My Take Tuesday: Skunked

A few months back, a Boy Scout troop stopped by the clinic at the end of the day for a tour. As I showed them around and answered their questions, I couldn’t help but reminisce about my time as a boy scout.

The year was 1995.

Boy scout troop 306 of the Castle Dale 1st Ward embarked on a week long 50 mile hike during the month of July. The hike began on a Monday at Ferron reservoir and ended on Saturday at Indian Creek Campground in the beautiful Manti Lasal National Forest.

As a 14 year old kid, I was just like most of the other boys in my troop: wholly naive and completely unaware of my ignorance. My sense of adventure far outweighed sound logic and I was prone to encounter trouble because of my mischievous nature. My little brother Caleb and my best friend Zac were my partners in crime and were witnesses to myriads of situations that shaped our imaginative Boy Scout days working on merit badges, monthly camp outs and high adventure events that eventually led to each of us earning the rank of Eagle Scout. These experiences consequently helped make us into the men we are today.

On the second night of this long hike, we made camp at a place called Cove Lake. This beautiful lake is just a few miles from the scenic skyline drive and is nestled in a large grove of Douglas Fir and Ponderosa pines.

As Boy Scouts do, we set out to set up camp and explore the lake. We soon found out that we were not the only species inhabiting the camp on this particular night. We shared the campsite with one of the most widely distributed mammals in North America, Mephitis mephitis, or the common striped skunk. The fecund creatures were everywhere. As we floated around the lake on a makeshift raft, we could see dozens of them around the waters edge.

We clearly had a dilemma. Almost immediately, the skunks began ransacking our tents and food supply. These smelly striped critters were endlessly curious about the bipedal invasive species that had entered their territory.

Passive in nature, skunks will avoid contact with humans and domestic animals; however, when challenged they are amply prepared to protect themselves.

If a skunk feels threatened, it will give a warning which includes hissing, stomping of feet, and elevation of the tail. Failure to heed the warning signs will result in the unlucky aggressor being sprayed with the skunk’s anal gland secretions. Skunks are highly accurate in their aim and can spray 7 to 15 feet away!

A dozen rambunctious boys were immediately perceived as a threat by the striped beast. They seemed to coordinate the invasion of the camp, approaching from all directions.

A scout watching the skunk rodeo spoke to me, “Hey Isaac, if you hold a skunk by its tail it can’t spray you.”

The notion had some truthiness to it, after all, if it can’t plant its feet it likely wouldn’t be able to empty its scent glands.

Without any further thought, I reached out and grabbed the nearest skunk by the tail. I lifted it directly in the air and held it suspended with my arms straight out.

The little guy simply twirled slightly and lined his backside to my face and fiercely sprayed with all that he had.

It went directly in my mouth and up my nose. It covered my entire face and some even got in my eyes.

I immediately began vomiting uncontrollably. By eyes burned and my vision became blurry.

What a lesson! Take my word for it, a skunk can certainly spray when it’s feet aren’t off the ground. This equivocated logic is dangerous.

As Mark Twain once observed, “It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.”

The odeur fetide that I experienced is actually a thick, volatile, oily liquid that obtains its pungency from sulfur-based thiols. There in nothing that smells worse than skunk spray inside your nose!

It took weeks before I stopped smelling skunk.

Frantically, I raided the food tent in search of cans of tomato juice. I found 8 cans and a can opener. I then took a tomato shower. I scrubbed my head in it, my whole body was covered in tomatoes. You haven’t lived until you take a shower in tomato sauce.

The rest of the week proved to be much less adventurous. I was forced to sleep in my own tent and I walked behind everyone else along the trails.

Now when I see a skunk, I give it plenty of space. And I tell everyone that I can that contrary to popular myth, a skunk can spray even when being held off the ground by its tail!

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: The Attribute of Adaptability

The Rocky Mountain elk (Cervus canadensis nelsoni) became the official State animal of Utah in 1971. Elk are also known as wapiti. Tis term originates from the Shawnee and Cree word ‘waapiti’, meaning ‘white rump’. Elk are members of the deer family and associate closely with the deer and moose of Utah. 

Elk, no matter what time of year, are a remarkable sight. So large in stature, these animals have become an admired icon of the American West. Elk are amazingly adaptable and can live almost anywhere—forests, deserts, mountains, and plains. They eat a wide variety of plants. Their typical diet consists of grasses (year-round), woody plants (winter) and forbs (summer). This adaptability is unique and ensures the species survival.

