Egor, From the Archives

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Egor was a large mix breed dog.. He was large enough that he could have had some Saint Bernard in that mix. His massive head sat on a body with a broad flat back that reminded one of an aircraft carrier’s flight deck. He weighed over 110 pounds and was generally treated on the floor of apparent reasons.

Joe first called for me to see Egor in September of 1976. I was doing house calls, then as the clinic was still several months from completion. Egor was 9 years old at that time, and he was beginning to show his age.

“Good morning, this is Joe, I was hoping you could look at my dog, Egor. He has a torn toenail.”

Joe and Kathyrn lived in a small house. The living room was cluttered with knickknacks, mostly old clocks, and antiques. Then, when you put a couch and two chairs in the small room, there was little room to work on a large dog. We moved to the front yard.

“This toenail is broken back into the quick,” I explained. “This is going to be painful for a couple of days, even after I clip it. We are going to have to do a nerve block on this toe, and that might be painful also. Hopefully, Egor is going to let me do this.”

“Egor is a tough dog,” Joe said, breathing hard from the short walk to the front yard. “You can do anything to him, and he won’t move.”

I had Egor sit and picked up his paw. When I inserted the needle in each side of his toe and injected a good dose of Lidocaine for a nerve block, he did not even flench. We waited a few minutes to make sure the nail was numb. Joe’s breathing was improved with the short rest, but you could still hear every breath as he struggled to exhale. 

I wiggled the broken portion of the toenail, watching Egor closely. If he felt anything, he was not showing it. I took my nail scissors and snipped off the broken portion of the nail. The blood flow was enough that I was glad we were outside. I held a cotton gauze on the bleeding nail for a moment and then put a silver nitrate stick on the point of bleeding. It took a couple of minutes, but finally, the bleeding stopped.

“What if that starts to bleed after you are gone?” Joe asked.

“All bleeding stops, eventually, one way or the other,” I replied. Joe did not understand the comment, or he didn’t think it answered his question.

“If it starts bleeding, you give me a call, and I will come back, I am not too busy yet, and I live just a little way up Ames Creek,” I replied.

That was the first of many visits with Joe and Egor. It was always a sight to see Egor coming to the clinic door with Joe hanging onto the leash, struggling to keep up. They would come through the door, and Joe would grab a chair, entirely out of breath. Egor would be wagging his tail as he went into the exam room. Joe always waited in the chair.

In April of 1978, Egor developed acute kidney failure. His prognosis was poor.

“He means the world to me, Doc,” Joe said. “I can’t give up on him. If you can do whatever is possible to save him, I will find a way to pay you.”

“He is a huge dog, Joe,” I said. “There is less than a 50% chance he can survive, and treatment is going to be expensive.”

“My wife has all sorts of antique clocks,” Joe said. “You can have your pick of the collection.”

“Okay, Joe, we will do as much as we can. But you must know, there are no promises. Sometimes, all the money in the world cannot buy a cure.”

“I understand that, Doc,” Joe said. “But without Egor, I won’t last a week.”

“We will keep him, at least 3 days, probably more likely a week,” I said. “I will keep you posted on Egor’s progress.”

“I can’t take him home at night?” Joe asked.

“I am going to be running IV fluids around the clock,” I said. “He is going to need to stay if we are going to have any chance of saving him.”

Egor was a great patient. He was very ill, had IV tubes hanging everywhere, and we were coming at him with needles for a blood draw or an injection multiple times a day. His tail always wagged. He hated the bland food he was allowed, but he would lick your hand when the bowl was put in the kennel. 

After three days, he greeted me with a bark and a bounce when I came into the kennel room. He was feeling better. His kidney numbers edged back toward normal. When I called Joe, I tried to instill only cautious optimism.

“Good morning, Joe,” I said into the phone when he answered, only allowing a single ring. “Egor is improved this morning. His kidney numbers are close to normal this morning, and his urine has some concentration to it. He is not well, but much to my surprise, he is improved.”

“Does that mean I can take him home?” Joe asked. “I have been worried to death that he is going to die down there, Doc. I know we all have to go some time, I would just like to be with him when it is his time.”

“I would like to keep him one more night,” I said. “I will take him off the IVs, and we will see if his kidneys can maintain him on just water.”

Egor bounced out of the clinic the next day. He almost knocked Joe over, he was so happy to see him. Joe had no understanding about how incredibly lucky we were to be seeing Egor go home. We loaded him down with a case of kidney diet food and oral antibiotics. I was not confident that Joe would have the strength to keep Egor on the special diet for an extended time, but for today, everybody was happy.

