our house. So it was a little shocking when we sat down with Mr. Looney, Dee’s second-grade teacher.

“I have a little concern with Dee’s reading,” Mr. Looney said.

“A little concern?” I replied, almost in shock. “What kind of concern are you talking about?”

“I have the class divided into three reading groups,” Mr. Looney explained. “Dee is in the top group, but she is at the bottom of that group. I am thinking we should move her into the middle group. What do you think about that idea?”

Sandy and I exchanged glances. We were a little new to this, but we had not had a kid in the middle group of anything.

“So, how do you measure the standings in the group?” I asked. “Is it a competitive thing, or what?”

“I measure the workbook scores and how they progress through the book,” Mr. Looney said. “I really don’t try to make it competitive. Most kids do well working at their own speed.”

“Well, we Larsens are not afraid of a little competition,” I said. “Let me see if I can build a fire under Dee before you move her. It might take a week or two, so talk to me before you make a move. Does that sound okay?”

“Sure, we have most of the year in front of us,” Mr. Looney said. “I will give you a call in about three weeks.”

“Other than her reading, she is doing okay, I assume?” I said.

“Yes, she is a pleasure to have in the class,” Mr. Looney said.

Sandy grabbed my arm as we headed down the hall toward Amy’s third-grade classroom.

“What do you have in mind when you talk about building a fire under Dee?” Sandy asked.

“I think this ranking system sounds a little passive,” I said. “Dee is competitive by nature. We just need to make the thing more competitive without interfering with Mr. Looney’s system. I’ll think on it a bit.”

***

The following evening, I sat down with Dee.

“Mr. Looney said he was thinking about moving you into the middle reading group,” I said. “What would you think about that?”

“I wouldn’t have to listen to Bobby anymore,” Dee said.

“Who is Bobby?” I asked.

“He thinks he is so smart because he is at the top of the group,” Dee said.

“I have a deal for you,” I said. “You get ahead of Bobby in your reading group, and get to the top of the group, and I will give you twenty dollars. Do you think you can do that?”

“It’s pretty easy reading,” Dee said. “I just don’t like to listen to Bobby. I can get to the top pretty easily. And twenty dollars is a lot of money.”

“Yes, it is. But here is the rest of the deal,” I said. “You can’t tell anyone. Not Mr. Looney and none of the kids in the class. If you tell anyone, the deal is off.”

Dee left for school in the morning with a new resolve. Then I had to deal with Sandy.

“Don’t you think it will be a little hard for her not tell anyone?” Sandy asked. “I mean, most kids can’t keep a secret.”

“It will be good practice for her,” I said. “She might need a security clearance someday. So, how much do you know about what I did in the Army?”

“Not much, other than drinking a lot of beer,” Sandy said. “And what about the other kids. How are you going to even things up.”

“The other kids aren’t about to get shuffled to the middle of the class,” I said. “This is just between Dee and me. If I match it with the other kids for doing nothing, it will distract from the win for Dee.”

“What if she can’t do it?” Sandy said. “Maybe she needs some help.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” I said. “Remember, she’s a Larsen; she will be able to do it.”

***

Mr. Looney called me at the clinic a few weeks later.

“I don’t know what you did, but Dee is doing really well in her reading,” Mr. Looney said. “She is moving up in the group and keeping a close eye on where she stands. I will definitely keep her in the top group.”

And it seemed like no time before Dee came home and reported that she was at the top of her reading group.

“Bobby doesn’t brag so much anymore,” Dee said.

“Before I pay you, I will speak with Mr. Looney, just to make sure where you stand in the class,” I said.

I stopped by the school during a break the next day. Mr. Looney was glad to speak with me.

“I hear you are twenty dollars poorer,” Mr. Looney said. “When Dee checked the last time, and I told her that she was at the top of the class, she said, ‘Ha, now I get twenty bucks.’ I’m not sure I have seen that before, but with her, it has completely changed her character in the classroom.”

I paid Dee her twenty dollars, and she never looked back. She continued to excel in the classroom and in the sports arena.

Many years later, I missed my bet. When we attended her PhD dissertation defense at the University of California, San Diego. I struggled to follow the topic. It was on the arborization of neurons in the developing brain.

I should have given her another twenty-dollar bill. 

Photo Credit: YM on Unsplash.com.

Post Script: Twenty dollars in 1980 is about eighty dollars in 2025 dollars.

D. E. Larsen, DVM

“Company D, Private Drake speaking, can I help you,” Bill answered the phone on a snowy Christmas Eve in 1965. Bill and I were pulling CQ duty for Company D, a duty company for troops waiting for school at Fort Devens.