As a child growing up near the Manti LaSal National Forest, I frequently encountered these animals in the wild. I remember camping in the crisp early fall. The tranquility of those nights is unparalleled. The silence was only occasionally broken by the phenomenon known as bugling. This distinctive vocalization begins deep and resonant and becomes a high-pitched squeal before ending in a succession of grunts.  It is a sound that will hasten the heart rate of even the most seasoned of outdoorsmen. The noise echoes through the pines. Such an experience is breathtaking.

As a veterinarian, I am privileged to be able to work with a number of herds of elk. I very much enjoy this. Pictured is a herd of elk near Birdseye, UT.

This animal is a symbol of power and strength. It is also a symbol of ultimate freedom.

We can learn a lot from elk. If we were as adaptable as this species, we would thrive in any situation where we are placed. We would be unafraid, undaunted, valiant and courageous.

When I am confronted with changes in life, I always think of the majestic elk.

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My stomach ached. Even the warm May weather and the beautiful rolling hills of the Palouse were not able to distract me as I nervously opened the letter. As I read the first paragraph, my heart sank.

“You are ranked in the bottom 10% of your class. Statistically, your chances of passing national boards are reduced.”

Tears streamed down my checks as I read each sentence.

It seemed each word stabbed deeper. Each blow, injuring me mortally. Failure. Disappointment. Shame.

Veterinary school was proving to be much more difficult than I had ever anticipated. Many of my classmates had spent years working at veterinary clinics before entering veterinary school. I had spent less than 50 hours shadowing in a veterinary clinic prior to starting veterinary school. Everything I learned during my first year was new to me. It seemed as though I has so much catching up to do.

I knew that I had struggled in a couple of classes, but I did not realize that my ranking fell at the very bottom of the class. The hours and hours of arduous study led to my passing, albeit just barely, of each of my final examinations.

“How could they be so skeptical?,” I silently asked myself as I reread the letter. “Why don’t they believe in me?”
I felt dejected. I felt abandoned. I felt shamed.

“How am I going to recover from this?,” I wondered as I climbed the steps to my second floor apartment.

Fortunately for me, there was someone to meet with. There was someone to talk to.

Dr. Ruby was a pioneer in Veterinary Medicine. Her visionary approach to veterinary medicine education and its inherent professional maladies were years ahead of the rest of the country. She understood the stress that veterinary students faced, and she confronted these difficult situations head-on.

I remember our first meeting as if it were yesterday. I sat on the couch in her office, trembling, as tears poured down my checks. I described how difficult it was for me to prepare for tests. I discussed the issues I faced with each question on multiple choice examinations.

She patiently listened. And then she listened some more.

And then she guided me through some techniques to help with my anxiety. She identified some patterns that prevented me from thinking through the test questions. She provided resources for me to read. She helped me understand that the issues that I faced were normal. She made me feel that I could do better. She believed in me; I could feel it with each appointment.

Miraculously, as the second year of veterinary school started and the examinations started to dot my schedule, my test scores began to rise. With each passing semester, my performance continued to improve.

My confidence increased as I mastered the material in each class.

By the time graduation came, I felt prepared to enter practice. I hit the ground running and have literally not looked back.

Not only did Dr. Ruby believe in me, but she helped me overcome the serious anxieties that come with the rigorous schedule of professional school.

I look back and wonder why that letter was sent to me. Was it meant to inspire? Was it meant to shame? Was it intended to discourage me? What would have happened if I didn’t have anyone like Dr. Ruby to help me through the darkest times? Would I be where I am today?

Failure is inevitable. It creeps up and stumbles even the most skilled on their path to victory. Our response to it’s overreaching nature is largely what determines our potential. As Alexandre Dumas observed, “There is neither happiness nor misery in the world; there is only the comparison of one state with another, nothing more. He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness. We must have felt what it is to die… that we may appreciate the enjoyments of life.”

Dr. Ruby has been there for over 2,000 students at WSU over the years. As each class graduates at Washington State University, her influence and vision is passed on to another generation of veterinarians. Her impact is immeasurable. Her legacy is sure. Her vision is cemented in the hearts of those lucky enough to have sat on the couch in her office.

