My Take Tuesday: Fleming’s Vest-Pocket Veterinary Adviser

The year was 1904. The town of Emery, Utah had a population of around 560 people, nearly double what it has today. Emery has always been an agricultural community. Ranching and farming are as much a part of its scenery as the towering cliffs that overlook the small town. Visitors are often taken aback by the beauty and expanse of this beautiful country on the edge of the San Rafael Swell.

Louis W. Peterson made his living as a farmer. Life during this time could not have been easy. Lewis and his young wife experienced extreme heartbreak during their first few years together. Their only two children at the time would die from an whooping cough outbreak that indiscriminately killed so many in this small community in 1907.

The remote location of the town isolated it somewhat from other communities. The town had a fine yellow church house that had a large ballroom floor that served not only for Sunday worship services, but also for social gatherings. This building still stands in the center of town today.

Information came in the form of newspapers and books. Knowledge was a valuable asset that would set certain farmers apart. When information was available, these farmers were open to reading and learning. It was during this time that LW Peterson acquired a new book called, Fleming’s Vest-Pocket Veterinary Adviser.

This, now 120 year old, pocket sized handbook of veterinary information pertained to diseases of horses and cattle, and was designed to help farmers and stockman. It provided 192 pages of everything from birth to aging, to caring for illnesses, to poisonous weeds, maintenance, how to feed, and recipes for concoctions to treat a variety of ailments.

This book must have helped LW. He kept the book. He passed it down to his son, Kenneth Peterson, who passed it to his son Hugh Peterson.

My grandfather, Hugh Peterson, gave it to my mother, who gave it to me. This book is displayed prominently in the museum case in the reception area of Mountain West Animal Hospital.

The well worn pages of this book are fascinating to read through. Although veterinary science was in its infancy at this time, it is still interesting to read about treatments used. Without the luxuries of modern antibiotics, antiseptics, anesthetics and anti-inflammatories, these treatments were innovative for their time. The early 1900’s provided incredible advances in hygiene practices, preventive medicine concepts evolved, the first vaccines appeared, nutrition was studied and research was beginning to show which therapeutics actually worked, and why.

Perhaps some would consider this dated literature obsolete. Much of the information contained therein certainly would be considered so. I, however, consider it a treasure. I wonder if LW realized that, more than 60 years after his death, a veterinarian, carrying 1/16th of his DNA, would appreciate this book passed from generation to generation.

I will keep this book safe and pass it on to my children. Who knows, perhaps in another 100 years, it will still be seen as a valuable piece of family and veterinary history.

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

My Take Tuesday:  Shonna Dean Peterson 

Yesterday would have been my grandmother’s 93rd birthday. She had a very profound impact on my life. Much of who I am is because of her example. She loved me unconditionally and she taught me how to be a good person through her actions. She passed away unexpectedly in June of 2021. 

You always think that there will be more magical moments, that there will always be enough time, until there simply isn’t. 

This past weekend, late one night I wandered outside my back door. The sky over Springville this time of year is magical. I love to stare at the starlight sky.  This particular night did not disappoint. I stood there staring at the empyrean skies of wonder and thought about my sweet grandma. I miss her. Profoundly.  

A popular Diamond Rio song cogently expresses my heart’s wish today:

“Last night I had a crazy dream

A wish was granted just for me

It could be for anything

I didn’t ask for money

Or a mansion in Malibu

I simply wished for one more day with you

One more day, one more time

One more sunset, maybe I’d be satisfied

But then again, I know what it would do

Leave me wishing still for one more day with you”  

(One More Day lyrics © Capitol)

The tears that fall from my eyes are not just for you but are also for those of us that have to continue on without your physical presence, without the sound of your laugh and the sight of your contagious smile. Here is my best attempt at articulating just how much my grandma meant to me:

“This week’s My Take comes from a special sheltered corner in the fleshy tablet of my heart. 

As I write this, I am physically in a beautiful costal city in southern Mexico. Mentally, I am in a small, tiny town along Highway 10, in central Utah, an alkaline oasis called Emery. 

Yesterday, as the wheels of the plane touched down here in Mexico, I received the devastating news that my sweet grandma, Shonna Peterson had passed away. 

News like this will hurt like hell because that is exactly what it is.