“You and your wife come by the house this evening and pick out a clock,” Joe said as he and Egor went out the door.

“Do you think they have a clock that is worth enough to cover this bill?” Judy asked.

“I guess the value of an antique is based on perceived worth,” I said. “Seeing those two go out the door together, is a pretty precious event in its self.”  

Sandy and I dropped by Joe’s house that evening. Egor greeted us at the door as if he hadn’t seen us in weeks. Sandy and Kathryn looked over the clocks as I sat and talked with Joe and Egor.

Sandy selected a modest mantle clock. Kathryn had some large clocks that she felt had a higher value and tried to get Sandy to make a better selection. We had discussed our needs before we stopped, and we needed a clock that we could display, not one that took up a lot of space.

The Clock is still on our mantle.

Egor did well over the next months. Not perfect, but pretty well. The bland, low protein, diet required in Egor’s long term management did not appeal to either Joe or Egor. My guess was that Joe tried but likely cheated some.

Egor was losing a lot of protein in his urine and losing weight. His kidney numbers continued to hoover close to normal, and he maintained his high spirits. But when he would drag Joe into the clinic, it was evident that neither one of them were their old selves.

Joe died in October of 1979. The family decided that Egor was too ill, and too lonely without Joe, to go on. They brought Egor to the clinic for the last time a couple of days following Joe’s death. We were busy that day, and Egor was left in a kennel for a short time before I could find a few minutes for him. This should have been nothing for Egor.  He had been in this very kennel for days at a time in the past.  

Egor sat in the kennel and howled a loud, mournful howl, as I have never heard a dog howl before or since.

If ever a dog knew his fate, Egor knew!

Photo by Jozef Fehér from Pexels

The Powers That Be

 D. E. Larsen, DVM

I always hated looking at a group of cattle for someone I did not know. They often wanted you to look over the fence and give them a diagnosis rather than running them through a chute for an individual diagnosis.

Just looking over the fence for the diagnosis was risky in the best situations. But with herds that I worked with on a regular basis, I would occasionally provide that service for simple things.

I mulled over the situation as I was driving to a herd of heifers that had recently arrived from Montana, and one heifer had aborted. The possibilities were endless, all the way from travel stress and trauma to infectious disease.

I was relieved when I pulled up to the corral, and there was a heifer in the chute.

George met me when I stepped out of the truck. We shook hands. I had heard of George, but this was our first meeting. He was professional, with a practice in Eugene. He had a small ranch here in Brownsville and ran a small herd of cattle, probably as an investment. More for land speculation than making money from cattle. But most of these guys had all the answers before they asked the questions.

“This truckload of heifers came in last night from Montana,” George said. “This heifer aborted during the night. I just thought we should do some diagnostics on her. I mean, I don’t want something that will go through the entire bunch.”

“What do you know about the place they came from?” I asked.

“I guess I don’t know much,” George said. “The whole deal was done over the phone. I do know a guy who knows the guy who owned the heifers.”

I glanced at the heifer in the chute. She had ear tags, like the rest of the group, and she had a brucellosis tag. She also had membranes hanging from her vulva.

“Let me look at their health certificate,” I said.

“We didn’t do a health certificate,” George said. “The guy said he ships cattle into Oregon all the time without a certificate.”

“Do you have a brand inspection?” I asked.

“No brand inspection either,” George said.

“George, how do you know these heifers were not rustled?” I asked.

George was quiet after that question. I don’t think the possibility had entered his mind.

“The guy sounded honest, and he has a ranch,” George said.

“You might want to think about the ownership thing,” I said. “I am sure that Montana considers a brand inspection a big deal. Here in the valley, it is a pain in the butt because we don’t have any range animals. I am not sure what Oregon will say about no health certificate and no permit.”

“The state shouldn’t know anything about it,” George said.

“If you want some testing done, I will send samples to Oregon State Diagnostic Lab,” I said. “Several abortion diseases are reportable. Once I send the samples, it is completely out of my control. I will probably be a little at risk if I don’t quarantine this entire group. But if you can assure me they are not going anywhere, I will wait until we get lab results.”

“I would be pissed at a quarantine,” George said.

“Then you should be following the rules,” I said. “If you just received the shipment, you are probably not at fault. The shipper would be the one in violation.”

“Would they do anything with the cattle?” George asked.

“They should, but I doubt they would do anything,” I said. “The state veterinarian doesn’t have any police powers. So if it was considered a problem, he would have to go through the sheriff. I doubt that would happen unless there was a major outbreak. The rules are set up to protect all the producers in the area. If someone imports a disease into the area, everyone here could suffer. If it was bad enough, the entire state could suffer.”

