Smoke’s Fracture 

D. E. Larsen, DVM

A slight fog hung low across the moist grass as the early morning sun evaporated the dew. I always liked these sunny spring days that were intermixed with wet showery days.

There were cars already in front of the clinic when I arrived.

“We have a full morning, and Ed is waiting for you to return his call,” Judy said when I walked in the door. “We already have a couple of people in the exams room, but Ed sounded frantic.”

“Did he give you any idea of his problem?” I asked.

“You know these guys,” Judy said. “They only want to talk to the doctor.”

I stepped into my office and called Ed.

“Ed, this is Doc. What do you have going on?” I asked.

“Doc, thanks for calling me back,” Ed said. “I’ve been sitting here shaking. It’s Smoke, my young gray gelding. He has a broken leg. And he is in a hell of a fix. He can’t lie down, and he can’t walk. I don’t know how long it has been since it happened. I just found him this morning.”

“Are you sure it’s broken?” I asked.

“Oh, yes!” Ed said. “It’s just dangling, and it must hurt like hell. He cries out every time he tries to take a step.”

“What do you want to do with him, Ed?” I asked. “Depending on the leg and the break, the new vet school in Corvallis might be able to repair it.”

“No, Doc,” Ed said. “It would be hell just getting him over there. I just can’t see him suffering, Doc. I tried to shoot him. But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Can you come out and up him down for me?”

“Sure, I can do that, Ed,” I said. “I have people hanging from the rafters here at the clinic. How long do you think he can wait, Ed?”

“Doc, can you come now?” Ed asked. “Please. The wife is locked in the bedroom with her head buried in the pillows, and I’m a mess. I can hear Smoke squealing every time he touches that foot down.”

“People here can just wait, Ed,” I said. “I will be there as soon as possible.”

I grabbed a couple of bottles of euthanasia solution, three large syringes, and a couple of fourteen-gauge needles.

“Judy, I have to run out to Ed’s place,” I said. “When Dixie comes, you guys deal with people as they want. They can wait if they want or leave their pets. I will probably be close to an hour, but you know how that can go. It could be longer. You better get on the phone and reschedule everything you can that isn’t an urgent appointment.”

It was a short drive to Ed’s place in Holley, and I probably drove faster than I should have. Ed was standing at the gate to his pasture when I pulled into his driveway.

“He’s in the far pasture, Doc,” Ed said. “I think the ground is pretty good all the way out to him, and you can drive right up to him.”

“Okay, Ed,” I said. “Are you going to be okay to give me a hand? I didn’t have anyone at the office to bring with me this morning.”

“What am I going to have to do?” Ed asked.

“I just need you to hold a lead rope if you’re up to it?” I said.

“Okay, I can probably do that and just look the other way,” Ed said. “Let me open the gate, and I will get in and ride out with you.”

Ed’s hands were shaking as we drove out through the pasture. When we got close, I saw Smoke struggling to stay on his feet.

“Is Smoke insured?” I asked.

“Insured? Doc, he’s just a horse,” Ed said. “No, he’s not insured.”

Ed had fractured the cannon bone on his right rear leg. The lower part was just dangled. Every time Smoke tried to move and the hoof touched the ground, he would squeal. Smoke had genuine fear in his eye as I snapped a lead rope to his halter, and I handed the rope to Ed.

“Ed, there is no way to do this easy,” I said. “Lying him down is not an option. I will give him a massive dose of euthanasia solution, and he will be dead when he hits the ground, but it won’t be pretty.”

“I think I’m okay. Let’s just get it done,” Ed said. 

I filled two sixty cc syringes with euthanasia solution and retrieved a large twelve gauge needle from the truck.

“My bet is Smoke will rear up with this injection, and he will go over backward or more likely just collapse in a pile because that one hind leg won’t support him,” I explained to Ed. “Either way, as soon as the injection is done, you let go of that lead rope, and just him go.”

“Okay,” Ed said. “I guess I’m ready.”

“He might squeal, Ed,” I said. “Are you sure you can handle this?”

“Let’s just get it over with,” Ed said.

I leaned hard against Smoke to help give him a stable stance. Holding off his jugular vein, I slipped the 12 gauge needle into the vein. Then, with quick movements, I attached one syringe and then the other to the needle. With the large bore needle, I could push the plunger with ease. I emptied the two syringes in a matter of a few seconds.

I stepped back, and seeing Ed still holding the lead rope tight, I pulled it from his hands and let it fall to the ground.

When the drug hit, Smoke reared up and squealed loudly. When his right hind leg provided no support, he collapsed to his right hip and hit the ground in a heap. As I had promised Ed, Smoke was dead when he hit the ground.

