My Take Tuesday: “Doc, whatever she has, I’ve got the same thing too!”

Animals and people dictate what happens every day for me. Simple routine appointments can turn out to be complex once the unpredictable, yet potent potion of human personality is added to the mix.

A few months back an elderly woman came into the clinic. Her cat had been suffering for weeks with non-stop itching. As I examined the cat, I noticed that this itch was insatiable. The poor cat had scratched and irritated nearly every inch of its body in an effort to satisfy the intense itch. The scratching was so intense, that nearly her entire body was covered with bleeding sores.

A diagnosis of mites was made after taking a skin scrape and looking at it under a microscope. This particular mite is elusive and difficult to find even for the most experienced veterinary dermatologists. However, it is highly contagious.

As I began speaking with the owner about the severity of the diagnosis and the need for immediate treatment, I could tell that her mind was wandering. She was clearly not focusing on what I was saying. I politely asked if I had said something that did not make sense or if she had any questions. Often, the open-ended questions will allow a client to discuss their concerns, however, I was not prepared for what happened next.

“Doc, do you think I have what she has?”, her voice was inquisitive. 

“Excuse me?”, I replied, “What do you mean?” 

Before I could say another word, this elderly woman dropped her pants. Literally right to the floor. Her legs were covered in large red lesions. The marks were evenly spaced like squares on a checkerboard. 

I am easily embarrassed, and when this happens my face turns a deep red. I stammered, “I…. I’m… a… I am sorry ma’am; you will have to go to your doctor for that”. The beet-red shade on my face persisted even after I exited the room.

I learned that day, albeit involuntarily, what “granny panties” look like.

As crazy as this may seem, I have had worse things happen while going about my daily appointments. However, those are saved for another My Take Tuesday.

My job is never boring. The two-legged creatures that come in keep it from ever being so.

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: The Interview

The day was February 14, 2005. I sat nervously in the reception area of Bustad Hall. In front of me was a paper with an essay question, the question dealt with Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy (BSE) and its implications on the current cattle market. My understanding of the disease at the time was very limited. I began my essay talking about the devastating effect that mad cow disease had on beef exports across the globe.

Upon completion of my essay, I walked down the hall to a conference room. I sat at a table and a panel of 4 people then interviewed me for a spot in the Washington State University College of Veterinary Medicine class of 2009.

The odds were stacked against me. I was applying as a non-resident. Statistically, my chances of being accepted were only around 7%. My palms were sweating as the questions came. First, we talked about my mediocre grades in Chemistry. After struggling with the first semester of Organic Chemistry, I repeated the class with much better results. I discussed the difficulty of Ty Redd’s O-Chem class and the hundreds of hours I spent studying and reviewing the material. A grade of a B in this class was a huge relief for me. Although it fell short of an elusive A, I was confident that this arduous class had prepared me for the rigorous academic curriculum encountered during veterinary school. I was confident that Southern Utah University had prepared me well for professional school.

Questions followed about current events, ethical situations, animal welfare and why I wanted to be a veterinarian.

I remember leaving the interview relieved it was over, but very much unsure of my performance.

Two weeks later, I received a call from the associate dean of the veterinary school at WSU. He extended to me an offer of admission to veterinary school. I remember the excitement I felt after hanging up the phone. I cried when I called home to tell my family the good news. So much hard work and time had gone into this.

Little did I know that veterinary school would prove to be more challenging than I had ever anticipated. The next 4 years were filled with successes and failures, triumphs and defeat. But such is life. Nothing of significance comes without hard work and the presentation of incommodious circumstances. In the end, I successfully completed the program and received my Doctor of Veterinary Medicine.

I remember the day of my interview so well. In fact, the feelings of anxiety crept back to me during the three years I spent serving on the admissions committee for the School of Veterinary Medicine at Utah State University. During my time on this committee, I was privileged to conduct the interviews of prospective veterinary students. Over two long days, we met with each candidate and asked questions very similar to the ones I was asked during my interview. I know the feeling they felt must have paralleled my own as I sat in their seat many years ago.