We were a couple of lucky ones; we were permanent CQs. We were given private squad rooms in the old World War Two barracks that were housing an overload of troops in the big build-up of Vietnam forces. We worked in 24 hours shifts, with 48 hours off.

“Yes, I know a couple of guys who would be interested,” Bill said.

“What are you getting us into now,” I asked? I was not expecting an answer, but Bill was always quick to volunteer my services.

“We can meet you at Battalion Headquarters by 8:15. We don’t get relieved until 8:00, but we should be able to make that schedule.”

Bill hung up the phone and looked at me with a big smile on his face.

“We have a Christmas dinner to go to tomorrow,” Bill said. “We have to be in Class A uniform and meet the Battalion CQ at Headquarters by 8:15.”

“Where are we going,” I asked?

“Does it matter? It is going to be better than eating Christmas dinner at Con 4 and sleeping for most of the day.”

At 6:00 in the morning, Bill and I took turns going to the barracks, showering and changing into our Class A uniform. When we were relieved by the next CQ crew, we walked through the snow the half a dozen blocks to Battalion Headquarters.

I imagined that we looked somewhat like Mutt and Jeff. Bill was 6′ 4″ and had a heavy black shadow on his face even though he had shaved a couple of hours before. And I was trying to match his stride, and I had to stretch to measure 5′ 8″.

The Battalion CQ was a Specialist 4, who had been in the Army for several years. He was waiting at the doorstep and fell in with us.

“We meet them at the main gate in 15 minutes,” Stan said.

Bill and I were mismatched on height, but we were both in good shape and trim. Stan was taller than me and quite well rounded.

“The main gate is over a mile,” Bill said as he lengthens his stride. I was used to matching his long stride, Stan sort of looked like a young kid who had to take four steps and then run four steps to keep pace.

By the time we reached the main gate, the snow was probably close to 4 inches deep. Mr. Terhune was waiting across the street in his VW van. He was with a couple of preteen boys. Getting into the warm van was a welcome relief.

We drove to their house in Groton, some 4 miles distant. The Terhune’s had 4 kids. The oldest was their daughter, who was a freshman in high school, and 3 younger boys. We had dinner, which Bill jumped right into the kitchen to help prepare. Then we spent the afternoon talking and drinking more than a little wine. 

Having just pulled 24 hours of duty, a full day of eating, and topped off with ample wine, I was asleep before my head hit the pillow that night. But it was Christmas to remember, and the Terhune’s remained friends and a place to escape to for the entire year we were at Devens.

Christmas in Korea was a different event but just as memorable. I arrived in Korea in the middle of September 1966, and I was well adjusted to the country by Christmas. Stationed South of Seoul, at Camp Humphreys, I spent a lot of my free time at the orphanage that we supported in An Song.

A group of us spent Christmas Eve at the orphanage. Following dinner, the group of elementary kids continued my lessons in Korean. The little girls were very serious about this instruction. They would frown when the boys were hysterical over my pronunciation of even the simplest words.

We did a Santa for the kids with toys purchased by the guys at the 177th. The kids all went to midnight mass, and so it late when they got to bed. 

On Christmas morning, we loaded everyone up and took them to Camp Humphreys for Christmas dinner with the entire company. Before dinner, all the staff and the older kids had the opportunity to take showers in the barracks. That was probably the best present we could give them. Then dinner in mess hall and entertainment in the club. All the kids were well worn out when we loaded them onto the trucks for the trip home.

The next morning the young kids were hanging all over me. It was apparent the kids didn’t want us to go. The staff was still in a state of euphoria from their day at the company compound. But we loaded up in the trucks for the drive back to the company. I opened the window and shouted goodbye, in Korean, to the kids.

“Annyeong,” I said. The boys almost rolled on the ground, but the girls laughed and waved.

 The drive back to base seemed longer than usual as we rolled down a dusty dirt road lined with dry rice paddies. My mind did drift back home with only a twinge of homesickness.

My experience in Germany was different still. I arrived in Germany in the middle of December 1967. Even though I had friends from Fort Devens, I really had no time to settle into an off duty routine before Christmas. My first Christmas in Germany was spent on the base at Rothwesten. Christmas dinner at the mess hall was well done and accompanied by some German carolers. The evening I spent at the NCO club, again filled with entertainment. It was less than ideal, but it was a pretty good day.

Christmas in 1968 found me in Schöningen, a small village on the East German border. I was stationed at Wobeck, a significant border listening post with about 70 of us stationed there. Christmas here was super. The town went all out on their decorations and festivities. There was a Christmas spirit everywhere. 