I struggle to find the words that can adequately express the profound sadness that I feel and the immense hole that her passing has left behind. 

There are 19 people on this earth that are privileged to call this wonderful woman our grandma. Although each of us are vastly different, she loved each and every one of us equally and unconditionally. 

Certainly, enough tears have fallen from each of us to flood the muddy creek that winds down the Wasatch Plateau and through the canyons and gullies of the blue clay hills near Emery. 

I have had the privilege to have my grandma be part of my life for over 40 years. Some of my earliest memories are of setting on her lap and listening to her soothing voice.

As a young child, I looked forward to each and every visit to Emery to visit my grandma. With each visit, I literally felt the love she had for me as I entered her house.

During the summers of my youth, I would raise lambs to show at the yearly stock show in Ferron. The sunny, long hot July days were brutal. I remember many of these difficult days were ameliorated by my grandma pulling up in her tan Buick. Inside, she always had a cooler full of soda pop and snacks. 

There are hundreds of memories that I have of my grandma coming to the rescue. 

Looking back now, during most of these times, she was working full time and had just barely completed her long day’s work. Most of us would immediately head home to clear our minds and to get some rest.

However, none of us are Shonna Peterson. 

She worked all day, and then afterwards she worried about others before giving any thought to herself. She taught me what unconditional love was, without saying a word. 

She married her high school sweetheart in 1949. Together, they raised 6 beautiful daughters. My grandparents have spent over 7 decades by each other’s side. 

My grandma had a very unique perspective about life. One of my favorite teachings from her pertained to being happy with what you have. So much happiness in the world seems to be conditional; “If I had this or that…….. then, and only then I will be happy.”

Grandma’s words were succinct, “You may not have the very best, but whatever you have is the BEST YOU HAVE, and you need to take care of it the very best you can.” 

Grandma taught me to be happy right now. She taught me to enjoy the moment and to be satisfied with what was in front of me.

The last time I saw my grandma was just two weeks ago. As I gave her a goodbye hug, I held on a little longer than I normally would. I gazed at her beautiful face. I memorized each and every wrinkle and mark. I know that each one was forged through her worry and love for each of her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. I wept as I realized that there was a wrinkle for me too. 

As I looked into her eyes, I told her that I loved her. She told me that she loved me too and that she had been thinking about me a lot lately. She then wrapped her arms around me and placed her head on my chest. In this pose, my last photo with her was taken. 

As the tears stream down my face, I miss my sweet grandma. Her love for me was real. It was raw and it would roar for me if required. It will stay with me in quietness and will forever be my comfort. 

After all, real love will celebrate with you, and raise you up. It will keep you going when the world is against you. It will triumph at the end of each and every day. 

Thank you for teaching me this grandma Shonnie. 

Thank you for kissing the scars I hid from others, and for helping me turn the pages of my life that hurt so bad to read. I love you. Always and forever. 

My only request grandma is that you please wait for me so that one day we can walk together across the stars.”

Love, 

Isaac

My Take Tuesday: Playing Possum

Fall has arrived in the Rocky Mountains. The beautiful red and yellow mountainsides that surround Utah Valley are a sign of the changing weather. The olive-green leaves of the quaking aspen groves are quickly changing to orange and brilliant yellow.

I love this time of year! The cool, crisp, fall air, the warm evenings and cold mornings signal the arrival of October. I enjoy the first day that is just chilly enough for a flannel shirt and the taste of a cup of hot apple cider, and the smell of wood-smoke beginning to billow from the chimneys.

There is much to accomplish before winter sets in. It is a busy time for me as a veterinarian. Sheep, goats, reindeer and elk breeding seasons require traveling all over the country as I provide assisted reproductive techniques on farms and ranches from Alaska to Arizona, and from Texas to Oregon.

Local farmers are bringing their cattle and sheep home from summer ranges and are preparing their horses for winter.

A recent farm call brought me to the beautiful grass pastures south of Salem, Utah. The owner, a friend of mine, met me at the beautiful wooden fence at the entrance to his pasture. A large Percheron draft horse was undergoing a routine hoof trim and the farrier was having some difficulty. This massive animal would not allow its left hindlimb to be trimmed.

I administered an intravenous sedative as soon as I arrived at the farm. This sedative works almost instantaneously. The huge draft horse’s head tilted downwards as his lower lip began to sag. Typically, this allows for quick non-painful procedures to be performed without protest from the horse.

