My Take Tuesday: Why did you become a veterinarian?

I hear this question on a regular basis. Each veterinarian has a story about why he or she decided to pursue a career in veterinary medicine. Most veterinarians share a commonality – that they have always wanted to be a veterinarian as long as they can remember. My story is a little bit different. I have always loved animals but didn’t decide to become a veterinarian until the age of 21.

To tell my story, I must start at the beginning.

I was raised on a small farm in Castle Dale, UT. My first responsibilities as a child were to feed the chickens and gather the eggs. I began this task at 6 years of age. Each year we would purchase a variety of baby chicks from Murray McMurray hatchery. They would arrive at the post office on a scheduled day. I would wait with eager anticipation for this time. To me it was just like Christmas.

My dad would let each of us pick out a chick that was “ours”. I would always name mine. I first experienced the remarkable human – animal bond with my chickens. I cried when they died. As a child, chickens became my favorite animal, and remain so until today.

Even though I spent my entire childhood around animals, I did not put much thought into becoming a veterinarian. In high school, I took an aptitude test. The test results suggested that I would not make a good veterinarian. I was not introverted. According to that particular test, I could not be successful as a veterinarian. Assuming that these tests were accurate, I pushed the veterinary idea out of my head and considered a law degree.

After I graduated from high school, I spent the next two years in Peru. I was immersed in a culture so much different from the one I was used to. It took nearly a year for me to adjust and to speak fluent Spanish. I remember walking down the street in Casma, Peru one day and seeing a group of men in the process of castrating a bull. It was a sight that I will never forget. They were beating the testicles with a large stick in an effort to destroy the testicular tissue and render the bull sterile. The brutality was sickening. I remember feeling so sorry for the bull.

That night I laid in bed thinking about why they would castrate a bull in such a barbaric fashion. I realized that perhaps that was the only way they knew how. Maybe they didn’t know any better. I decided at that moment that I would do all I could to teach these farmers a better way. Having a farming background, I was very familiar with animal husbandry and felt confident that I could help educate the farmers in this part of the world.

My first patient was a pig named Walter. He was a family pet that lived in a house in Casma. Walter had an attitude and his owners needed to have him castrated. I had a friend named Duilio Davelos that owned a pharmacy in town. I visited him and purchased some lidocaine, suture, iodine and alcohol. The procedure went flawlessly. Walter recovered very quickly. News spread of the event. Soon after, I began sending my free time on Monday’s castrating pigs. I found that these farmers were open to learning new methods. The supplies were very inexpensive, and my services were free.

Next came chickens. Because of my time spent as a child taking care of baby chicks, I was able to teach basic poultry care and even help make incubators to boost production. I soon began helping with llama and alpaca herds. Soon, other curious Americans participated in this. In fact, a human dermatologist raised in Provo, UT had his first surgical experience South of Trujillo, Peru castrating pigs! It was very fulfilling to be able to help people out in this fashion. I felt like I was really accomplishing something. I was giving them something that would change the way they would treat their animals. No longer would they brutally castrate their animals without local anesthetic. They also knew how to surgically prep the skin, which eliminated so many post-operative infections. I was helping people by helping their pets. It made me so happy.

As my time in Peru came to a close, I boarded a plane in Lima and headed back to the USA. As I sat in my seat, I reflected on the past two years. My thoughts kept returning to the animal services I rendered. It was in that moment, high in the air, that I decided to become a veterinarian. I landed in Utah, and a few weeks later began my first college classes. After 8 1/2 years or arduous study, my goal was reached, and I became a veterinarian.

I often reflect on the decision I made. I look at how happy I am now. I love what I do. I love helping people by helping their animals. I have never had a boring day, nor have I ever regretted this career decision. I really feel like it is what I was meant to do.

So much in life happens by chance. I was fortunate to have my agricultural upbringing. It prepared me for the future. It is impossible to look forward and connect the dots of the random chances in our lives, but looking back, I can see it clearly.