“It sounds like some significant liability could be involved,” George said. 

“With the travel history and stress involved, this abortion is probably just the luck of the draw,” I said. “Let me get some samples, and I will get them sent to the lab, and we will worry about things when we have something to worry about.”

I did a clinical exam of the heifer and collected blood and urine samples. I also removed some of the membranes from the uterus and collected a sample of histopath exam.

“Do you want all her tag numbers?” George asked.

“No, I will just use her bangle tag,” I said. “She is too young to be eligible for a brucellosis test, so I don’t need that number.”

“When will you have results?” George asked.

“I will have a currier pick up these samples when I get back to the office,” I said. “We could have some blood and urine results by late afternoon. The histopath on the placenta will take several days. To be honest with you, we seldom end up with a diagnosis on most abortions like this.”

“So, I will just wait for your call,” George said. “Do I need to do anything with this heifer?”

“I am going to give her some long-acting antibiotics and put a couple of boluses into her uterus,” I said. “Other than that, I don’t think you need to do anything with her.”

Once I got back to the clinic, it didn’t take long to package the samples and send them to the lab.

It was about four-thirty when Dr. Johns, the pathologist, called. Dr. Johns was new to the lab and fresh out of school.

“I ran the serology you requested on that heifer from Montana,” Dr. Johns said. Everything was negative, so I went ahead and ran a brucellosis titer. I showed a pretty strong positive.”

“That heifer was too young to be test eligible,” I said.

“Well, with this high titer, I have already contacted the state veterinarian,” Dr. Johns said. “It will be a few days before I get to the histopath.”

***

I had just hung up the phone after talking with Dr. Johns about the histopath results on the placenta. He had found nothing. So the diagnosis was negative except for the brucellosis titer.

Sandy brought Dr. Wilson back to talk with me. He was the field veterinarian from the state veterinarian’s office.

“I just finished looking at that heifer that aborted out in Brownsville,” Dr. Wilson said. “Why didn’t you submit the brucellosis tag and tattoo information on the test sheet?” 

“That heifer was not test eligible,” I said. “Dr. Johns did that test without a request from me. I send all my brucellosis tests to your lab in Salem.”

“Well, it turns out that the heifer was vaccinated late, she was over a year of age at vaccination, and she is still under two years of age, so she was not test eligible,” Dr. Wilson said. “That test should have never been done.”

“I sort of think that pretty much matches what I just said,” I said. 

“That is a serious oversight on your part,” Dr. Wilson said.

“Now, just a damn minute here,” I said. “I spent four years in the Army and watched how the powers that be found the easiest underling to punish for any problem that developed. Let’s review this situation. A truckload of heifers come from Montana without a health certificate and without a brand inspection certificate. I send some blood samples to the lab on a heifer who is not eligible for a brucellosis test. Still, the lab runs a brucellosis test without my request. Then you come in here and chew my ass.”

Dr. Wilson was silent for a couple of minutes. I waited for his response.

“I see your point,” Dr. Wilson said finally. “I guess your actions were not out of line.”

“I guess when a client calls and asks about a health certificate, I should tell him not to worry about it because the state office doesn’t worry about it,” I said.

“Now that’s not the case,” Dr. Wilson said.

“My point is, if you are not going enforce your rules, throw your damn book in the trash,” I said. “This BS of putting everyone through the trouble and expense of following your rules and then just shrugging your shoulders when someone ignores them is a bunch of crap.”

“What would you have me do?” Dr. Wilson asked.

“I not asking you to do anything,” I said. “l especially don’t want you to do anything to my client. He was almost a bystander. But the guy in Montana should be looked at a bit. I guess I’m just asking you to put down your coffee cup and do your damn job.”

Dr. Wilson left, I think, in a bit of a huff. Public employees always think they are overworked. But I am sure his phone hasn’t rang at three in the morning anytime in the recent past.

Photo by Sinitta Leunen on Pexels.

Look Her in the Eye 

D. E. Larsen, DVM

I pulled up the swinging gate at McCubbins’ Ranch. Frank maintained a wide range of species on this ranch, elk, sika deer, fallow deer, llamas, African antelope, wallabies, and rheas. I enjoyed making calls here. But I hated this gate.

It swung open on each side, pivoting on a center post. It was a heavy wooden gate with a large rubber bumper on it. You hit the bumper, and the gate would swing open. Briefly! Once it swung open, you had to gun the truck through the gate, or it would nail you on the side of the truck as it returned to the closed position.

I looked at Hope. “I hate this gate,” I said. “Hang on!”