Ed turned and walked several steps away. I thought he was going to vomit, but he was in control and came back in a moment.

“I don’t know you do it, Doc,” Ed said. 

“I’m a farm boy, Ed,” I said. “I learned many years ago that when there is something unpleasant to do, it is best just to get it done. No big fanfare. Just do it, and it is over. It is like a person dying. Everyone expects some profound last words. But that seldom happens. They just fade away.”

“What do I need to do now?” Ed asked.

“You can call the rendering company,” I said.

“I was thinking I would just bring the backhoe out here and bury my right here,” Ed said. “This is on top of a little rise, and it should be a good resting place for him. Do I have to talk to the county about that?”

“Not at this point,” I said. “It probably won’t be long before they require a permit and make you pay a fee. I know one family who has buried three Great Danes in their small backyard in the middle of town. One of these days, the bureaucrats will take control of that stuff.”

“Let’s go,” Ed said as he pulled the halter off Smoke. 

“Have you looked around to find out how he broke that leg?” I asked. “A few years ago, I saw a couple of calves break legs on an exposed root in a creek bank. This could have been something like that, and it might be wise to try to find it.”

“I’ll look after I get Smoke in the ground,” Ed said.

I dropped Ed off at the gate, said goodbye, and headed back to the clinic to salvage as much of the day as possible.

***

The following week, Ed dropped by the clinic.

“Doc, I found the spot where Smoke broke his leg,” Ed said. “It wasn’t ten yards from where  I found him. He must have been spooked or something. He ran right through an old downed oak tree and hung his leg in a tangle of branches. The damn thing is, I was going to clear out that old tree last summer and got sidetracked. I never got back to it. Damned if I didn’t kill Smoke, just as if I had shot him.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Ed,” I said. “Things just happen on the farm.”

“You can bet I won’t put things off in the future,” Ed said.

Photo by Susanne Jutzeler from Pexels.

The Flutter in the Night 

D. E. Larsen, DVM

I woke slightly as something fluttered in the bedroom, but not hearing it again, I rolled over and went back to sleep.

“Dave, Dave, wake up!” Sandy said as she shook my shoulder.

I rolled onto my back and looked up at Sandy standing beside the bed with her shower cap on.

“Dave, there’s a bat in here,” Sandy said. She spoke in a hushed voice, but she still had a grip on my shoulder.

Then I noticed the flutter again.

“How did it get in here?” Sandy asked.

“Charlie could have brought it in, but he would have killed it,” I said. “Maybe it just came through the window with him.”

Charlie was our large Siamese cross cat who was a ferocious hunter. I had removed the screen on our bedroom window, and I left the window open enough so Charlie could come and go during the night. It was common for him to bring critters in and leave them for us, often at the foot of the bed.

“You need to get up and kill this bat,” Sandy said, shaking my shoulder again. “I’m going to make sure the kids have their bedroom doors closed.”

Sandy headed off down the hall in her nightgown and shower cap. I crawled out of bed and grabbed a magazine from the nightstand. 

Now standing naked with a rolled-up magazine, I positioned myself in the bedroom, where I could see the length of the hallway with the light that Sandy had turned on as she headed down the hall. As he entered the bedroom, I could see the bat swoop toward the ceiling. I waited till he turned to the left toward me, and I made one swat that caught him mid-flight and bounced him off the far wall.

“Get me a jar with a lid,” I said to Sandy as she returned from down the hall.

“Did you get him?” Sandy asked.

“Yes, but I need to put him in something,” I said. “We need to send this guy in to be tested for rabies.”

“What difference does it make?” Sandy asked.

“Were any of the kid’s bedroom doors open?” I asked.

“Yes, both Derek’s and the girl’s room had open doors,” Sandy said. “Why do you ask?”

“A rabid bat in a house with sleeping people or pets, especially sleeping children, is considered a rabies exposure by the public health people,” I said. “We need to send this bat in to be tested.”

“Wouldn’t they know if they had been bitten?” Sandy asked.

“The book says no, the bite and can be almost undetectable,” I said. “The risk of an exposure is too high, so everyone is considered exposed. Everyone has to get a post-exposure rabies vaccine.”

“What about Midge and the cats?” Sandy asked.

“Would you get a jar for me,” I said. “I’m starting to feel like an idiot, standing naked over a mostly dead bat, waiting for it to come back to life and fly away.”

Sandy retrieved a pint canning jar and lid from the kitchen. I carefully scooped the bat into the jar without touching it and screwed on the cap.