This profession contains some of the finest people I have ever met. We are a group of very diverse backgrounds and interests, united with the commonality of a love for medicine, surgery, animals and communication with their owners.

Looking back, I cannot imagine being anything other than a veterinarian. I love what I do.

And That is My Take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: The Adroit Veterinarian

A few years ago, I had the privilege of visiting a small animal shelter in Cuautla, Mexico. The streets in rural Mexico are full of unclaimed pets. This shelter provides refuge and care for many of these pets.

I will never forget the long car ride. As the rickety old micro-bus careened the dirt roads that led to the shelter, I peered out the window at the green trees and fields that adorned this small piece of heaven. As we passed a small panadería, the familiar sweet smell of bread, churros and pastries filled the air and permeated our senses.

As we arrived at the shelter, a large chain-link fence provided a barrier to the outside world. Inside, lay an expansive series of buildings and kennels. The perfectly manicured lawns provided a sanctuary to hundreds of homeless pets. As I exited the vehicle, I noticed a dog racing excitedly across the grass. It carried behind it a set of training wheels, a custom-made wheelchair, that allowed freedom of movement for its paralyzed back legs. I could feel the excitement of this young dog, as it scampered, worry-free across its beautiful sanctuary. I was overcome with a sense of gratitude, and I knew I was standing in a special place.

On this particular day, my assignment was to help spay 10 dogs that were living at the shelter. As I entered the surgery suite, my heart sank. The cement walls were painted dark brown. A single window facing to the north, provided all of the lighting for the room. As I scanned the walls for a light switch, I realized that electricity was a luxury not available in this part of the world.

I remember thinking, “How can I operate on these pets without electricity? How can I even see what I am doing? I can’t do this.”

Modern veterinary medicine has changed the face of the profession. Electronic monitoring equipment provides real-time blood pressure, an EKG, oxygen saturation, temperature and allows close monitoring of all vital systems during a surgery. Anesthetic gases, like Isoflurane and Sevoflurane, provide a safe surgical experience and make recovery much less complicated. A surgery room light, a necessary tool, allows visualization of the surgical site and facilitates the entire process.

None of these luxuries were available.

As I prepared to begin surgery, only a single surgery gown was available, and my 6’2” frame far exceeded its size. My large hands could barely fit into the small size 6.5 latex surgical gloves provided. My severe allergy to latex worried me as I pulled the tight gloves over my hands.

The stainless-steel surgery table sat low to the ground and could not be adjusted. I had to bend over as I prepared the surgical site. The only surgical monitoring that could be performed was with the use of a simple stethoscope. Injectable drugs were the only available modality to administer general anesthesia.

I took a deep breath. “I can do this,” I reassured myself, “you need to rely on your skills and trust you can do this successfully.”

I nervously began the first incision, as a bead of sweat poured down my forehead.

Each surgery went well. All recovered well without complications.

It is easy to work with the latest in veterinary technology. Digital radiology, surgical monitoring equipment, laser and electrosurgical units provide reliability and safety and are a must in today’s modern practice. I rely on each of them on a daily basis at Mountain West Animal Hospital.

As I left the animal sanctuary, I breathed a sigh a relief. I had learned so much from this experience. It was something that will forever be etched in my memory.

If I were to have to select a single event that has made me the veterinarian I am today, it would be this day in Mexico. I learned to rely on my skill and judgement. I learned that a truly great veterinarian can perform in both a state-of-the-art facility and also in a small cement building without electricity while in a third world setting.

Although the methodology differed, the result remains the same.

I will forever be grateful for this capacitation at a serene sanctuary in a faraway place.

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

Here I am pictured before the start of the first surgery. Notice the ill-fitting gloves and surgery gown – beneath the surgical mask is a very large, albeit nervous, smile.