We had a major Christmas party at the ‘Swing Club’ in the Banhof Hotel. The club was not supposed to make a profit, so it had to give away a lot of booze to make sure the books came out even for the year.  Needless to say, there were a few drunk GIs.

A couple of us were invited to Christmas dinner at Howey and Holley’s house. Wives were a recent addition at Schöningen. Before this time, only men without dependants were stationed there. Holley was the best cook that I had seen since my mother. Howey was very drunk at the end of the party, and we had to help Holley get him into the car.

They lived in Wolsdorf, a little village a few miles out of Schöningen. They had an upstairs apartment in a new house, still finishing its construction. It was built on a hillside, and there were three stories with a high porch to the entry on the middle level. The steps and porch were new and not completely finished. There was no railing on the steps or porch.

When we arrived at 1:00 for dinner, Holley was slow to answer the door. She looked like she had was running on empty.

“Are you okay,” I asked? “You look like you have been cooking all night.

“I feel like it. We had quite a time last night,” Holley said. “And my night was just starting when we left.”

“You know, we can find a place to eat in town,” I said. “You don’t have to wear yourself out to feed us.”

“I should have had you guys help me get Howey home last night,” Holley said. “Let me tell you the story.”

“When we got to the house, it was not too hard for me to get him out of the car. And I sort of kept him against the wall as we struggled up the steps to the porch. We made it up here with no problem. I stood Howey up on the porch, turned around, and unlocked the front door. When I turned back around, he was gone. There he was, ten feet below, spread eagle in the snow and mud.”

“Is he okay,” Schniedewind asked? “That is a long way to fall.”

“He was too drunk to get hurt. But that was just the start of it. I had to get him up out of the snow and mud, back up the stairs, and then up the stairs to the apartment.”

“It looks like you made it,” I said. 

“Yes, I made, but there was a trail of snow and mud all the way. There was mud on the wall coming up the stairs. You know how the Germans are. They would kick us out of here for such a mess. So there I am, in the middle of the night, mopping the porch and washing the wall. It seemed like I no more than finished, and it was time to get the turkey into the oven. It was certainly a Christmas Eve that I won’t forget in a long time.”

About this time, Howey makes his entrance from the bedroom. He was fresh out of the shower but still feeling the effects of the party. We greeted him. Holley didn’t have much to say to him.

The dinner was excellent, as was expected from a cook like Holley. But the tension between the couple put a little chill in the air. Schniedewind and I made a pretty quick exit following dinner.

D. E. Larsen, DVM

I hurried along Berlin Road as the last of the daylight was fading into twilight. Hank had an old horse down with colic. I always dreaded colic calls. Many were simple fixes, but there was no place close to send them for abdominal surgery if it was a complex colic. Few clients would be willing to take their horse six or seven hundred miles for surgery.

I slowed as I approached Hank’s place. The old workhorse was down in the front yard. I could see several guys holding the horse to keep him from rolling. That was my instruction to Hank when I took the call. Often, a simple colic became a fatal colic when the horse would roll and twist a gut.

“Good evening, Doc,” Hank said as I stepped out of the truck. “I’m sorry for calling you this evening. Old Bob has been getting worse for the last few hours. I could tell something wasn’t quite right with him earlier today, but the last few hours have been pretty rough. After talking with you, I got these guys to help hold him down.”

“Don’t worry about having called me, Hank. If you hadn’t called now, you would have called by midnight, and things would have been far worse then.”

“Well, thanks for coming,” Hank said. “We moved him out front here so you would have a little light. It doesn’t look like we will be done before dark.”

I look Old Bob over. For a horse with colic who was down, he looked pretty good. His pulse was a little fast, and his gut sounds were slowed, but otherwise, he looked pretty good.

“Do you think he will stand for us?” I asked.

“Yes, he has been up and down for the last couple of hours. After talking with you, I just didn’t want him to lie down and roll before we could get him under control.”

The guys got up, I think they were a little relieved, and I slapped Old Bob on the butt, and he jumped right up.

“If you guys hold him tight, and maybe one of you lean against his ribs on each side, I will do a little rectal exam.”

I pulled on a plastic sleeve and lubed it well. Then, standing on his right side, I held his tail out of the way, and I eased my left hand and arm into Bob’s rectum. He did not object. I advanced my arm and started to sweep the floor of his pelvis and posterior abdomen.

Bob’s pelvic urethra bounced with a massive spasm when I touched it. The urethra was full and expanded. That was a most unusual finding. I advanced my arm further, and Bob’s distended bladder filled the posterior abdomen.

“I am not sure Old Bob has been peeing,” I said. “Have you seen him pass in urine today?”

“To be honest with you, Doc, I don’t spend a lot of time watching the old guy pee,” Hank said. “Now that I think about it, I did see him all stretched out like he was trying to pee earlier this afternoon.”