Dr. Ruby is a pioneer. She was one of the first mental health professionals to commit her career to developing wellness programs for the veterinary profession. She has taken on the most difficult challenges facing the veterinary industry. She has educated and counseled thousands of veterinarians about communication skills, stress management, life balance and suicide prevention. She co-founded the Veterinary Leadership Experience, a program that has become the model for veterinary schools around the world. In addition to this, she was also the founding Editor-in-chief of the Veterinary Team Brief, now called Clinician’s Brief, a peer reviewed journal devoted to professional skills. I am not aware of anyone who has given more to the veterinary profession in terms of professional life development, stress management and personal success.

I feel so fortunate as I ponder the influence she has had on me. She believed in me when others didn’t. She encouraged me when I felt like a failure.

How much better would we all be if we had a Dr. Ruby to turn to when adversity and failure creep into our lives?

Dr. Ruby inspired me. She encouraged me to rise to my potential. She helped me increase my capacity and helped me be the best I could be. She taught me that I could make a positive contribution to the profession. She helped me believe in myself.

Thank you Dr Ruby. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for encouraging me when others didn’t. Thank you for your kind and caring counsel. Your influence will forever remain in my heart.

And that is my take.
N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: 9/11

This Saturday marks 20 years since the fateful events of Sept. 11, 2001. 

Alan Jackson’s poignant lyrics ask the simple question, “Where were you when the world stopped turning that September day?”

It was a beautiful morning in Trujillo, Peru. I was crammed inside of a small Tico model taxi. As we passed through the Monserrate neighborhood, I peered out the window at the solid brick buildings with their brilliant shades of brown and white. At this stage in my life, I was completing two years of service as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. As we headed to the headquarters of the mission, the taxi driver turned up the radio.

After two years in Peru, I had mastered the Spanish language. This language is referred to in Peru as Castellano. I could sense urgency in the voice of the newscaster as the broadcast came across the radio. As he described the horrors that occurred that morning, he used the verb “clavar” (meaning “to nail”) in reference to the airplanes hitting the World Trade Centers. I remember the feelings of panic and despair that came over me after hearing the news.

Over the next few weeks, I would daily be approached by random people that could tell that I was from the United Sates. These wonderful people would express their heartfelt condolences about the tragic attack that occurred and about how Peru had experienced the horror of terrorism during the 1990’s.

Being on foreign soil was difficult on that day in 2001. I will forever be grateful for the kind hearts of the Peruvian people that reached out and made me feel comforted despite the uncertainty of what was going on back home.

At one extreme man is indeed a vicious killer. He has the capacity to destroy entire civilizations. He can spread the bloody dead and dying over miles of landscape without a touch of remorse. He can kill women and children for no better reason than that they worship a different god.

Yet this mammal called man will risk his life to save a stranger’s child, or to rescue a dog who’s fallen into the river, and to save a small helpless kitten in distress. I salute those engaged in this good cause and stand with them in this dangerous world.

May we never forget the lives lost and the sacrifices made by the first responders and military personal that responded without question to the events on that September Day. 

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

In March of 1980, a busy young couple worked tirelessly as they went to school and managed an apartment just west of Old Main near the Utah State University campus. The mother worked tirelessly in doting support of her husband. The father went to school full time and also worked long shifts at a local cheese factory. Their first child, a boy, was just beginning to walk and life seemed to be going smoothly. These lean days of struggle brought this couple even closer together as they faced the brambles and thorns, challenges and difficulties most couples experience just starting out. Their dreams of the future were one step closer with each passing day.

Early one morning, the mother began to experience significant stomach pain. This sharp pain in the lower right side of her abdomen was unbearable. The worried young father rushed her to the hospital.

A diagnosis of appendicitis was made and emergency surgery was required. The skilled surgeon performed the appendectomy without any complications.

As the surgeon explored the abdomen during the surgery, he noticed that this young mother was pregnant. This was completely unexpected. The medications used for general anesthesia were not approved for use in pregnancy, in fact studies showed that they caused birth defects when used during the first trimester.

The doctor stepped out of the surgery room to speak with the young father. He told him that his wife was pregnant and that the anesthesia used posed significant risk to the heath of the baby. Birth defects and serious developmental problems were likely to occur. The likelihood of these complications was so great that the doctor recommended that the pregnancy be terminated.