My Take Tuesday: Forget Me Not

There is a flower that grows in the beautiful mountains of Alaska. It is a tiny plant that is easily overlooked, it’s small and unassuming stature is easily lost as the surrounding vegetation is observed. However, on closer look, this flower is a remarkable example of nature’s masterpiece. 

The dark green stems and leaves are much like those of other plants, but its flowers are what make this flower unforgettable. The sky-blue pedals perfectly match the beauty of a clear, cloudless day. The tiny flower displays a most unique and unforgettable beauty. It is a true marvel of creation and is aptly named, “Forget Me Not.” 

A couple of years ago, I visited a massive cemetery. I walked quietly along the long never-ending rows of marble headstones. Many were from the 18th and 19th century. Moss was visible along the base of many of the markers. Names and dates, weathered and worn, were fading on many of them. 

As I looked around, the headstones numbered in the thousands. Who were these people? What were they like? What is their story? Only a handful are remembered, and unfortunately, most are largely forgotten. 

I pondered as I read the inscriptions. I questioned, “Is this what is to come of me? When I go the way of all living things, will I be remembered? Will I leave a legacy?” 

My mind turned to the small cemetery in the town where I was raised. Castle Dale, Utah is a small place, one easily overlooked by most. The cemetery is located on the north end of Center Street. I spent a summer during high school working as a caretaker there. Each week, I would mow the lawn. Care was taken as the grass was trimmed around each and every headstone. 

Many of my ancestors are buried in the cemetery in Castle Dale. My great great grandmother, my great grandparents, grandparents, a beloved uncle and an infant cousin all rest in this special place. 

My great grandfather passed away long before I was born. I have a picture of him smiling and sitting on the grass in a pair of bib overalls. He is aged and tired, but his character is still evident in the old photograph. It reminds me of a wise observation that Thomas Edison made concisely by stating, “I have friends in overalls whose friendship I would not swap for the favor of all of the kings of the world.” 

My grandfather died when I was only three years old. My memories of him are largely limited to what others have told me. He served as county clerk for over two decades. Like his father, he was a dry land farmer. He worked tirelessly to provide for his six children. The ground he and his father tilled and planted year after year, still remains in the family today. 

My uncle passed away in 2016. I owe my very life to my uncle Jerry. Once, as a curious 5-year-old, I was standing in the doorway to his kitchen. Jerry had a bag of those pink chalky wintergreen disc candies. I placed one in my mouth, and somehow got it lodged inside my trachea. He must have sensed my panic, but he calmly walked over and gave a firm push on my stomach and the piece of candy shot across the room. If you are lucky enough to know my uncle Jerry Bott, then you have the privilege of knowing the best person I have ever met. There is no better example of loyalty, charity and love than he was. 

All three of their graves are located next to each other in the south side of the middle section. Each lived wonderful lives. Each treated their fellow men in kind with an honest word, a helping hand and a smile. With the years and the long hard miles, each always did their best. When the storms of life broke loose, each valiantly fought with courage. 

As long as my heart beats, each will never be forgotten. 

They inspire me still. Their legacy invites me to be a better father, a better friend, and a better man.

Like the small unassuming Forget Me Not flower, each of us, no matter how small or inconspicuous we are, have an important part to contribute to the tapestry of our posterity and the majesty of creation and life. 

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: The Christmas Cactus

I never did get to meet my paternal grandmother. Her name was Caroline Westover Bott. She died several years before I was born. I wish I could have gotten to know her. I have heard stories about her humorous personality and her kind and sweet nature.

Her favorite plant was called a Christmas cactus. This plant is a long-lived plant with flat, segmented stems. Most of the year its appearance is fairly unassuming. It seems to be just a regular potted green in the corner of the living room.

Around Christmas, however, something magical happens.

With care, this plain looking plant will blossom with beautiful pink flowers. Because of this festive seasonal bloom, the Christmas cactus is a tradition in many European and North American homes during the holidays.