I bumped the truck into the bumper on the gate. The heavy gate swung open. I gunned the truck through the gate, snapping Hope’s head against the headrest. The gate closed behind us.

“Wow!” Hope said. “I see what you mean about that gate.”

This was Hope’s first visit to Glacier Springs Ranch. She was a little excited to be doing something out of the ordinary if veterinary practice offered anything normal.

We drove up the long driveway and stopped at the barn.

“We are looking at an older llama today,” I said. “They are usually pretty easy to work with, but this gal has something going on in her mouth. So this might prove interesting. We will have to play it by ear on what we need to restrain her.”

The llama was in the corral, but Frank wasn’t in sight. I got my stuff lined up, trying to anticipate what might be needed to examine and treat this llama.

“These are valuable animals right now,” I said to Hope. “This is an older female, but she is still worth over twenty-thousand dollars.”

“Why are they so valuable?” Hope asked. “What are they good for?”

“There is no viable market for them except for the excess males,” I said. “The males are popular for wilderness pack animals, but that value is only seven or eight hundred dollars. The rest is people buying them for an investment. There is no meat market at all. They can sell their wool, but that is not much, either. It is all a pie-in-the-sky market and doomed to fail someday. Frank has always been trying to get me to buy a female. He says all you have to do is get on a female baby, and you have your investment returned. I just can’t see getting into such a market.”

Frank finally came out of the house and walked over to the corral.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Frank said. “I was stuck on the phone with one of those people who can never bring a conversation to an end.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “We have plenty of time. What’s going on with this old gal?”

“You’re right there,” Frank said. “Angel is an old gal, one of my oldest. I don’t have a birthdate for her, but she is over twenty. She is still producing babies, though. That’s what they say about llamas. They die pregnant. So, with today’s market and figuring on a female baby every other year, I can expect to make over ten thousand a year off her. Old but still working. I had one die a couple of years ago. She was twenty-eight and pregnant.”

“I notice her drooling a bit,” I said.

“That’s why I called,” Frank said. “She is having some problems eating, and I think she is losing some weight. I’m not sure how we will get a good look at her. Do you want to try putting her in the chute?”

“I think if we just tie her here and you and Hope sort of restrain her between you will be the best,” I said. “One of you will need to grab an ear, and I will have room to get a good look into this mouth.”

It actually turned out easier than I expected. Angel pulled straight back on the rope when I started grabbing for her tongue. With Frank holding one ear to steady her head, she pretty much restrained herself.

I had to pull some hay and cud out of her mouth to get a good view. I pulled her tongue to the left side of her mouth and shined my penlight into her mouth. 

There was the problem. She had lost an upper molar, and the opposing lower molar was overgrowing. It was a classic step-mouth. I released her tongue and let everyone relax.

“Frank, she has lost an upper tooth in the back of her mouth,” I said. “The lower tooth that wears against that tooth has sort of overgrown. I will need to file it down.”

“Can you just pull it out of there,” Frank asked. 

“I don’t think that is an option for me,” I said. “That is probably the best option, but that is only available at a teaching hospital right now. That would mean a trip to Davis to the University of California Veterinary Hospital.”

“Maybe if she was a little younger,” Frank said. “Do you think you can file it down?”

“I think so. I have a small float that should work for her,” I said. “It won’t take too long, and she is being pretty good.”

After retrieving the float, a rod with a sharp rasp on the end, I started working on the tooth. Things went faster than I expected. Angel shook her head, but Frank’s grip on her ear held her pretty steady. She struck at me a couple of times but missed her mark. When I had the tooth filed down to the level of the other teeth, I smoothed the points on the rest of the teeth.

“There, I think Angel will be back to eating pretty normally now,” I said. “We should probably plan to recheck her in about six months. I don’t know if we will have to do anything then, but we should check.”

“Maybe, I will just wait and see if she gets into a problem again,” Frank said.

“She looks furious,” Hope said. “Her ears are back. Maybe we should let her go.”

“Just look her in the eye,” I said. “That will settle her down.”

Hope started to look her in the eye.

“No! Don’t do that, Hope,” Frank said. “Doc was teasing. If you look these llamas in the eye, they will surely spit on you.”

We turned Angel loose after removing her halter, and she went straight to the feed rack.

“Thanks a lot, Doc,” Hope said. “Frank saved me, I think.”

“I would have stopped her before she nailed you,” I said. “That is just something to know about these critters.”

I never looked at Angel again. I assumed that her mouth never got to be a problem again. Either that, or she didn’t live as long as Frank expected.

Photo be Mike van Schoonderwalt on Pexels.