“Midge and the cats will be fine because they have rabies vaccinations,” I said. “I will have to booster them, but that is all. If they aren’t vaccinated, the recommendation is to euthanize them. Under special considerations, they can be kept in isolation for six months, but that is discouraged.”

“Six months seems like a long time,” Sandy said. “Why so long?”

“Rabies can have that long of an incubation period,” I said. “In fact, I think a dog in England came down with rabies after it was released from its six months of quarantine.”

“Are all of us going to have to get shots?” Sandy asked with obvious concern.

“The bat is in the jar. You can take your shower cap off,” I said. “We will worry about what we will have to do after we get the test results. There is no sense worrying about something that probably not going to be a problem.”

“I didn’t want that bat to get in my hair,” Sandy said as she put her shower cap back in the bathroom. “And you look pretty stupid running around naked with a rolled-up magazine in one hand and the bat in the other. It’s a good thing the kids are asleep.”

“Put this in the refrigerator, would you, please,” I said as I pulled a pair of pajama pants out of the drawer.

“I’m not putting that in my refrigerator,” Sandy said. “I will set it outside.”

***

I picked up the jar with the dead bat inside when I went out the door to go to the clinic.

“What are you going to do with that?” Sandy asked.

“I am going to send it to the diagnostic lab and have it tested for rabies,” I said. “I will have the courier pick it up on their noon trip.”

“If they consider we were exposed, won’t the county pay for the testing?” Sandy asked.

“The less the county knows, the better,” I said. “If this bat tests positive, we will have a big hassle with the county public health folks. They will be going by the book, and we will have to have all the kids and you take post-exposure treatment. I will probably only need to booster my rabies vaccine.”

I wrote the pathology request with a little story about Sandy in her shower cap and me batting the bat out of the air in the middle of the night. That report has been lost to history, but the pathologist got a kick out of it at the time.

We were lucky, and the bat tested negative for the rabies virus. At that time, about ten percent of the bats tested were testing positive in Oregon.

Photo by Todd Cravens on Unsplash.

The Upgrade, From the Archives

D. E. Larsen, DVM

“You need to hurry, your flight is boarding now,” the airline attendant said as he took our bags. “If your bags don’t make your flight, they will be on the next flight. You have a full plane, there is a Ducks game in Berkley Saturday.”

We hurried down the concourse to the plane. Just what I wanted, to ride to San Francisco with a planeload of Duck fans.

We squeezed down the aisle and found our seats. Now we could relax for a few minutes before the plane takes off. This was going to be our first long weekend off for nearly 2 years. A continuing education trip on paper, but a mini-vacation if we could make it such.

“I think we would have been better off to take the extra time and drive to Portland,” Sandy said. “Then we could have got a direct flight to Reno. I hate changing planes, and especially in San Francisco.”

“It won’t be too bad, we should have plenty of time,” I said.

About then, we were rudely made aware that our flight was going to be anything but pleasant. Sitting behind us, and on top of our seats at times, was a most unruly four-year-old and his mother, who had no concept of discipline.

We are making the final approach to landing on the runway that extends out into the bay. 

“I hate landing at this airport,” I say. “The first time I flew on a commercial airline was when I joined the Army. They loaded us on a plane in Portland and flew us to San Francisco. I had a window seat, and when we were landing, all I saw under the plane was water. We were getting closer and closer to the water. I was lifting my feet before the ground, and a runway came into my view. I repeat that episode in my mind every time I land there.”

We deplane and rush down the concourse looking for the gate for the flight to Reno. We ask an agent at the end of the hall. 

“That is a separate terminal. You catch a shuttle bus down those stairs,” the agent says, pointing to a stairwell at the end of the concourse. 

We hurry down the stairs and catch a bus to the detached terminal. Then we load into a puddle jumper, not my idea of a fun flight. I am white-knuckled all the way to Reno. We arrive, and Sandy’s bag makes the flight, my bag is nowhere in sight. We leave our information and hail a cab to the hotel.

“We have your reservation right here,” the hotel clerk says to Sandy. “It is a nice room, I hope you enjoy your stay.”

Sandy looks over the paperwork while I twiddle my thumbs.

“Is this a non-smoking room?” Sandy asks.

“No, Ma’am,” The clerk responds. “This is a smoking room.”

“We requested a non-smoking room on our reservation,” Sandy says.

The clerk looks at his computer screen closely. “I see that you are correct, it says a non-smoking room right here,” the clerk says. “We don’t have a non-smoking room available in this room class.”

It looks like another planeload of people has arrived, there is quite a line behind us now.