The weight of the world was on the shoulders of this young couple. They were tasked with making such a difficult decision about the pregnancy and the potential outcome. Considering the future consequences of this decision must have been so stressful for each of them. The health of the young mother and the possible complications were carefully considered.

In the end, they chose to keep the baby and face the uncertainty of what was to come.

On September 4th, 1980, a healthy baby boy was born. The baby was free from any birth defects and the young mother did well following the scheduled caesarian section.

The child grew up normally and, along with his 4 siblings, has strived to contribute positively to this world.

I catch a glimpse of that baby born 41 years ago this Saturday, each morning when I look in the mirror.

How grateful I am that my parents made the choice continue with the pregnancy despite the risk. My very life was in their hands and, thankfully, they chose the path of uncertainty and risk.

My life has been filled with wonderful opportunities and experiences and I appreciate each and every day.

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

If you attended elementary school with me, you will probably remember my obsession with chickens. As a child, I would draw chickens as I sat at my school desk. Given the many drawing projects that elementary age children have, I drew hundreds of mediocre pictures of my pet chickens. Fortunately, my teachers were patient and supportive. Although my artistic abilities left much to be desired, I was free to draw to my hearts content.

We would receive an annual catalog from Murray McMurray Hatchery. This catalog would depict every conceivable breed of chicken and give a short description of the desirable traits each possessed: comb type, leg feathering, silky, frizzle, bantam, standard, etc. I would spend hours and hours looking through this catalog. Each year, I was allowed to choose a single baby chick of the breed of my choosing. I took this choice seriously.

There are a range of things that one needs to consider when deciding what breed of chicken to have. These include the climate in which you live, whether you are raising backyard chickens for eggs or meat production, their temperament, foraging capability, predator awareness, and broodiness. I meticulously studied each breed and made my selection each year.

Here in the United States, the postal system accepts boxes filled with day-old chicks and delivers them coast to coast with overnight delivery. The chicks travel by Priority Mail and often have no food or water in their cardboard carrier to sustain them. How can this happen? Just prior to hatching, a chick absorbs all the remaining nutrients from within its egg. With this nourishment, the chick can survive for up to three days without food or water. This makes it possible to ship them by mail. In the nest, this process allows the mother to wait for the hatching of other chicks in her clutch before tending to the early hatchers: If chicks required immediate attention, the mother would leave with those that hatched first and the unhatched chicks would perish. This is a fascinating adaptation!

Like humans, chickens have full color vision, and are able to perceive red, green and blue light. 

Several studies on visual cognition and spatial orientation in chickens (including young chicks) demonstrate that they are capable of such visual feats as completion of visual occlusion, biological motion perception, and object and spatial (even geometric) representations. One of the cognitive capacities most extensively explored in this domain is object permanence, that is, the ability to understand that something exists even when out of sight.

Other recent scientific studies tell us that chickens recognize over 100 individual faces even after several months of separation. They also confirm that chickens consider the future and practice self-restraint for the benefit of some later reward, something previously believed to be exclusive to humans and other primates. They possess some understanding of numerosity and share some very basic arithmetic capacities with other animals. These findings fascinate me. 

To this day, chickens remain my favorite animals. I can sit for hours and watch my flock as they forage and explore the property behind the clinic.  

I look back with fondness on the days spent coloring and drawing chickens with crayons.

Memories are painted optimistically with passing years. I miss the worry-free days sitting at a desk in elementary school.

I will forever treasure these pictures and the pleasant memories associated with them.

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

The morning was colder than expected.

I zipped up my jacket as I climbed out of my truck ready to begin a day of veterinary appointments. The clouds scuttled across the sky, the sun breaking out in bursts as I made my way through the make-shift corrals that are a common sight in Utah County. A solo tree, standing along the property line caught my eye as I crossed the fence. I marveled at the beauty of the crisp copper leaves falling off the lone tree that sway gently in the Autumn wind.
A single golden leaf pirouetted down an invisible spiral of breeze, spinning through the air as it let itself be carried down. It shook slightly, as if it could have been whisked away any second by the grip of an icy wind, but it kept floating down the twirling course. It blew past my face and landed lightly on the ground, the shiny, vibrant color standing out against the ambers and bronzes beneath it.

Sheep are short-day breeders. The breeding season coincides with the decreasing day length each fall brings. Today’s appointment is a routine breeding soundness evaluation of a group of Rambouillet rams.