After my grandmother died, her husband and children continued to take care of her Christmas cactus.

Caring for this plant is much more intense than other common house plants. Despite its name, the Christmas cactus is not a desert plant, but rather has its origins in the tropical rain forests of South America.

In fall, night temperatures around 50-55 degrees will trigger Christmas cactus to form flower buds. A carefully monitored balance of darkness and sunlight will give you beautiful blooms in time for the holidays. My uncle Jerry faithfully took care of this plant year after year until he died two years ago.

One of my favorite Christmas memories is setting around this plant on Christmas morning and opening presents. I will forever treasure this family time and the pleasant memories that remain.

Another unique feature of this segmented plant is its ability to propagate. By transplanting a cutting of at least three stem segments into a small pot of soil (preferably taken from the pot of the parent plant). At least one segment is then buried. With care and time the plant will take root.

A couple of years before my uncle Jerry passed away, he gave me a small transplant from this Christmas cactus that belonged to my grandma. As it brilliantly bloomed during this holiday season, I longed to spend time with my loved ones that have passed away. I am so grateful for this tangible legacy that will continue to live on and be passed on to my children. It is my own little piece of a holiday tradition that lives on all year long. I cherish my Christmas cactus and the family ties it symbolizes.

And that is My Take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: White Lightning

Reindeer rarely have difficulty giving birth. Fortunately, nature has provided this species with amazing vitality. Young calves stand within minutes of being born.

Predation is the primary cause of death in newborn calves. To minimize this, cows synchronize their birthing. If all of the calves are born at the same time, fewer are killed by predators. Gestation length can vary as much as 45 days to accomplish this. Such synchrony is fascinating, but provides considerable challenges with domesticated herds. Occasionally, calves are born premature and lung development is not complete. Sadly, many of these calves die.

As a veterinarian, I perform a considerable number of artificial inseminations on reindeer each year. The calves produced by this procedure are especially valuable. Intense care is given to newborns to ensure the best chances of survival.

A few years back, a young male calf was born during the summer. He had a unique white marking on his nose. This calf was a charmer. We all instantly fell in love with him.

On examination, the calf showed considerable effort in his breathing. His lungs were not working as they should. Research has shown that these calves lack a chemical called Surfactant. Surfactant reduces the surface tension of fluid in the lungs and helps make the small air sacs in the lungs (alveoli) more stable. This keeps them from collapsing when an individual exhales. In preparation for breathing air, fetuses begin making surfactant while still in the the uterus. With some reindeer calves, this production is incomplete when they are born.

Treatment consists of replacement surfactant therapy. This is often not feasible in veterinary medicine because of the high cost of synthetic surfactant. When is is available, it must be administered within 6 hours of birth to be effective.

The second treatment is placing the calf in an incubator (very similar to ones used with human neonates) and administering oxygen. Some calves will improve with this treatment. We placed him inside the oxygen chamber and waited. Feeding was required every 2-3 hours. The first few hours were touch and go, but little by little, improvement was noted. His tiny lungs slowly began to function properly.

Fortunately, such was the case with this beautiful calf. We named him White Lightning, reflecting the distinctive white stripe on his nose.

Miraculously, on this hot summer day, a life was saved. As you can see in the photos, we were all happy to pose with the calf, with the exception of my youngest son, KW. He fortunately has overcome his fear of reindeer. 🙂

And That is My Take!
N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: Ran Over by a Reindeer!

Many of the pictures I post are of Mountain West Animal Hospital’s resident reindeer. They are very docile and love the attention. Sven and Yuki will pose for photos and love little children. Sven even has a fondness for the color pink.

However, not all reindeer are like this. A male reindeer’s personality changes dramatically as the breeding season approaches. Rising testosterone levels in the male reindeer are responsible for the hardening and cleaning off of the antlers. This cleaning off of the velvet has an abrupt onset. Although fresh blood is noted on the antlers as the velvet comes off, the condition is NOT PAINFUL. There is no sensation in the antlers at this point.