I am glad that I had the chance to provide animal care in a faraway place and how that opportunity led me down this remarkable path I am on today. I cannot imagine doing anything else.

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: My First Surgery

I was raised on a small farm in Castle Dale, UT. We raised Guernsey milk cows, Suffolk sheep and many varieties of chickens and pheasants. My daily chores included feeding the chickens and gathering the eggs.

One day after school, I walked into the barn that housed the chickens. The barn was divided into three equal rooms. The first room is where we would store stacked straw bales. The second and third rooms were where the chickens and pheasants were kept.On this particular day, I found our calico cat nestled with her newborn kittens. She was lying right next to the straw stack, on the ground near the chicken coop door. There were seven in all. As an 8 year old, and still to this day, new babies of any kind are an exciting experience. I dropped down and began counting the tiny kittens. I was so thrilled! As I handled the small kittens, I noticed that something wasn’t quite right. The umbilical cord from one of kittens was wrapped tightly around a leg of each of the kittens. If I picked one kitten up, the entire litter would follow as if they were chained together. I tried to remove the cord with my fingers, but it was far too tight. Even as a little kid, I knew that something had to be done.

In Castle Dale at this time, we did not have a veterinarian. The only veterinary services available were on Thursdays when a veterinarian would travel from Richfield. It was early afternoon, so my dad was not going to be home from work for a couple of hours. I had to figure something out for myself.

I reached in my pocket and pulled out my Swiss Army knife. It was one that had a myriad of blades, nearly all of them never used, and a tooth pick and small set of tweezers in the handle. I opened the smallest cutting blade and bent down. I very carefully cut the umbilical cords from each of the kittens. I used some iodine to keep the procedure as clean as possible.

The procedure was a success. All of the kittens survived.

Fortunately, I no longer use my Swiss Army knife for surgeries. Although my surgical skills have been refined and perfected, I still have the curiosity and passion that that 8 year old displayed. I love being a veterinarian. The satisfaction I felt that day long ago is repeated every time I am able to help save a life.

I look back on my first surgical experience with fondness. It was one of the important milestones in my path to becoming who I am today.

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

I am pictured here with these kittens in 1988

My Take Tuesday: Late Night Call

The phone rang at exactly 2:03 AM. I jumped out of bed and sleepily answered, “Hello?”

Calls like this often come in the early morning hours. Animals, it seems, have the worst troubles while we are sleeping.

“Hey Doc, can you come out to my place?”

“What’s going on?”, I responded, wiping the sleep from my eyes.

“It is one of my ewes, Doc, she has 5 hooves sticking out of her backside!”, he explained with a dramatic tone.

“Alright, I will be right there”, I replied, as I quickly changed my clothes and dressed for the outside temperatures. Situations like this seem to always occur in January, when the temperature is below zero.
I fired up my pickup truck and headed down the road.

Mr. Johnson was a long time client and a good sheep man. He knows enough to get through most situations and is good about calling me before all hope is lost.

Farmers like Mr. Johnson are becoming more and more rare. Large corporate companies have taken over so much of the agriculture industry and have forced the small guys out, sending along the notion that each individual animal has value simply because it lives. The loss of both equates to a disappearance of my favorite part of being a mixed animal veterinarian – the interactions I have with people. The ability to help individual people through service for their animals is the hallmark and joy of being a successful veterinarian.

Bravery and survival are sojourners, and Mr Johnson still fights daily to stay afloat and continue his 100+ year family legacy of sheep farming. As I pulled into the Johnson ranch, my headlights hit the west side of the weathered old barn. Missing slats checkered the barn wood walls and added variety to the relic that can be seen during the day from the busy interstate, I-15.

As I stepped into the barn, Mr. Johnson greeted me warmly. “Hazel is making some hot chocolate for you Doc, we sure do appreciate you coming out in the middle of the night like this.”