The Rambouillet breed of sheep originated more than two centuries ago, in 1786, when Louis XVI of France purchased over 300 animals from Spain’s famed Merino flocks, which were produced the world’s finest wool.
The males of this breed have characteristic large curved horns that are well developed with wide spirals. They weigh around 300 pounds at maturity.

A large horse trailer was backed up against the gate of the pen, with about two feet of space between the edge of the the fence and the trailer. I could hear the deep bleating and baaing of a dozen rams echoing from inside the aluminum trailer.

I stood in the small gap between the fence and the trailer in an effort to stop any rams from escaping the enclosure. As the gate was opened, the the first ram paused and then ran quickly from the trailer, giving a bounding leap as he landed on the ground. The remainder of the rams followed in perfect succession, pausing and bounding in unison.

The last ram exited the trailer and hesitated as it approached the rest of the herd. He turned his massive frame slightly as he looked in my direction. Suddenly, without warning, he lowered his stout head and neck and charged.
I braced myself for the impact. Anticipating a blow to the legs, I lowered my body into a football stance. This massive ram, in a fit of ovine rage, leaped over my head and landed harmlessly on the gravel patch surrounding the pen.

He then let out a low “Baaaaaaaa”, as if to beckon the remaining rams to follow his lead. This flock mentality is a sure thing, meaning that if one sheep finds an escape route then the entire flock will follow. The remainder of the herd stampeded towards me in a frenzy. The lead ram lowering his head in apparent contestation head bunting stance. I knew that an attempt to stop a charging ram of this bold carriage would be futile. I stepped aside and yielded as the rams charged through the small alley on their way to apparent freedom.

I grew up around sheep. My family had a small flock that provided me with valuable insight into sheep behavior and husbandry. One of the valuable lessons I learned is to always have a perimeter fence as a backup when working with sheep.

Sheep are a prey species, and their only defense is to flee. The flock of rams fled in unison down the gravel path. They all stoped abruptly as they arrived at the closed perimeter gate. Accepting defeat, they turned and charged back through the alley and into their original pen.

The remainder of the morning was uneventful. Each examination revealed a healthy ram and the group was cleared for the upcoming breeding season.

As I walked back to my truck, I stepped through the golden brown carpet of leaves, as they crunched under foot and quivered in gusts of the autumn wind.

The deep sound of the rams bleating in concert echoed from the horse trailer. The cool breeze scattered the leaves in all directions and sent a chill down my spine. I took a deep breath and was warmed instantly by the smell of a nearby wood burning stove.

I sighed, relishing the feeling of fall. It was something I’d have to wait a whole year to experience again.

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

Veterinarians are some of the most kind and compassionate people on the planet. They are hard workers, and are some of the best people I have ever met.

As with any profession, there are occasional outliers.

When considering the prospect of attending veterinary school, I visited a veterinary clinic, here in Utah County, one day as an undergraduate.

I introduced myself to the veterinarian and asked a little about his experience as a veterinarian. As soon as I began asking questions about which veterinary school to attend, he interrupted me.

“Hey kid, why do you want to be a veterinarian?”, he asked.

I gave the answer I had given so many times. I replied, “Because I love working with animals. I also like working with people and this profession will allow me to help people by helping their animals.”

“What are you? You stupid #%$@>?”, he continued, “What are you going to do when those animals you love bite you and kick you? And what about those people that do not respect you and your expertise and expect you to work miracles? They are far from loyal and they couldn’t care less about you! Get a life kid. This ain’t for you!”

Wow! I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Here was a veterinarian that was clearly dissatisfied with life in general.

After years of grueling work and what he deemed as little professional reciprocity, he had become very cynical. He made it very clear, anyone wanting to be a veterinarian was making a huge mistake. His goal was to dissuade any would be veterinarian that entered the doors of his practice from making the same mistake he did.
To put is delicately, this guy was the south end of a horse facing north.

I feel sorry for him, looking back. My experience as a veterinarian has been the complete opposite.

The clients I work with are very loyal. My interactions with them are nearly all positive and they love their pets. They follow my recommendations and are always willing to provide the care that their pets need and deserve.

I am glad I did not heed his advice.

Mark Twain eloquently counseled, “Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really great make you feel that you, too, can become great.”