“I think his urethra is obstructed,” I said as I removed my arm. I cleaned up Bob’s rectum and let his tail fall. “It’ll take me a few minutes to hopefully find my urethral catheter. I hope it is in the truck.”

I had to dig deep into the back of the vet box. The call for using a stud catheter does not occur often. I had debated about even buying one when I did my equipment order. But after some digging, I did find it, and the sterile pouch it was in was still intact.

“Lean a little harder, guys,” I said. “There is nothing we are going to do to this guy from here on out that he’s going to find pleasant.”

Old Bob was a good old horse, but when I started to try to get a hold of his penis and pull it out, he was not very cooperative. After struggling for a minute or two, I decided to do it the easy way.

“Okay, Bob, you have earned a little dose of Rompun. Rompun was a popular tranquilizer, and it also provided some pain relief. In most cases, it would allow bulls and horses to drop the penis out of the prepuce.

After a dose of Rompun, Old Bob’s head started to hang, and then, as if on cue, he dropped his penis out of the prepuce.

I passed the catheter up his urethra, and it came to a dead stop. I pulled it out and measured the distance on the side of Bob. The obstruction was just after the urethra turned out of the pelvic cavity and headed down toward his prepuce.

“I don’t know what it is, but I need to do a little surgery. If it’s a stone, we can maybe remove it. We can at least open his urethra and empty his bladder. And just doing that is going to make him feel a whole lot better.”

I clipped and prepped a surgery site over Bob’s urethra and a spot above his tail’s base for an epidural injection of lidocaine. Bob was still well tranquilized from the Rompun injection. I injected six ccs of lidocaine into his epidural space. After a few minutes, I checked that it had adequately numbed the surgery site.

The light was poor, but finding the urethra was a snap. I incised the skin over his urethra and quickly dissected down to the surface of the urethra. Incising the urethra yielded a gush of urine. I passed the stud catheter into the bladder and waited as the urine drained.

Then I enlarged the incision a little and inserted my gloved finger. There, immediately below my incision, I palpated a large stone. The stone was nearly two inches wide and wedged tightly in the descending urethra.

“Okay, Hank, I can feel a large stone right here,” I said as I inserted my finger and bounced it on the top of the stone. “I can remove it, I am sure. But I think it would be best to wait until morning when the light is better.”

“Is he going to be okay until then?” Hank asked.

“He will be fine,” I said. “I am going to leave this incision open, and he will pee out of this incision. I will put his tail in a plastic sleeve to protect it. I will give him a dose of antibiotics tonight. 

It will take another hour before the tranquilizer wears off. But you can put him in a stall or in a pasture, and I will be back here about nine in the morning.”

“These guys are going to be at work. Are you going to need any help?”

“This old guy is a pretty good horse. I think I will be fine,” I said.

***

Bob was at the feed rack eating when I returned in the morning. He sort of shook his head at me when I approached the fence. I wondered if he was giving me credit for making him feel better. I doubt it.

We pulled Bob out of his stall and tied him to the fence. I removed the plastic sleeve from his tail and then put a wrap on it to keep it out of the way. I prepped the incision and the epidural spot and repeated the epidural. Bob was not bothered by any of it.

With my finger, I palpated the stone. It had not moved overnight.

I extended the incision a bit and pushed on the bottom of the stone through his tissues. It popped out of the incision, and I caught it in mid-air.

“That was pretty easy,” Hank said. “Can I have that stone for a mantlepiece?”

This was an impressive stone. It was almost heart-shaped, and two inches across at the top, and nearly an inch thick. Smooth and light brown, it was most likely a struvite stone.

“Sure, you can have it. You probably should rinse it well before you set it out for viewing. Most of the time, these result from an infection in the bladder. We are going to put Bob on some antibiotics for a week or so, and I will check him in a couple of weeks when I take the stitches out.”

I passed the catheter into Bob’s bladder and then down the urethra until it came out in the prepuce. Just to make sure things were open in both directions. 

I closed the urethra carefully and then loosely closed the tissues over the urethra. Leaving a small opening at the bottom end of the incision to allow for drainage. Then I removed the tail wrap and gave another dose of Polyflex. I fixed Hank up with injections for the next week. 

“I want you to look at this incision every day. If there is a small amount of drainage, that is okay. But if there is a lot of swelling or a lot of drainage, I want to hear from you. I’ll be back in two weeks.”

***

On recheck, Old Bob was well healed and acted like there had never been a problem. I removed his sutures, and it didn’t bother him at all. He was the only horse I ever treated with a urinary tract obstruction.

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