Testosterone will make an otherwise tame male become a raging, grunting and aggressive mess.

A couple of years ago, I received a call from a reindeer farmer in northern Utah. He had a male reindeer that has injured the base of his antler. August heat and fresh blood are a recipe for complications due to either a severe bacterial infection and/or disgusting maggots.

I arrived at the farm and immediately realized that the bull was in full rut. I had just left the office and, like a true nerd, had placed an external hard drive for my computer in my front pocket.

The bull was not very happy to be caught. It took three of us to restrain him while I treated his injury. His massive antlers could easily lift us off the ground and fling us in any direction desired.

Just as I finished the treatment, he broke lose. He immediately turned toward me. I had very little time to react. I stood there with empty syringes and iodine in my hands, helpless and very much vulnerable. His attack was swift. A single charge knocked me on the ground.

I lay there struggling to catch my breath. The sudden impact of the ground on my back left me with temporary paralysis of the diaphragm which made it difficult to take a breath. When I finally did breathe, I was bombarded with excruciating pain over the left side of my chest. I reached into my pocket and removed the external hard drive. It was shattered.

I was very much defeated and beaten, but overall ok after I got on my feet. The pain was caused from two cracked ribs. Other than that, I had no further damage from the incident.

I learned my lesson that day. Rutting reindeer cannot be trusted. They are the most dangerous animal I have ever worked with. They make a Jersey dairy bull seem like a young puppy.

I am glad I had the external hard drive in my pocket. The antlers would have easily punctured my lung and inflicted life-threatening injuries.

If you ever see a male reindeer grunting, snorting and peeing on itself – STAY AWAY!

You have been warned.

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: Why Reindeer?

Curiosity is often sparked when clients learn about some of my work with reindeer and also when they see the massive antlers of our resident reindeer. This always begs the question… Why reindeer?

The day was March 28, 2010. I was driving on I-15 heading up to Cottonwood Heights. The next morning, I was to begin a new job at an animal hospital in West Jordan. I was as nervous as I could be about the new change. As I was driving, I received a call from a concerned individual. The caller explained that his pet was thought to be pregnant, and that confirmation was needed. It was then explained to me that the said pet was a reindeer. Now, as a veterinarian, I deal with a lot of animals, everything from antelope to zebras. However, I never anticipated working with reindeer. I had never even seen a live reindeer at this point in my life. But as I often do, I thought to myself, “Why not?” I told the caller I was just a few miles away and was happy to stop by.

I arrived just in time to witness the female reindeer, named Mischief, begin her labor. I was able to then help deliver a small female calf. The baby was so fragile! It was a solid jet black. I remember thinking that was such an unusual color when compared to her mother. The calf had difficulties initially. I had to administer medication to help with heart rate and for several days, the mother had to be milked and the calf had to be fed with a bottle. Mother also had difficulties after the birth. She had retained the placenta and required several days of medical intervention. Finally, after nearly a week, mother and baby began to thrive.

Over the course of the next several weeks, I would often stop by after work to check on the new mom and baby. The owner of the reindeer and I would often talk about how fascinating the experience had been for me. One night, he approached me about beginning an artificial insemination program for his reindeer herd. He had been searching for a veterinarian to attempt assisted reproduction in reindeer for over 10 years. He had not been able to find one. The idea excited me. I readily accepted the challenge.

I began researching the possibilities. I found that this had been studied and attempted dozens of times since 1973, without any appreciable success. In fact, The University of Alaska had received an $80,000 grant to begin a program. Their success rate was less than expected, and only one live reindeer calf was ever produced.

Our budget was small. We had only $2,000 to work with. We had to find out how to not only collect reindeer semen, but also how to freeze it in liquid nitrogen. We also had to learn how to heat synchronize the females and how to perform the insemination procedure. We had our work cut out.