I am thankful for those who encouraged me. Who supported me. Who believed in me long before I believed in myself.

Their contributions have led me to where I am today.

And That is My Take

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

They say hindsight is 20/20. Looking back, it was clearly a mistake.

I hurriedly prepared my luggage, assuring that everything would fit in a carry on. I have a perfect record, in all of my travels I have never had my luggage lost. Taking a single carry-on bag is the only way to assure your luggage gets to your destination on international flights.

The destination this trip, was the Philippines, and it was my first trip to Asia. I had been called to travel there to assist in establishing both Water Buffalo and deer reproduction programs in this far away country.

I placed my required instruments, long forceps and miscellaneous items used for freezing semen delicately in my bag. The last piece of equipment was something called an electro-ejaculator.

In the practice of veterinary medicine, it is common to collect semen from domestic ruminants using electro-ejaculation.

This instrument is an electric probe that is inserted into the rectum of an animal, adjacent to the prostate gland. The probe delivers an AC voltage, usually 12–24 volts. The probe is activated for 1–2 seconds, referred to as a stimulus cycle. Ejaculation usually occurs after 2–3 stimulus cycles. The instrument fits in your hand and runs on a traditional 9 volt battery, the exact battery most smoke alarms use. It is a valuable tool when collecting semen from agricultural and wild animals.

It fit, without a problem, in my suitcase.

Salt Lake City International Airport was busy on this particular day. The lines extended over the sky bridge and nearly to the parking garage.

I passed through the metal detector and my bag went through the usual belt driven scanner. As I waited for my bag to come out, the operator of the scanner lowered his head and spoke into his mouthpiece. What he said was inaudible, but the response it triggered was anything but quiet.

I was circled by at least 10 TSA agents and hurried off to the far right end of the security entrance. If there ever was a suspicious item, this was it.

A tall gruff man asked, “Sir, do you have any prohibited items in your bag?”

Now clearly, they know the answer to this question before they ask it. On a prior trip, I had left a small pocket knife in my bag. They asked the same thing, and I had completely forgot it was in my bag. My answer then was, “I don’t’ think so?” Fortunately, they allowed me to mail my pocket knife home and the delay was minimal.

Clearly today it was not going to be as easy.

“I have a medical device called an electro-ejaculator in my bag”, I tried to explain. One of the TSA workers removed the device. Clearly red flags were raised, and rightly so. Here is an electronic device with a push button, a red light and metal tongs protruding from the probe. The gruff man demanded, “What is this and why do you have it?”

“It is used to collect semen from animals,” I explained, “you insert this end in the rectum and push this button. It then applies current over the prostate, and ejaculation occurs.”

The gruff man’s face went from viable anger to disgust in less than two seconds.

“What? Ewwwww!!! Are you serious?”, he continued, “Why would you ever do that to an animal?”

“I am a veterinarian”, I explained, “And my expertise is in animal reproduction.”

“Man kid, I thought my job was tough,” he replied, laughing this time.

Fortunately for me, the device was labeled as such and my story was collaborated. I was allowed to pass.

En route to Manila, we stopped in Narita, Japan. Even though it was just a connecting flight, I had to pass through a security line once again before continuing on to the Philippines. Once again, a huge mess unfolded as I tried to explain in English why I would have such a dangerous looking device in my bag.

There are a couple dozen airport security officers around the world who now know, albeit unwillingly, what an electro-ejaculator is and how it is used.

After an eventful and productive stay in the Philippines, I entered the airport in Manilla, excited to be going home. As I stepped up to the counter, the ticket agent asked, “Sir, do you have any bags you would like to check?”

“Yes, I sure do”, I quickly replied.

I made my way to the gate and sat down to await my flight. I was relieved that I didn’t have to once again explain what was in my luggage. It appeared my trip home would be uneventful.

All of the sudden, over the loud speaker I hear the following announcement, “Passenger Nathan Isaac Bott, please report to the security desk immediately!”…………

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: Hugh Peterson

This past week, while attending a veterinary conference in Nebraska, I received the devastating news that my only remaining grandparent had passed away. This news came just as I was preparing to address the conference attendees during the annual storytelling night and banquet. 

As the tears began to flow, I worried that I would not be able get up in front of a room of people. Just then, a calming feeling came over me. It felt like my grandpa was sitting right there in the room. Grandpa was the best storyteller I have ever known. His blood runs through my veins. I composed myself, and gave the very best performance I could give, in dedication to him. 

