Dig the Hole Deep 

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Mom stepped out of the kitchen as soon as I came through the door. There was no smile on her face, which could only mean that there was work to be done.

“I want you to change into work clothes,” Mom said. “I was up checking Lila and Robert’s today. They aren’t going to be home for another four days, and they have a dead cow out by their filbert orchard.”

“So, what am I supposed to do about that?” I asked.

“As soon as I can track down your brother, you guys can go bury the cow,” Mom said, sounding a little stern. “That’s what you can do about that.”

“Mom, it’s the middle of August,” I said. “That ground will be as hard as a rock.”

“Yes, it’s the middle of August, and if we don’t get that cow buried, it will be a real mess by the time your Aunt and Uncle get home,” Mom said. “Besides, if you are going to play football this fall, you need to start getting into shape.”

About then, Mom heard the front door opening.

“Maybe that’s Gary now,” Mom said as she stepped out of the kitchen. “Oh, Frank, I thought you might be Gary. Do you know where he went this morning?”

“He’s salmoned on that new girl,” Dad said. “I think he ran over there for something, who knows what. Why do you ask?”

“I went up to check Lila’s place this morning, and they have a dead cow out by their filbert orchard,” Mom said. “I am going send these boys up to bury it.”

“Are you tough enough to dig that kind of a hole?” Dad said, looking at me.

“The two of them should be able to do it without any problem,” Mom said. “I think I will call Spires and see if Gary is over there.”

Gary pulled into the driveway before Mom could get to the phone, and mom started in as soon as he came through the door.

“You need to change clothes and get ready,” Mom said. “I am sending you and David up to bury a dead cow at Lila and Robert’s.”

“Mom, it’s the middle of August,” Gary said.

“Yes, and that cow won’t smell any better tomorrow,” Mom said. “Now get going.”

“I have a date tonight,” Gary said.

“Then you better get on your horse,” Dad said. “You can take the truck so you won’t have to get dirt in your car. You stop at the barn and pick up a rope.”

“Why do we need a rope?” I asked.

“You need to dig this hole ten feet deep,” Dad said. “How do you think you are going to get out of that hole?”

“Maybe we should take a ladder,” Gary said. “If we take the truck, we could just throw it on the bed.”

“Yes, and lose it on the first corner,” Dad said. “If you take the ladder, you make sure to tie it down. That might be better to have a ladder in the hole, anyway. That would give you a chance to survive if the bank caved in on you. And you make sure you have gloves.”

It didn’t take long, and we were changed and ready to go. Dad came out just as Gary finished getting the ladder tied down.

“This cow is probably going to be all bloated up,” Dad said. “Mom has been up there for several days, so it could be dead for that long. You dig this hole on the back side of the cow so you can just roll her over with her legs and drop her into the hole. That hole needs to be at least four feet wide and however long it needs to be to fit the cow. When you are deep enough where you can’t see out, you only want to have one of you in the hole at a time and keep the ladder in the hole.”

“Okay, we are on our way,” Gary said. “How long do you figure this will take us?”

“A couple of tough guys like you two, you should be done in an hour or two,” Dad said. “You should pull over and put some gas in that truck before you go. I’m not sure I trust that gas gauge anymore.”

“I thought that gas was just for the farm, not the highway,” Gary said. 

“The state isn’t going miss a few cents for tax money,” Dad said. “And how would they know, anyway.”

Just as we started to leave, Mom came out with a jug of water.

“It’s going to be hot this afternoon,” Mom said. “You might need this before you are done.”

Gary took the jug and handed it to me, and we were off. The trip up the river to Lila’s place was not long, but the old farm truck didn’t go fast, and it was a hot and bumping drive.

I got out, opened the gate, and pulled out to where the cow was lying. She was all puffed up, and her legs stuck out straight. Flies buzzed around her in swarms. When we got out of the truck, the odor struck us.

“This is going to be nice,” Gary said. “Let’s get to work so we can get the old girl in the ground.”

