The Dart’s Glance, From the Archives

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Fred Briggs waited patiently while I was finishing up on my office calls. He always came at the end of the day, maybe because we were close to his home in Albany, but I liked to think because he knew he would have more time to talk with me.

Fred was a salesman for one of the drug companies that supplied our clinic. He was older and had been in the business for many years. I enjoyed his monthly visits, not only for the information he provided and the orders he took but because of the stories he would tell.

Fred knew all the veterinarians on his route. I would guess he had a little card on all of us. What we liked to talk about, what drugs we favored, and what we wanted to do in our spare time.

When the last client left, Fred showed himself back to the pharmacy area and opened his briefcase on the counter.

“Have a story to tell you, Fred,” I said. “I will be with you in a couple of minutes after I finish up in the back.”

Sandy was there to place our order and place the flyers on the new products in a stack to transfer to my desk later.

“I will take them, and he will glance at them,” Sandy said. “I can never tell how much he absorbs with a simple glance, but it must be a bunch. He always seems to know what it’s all about.

“I think a lot of these vets just absorb things by osmosis,” Fred said. “They are always too busy to sit down and read anything.”

“How are you doing this evening,” I said as I shook Fred’s hand. “I have been wanting to tell you about using that new capture drug that you got for me.”

“How did that work out for you?” Fred asked.

“Worked like a charm,” I said. “We darted a bull elk. We have captured him every year for the last couple of years. He gets sort of ornery during the rut, so we saw his antlers off just to keep his pasture mates safe. He killed a little Sika buck a couple of years ago. It was always such a struggle just using Rompun.”

“The sad news is, I hear that they are probably going to pull it off the market,” Fred said. “It’s ten times the concentration of Ketamine and Ketamine is becoming so popular as a street drug, they don’t want it out there.”

“That’s too bad, just when you find something that works and you don’t have to keep it in a safe deposit box, and they pull it off the market,” I said.

“You know when they first started using those capture guns, they used Nicotine Sulfate for the drug,” Fred said.

“That was not a very safe drug,” I said.

“Let me tell you a little story,” Fred said. “One of the Albany vets bought one of those capture guns. I walked into his clinic just as he got ready to go out on a farm call to castrate a 600-pound boar hog. He asked if I wanted to ride along and watch. I figured it would be a good show.”

“A 600-pound dose of Nicotine Sulfate loaded into one of those darts would be dangerous if it misfired,” I said.

“Let me finish. We got to the place, and they had this boar in a small shed. The vet stood at one doorway and sent me around to stand at the other doorway. They had a couple of boards tacked across the doorways, but if this boar wanted to go through them, the boards wouldn’t even slow him down.”

“So here I am, standing in the doorway,” Fred continued. “And this vet aims at the rump of the boar and pulls the trigger. This dart glances off the boar’s butt and sticks in the top of my Wellingtons. Probably would have got me if I hadn’t had on those leather boots.”

“While, a 600 pounds dose of Nicotine Sulfate, you would not have even survived for the ambulance to get to you,” I said. “Would not have made much of a difference. There is no antidote. You would have been a dead man.”

“The face of the old vet was pretty pale as he was looking at that dart stuck in my pants leg,” Fred said. “He thought it was in my leg. That sort of brought that farm call to a conclusion. He was just getting some color back into his face by the time we got back to town. He stopped at the back of the old T&R truck stop and threw that capture gun into their dumpster.”

“And I thought I was the one who would be telling the story this evening,” I said.

“What are you going to be doing this weekend?” Fred asked. 

“I don’t have anything planned,” I said. “If this place doesn’t tie me down, I am probably free.”

“I am putting together a float trip down the Molalla River. I thought I would see if I could get you and another vet hooked up with a steelhead.”

The fishing trip was a soaker. No fish, just a lot of rain. But it was a good time. Free time away from the practice was precious in those early days.

Photo by Brett Sayles from Pexels

Lie Still and He Won’t Touch You

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Rocket was a small horse, size-wise. But he was opinionated and spirited. And he was determined that he was going to win the battle.

“I don’t know, Kay,” I said. “I think I am going to have to tranquilize Rocket before I am going to be able to float his teeth.”

“Doc, I really don’t want to do that,” Kay said. “Don’t we have another method to take care of his teeth?”

“Not really; Rocket’s mouth is sort of in rough shape,” I said. “He has a lot of sharp points on the worn edges of his teeth. His eating is only going to get worse if we don’t file those down.”

“Okay, go ahead, but not with a tranquilizer,” Kay said.

“Maybe if I use a twitch, I can get it done,” I said.

“Oh, I hate those things,” Kay said. “I watched another vet float a horse’s teeth once, and he just held the horse’s tongue to one side and did the float with no problem.”

“Yes, it can be done like that, with some horses, but not with Rocket,” I said.

“Would you just try before making a zombie out of him for the afternoon?” Kay asked. “I realize he is high-spirited, but I have been working with him, trying to make him more manageable.”

I looked at Nan, and she shrugged her shoulders, knowing that I was usually a sucker for giving in to client pressure.

“Are you going to use the speculum to hold his mouth open?” Nan asked.

“If he is unrestrained, that speculum just makes things more dangerous if he starts throwing his head around.”

Against my better judgment, I figured I would give Rocket a chance and try to float his teeth without restraint. That would prove to be a poor decision.

“Nan, you hold on to the side of his halter and keep your left hand on his shoulder with a stiff arm,” I said. “That should keep you clear of any problem if he acts up.”

With that bit of advice, I turned Rocket’s head slightly toward me, reached into his mouth with my left hand, and grabbed his tongue. He objected for a moment, but then with some soft voices, he calmed. Holding his tongue to the right side of his mouth, I slid the float file into his mouth and took a stroke on his left upper teeth.

Rocket was done being a good horse. He threw his head from side to side. I pulled on the float to remove it, and he drew back hard. This pulled me in front of him.

I instantly knew I was in jeopardy. One of the basic rules for working on a horse is to be in the right place at the right time. To accomplish that, one had to be in the right place all the time. Now I was in front of a fractious horse.

Rocket instantly struck at me with his front feet. He caught me with both hooves, one on each shoulder, and I was knocked flat on my back.

Rocket lunged forward, and I was completely under him. Nan struggled to gain control of the horse and move him off me. 

I had always been told that it was important to lie still and trust that the horse won’t step on you if you were ever in this situation. 

It only took a brief moment, and Nan had Rocket moved to the side, and I rolled clear. I stood up, brushed myself off, and walked to the back of the truck.

Nan joined me at the truck. With shaking hands, I drew up a hefty dose of Rompun, a potent tranquilizer.

“You’re not going to kill him, are you?” Nan asked.

“No, I’m going to kill him, but that might not be a bad idea,” I said.

I was through talking with Kay about how to handle her horse. I stroked his neck to calm him a bit, and then I inserted the needle into his jugular vein and delivered a full ten ccs of Rompun in an IV bolus.

When given IV, Rompun takes effect rapidly. In a brief moment, Rocket’s nose was nearly touching the ground.

With Nan’s help, I lifted his head high enough to finish floating his teeth. With this chemical restraint, the procedure was completed in a few minutes.

“Sometimes a dose of a tranquilizer is the safest thing for both the horse and the operator,” I said to Kay as I handed her the lead rope. “Rocket will be pretty sedate for an hour or so. Just let him stand in the corral by himself, and he will be fine.”

On the way back to the clinic, I explained to Nan how I had laid still, and the horse didn’t touch me.

“I don’t know,” Nan said. “I was so excited and concerned about getting the horse off you. I guess I didn’t notice.”

***

The next morning when I stepped into the shower, I noticed bruises in the shape of hoof prints all up and down my body. 

So much for the ancient wisdom. My adrenalin rush had been so intense I never felt a thing.

Photo by Wolfgang Hasselmann on Unsplash.

A Trip to Seoul

D. E. Larsen, DVM

There was a chill in the air as Truman, and I walked over to the motor pool in the dark.

“Who’s idea was it to leave at this hour?” Truman asked.

“They changed the time for the game, and if we are going to make it for the kickoff, we have to get on the road pretty soon,” I said.

“How many times have you driven a deuce and a half, Larsen?” the motor pool sergeant asked.

“Never,” I said. “But I had a commercial driver’s license before entering the Army. I have driven trucks on the farm since about the age of ten.”

“Will, the roads in Korea are a long way from the farm,” the sergeant said. “Where are you going at such an hour?”

“The 508th ASA Group is playing in the semifinals for the football league,” I said. “One of the guys from our shop is on the team. We are going up for the game.”

“You are going to be dodging ox carts and foot traffic all the way to Seoul,” the sergeant said. “And the traffic in the middle of Seoul will be like you have never seen before. You just have to lean on your horn at every intersection. Otherwise, nobody will pay any attention to you. This truck has these yellow rebar posts welded onto the front bumper’s edge; you will find them invaluable to knowing where you are on the road. If the rebar clears the papa-san, you are fine.”

“You make it sound like we are going to be dodging people the entire way,” I said.

“Like I said, Larsen, we are a long way from the farm,” the sergeant said.

Following the basic instructions, we were good to go and pulled over in front of the mess hall to load the crew up. It was before shift change for the operations building, but we had twisted the mess hall for an early breakfast.

“Okay, guys,” I said as I picked up a couple of bananas from the fruit stand in the mess hall. “We need to load up and get on the road.”

“I’m not in the shop, but I was wondering if I could ride along,” Bob asked.

“What do you mean you’re not in the shop?” I asked. “You’re in supply. Get your butt in the truck.”

Everyone was loading into the truck in front of the mess hall. Truman was waiting to secure the tailgate.

“Lauser, why don’t you ride up front with Truman and me?” I asked. “The seats are a little softer, and there is plenty of room.”

With everyone loaded up, we drove the half mile to the main gate and turned the truck down the main street of Anjeung-ri. The street was teeming with people. There was hardly enough room for the truck in the middle of the road.

“Hit the horn, Larsen,” Truman said. “Let’s see if they jump.”

I gave a short blast on the horn, and the road cleared as if by magic. That was our first lesson in driving the roads of Korea.

“We have fifty miles of this. I hope the horn holds up,” I said as we drove into the countryside of South Korea.

The people thinned out, but the ox carts seemed to be everywhere. In early October, we were in the middle of the rice harvest. There were several times when people would seem to appear out of nowhere. One old man stepped out onto the road, and the yellow rebar on the front bumper couldn’t have missed his elbow by more than an inch.

“That was close,” Truman said. “Where the hell did he come from?”

When we got close to Seoul, the ox carts thinned, and the people increased in numbers. I laid on the horn at every intersection. People and vehicles seemed to part in front of the truck and collapse behind it. Sort of like driving through a flock of sheep on an Idaho highway.

We arrived at the football field with plenty of time before the kickoff. The game was not much to watch, but everyone enjoyed the break away from the company.

“Watching these guys, I should have tried out for the team,” I said.

“I think Mr. Neal was happy to get Ed out of the shop for a couple of months,” Lauser said. “I don’t think he would have let you go.”

It started raining before the game ended, and many of our group spent the last couple of minutes back in the truck. The 508th lost by a couple of touchdowns.

I checked with Ed after the game to make sure he wasn’t planning to return with us.

“The coach is going to take me back tomorrow in a jeep,” Ed said. “That will be more comfortable than riding in the back of a truck.”

We loaded up and headed back to Camp Humphreys. Thinking we had the system for driving in Seoul down pat, we sailed through the first few intersections with the horn blaring.

Then the horn went dead. We could hardly move and ended up stuck in the middle of a large intersection. Six streets came together in a giant maze, and people swarmed from everywhere.

“What the hell are we going to do now?” I asked.

“I’ll show you,” Truman said. “You get ready to move this thing.”

Truman rolled down his window, crawled halfway out, pounded on the truck’s hood, and shouted at the top of his lungs. The way forward cleared almost as magically as if we had a horn.

With increasing rain, Truman was getting soaked, but he didn’t complain, and before we knew it, we were back in the countryside. The traffic was heavier than our trip up to Seoul in the morning hours. There were fewer ox carts and more people, but they were confining themselves to the edge of the road better because of the traffic.

As we drove south out of Suwon, we were in a line of trucks. Most of the trucks were loaded with large sacks of rice. The rain was heavy now. The highway was elevated on a dike passing through a long stretch of rice paddies.

Suddenly, the truck in front of us started braking, and he twisted this way and that way.

“What the heck is wrong with him?” Lauser said.

About then, we could see this guy rolling down the highway ahead of the truck. He had just been struck by the truck. The truck continued to fight for control and finally headed off the road and into the rice paddies some fifteen feet below.

As the truck went over the edge of the dike, his rear wheels rose high in the air. When the wheels came down, they struck the man, stretched out on the highway, squarely in his midsection. Splat!

“Oh my God!” Truman said. “Did you see that?”

In Korea, whenever there was a traumatic event, a crowd of people would appear, seemingly from out of the mist.

A hundred people surrounded us almost instantly. We were all out of the truck but couldn’t move through the crowd. I got back in the truck to watch as things unfolded before us.

Several Koreans stopped the first truck in the northbound lane. They folded the dead guy up, picked him up, and stuck him in on the floor of the passenger side of the rice truck they had stopped. And off the truck went, heading to Suwon with his dead passenger.

The crowd dissipated as rapidly as it had formed. Everything was back to the way it had been moments before the accident as if nothing had happened.

We looked at each other and shook our heads. Truman laughed.

“Check the back, and make sure we have everybody and the tail gate is secure,” I said. “We need to get home and unwind now.”

“Yeah, tonight might be a good night to have a purple Jesus party,” Lauser said.

“I don’t know. I think I will stop by Bob’s hooch and play with his new puppy,” I said.

“What’s up that?” Truman said. “The Koreans don’t have pets. Where did he come up with a puppy like that?”

“I don’t know, but it is sort of a touch of home,” I said.

The rest of the drive was uneventful. All the guys were happy when I dropped them off at the mess hall, just in time for dinner.”

“How did the trip go?” the motor pool sergeant asked.

“It went well until the horn stopped working,” I said. “And then when the truck squished a guy on the highway, the fun was sort of over.”

“Did you hit someone?” the sergeant asked.

“No, it was a rice truck ahead of us,” I said. “We just had a front-row view of the event.”

“You had me worried for a minute,” the sergeant said. “We would be buried in paperwork if you had hit someone.”

After finishing up at the motor pool, I went to the mess hall for dinner and then changed clothes and went to the village. I stopped at Bob’s hooch and played with his puppy for a bit before going to Duffy’s Tavern to drown out the day’s events.