One Close Call 

D. E. Larsen, DVM

I slowed down, looking for the driveway off Old Holley Road where Dr. Buhn had his cows.

Dr. Buhn, a local optometrist, was having me out to vaccinate the calves at the start of their weaning. I think several of the local professionals were using my services as I struggled to survive, waiting for the completion of the clinic building.

I was expecting to work with limited facilities. I was surprised when I pulled up to a pretty well-constructed corral system. All the calves were in the corral, and the momma cows were on the outside.

When I stepped out of the truck, a chorus of moos and bellows came from both sides of the fence. I always called it bellering. Whatever you call it, it is constant and loud. 

Ed met me with a handshake.

“I have my son here to help today,” Ed said. “I think we are pretty well set up and ready to go to work. Do you need any help with your stuff?”

“I just need someplace to set up alongside the chute,” I said. “Preferably, on the outside of the corral, so the calves don’t knock things over.”

“I am surprised at the racket this group puts out,” Ed said. “The neighbors will be tired of listening to it before it quiets down. It bothers everyone except my son, Ed. He is deaf, so it is all the same to him.”

“It will only last a couple of days,” I said. “Then they will be settled into their new routine. The calves will benefit the most from this, and when they go to the sale barn, they will be much less stressed.”

I got everything set up, and we went right to work. Old Ed ran the head gate, and young Ed kept the calves lined up in the crowding alley. 

It didn’t take long, and we were down to the last three calves. They were not so easy to get into the chute. Young Ed was getting frustrated and tired out. I grabbed my rope and climbed into the corral.

With the two of us, we finally ran one calf into the chute.

“Do you want to do this one now or get them all into the alley?” old Ed asked.

“I don’t want to be crawling over that fence every couple of minutes,” I said. “Just hold that guy in the chute, and we will get these next two in the alley.”

Around and around the corral, we chased the last two calves. Finally, we cornered the two at the entrance to the crowding alley. Young Ed waited a moment, and when the one steer looked into the alley, Ed rushed him and pushed him into the alley. The other steer pushed by me. Ed looked at me, and I motioned him to hold the calf up the alley. 

I took my rope and headed to the far corner to get the last calf. This calf was wild-eyed and didn’t know which way to run to escape my approach. He finally bolted to the right.

 Wrong move, buddy, I thought as I threw a perfect loop that fell over his head and cinched tight around his throat. I pulled the rope tight, and the calf bucked and bellowed. He continued to dance around on the end of the rope. I could hardly restrain him, but I bounced around the corral behind the bucking calf.

I thought he would tire himself and slow down, but I began to think I was the one who was going to wear out first. I started to look for a post to tie him. 

The calf made one more loop around the corral. He would buck and bawl every time I increased the tension on the rope. On this last loop, he headed into the crowding alley. I pulled hard on the rope, and the calf bucked and bellowed louder.

Young Ed was still concentrating on holding the second calf in the alley. He seemed oblivious to the goings on behind him. I wondered why Ed didn’t respond to the chaos behind him when I suddenly realized he didn’t hear a thing and wasn’t aware that he was about to be trampled by an ornery calf.

I wrapped the rope around my butt, planted my heels in the dirt, and leaned back with all my strength. The calf bucked at the same time. With my pull, the calf flipped over and landed on his back, not three feet from Ed. 

When the dirt and dust flew up, Ed realized something was happening behind him. He turned and looked and the situation. Both I and calf were on our backs in the dirt. Ed smiled and gave me a thumbs-up. I had no idea if he knew how close he had come to being trampled.

I got up and tied the calf to a post before it had scrambled to his feet.

We finished the two calves in the chute, and then I had old Ed hand me the injections over the fence while young Ed helped me hold the calf against the fence.

“That was a close call,” old Ed said. “You put a pretty good stop on that calf.”

“It is always the last one in the chute that causes all the problems,” I said. “He is going to market, but I would put a mark on his mother and send her along with him.”