“I wonder what she died from?” I asked. “I mean, cows don’t just drop dead like this.”

The question was answered quickly when we noticed a bullet hole between her eyes.

“Night hunters,” Gary said, looking at the hole. “That was a pretty good shot if they made it from the highway. Damn idiots, people should know that there are cows in these fields.”

We got started digging right away. We marked off the margins of the hole with small shovel scoops. It was about eight feet long, four feet wide, and only a couple of feet from the cow’s back. It would be easy to pull her up on her back with her outstretched feet, and then with a slight push, she would tumble into the hole.

The ground was dry and hard at the beginning, and I thought this was going to take forever to dig a deep hole. But after the first couple of feet, the ground was softer, and the digging went faster. I had to work hard to keep up with Gary. His side of the hole seemed to be just a bit deeper than mine.

It wasn’t long, and we were down about four feet on my side.

“We better get the ladder in the hole,” Gary said. “And then we can take turns digging.”

“I can still see out pretty good,” I said.

“That’s because you haven’t been digging fast enough,” Gary said.

“No, you’re just short,” I said.

Getting out of a hole four feet deep is a bit of a challenge, but I could jump up, push with my hands and throw a leg out on the grass. Almost falling back into the hole, I quickly grabbed a handhold on the grass and pulled myself out.

I retrieved the ladder and placed it in the hole for Gary.

“Let’s take a break and get a drink of water,” Gary said. “It’s getting hot, and I’m almost sick from smelling that cow.”

We took the jug of water and sat in the shade of the filbert trees. The odor from the cow was much less there, and shade felt good in the growing heat of the afternoon.

“I was talking with Roger Gary the other day,” Gary said. “They have been doing pretty good pigeon hunting. Both up at the blue clay slide above Bridge and up Four Bit Gulch.”

“Don Miller and I are going to try up at his uncle’s place on Catching Creek,” I said. “Where did they come up with a name like Four Bit Gulch?”

“They say that is what the whore house used to charge back in the day,” Gary said. 

“When was that?” I asked. 

“I don’t know, probably before the war, maybe later,” Gary said. “Let’s get back to work. With this softer dirt, we should be able to finish this hole in no time.”

I climbed down the ladder first. Gary pulled the ladder out, and I started digging. I knew Gary was in a hurry, so I dug fast. The air seemed better as the hole got deeper, and the odor was not nearly as strong.

“Okay, let’s change places,” Gary said. “You are slowing down a bit. If we keep changing off, we can be deep enough in another fifteen or twenty minutes.”

Watching how fast things went, we probably should have taken turns from the beginning. In no time at all, we were at ten feet. We pulled the ladder out of the hole and stood looking, first at the dead cow and then at each other.

“Which end do you want?” Gary asked.

“I’ll take the front legs,” I said.

We swung our arms to scatter the flies, and each grabbed a leg. with a hard pull, we rolled the cow up onto her back. Then glancing at Gary, I nodded and gave the legs one final push. 

The cow tumbled into the hole. There was a load splat when she hit the bottom of the hole, and there was a gush of gas as her belly broke open. Fluid spilled from her belly and from both ends. The odor was overwhelming.

Gary turned away and gagged.

“Let’s get her covered up,” I said as I grabbed the shovel and started shoveling dirt back into the hole.

In no time, we had the hole filled in and a large mound of dirt on top. The air was clear, and the flies were gone. We loaded the ladder onto the truck and headed home.

“The good thing is we got done soon enough for me to get cleaned for tonight,” Gary said.

Mom was waiting out front when we got home.

“Could you tell why she died?” Mom asked.

“Lead poisoning,” Gary said, pointing to his forehead with a finger.

“Night hunters,” Mom said. “I hope they realize how much that cost Robert.”

“It probably wouldn’t have happened if Uncle Robert still had his hounds,” I said.

“They wouldn’t have been gone if he still had his hounds,” Mom said.