The farrier attempted to lift the left rear limb after the sedative kicked in. Immediately, the horse angrily slammed down its massive hoof in a stubborn response. Because of the danger of such a large animal kicking and injuring all involved, I quickly made the decision to administer general anesthesia and to lay the animal down on the soft grass of the beautiful pasture.

Ketamine is commonly used in horses. It is of the cyclohexamine class of anesthetics. It is effective at rendering the animal motionless. The difficulty is safely getting a 2000 pound horse to lay down and get back up afterwards without injuring itself or landing on me. It is terrifying to stand next to an animal over 8 feet tall as it falls to the ground asleep. I take extreme caution in where I stand, how I place my hands on the halter, and how I am going to get to safety if something goes wrong.
As I administered the ketamine in the massive jugular vein, the large animal smoothly slumped and laid down as it entered a deep sleep. I positioned myself on the neck of the sleeping giant, as the farrier and my friend began the process of trimming the problematic hoof.

A group of curious pasture mates began to form in a circle around us as we worked. These inquisitive horses couldn’t figure out why this large Percheron, the alpha and bully of the herd, was sleeping in the middle of the day.

A sorrel gelding flared his nostrils as he sniffed the face of the napping equine. I reached out and touched his nose to assure him everything was alright.

Suddenly, without warning, this gelding stomped his right front hoof directly on the face of the sleeping horse. My fingers were just centimeters away from the hoof hammer as it came down. I gasped in bewilderment at what had just happened.

Suddenly, I felt the giant underneath me move. Within a second, the large Percheron went from being sound asleep to standing up and alert. This rapid motion gave me little time to respond. I was flung like a rag doll from atop the neck of this huge animal. The soft grass broke my fall as I came crashing down.

The three of us looked at each other in disbelief about what had just occurred. Fortunately, we were all safe and unharmed and the horse was unaffected by the stomp on its face.

Sometimes the unpredictable is best met with humor. A roar of laughter erupted as we replayed the sight of me flying headfirst through the air.

Even though Utah is not home to the mischievous opossum, there is a large Percheron draft horse in the pastures south of Salem that can play the part extremely well!

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

My Take Tuesday: Chickens

If you attended elementary school with me, you would 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 heart’s 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

My Take Tuesday: The Red Handkerchief

As a veterinarian, I all too often find myself in precarious situations.

Upon graduating from veterinary school in 2009, I moved back home here to Utah. My first job out of school was right here in Utah County.

It was not unusual for me to be called to attend a dozen or more lame and injured cows on a particular day. You might arrive to find them in a paddock with no sorting pen and therefore no means of restraining them for treatment. What are you going to do? Unfortunately, farmers often have the attitude that you’re the vet, they’ve called you out to do the job, so they expect you just to get to it. Often these cattle facilities left much to be desired. A few broken palates, some bent powder river panels and a welded together squeeze chute constitute pretty decent working conditions.

Usually, some unsatisfactory compromise could be sorted out which would reinforce the fact that you were not half as good as their old vets.

Max was no exception. He stood 6’1″ and was as skinny as a bean pole. He always had a runny, drizzly nose, and he kept a red handkerchief in the front pocket of his bib overalls. Max didn’t want a new young vet working on his cows. He was used to the old school way and had no reason to change.

I was greeted on one of these farm visits by this familiar refrain: “We used to use old Doc SoandSo. Have you heard of him? Best dairy vet in the county. Of course, you’re new and not used to dealing with dairy cows down here are you?”

Perhaps I am unduly sensitive but being told you’re second best before you’ve even begun is either irritating or depressing—depending on how your day has been. This day tipped more toward the irritating side.

Suzy was the name of his milk cow. She was a tall Holstein crossbreed cow. On this particular day, Miss Suzy stood in the knee-deep pasture staring at us as we entered the field. She was swollen up like an engorged wood tick. On her left side, her stomach was protruding so far that she was as wide as she was long. The diagnosis, even from afar was obvious.

She was bloated.