He pointed me to the Suffolk ewe. She was indeed in distress, and sure enough, 5 legs and small hooves were protruding from her back side.I calmly knelt down behind her and began my work. A trip a couple of years back to Auburn University provided me with a valuable trick in a situation like this. A small dose of Epinepherine was administered intravenously, and almost instantaneously, her uterus relaxed.

I gently pushed each of the legs back in and blindly felt around with my hand. A head was readily palpable, as was a tail, and a second head.

“Well, we at least have three!”, I exclaimed as Mr. Johnson anxiously looked on.

I continued to palpate until I was certain that I had two front feet from the same lamb and began the delivery. The first lamb was a large buck, nearly 18 pounds and jet black. The second and third were both ewes and were smaller and lighter in color. I then reached back in, and to my amazement, pulled out a 4th lamb. The last one was a buck and was much smaller in size compared to its birthmates.

All four lambs immediately began moving after being delivered. Mr. Johnson and Hazel gently rubbed each of them with warm towels as they coaxed them to breath.

After the delivery, mother and each of the quadruplets were doing remarkable well.

“We have never had 4 babies at once!”, Hazel exclaimed, “It looks like we will be busy bottle feeding!”
I sipped on my hot chocolate as I watched the newly born lambs stand for the first time.
I thanked the Johnsons as I pulled away.

As my headlights again hit the barn wall and then the straight long driveway of the Johnson ranch, the lights hit a barren tree along the fence line. The branches were covered in small ice and snow fragments that sparkled in the headlights. As I peered out my window, the barb wire strands seemed to glisten and sparkle as I traveled down the roadway.

I sat in amazement. Here is a simple ranch with a barn that is falling apart, yet on this cold winter night, it was a quiet serene paradise.

I pondered how fortunate I am. While the rest of the world is in bed, I have the privilege of bringing life into the world and seeing the majesty of God’s creation.

In this acquisitive world we must learn that in our lives we can’t have everything. But if we have freedom of spirit: to imagine, to question, to explore; then we have everything we need. To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive. The journey is the reward. I love being a veterinarian!

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

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 just how kind and sweet she was.

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.

Merry Christmas!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: DocBott got 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

An Enemy’s Christmas

The quarter sized snowflakes fell in unison. The rhythm and pace quickened as the precipitation accumulated. Over six inches of total snow arrived in just a few hours on that particular Christmas Eve in the small town of Castle Dale, Utah.

I was in a somewhat grumpy mood, as we loaded up the old green Chevy Suburban and headed down the road.

The destination this night was a small house on the other side of town. Boxes of presents were neatly wrapped and stacked in empty Sunkist orange boxes. With each turn, I could hear them slide gently back and forth in the back of the vehicle.

“Why them?” I asked.

In my 12 year old mind I did not understand why we were taking Christmas presents to this particular family. If someone ever had a reason to dislike another, I figured the events of the past few months would justify the bitterness I felt.

Just a few weeks prior, a scathing letter was published in the local newspaper that was critical of my father. I remember reading it one afternoon as I sat at the kitchen table.

“Mom, why would they say such mean things?” I inquired earnestly.

“I am not sure Isaac,” my mother replied, “Perhaps they just needed to vent and get what they were feeling out. It probably made them feel better writing it down.”

“Well,” I interjected, “It’s dumb. Not a word of what they said was true.”

Hating an enemy is what comes naturally. We hate in an effort to not allow them to continue to hurt us.

Inside I seethed. No one. No one. No one can say such vile things about my dad. The simple fact that Mom and Dad didn’t seem at all bothered by it made me even more upset.

Yet, here we were, delivering Christmas to this very family.

“They just don’t deserve it,” I thought to myself.

As we turned off the main road and headed up the narrow road that lead up the hill, we crept along quietly. No lights. No sound. The snowfall helped damper out any audible signal of an approaching vehicle.

“Daniel and Isaac,” my dad quietly said, “I want you two to place these and knock on the door.

He continued, “Be quick. Run and hide and come back to the car without being seen.”

Daniel and I knew this would be the easy part. We were experts at doorbell ditching.