After many failures and setbacks, in the spring of 2011 we were successful at producing the world’s first female reindeer calf by frozen/thawed artificial insemination.

We have produced dozens of calves since then. Our program involves a novel semen collection and cryopreservation system, estrous synchronization of females and trans-cervical artificial insemination. Because of our high post thaw semen motility and artificial insemination pregnancy rates, our program is arguably the most successful program in the world.

It is fun to reflect back on that random phone call I received while driving down the road. Many opportunities have opened up for me since that day.

Much of life is a consequence of timing. Thousands of years ago, an astute observer wrote, “I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favor to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all.” (Ecclesiastes 9:11)

Time and chance aligned perfectly in this part of my career.

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: Black Friday

It was a beautiful Friday in late November. The animals were standing, by the thousands, crowded in the isle. The primitive fight or flight instinct had clearly pushed towards the fight response on this particular day. This mammal known as man is best avoided on the day after Thanksgiving. In years past, I stood in these massive lines just to get a good deal, after all, nothing says “America” like fighting over a TV at Walmart.

This particular Black Friday, however, was spent driving to and from farms in Utah County tending to a variety of sick animals. What began as a perfect day, quickly took a turn for the worse.

The Mare’s name was Dollar. She was a beautiful sorrel. She had recently given birth to a healthy young filly. 

Shortly after foaling, she developed severe lameness in all four of her feet. Her condition quickly deteriorated, and she was barely able to walk when I arrived. To make matters worse, Dollar had developed severe colic, a term referring to abdominal pain in horses. Her intense pain was caused by gut spasms and every few minutes she would suddenly drop to the ground and roll.

Upon arrival, I performed a thorough physical examination. I then administered a mild intravenous sedative and passed a tube through her nose and into her stomach. I then pumped in a half-gallon of mineral oil.

The next treatment in a case like this is to administer a non-steroidal anti-inflammatory to help with the pain. The two most common drugs that veterinarians use in this case are phenylbutazone (commonly called Bute) and flunixin meglumine (brand name is Banamine).

For me on this particular day, I reached for a bottle of Banamine. With the needle in my right hand and the syringe in my shirt pocket, I held off the jugular vein with my left hand. Dollar didn’t flinch as I quickly slipped the needle into her vein. With dark blood slowly dripping out the needle hub, I reattached the syringe and steadied my hand against her neck. Just then, a gut spasm hit, Dollar jumped up and staggered sideways. I quickly sidestepped in an effort to remain in a position where I could inject the medicine.

Without warning, and before I had injected any appreciable amount of Banamine, she reared up on her back legs. I retracted the needle immediately and instinctively stepped backwards. The momentum of her rearing up and me pulling back made me momentarily struggle with my balance. I then pulled my right arm abruptly to the side of my body to avoid falling over. As I did so, the large bore 18-gauge needle plunged over an inch and a half straight into the right side of my abdomen. The needle entered about 6” to the right of my navel and 3” below my last rib. I felt intense pain as the needle cut through my skin, subcutaneous fat, and abdominal muscle. The hub of the needle was nestled flush against my brown Carhartt Jacket. During my split-second of inattentiveness approximately 2 mls of Banamine was injected directly into my abdominal cavity.

Immediately, I grimaced in pain. The owner of the mare looked at me as I pulled the bloody needle from my abdomen. 

“Are you ok?” he inquired, “Did you just stab yourself?”

“I sure did,” I groaned.

The pain was incredible. It was so severe, that I actually laid right down in the stall and waited for the stinging to subside. It felt as though some one was burning with a branding iron.

After nearly a half an hour, I was able to stand up and walk back over to the mare and administer the Banamine properly. I then climbed in my truck and immediately headed to the doctor’s office.

There are some veterinary drugs which are fatal when injected into humans; fortunately for me Banamine isn’t one of them. Although it relieves pain when administered intravenously in horses, I learned that day that when administered outside a vein, the effects are the total opposite.

It stung far worse than any insect sting or abdominal pain I have experienced.