Bloat is a digestive disorder characterized by an accumulation of gas in the first two compartments of a ruminant’s stomach (the rumen and reticulum). Production of gas (primarily carbon dioxide and methane) is a normal result of fermentation processes. The gas is usually discharged by belching (eructation) but, if the animal is unable to remove the excess gas, pressure builds up in the rumen-reticulum exerting pressure on the diaphragm which prevents the animal from inhaling, and bloat occurs. The most common type of bloat is frothy bloat where gas builds up in a foam or froth above the rumen contents and the normal belching is inhibited.

Imagine a 40-gallon tub of partially digested green stomach contents. The pressure of this stomach is such that when it is alleviated, it is similar to popping a balloon, this disgusting smelly concoction will spew in a fashion similar to the Old Faithful Geyser.

Before we could even isolate her in the corner to begin treatment, Max decided he needed to blow his nose. As he pulled out his bright red handkerchief, he flipped it with his wrist and positioned it to evacuate his proboscis. Suzy caught sight of this red temptation and came charging full speed – like a freight train – straight for us. She was bellowing and blowing snot in a fit of rage.

In a situation like this, it doesn’t matter how quick you are. The only relevant assessment of speed is how fast you are in relation to the other person in the pasture. I figured I could beat Max to the gate but would feel guilty in so doing.

I braced myself for the impact. Max yelled, “Hey Now!”

Suzy collapsed just steps before she reached us. The massive pressure caused by the bloat had cut off her air supply. She lay in a heap in front of us.

The treatment for bloat in a case like this is to relieve the pressure as fast as possible. An incision in made through the left side of the abdomen and the rumen is decompressed. In a situation like this, you only have a few seconds to act. My surgical instruments were in my toolbox over by the gate. I knew there wasn’t time to retrieve them.

I reached in my pocket and pulled out my Old Timer pocketknife. I made a quick incision with the sharp point.

Immediately, air began spewing out. It sounded like removing a valve stem from a car tire. It whistled as the massive stomach returned to normal size. Shortly thereafter, Miss Suzy was back on her feet and back to her normal self.

As I prepared to leave, Max commented, “Hey Doc, I guess you are alright after all.”

Max then pulled out the red handkerchief and blew his nose as he inquired, “How much do I owe you?”

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

My Take Tuesday: 9/11

Tomorrow marks 23 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 differ in some trivial manner or they simply 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

My Take Tuesday- My Life: I Appreciate It

In February 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 worked long shifts at a local cheese factory in the evenings. 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 44 years ago tomorrow, 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 every day I have.

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: Kaycee

 

On June 6, 2005, my life changed forever. On that day, I became a father. This unforgettable day was filled with both joy and fear. My daughter, Kaycee, was born in the early morning hours. Soon after her arrival, doctors determined that she had a bacterial infection and subsequent septicemia. She was immediately rushed off to the NICU. This was a very scary time for her parents. You feel so helpless. We trusted in the doctors and the highly skilled nurses. After several hours, I was allowed to visit her in the NICU. 

 

When I first held her, I was filled with overwhelming feelings of joy, love, and fear. I was so elated to finally have my daughter in my arms. Seeing her tiny and fragile body was both miraculous and heartbreaking. She had monitors, bandage tape, IVs and wires all over. As I held her tiny fragile body and looked at her face, I fell absolutely in love.  Realizing how precious and fragile life was, I vowed to be the best father I could be.

 

Every subsequent night for the next few years, I would sing a Chris LeDoux song to Kaycee as she fell asleep. The song is called Daily Bread. 

 

The lyrics say:

“Lord I ain’t been a prayin man

I figure the whole worlds in your hands

Ask and you shall receive you say

So give me her love my daily bread

 

You can take everything I own

Every single seed I’ve sown

Still I know I come out ahead

If I have her love my Daily Bread

 

She is a raindrop in a drought.

She’s my faith when I’m in doubt

Like a river needs a riverbed

I need her love my daily bread

 

I don’t know why she’s chosen me

I live my life so selfishly

But I know until my dying breath

I’ll need her love my daily bread

And I know that I’m not worthy

But give me her love my daily bread”

 

Kaycee has grown up to be a smart, beautiful, and driven young woman. She is resilient and determined. Despite having faced more obstacles than most her age, her spirit and positive attitude continue to amaze me.

 

Kaycee began her missionary service this week. She will be serving in Oklahoma for the next 18 months. While I will miss her terribly, I am so proud of her and her desire to help others.