For those lucky enough to know Hugh Peterson, he was a wonderful person with a huge heart, a brilliant mind, and a most unique sense of humor. 

While in the first grade, Grandpa was mischievous. He and a couple of other boys were standing near the merry-go-round one day during recess. A group of girls riding on the merry-go-round noticed these boys trying to look up their dresses. One of the girls grabbed rock and flung it at the boys. It was a solid hit to my grandpa’s head. The girl that threw the rock became my grandma. Their story began on that day in 1937. 

They were married in 1949. They spent just shy of 72 years together. My beloved grandma passed away just last month. My grandpa only lasted 40 days without her.  

My grandpa was a remarkable man. He was a farmer, coal miner, and a father to six beautiful daughters.

I have never met anyone that can tell a story like Hugh Peterson. His excellent memory wove a tapestry of nostalgia. With each word we would move closer to the edge of our seats. With a smile on his face, and just a tad of embellishment, he told a story like a boss. He frequently made us all literally laugh until we cried.

As a teenager, I met a coal miner that had worked in the same mine as Grandpa. I told him my grandpa had worked there and that he may know who he was. When I told him Hugh Peterson was my grandpa, I noticed a tear stream down his cheek. 

“He was the best foreman I ever worked for.” He then paused, “Your grandpa is an honest and wonderful man. I would trust him with my own life.”

He then told me of a story about Grandpa working as a foreman in the coal mine. His crew had a set of twins that worked together. A mining inspector came in and was asking about the perfectly parallel tire tracks in the soft dirt that entered the underground portal, my grandpa said, “Oh, the twins were rolling some tires this morning.” Everyone, including the inspector, laughed uncontrollably when he said this. 

Grandpa had a small white pickup truck when I was a child. His Chevy Luv was his calling card in the 80’s. It was an iconic vehicle and the only one like it in the small town of Emery. I loved riding in the back of the truck. Grandpa would drive us around the block every time we went to visit. All of the grandkids loved this! I remember one particular ride, when Grandpa slowed down and put the truck in neutral on 200 North. He rolled his window down and said it was having mechanical issues. We all got out and pushed it. A dozen 5-12 year old kids make for a great team, we pushed the truck for a few feet and then grandpa said, “Oh wow! You fixed it! Jump in!” The smile on his face as we got into the back of the truck was one of absolute joy and happiness.  

The last time I saw my grandfather was at my grandmother’s viewing; just a few weeks ago. He was seated next to my mother in front of the casket. As I went through the line and spoke with each of my wonderful aunts, I wept as I looked at my grandfather. His spouse, of nearly 72 years, was gone. His mind, weathered from the long years of his life, could not comprehend the passing of his north star, his one and only constancy. 

As I passed through the line, his eyes met mine. As only Hugh Peterson could, he made a motion with both of his arms. He clenched his fists and extended his arms in unison. This is a signal both of us would make to each other over the past 25 years. If either of us made this motion, it meant that we were nervous. 

My family loved to play games. My aunts and cousins would raise all kind of noise as they played card games and Pit. I remember one Thanksgiving, as my grandparents house filled with laughter and noise from a Pit game, my grandpa mentioned to me that he was nervous. I felt the same way. I am really a very shy person, just like my grandfather was. He mentioned to me that all off this noise made him nervous and on edge. I then motioned to him the very signal that became our calling card. The extension of the arms and the clenching of the fists. 

The last time I saw my grandpa, he recognized me. Despite the deterioration of his memory, he remembered who I was. This is a wonderful last memory for me to have of this wonderful man who is a mountain to me.

He never ran from a battle

And when he was thrown from the saddle, 

He would get back up and be ready for more. 

Just like fine wine and good leather

He only got better and better

The more that he was weathered and worn

They just don’t make cowboys like him anymore

He was not afraid to work in the coal dust and the dirt

And he always put his wife and six daughters first

And with my everything I’ll be the best that I can be

Just trying to live up to his wonderful legacy

Grandpa Papookas, I love you. Thank you for being such a loving and kind soul. Thank you for teaching me to forgive imperfections and how to love unconditionally. Give Grandma a hug. Please remember me and watch over me and my family from that place high in the sky, just out of sight, between the rainbows and the rain. 

Love, 

Isaac