“Dave, you put things away and clean up the truck,” Gary said. “I’ve got to get cleaned up. I can still smell that cow on me.”

Photo by Alexey Demidov from Pexels.

A Puppy from Alabama 

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Rosalie was waiting in the exam room with her Boston terrier, Daisy. Dixie had just finished getting them ready for me and was waiting at the treatment room door to speak with me before I went into the exam room.

“Rosalie is in the exam room,” Dixie said. “She is a new client, but she is unhappy about something. I thought I would just give you a heads-up.”

When I entered the room, Rosalie stood at the exam table, holding Daisy in her arms. The expression on her face approached a frown. Rosalie was a large woman, and she was not obese, but she towered over me. She was well over six feet tall.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Larsen,” I said. “What can we do for Daisy today?”

Rosalie sat Daisy on the exam table. “Daisy has had constant diarrhea for the last two weeks, and we can’t get it under control,” Rosalie said in a stern voice. “We have gone to Dr. Clark for years and loved the dear man. But he up and died on us.”

“Yes, I never had the opportunity to meet Dr. Clark, but he enjoyed a fine reputation in the profession,” I said. “I’m sure his sudden death shocked many of his clients.”

“We never dreamed we would have to look for a new veterinarian,” Rosalie said. “But we are unhappy with the new young man who took over for Dr. Clark.”

“There are a lot of factors that go into a client’s selection of a veterinarian,” I said. “But, all the studies say that the number one factor is location. Driving to Corvallis with a stinky dog in the car is not the most pleasant experience.”

 “We live in Brownsville,” Rosalie said. “So we are used to driving for many things we do.”

“I will look Daisy over, and you can tell me all the things that the new veterinarian in Dr. Clark’s office has done for her,” I said as I turned my attention to Daisy. The now squirming little Boston on the exam table.

“That won’t take long,” Rosalie said. “As near as we can tell, he hasn’t done a thing for her. We have had her over there three times in the last week, and nothing has helped.”

“How long have you had Daisy?” I asked.

“My sister got her for us,” Rosalie said. “She picked her up about four weeks ago, just before she came to visit.”

“So Daisy is not from around here?” I asked.

“No, my sister lives in Alabama,” Rosalie said.

“So, has Daisy been wormed?” I asked.

“Wormed, I don’t think so,” Rosalie said. “No, wait a moment. My sister said the breeder had wormed her before she picked her up.”

“But, in Corvallis, did they worm her or at least check her stool?” I asked.

“No, he said he was going to submit a sample for culture if things didn’t improve,” Rosalie said.

“We have a puppy from Alabama, and parasites should be number one on the list,” I said.

“Doctor Larsen, I don’t think he knew that Daisy was from Alabama,” Rosalie said. “He just did a quick exam and sent us on our way each visit. There was no conversation or discussion involved.”

“Well, I know Daisy is from Alabama,” I said. “And I also know that dogs who grow up in the Southeast have real parasite problems. I’m going to just collect a drop of stool material off the thermometer and get it under the microscope before we go any further.”

I reinserted the thermometer into Daisy’s rectum, and it came out with a drop of brown liquid suspended from its tip. I carefully transferred that drop to a microscope slide.

“This is only going to take me a second to look at this,” I said as I started out the exam room door.

At the lab counter, I added another drop of floatation fluid to the slide. I mixed the sample with a wooden applicator stick. Then I put the slide on the microscope stage and adjusted the scope.

To a veterinarian who had been educated in Colorado and practicing in Oregon, this was a remarkable slide. We were accustomed to taking a stool sample the size of a peanut and putting it through a process that would concentrate and collect the eggs onto a microscope slide. If we saw a dozen eggs in a field of view, we would consider that patient heavily parasitized. I was looking at a mere drop of stool from Daisy, and the entire field of view on the microscope was covered with worm eggs, latterly, hundreds of eggs in one view. Most of the eggs were roundworm eggs, but some hookworm eggs and whipworm eggs were evident.

“Dixie, you want to make sure you look at that microscope slide,” I said as I stood up. “We won’t see another sample like this one, probably ever.”

“Rosalie, I suspect that you will be amazed at the results of today’s treatment,” I said when I returned to the exam room. “Daisy is loaded with parasites. Mostly roundworms, but also hookworms and whipworms. I will give her some deworming medication. By this evening, you will see her pass an unbelievable number of worms in her stool. And the good thing is, this will probably take care of her diarrhea overnight.”

“Is that all you’re going to do?” Rosalie asked.

“For now, that is all we are going to do,” I said. “There will be a lot of follow-up for Daisy. We should see her next week just to recheck and repeat the deworming. The life cycles of these parasites are a little complex. The medications we have today will only remove the parasites in the gut. Many others are migrating in her body or are encysted in her tissues. We will need to treat her like an Alabama dog for the rest of her life. That is a bit of history that her veterinarians need to know.”

“Okay, we will see how things go,” Rosalie said.

“Now remember, Daisy is going to pass a wad of worms tonight,” I said. “There will be so many, it will be alarming to you, and it could cause her some momentary distress.”

***

The following week, Daisy was a different puppy when she came bounding through the door into the clinic. I stepped out to the reception room to greet her and Rosalie. Daisy was squirming all over the place, trying to contain her enthusiasm. She bounced around my feet and jumped up on my leg.

“She looks like she feels better,” I said.

“Oh, yes,” Rosalie said. “She was well the next day, just like you said. And were you ever correct about the worms she passed. But she is a different puppy, and we are so pleased.”

Dixie came out and scooped up Daisy to take her to the exam room. She had to turn her face away to keep from being licked.

“Do you think she knows we helped her?” Dixie asked.

“I doubt it. We are seldom given any credit from our patients,” I said. “I think she feels so much better that she has a lot of being a puppy to get caught up on now.”

“Today, we will repeat the deworming, and I will send you home with some deworming liquid to give her every two weeks for the next couple of months,” I said. “By then, we should be into a situation where we can manage her parasite problem with a treatment a couple of times a year.”

“Doctor, how can you make that diagnosis so quickly when the Corvallis vet couldn’t find it in three visits?” Rosalie asked.

“Having all the information makes the diagnosis easy,” I said. “Knowing that Daisy was a puppy from Alabama made the diagnosis before I even looked at the slide. But, for parasites not to be on the list of possible problems in any puppy with diarrhea is a serious mistake. But veterinarians are like anybody else. If your mind starts down the wrong path, sometimes it is difficult to change your thinking. It was just an oversight on his part.”

“We would like to change to this clinic,” Rosalie said. “What do we have to do to accomplish that change?”

“There is no process,” I said. “In our view, it is done. Having Dr. Clark’s office send us your records would be a plus, but if Daisy is your only pet now, that is very optional.”

“How should I deal with that new veterinarian in that office?” Rosalie asked. “We are certainly not happy with his services.”

“Talking with his office or sending a note to let him know the diagnosis would probably be appropriate,” I said. “But if you’re mad, it will probably roll off like water on a duck’s back. Be informative; we are all in this business to learn. Sometimes we learn from our mistakes or oversights. That’s why they call this a practice.”

***

Rosalie and Daisy were regular visitors to our clinic for many years. In those years, we suffered with Rosalie’s grief over the loss of her husband and then the unexpected loss of a daughter. Through all those hard times, Daisy remained a bright spot in Rosalie’s life, and her visits to the clinic were always punctuated by her bouncing joy. She was one of those rare patients who truly loved to come to the clinic.

Photo by Melissa Jansen Van Rensburg on Pexels.

A Note to My Readers on Thursday Evening

 D. E. Larsen, DVM

My book, The Last Cow in the Chute, Made it into the Antarctica McMurdo Base Library!

Delivered by my nephew, a geologist, who is down there on a project. Well traveled book.