“You what?”, The doctor blurted out, “How much did you inject?”

My physician is unique. His father is a veterinarian. He was raised at a veterinary clinic and spend his youth helping his father in a general mixed-animal practice. Fortunately, he knew exactly what Banamine was and what he needed to do to treat me.

Afterwards, he laughed as he reminded me, “Hey Doc, keep that needle pointed away from you next time!”

I most certainly learned a painful lesson that Back Friday.

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: Thanksgiving Dinner in Emery, Utah

2021 was a brutal year. During the summer, my maternal grandparents quietly left this world just 40 days apart. They were just a few months away from their 72nd anniversary. I struggle to find the words that can adequately express the profound sadness that I still feel and the immense hole that their passing has left behind. Life can be beautiful and perfect at one moment, and then in a flash become bittersweet. Without warning, the icy hand of death knocks eventually at every door. Memories are all that remain. I long for one more hug, one more visit, one more meal, or even better one last Thanksgiving. 

The sense of smell is closely linked with memory, probably more so than any of our other senses. Those with full olfactory function may be able to think of smells that evoke particular memories; for me, the smell of turkey in the oven takes me back to Thanksgivings of long ago. As this homeward journey begins, I find myself seated at a table in my grandparents’ house in Emery, UT.

Grandma made the best food! The fresh baked rolls, the stuffing, the potatoes, roasted butternut squash – each dish renders a unique and enticing smell. With the ever-more ready turkey roasting in the oven, these combine, creating a signature fragrance greeting guests the moment they step through the front door. We salivate as we anxiously await the assortment of generations of family recipes cooked to perfection.

I remember exactly where I sat at the table, facing south, sitting across from my siblings and cousins. The sounds of the adults in the kitchen enjoying a home cooked meal as the delectable smells, good conversation, and the comfortable atmosphere make me feel at peace. As I close my eyes, I readily am able to conjure a significant mental image of Thanksgiving dinners at the home of Hugh and Shonna Peterson.

The joyous bustle and the incessant hum of conversation combine to create a warm atmosphere. The stokermatic furnace in the living room, with its gentle smell of burning coal, adds to the homey ambiance. As we reminisce and laugh, we give our diets a hall pass, stuffing ourselves in a way we would never dream of the other 364 days of the year. But more than the food we savor, it is the scent of the feast that we love and the constancy of family that makes us so complete.

After eating, I would usually end up playing card games with grandma or sitting with my cousins around the TV, watching a football game or laughing hysterically at the James Arrington one man show on VHS.

Later on, I return to the warm glow of the kitchen, just in time to hear my grandpa telling a story from his younger days. I have never met anyone that can tell a story quite like Hugh Peterson. His excellent memory weaves a tapestry of nostalgia. With each word we move closer to the edge of our seats. With a smile on his face, and just a tad of embellishment, he tells a story like a boss. He makes us all literally laugh until we cry.

I will forever cherish these memories and conversations around the dinner table in Emery, Utah. They will invariably remain a refreshing change from the chaos of everyday life. I will always treasure the Peterson Family Thanksgivings as some of my most precious memories.

Life is full of little moments of joy, so fleeting, that they are often unappreciated. In today’s extremely fast-paced world, our busy lives often keep us from enjoying the simplest of life’s pleasures. Like you feel just good enough to appreciate a sunset, the smell of freshly cut grass, the peaceful quiet feeling that abounds after a fresh snowfall, or the bright amber moon rising in the east above the Wasatch Mountains. These tranquil moments are only enjoyed by those who are observant enough to notice them in this chaotic life. 

Since yesterdays are gone, and tomorrows are never promised, let’s make this Thanksgiving count. Spend time with family and friends. Let us love and laugh and live in the moment. Be sure to spend time with the people in your life who want you to be in theirs. Cherish the people in your life who accept you for who you are, support you in the things you chose to do and, no matter what, are there for you.    

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM