My Take Tuesday: The Belligerent Bovine

January in Utah is a beautiful time of the year. The land is white. The peaks are white. The roofs tops of all of the houses and barns turn white. All is lost in the colorless landscape in which a sense of peace takes over, the long nights settle in, the land is asleep, and the world is put down to rest. Then suddenly, without just cause, comes a blast of bitter blizzards, and winter deepens her grip. 

It was a cold morning. The air burned my face as I stepped out my front door. When temperatures reach twenty below zero, your nostrils sting and burn with each breath. Still, despite the extreme cold, there is a stillness and quiet peace that overwhelm you during the Utah January nights. The quiet midnight drives to respond to emergency calls provide a time for me to reflect and think. In my busy life, I often have little time alone and I cherish those infrequent moments. 

The call on this particular night was a cow with a laceration. Somehow this massive Hereford had tangled herself up in a barb wire fence. As I arrived, the gaping wound was dripping fresh red blood. Steam would rise from the scarlet snow beneath as the blood trickled down alongside the squeeze chute. 

It was obvious that sutures would need to be placed. 

A test of a veterinarian’s ability could be most easily assessed by watching him or her suture a laceration in -20 temperatures. It is indeed one of the most arduous of tasks. 

As I pulled out my box of supplies, I noticed that a majority of the drugs were frozen solid. Fortunately, the lidocaine remained aqueous. I pulled out a large syringe and began injecting the local anesthetic along the periphery of the lesion. The old cow bellowed as I injected the Lidocaine. It was clear that she was very unhappy with her predicament. 

I placed the sutures in a simple interrupted pattern. A break was taken between each suture placement as the stinging cold weather rendered my fingers numb and stiff. In a futile attempt, I tried exhaling on my frozen fingers hoping that they regain some function. This made the numbness much worse. 

As I placed the last suture, the cow lunged forward in the squeeze chute. Her massive belly pinned my fingers against the side of the squeeze chute. A sharp pain shot up my arm as I jumped and pulled my hand back. 

“Alright,” I exclaimed, “Turn her lose. We are done.” 

As soon as the head gate opened, this massive Hereford jumped forward and exited the chute bellowing and swinging her head. She ran straight ahead for about 20 yards at which time she paused. She then turned around and set her focus on me.

I immediately knew I was in trouble. I quickly grabbed my tools and began running for the fence. 1800 pounds of solid animal came thundering towards me.

After a short run, with the bellowing cow in close pursuit, I reached the lodge pole pine fence that surrounded the corral. I dared not look back as I scampered over the fence. I could hear the angry cow snarling and could feel the sound of each hoof pounding the ground as she bounded towards me. 

I made it across the fence safely. Upon reaching the other side I peered back at the massive cow. She stood facing the fence, head down, with a most bewildered look in her eyes. My heart pounded uncontrollably, and I began to shake. This was one angry cow! 

Immediately, my squished hand began to throb. The feeling in my fingers returned and I walked back to my truck. 

As I drove away, I was very much relived to be leaving the belligerent bovine far behind. This was a close call, and I was very fortunate to have made it out of the pen without any serious harm. 

As I headed down the cold frozen highway, my mind returned to my time as a veterinary school student. In the large animal section of the Veterinary Teaching Hospital at Washington State University there was a magnetic sign that could be placed on the pen of a fractious animal. The sign read, “Fractious cow can make it to gate in 2.5 seconds. Can you?”

It would be fitting to have such a sign to hang near the squeeze chute on this particular Utah County farm. 

And that is my take. 

N. Isaac Bott, DVM