The delivery went flawlessly. We were out of sight when the porch light turned on and the front door opened.

“WOW!”, the small child’s voice pierced the snowy solitude, “Look at what Santa Claus brought us!”

The next statement pierced my heart.

“See, I knew he wouldn’t forget us!”

Several excited young voices joined in unison as the boxes were picked up and carried into the house. Then, in the blink of an eye, the porch light turned back off and the tranquility of a beautiful winter’s night returned.

A warm feeling overcame me as we arrived back at the car. The feelings of anger and resentment I had felt just moments before were no longer there. In their place was a feeling of love and what the true meaning of Christmas really is. We talked about how important it is to help and love others as we drove back home.

I thought about a bible passage that I had read so many times. “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” (Matthew 5:43-44) Certainly, this is not an idea that was taught only by Christ. Buddha, Gandhi, and many other great people and religions have nearly identical teachings.

It is a funny thing that I don’t remember much about any of the presents we received that year. I do, however, remember everything about giving Christmas to someone I considered an enemy.

29 years have now passed. Not a soul, besides my parents and siblings, knew who delivered the presents on that Christmas Eve.

The lesson I learned from my parents that year was not wasted on me.

Love is what makes all the difference. Herein is love, not that we first loved God, but that he loved us. Regardless of our acts, this love is unconditional. Poor or rich, young or old, religious or agnostic, His love remains as constant as the North Star.

I can assure you this is what Jesus really meant. And those words are just as true today as they have ever been. Has there ever been a time in our society where we needed to put this into practice more than now? 

In one of the last recordings that the late Charley Pride released, he eloquently observes,

“He tells me money doesn’t matter

Nor the color of your skin

We could stumble or even fall, and still get up again

Cuz it ain’t about the deeds, good or bad that we have done

All we have to do is love to be disciples of the Son.”

May each of us take a moment to enjoy the simple things today. As long as there is a sunset, there will be always be moments of joy and gladness for each of us. May we love each other, even those that have wronged us. Giving this love will open our hearts and allow us to experience a new level of happiness.

I recollect with fondness the traditions my family shared. The presents are gone. The shoes and clothes are all worn out, but the memories remain. The true meaning of Christmas is, after all, about love. Our Christmases were centered around family. We were together. How grateful I am for that. A quick trip down memory lane rapidly brings back the joy and love I felt on that special Christmas Eve while growing up in Castle Dale.

Merry Christmas!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

Operation Santa Claus

For many decades, Operation Santa Claus was home to the largest herd of domesticated reindeer in the lower 48 states. The ranch was nestled along the eastern side of Oregon’s Cascade Range, in the High Desert town of Redmond, Oregon.

The ranch dates to the early ’50s when John Zumstein of Redmond brought a small herd of reindeer from Alaska. These were the first reindeer to be imported from Alaska. The herd readily adapted well to the Oregon climate.

In the 1980’s, the ranch was acquired by Mike and Cindy Gillaspie. Through the years, the ranch has evolved from a kind of “mom and pop” operation that entered animals in local parades to reindeer supplier for such clients as Disneyland, the Los Angeles Zoo, films (“Ernest Saves Christmas,” for one) and dozens of commercials. Operation Santa Claus has served as the premier source of reindeer stock and rentals for many years.

A couple of years ago, the last of the reindeer left this historic ranch. As Mike and Cindy Gillaspie prepared for retirement, they sold the remainder of their animals and moved on to a new chapter in their lives.

The last two reindeer from the ranch in Redmond were transported to Springville to live the remainder of their lives at Mountain West Animal Hospital. They have adapted well to the Utah climate.

As the era of Operation Santa Claus closes, a new page is turned. I am so grateful to have been able to visit this iconic ranch many times and to be able to call the owners my friends.

Yuki is pregnant this winter and she will give birth in late spring. A tangible legacy of Operation Santa Claus will forever be at Mountain West Animal Hospital.

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 favour 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