“I have to have a non-smoking room,” Sandy says.

“Let me go talk with my supervisor,” the clerk says as he leaves his station.

The people behind us let out an audible moan. Sandy is unwavering.

Finally, after close to 5 minutes, the clerk returns. He is all smiles.

“I have an upgraded room for you,” he says, winking at me. “You guys are really going to enjoy this room! It is one of our best suites.”

The Bellhop leads us away. The room is high in the hotel, on the 35th floor.

“You are going to really enjoy this room,” he said as he pushed open the door.

He set the bags down and went to the drapes and pulled them open. The entire wall is floor to ceiling windows, and the view of the city is incredible. I feel a little embarrassed as I hand him a $5.00 tip.

“Can you believe this room,” I said to Sandy. “And all because you would not accept a smoking room.”

The main room of the suite is three times the size of any hotel room we have ever seen. The bathroom is enormous. It has a large shower with two showerheads. There is a large jacuzzi tub, massive mirror with double sinks and a separate water closet.

“This sort of reminds me of Ma and Pa Kettle,” I said.” We are just a couple of old country bumpkins in a high-class hotel.”

Sandy laughs as she investigates the kitchenette/bar area. There is a large sectional, a loveseat and a couple of chairs. And then the bed takes up the far end of the room. 

The bed is more substantial than a king-size bed and round, on a raised platform.  There is a 30 inch high wrought iron railing around half of the platform. And a massive round mirror is on the ceiling above the bed. 

“I am not sure how this is going to work out for us,” I said. 

I’m a stomach sleeper, and I hang my feet over the end of the bed. Or I sleep on my side, in touch with the edge of the bed. I am not sure I am going to be able to find either in this bed.

“I think we are maybe past the mirror stage in our relationship,” Sandy said. “This could be an interesting evening.”

We were just ready to leave to get a bite to eat when there was a knock at the door. It was the Bellhop with my bag from the airport.

“They delivered your bag, but it looks like it has been broken into, you might want to check it carefully and make sure you file a report with the airline,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said. “Before you go, can you tell me something about this room? What does a night in this room usually cost?”

“This is our special suite,” he said. “We generally use it to comp the high rollers. We don’t rent it out very often, but when we do, it goes for $1200 a night.”

“I would guess you generally get more than $5.00 tips up here,” I said.

“I have got some tremendous tips in this room, but it is not a big deal, $5.00 is a pretty standard tip in most rooms.”

“I would have to have a whole lot of expendable cash before I could bring myself to pay $1200 for a room,” I say as I hand him a $20 bill.

It was sort of like adding the final insult to the plane trip. The bag was a mess, but the only thing missing is my sports coat. This gives me an excellent excuse for dressing casually. That fits my style just fine.

When the evening was over, and we are ready to go to sleep, Sandy spends a lot of time closing the drapes. It is no small task. I can not convince her that there is nobody who can peek into a room on the 35th floor, especially if the lights are out. But she does not listen.

The bed is comfortable, but, like many hotel beds, the sheets and blankets are excessive. I go around and untuck all the sheets on my side of the bed. Then I discard the comforter and half the blankets. I crawl into bed.

I am instantly miserable. I can’t find the edge of the bed, and when I reach a point where I can hang my feet over the end of the bed, my nose is at Sandy’s knees. I toss and turn and get tangled up in the top sheet. I get up and pull the top sheet off the bed. Since Sandy was sleeping soundly, I open the drapes and enjoy the view until I drift off to a fitful sleep. 

About 3:00 in the morning, I get up to go to the bathroom. I roll out of bed and start in the direction of the bathroom. I follow the edge of the bed until I reach the point where the round was turning toward Sandy’s side of the bed. I strike out toward the bathroom. 

I forgot about the railing. Just as my left foot takes a step down, the end of the railing hits me in the groin. My right leg impacts the railing, I lose my balance and fall, left side first, the two steps to the floor.

I roll onto my back. I feel like I have just been struck with a Klingon pain stick. I look around, the view out the windows is just as good from the floor. Then I look up, there I am, in full view, in the mirror. 

Morning comes, Sandy is well-rested. I look like I have been wrestling steers all night. We shower together and get dressed so we can get breakfast before classes started.

As we leave the room, Sandy stops and looks at the bed. What a mess, there are piles of sheets on each side of the bed. The blankets are knotted in a heap in the middle of the bed. Even the bottom sheet is untucked, and only half covered the mattress.

“The housekeeping girls are going to tell stories about what went on in that bed last night,” she said.

Photo by Manny Becerra on Unsplash