“I am only in the cow business because I needed to do something with this property before it’s developed,” Ed said. “I think as soon as these momma cows are pregnant, they are probably going to the sale also.”

“That’s good. I guess she will be somebody else’s problem,” I said.

Photo by Ave Calvar Martinez on Pexels.

The Check is in the Mail 

D. E. Larsen, DVM

I was wet as I loaded my equipment back into my truck during a brief but heavy April shower. I had just finished pulling a calf in Crawfordsville, and now I had to hurry to the clinic before I was too far behind on my morning appointments.

Dr. Craig had warned me that the cattle practice in Linn County was sort of a feast or famine situation. 

“You will be so busy in the spring and fall you can hardly keep up the pace,” Roy had said. “Then, in the summer and winter, you will think all your clients have deserted you.”

Roy had been spot-on with that bit of information. I was up a six this morning to get out for this calf, and I am sure the appointment book at the clinic is full for the day by now. Once I get behind schedule, nobody is happy. The clients are upset and complaining, and the girls behind the desk are helpless if I don’t keep pace.

I pushed a little harder on the gas pedal. By speeding, I would only gain a few minutes, but a few minutes might allow me to gain a step in the appointment book.

Dixie noticed when I pulled up in front of the clinic and came out to help me carry things in so we could clean everything up for the next call.

“We are in good shape,” Dixie said. “Anita was the only early appointment, and she had some shopping to do at Safeway. She left the dogs, and they are only due for vaccines. Judy and I have them all ready for you. The only problem is Judy is on the phone right now, and it sounds like another calving problem.”

Dixie and I were in the back cleaning up the calf puller and the other equipment when Judy came back and leaned against the wall.

“That was Darwin on the phone,” Judy said. “He has a cow having some problems calving. He doesn’t think it is too bad, but he would like you to look at her.”

“What is his account status?” I asked. Darwin was one of our chronic slow payers. He always called with an emergency when he was short of cash, and then he would take months to pay the bill.

“He has two outstanding bills,” Judy said. “The one is from almost four months ago. We have him marked to be turned over for collection when we do statements next week. I didn’t promise him anything. I told him when you had a few minutes, you would give him a call.”

“He is going to say he will have money next week,” I said.

“Any time we call him on the account, he is always going to send a check, but it never comes,” Judy said.

“That’s okay, let’s get Anita’s dogs done, and I will give him a call,” I said. “You might need to try to reserve a little time later in the morning in case I have to run out there.”

When we were caught up, I settled into my office chair to call Darwin. The phone rang four or five times before he answered.

“Good morning, Doc,” Darwin said. “Thanks for returning my call.”

“What do you have going on, Darwin?” I asked.

“I have this old cow with a couple of feet out for the last hour,” Darwin said. “I just thought if you had some time, you might be able to come by and help her out a little.”

“Darwin, are the soles of those feet pointed up or down?” I asked.

“I never thought about it, but I think they are pointed up,” Darwin said. “What does that mean?”

“That means they are the back feet,” I said. “That is a common cause of dystocia in an older cow. Most of the time, we need to pull those calves.”

“Can you come out and do that for me, Doc?” Darwin asked.

“Darwin, Judy tells me you have a couple of long past due bills,” I said.

“Yes, I know that, Doc,” Darwin said. “I can put a check in the mail to you in the morning.”

“Judy also tells me that your checks never seem to arrive when you put them in the mail,” I said.

“I know, Doc, but times are rough,” Darwin said.

“Yes, I know, times are rough,” I said. “But, Darwin, I have to make a living, plus I have to pay wages, keep my supply shelves stocked, and pay my monthly expenses. If I don’t do that, I am out of business, and you are back to waiting two or three days before an Albany veterinarian can get out here to help you out.”

“I’m telling you, Doc, I will put a check in the mail in the morning,” Darwin said.

I recalled a story Dr. Craig had told me at one of our dinner outings. At the time, I thought it was pretty severe, but I decided to use it with Darwin.

“Darwin, your check story might get the girls in the office off your back for a few days,” I said. “But it doesn’t work in this situation. I will come out and take care of your cow, but when I get there, if you are not standing out at the end of your driveway with four hundred dollar bills in your hand, I will drive right on by.”

“Doc, you are just like all those other vets. You are just after the money,” Darwin said.

“Don’t pull that crap, Darwin,” I said. “I already explained why I need to be paid. I am more than happy to provide you with veterinary services. But if you aren’t going to pay your bill, you can go find another veterinarian who can afford to work for free.”

“Okay, Doc, my wife has some money stashed for just this kind of a thing,” Darwin said. “You come ahead, and I will meet you at the driveway with the money.”

“I have a couple of things to do here, so I will be half an hour before I am at your place,” I said. “I will see you there. I trust that you have the cow caught.”

“She is in the pasture,” Darwin said. “But I can get her in before you get here.”

“Okay, you get her in, and you get your money, and then give me a buzz on the phone,” I said. “Once the vet arrives, those tame old cows get pretty wild if they are still in the pasture.”

It wasn’t long, and Dixie and I were on our way out to Darwin’s small farm.

“Do you think he is going to have the money?” Dixie asked. “And if he doesn’t, are you really going to drive on by?”

“I think that is a yes on both counts,” I said. “This guy probably has more money than I will ever have. These guys skip out on their bills either out of habit or they think they will earn a little more interest if they wait. We haven’t added a late charge to our billing, so it costs them little to wait until Judy sends them a collection notice. I think we will have to correct that in the near future.”

When we came around the corner to Darwin’s place, he was at the end of the driveway, and he waved a handful of bills.

“My wife put a little extra in there,” Darwin said as he handed me the money. “She thought we needed to carry a credit balance for a while.”

“Thank you, Darwin,” I said. “Where do you have the cow?”

“She is in a small pen in the barn,” Darwin said. “The barn is over the little hill from the house. It’s about a half mile from here.”

“Good, you will get some exercise today also,” I said with a smile. Darwin sort of frowned. “I was kidding. Go ahead and crowd in, and we will let you give directions.”

Darwin’s barn was an older one, and it had seen better days. The cow was chewing on a bit of hay. She was oblivious to her difficulty.

I tied her to a corner of the pen while Dixie was getting things out of the truck. I tied her tail out of the way with a length of twine tied around her neck. Then I lifted the bucket of warm water from Dixie over the fence.

After washing her up, I did a quick vaginal exam. Sticking a finger into the calf’s butt, there was a slight response.

“This calf is alive, Darwin,” I said. “But, I would guess she has been in labor for some time. Often, the cow will be slow to start labor with the calf is backward. Hopefully, this calf will be okay, but another hour or two and he will be dead.”

“How can you tell all that with your hand in her for a few seconds?” Darwin asked.

“I almost see with these fingers,” I said, holding up my left hand. “But in this case, I stuck a finger in this calf’s butt. He had a pretty weak response to that finger. A vigorous calf would pinch down hard on that finger.”

I hooked the calf puller up and started cranking the calf out.

“This won’t take long,” I said. “I have to be fast because this calf still has his head inside mamma when his umbilical cord is pinched during delivery.”

I cranked faster, the old cow had delivered many calves, and she stood the entire time. The calf came out in a flop and landed on the straw. I quickly picked him up by his hind feet and swung him a bit. A large amount of thick fluid drained from his nostrils. This fluid was probably more from his gut than his lungs, but it made me feel better to have it out of the way.

The calf shook his head when I laid him back on the straw.

“It looks like he will be okay,” I said as I squirted some iodine into his navel. “We have to run to get back to the clinic. We sort of worked you into the schedule. Dixie will leave you a dose of BoSe to give his guy under the skin. You will need to make sure he is up and nursing in an hour or two. If he isn’t, you need to milk this cow a little and give it to him in a bottle. Doing a little of that now might be a good idea.”

We loaded up and headed back to the clinic.

“Do you think his wife was a little embarrassed?” Dixie asked. “Otherwise, she wouldn’t have put extra money in the pot.”

“She probably wasn’t even aware of the situation with his account,” I said. “Hard to say, she maybe has been giving him money to pay the bill, and he spends it elsewhere. It will be interesting to see if things are different with his account in the future.”

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.

Old Three Toes, From the Archives

D. E. Larsen, DVM

When I was growing up in Coos County one rarely encountered a Coyote, except on the high ridges. We didn’t think much about it at the time. That was just the way it was. I remember the first coyote I saw, on the top of Sugarloaf Mountain, on a cold morning Jeep ride with Uncle Robert.

    Twenty years later coyotes had moved into the valleys and were heard regularly and encountered with little effort if hunting them. They had become a significant problem to sheep ranchers, and an occasional brave one would come close enough to the barnyard to snatch a chicken.

    My Uncle Duke’s explanation for the change was probably the most accurate. I didn’t have a full understanding at the time but would later come to appreciate his wisdom.  In my younger years, 1940s and early 1950s, all the creeks in the area were full of spawning salmon and steelhead in the fall and winter. Dead, spawned out, fish were present on the riverbanks and all the creek banks. Later in the 1950s and 1960s, commercial fishing for salmon moved from the steams to the ocean.  Spawning fish numbers decreased and dead fish were only occasionally encountered on most streams.

    Duke’s opinion was that when the streams were chuck full of fish the coyotes would have easy access to salmon and would die from the disease. The only viable populations thus existed on the high ridges far removed from the spawning streams.

    Salmon Disease (or Poisoning) is a complex disease of all canines. It occurs approximately 7 days after a dog (or coyote) consumes infected raw salmon, trout or steelhead. The fish carry a larva of an intestinal fluke. The fluke causes only mild disease and can infect a number of species, but the fluke also carries a rickettsia. It is this rickettsia that makes all canines ill and is the cause of Salmon Disease.

    Salmon Disease is treatable if it is caught in time. Ninety percent of dogs (and coyotes) will die within 7 – 10 of becoming sick if they are not treated. Survivors may be immune for long periods if not for a lifetime although there are exceptions to this immunity.

    I was on a farm call, talking with Dick Rice. Dick owned a ranch on the Calapooia River. His ranch was one of the early pioneer ranches in the area. 

“Doc, I have been having a heck of a problem with coyotes the last couple of years,” Dick said. “It seems to be the same coyotes most of the time. He has only three toes on one foot.   He catches any lamb left out of the barn overnight. Can’t trap him, he is too wise.”

  Dick was at his wits end on how to deal with this bandit.  I related my Uncle Duke’s opinion on the shift of the coyote population into the Western Valleys. He listened with interest but just seemed to take it in as a story. I finished with the calf we were treating, loaded up and returned to the clinic. 

    I never gave the conversation much thought after that until I bumped into Dick outside of Thriftway one afternoon. Dick had hurried to catch up to me in the parking lot. It was apparent that he wanted to talk.

    “Hi Doc, how have you been?” he said, a little out of breath.  “I have wanted to talk to you about that Old Three Toes.”

    “Aw, yes, I remember you talking about him,” I replied.

    “You know, I got thinking about the story you told about Salmon Poisoning. One night after work, I stopped in here and bought a hunk of salmon tail. I have an old burn pit and garbage pile on the far side of the pasture behind the house. I took that salmon out there and put it on the edge of that pile.  It was gone the next morning.” 

    “And Doc, that was a couple of months ago. I have had no more coyote problems, and Old Three Toes is gone. I have not seen his tracks anywhere. Can’t thank you enough for that story.” 

    “I’m glad it helped you, Dick. You can thank the observation skills of an old farmer for the information. I am not sure that I would have ever put that information together to come up with that conclusion,” I replied.

Photo by DAVID NIETO on Unsplash