 

Seeing your kids grow up is a dichotomy of sorts.You are proud when they walk, scared when they run, and feel helpless when they have to go through difficult situations. Opening the gate and turning them lose into this crazy world brings happiness and profound sadness at the same time. I really do not know how else to describe the feelings I am experiencing.

 

Kaycee, I am so proud of you and of all of your accomplishments. You have so much to offer this world, and I am so honored to be your father. I love you!

 

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

 

 

My Take Tuesday: Kent B. McKell, DDS

As a young child, I absolutely hated brushing my teeth. I remember wetting my toothbrush with a small amount of water to make it appear that it had recently been used and returning it to the stand near the bathroom sink. In my four-year-old mind, I thought the idea was foolproof. My astute mother figured this ploy out rather quickly and required that my older brother observe me brushing my teeth. 

Looking back now, I think my disdain for brushing my teeth was simply that it was boring. Playing with my newest He-Man toys required every spare moment possible, and it seemed like a waste of time to have to stand in one place for 120 everlasting seconds moving a toothbrush back and forth inside my mouth.  

This all changed once I learned to read. One morning, while looking at my red Oral-B toothbrush, I saw the name, “Kent B. Mckell, DDS” engraved in gold lettering. I knew who Dr. McKell was. His dental office was located on the corner of 600 N. and Center Street in Castle Dale, UT. He was a very nice man. During a recent visit with him, he told me that it was very important for me to brush my teeth every morning and night.

This was a game changer for me; an esteemed and kind man asked me to do my best, and I wanted to be sure that I did not let him down. 

As a child, I had a significant speech impediment. I could not pronounce the letters “R” and “L”. I also stuttered horribly. I was completely unaware of these speech issues. Looking back at home videos, it is difficult to even understand anything that I said. The problem was so serious, that it took a couple of years of intense speech therapy to correct. 

Dr. McKell knew my name. He always warmly greeted me and asked how I was doing. He spoke to me, even as a 4-year-old child, like I was a friend of his. He never once grimaced or looked away as I spoke. He intently listened and made sure that in the moment that I was in his dental chair that I felt valued and respected. He heard what I said, not how I said it. He attentively and patiently responded to me with his charismatic demeanor and smile.  He had the unique ability to remember not only the names of all of his patients but also the small details of their lives. He knew the names of all of my siblings and would ask how each of them were doing at every visit. He was a hero to me. 

As I grew up, his generosity and kindness continued. After graduating from veterinary school, I had the opportunity to see him frequently and treat many animals on his farm. He was always happy to see me. He would ask about my family and would genuinely listen to everything that I said. Much of my bedside manner as a veterinarian is but a replication of the example he set for me.  

One  year ago this month, sometime in between the flicker of a beautiful orange sunrise and a crimson fire sunset in Spanish Fork, UT, God reached out His tender hand and gently pulled this wonderful man home with Him. 

Castle Dale, UT is a small town. There is no stoplight, no movie theater, no shopping center, and it has a population of less than 1500 people. It is a place where the paved roads grow ever smaller as the wide open desolate country begins. It would seem that such a small place would have little significance in the world of today. However, this notion is a prevarication. Folks like Dr. McKell prevent it from ever being so. 

Dr. McKell was one of a kind. He was a champion in my life. If you were lucky enough to know him, chances are, he was a champion and hero in your life also. 

And that is My Take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: The Making Of A Legend

Dr Charles Leathers is the smartest person I have ever known. I had the privilege of meeting him during my first year of veterinary school. He taught the “Introduction to Pathology” class during my first spring semester in the College of Veterinary Medicine at Washington State University.

In early December of 2015, I traveled back to my alma matter as a guest lecturer. As always, I spent some time visiting with many of the professors that acted as mentors during my years as a veterinary student. I stopped in to speak with Dr Leathers on my last day at the school. He welcomed me in and spoke briefly with me. He was preparing for retirement after more than 30 years of teaching.

I cannot imagine my veterinary school experience without Dr Leathers. His class stands out for all of the veterinarians who were fortunate enough to have learned from him. He had a unique style of teaching. I still remember exam questions from his class 10 years ago. His lectures were legendary. He used an overhead projector like a boss. His style was one of a kind. His teaching inspired us. His assignments challenged us.

An example of this was shared by my entire veterinary school class. Dr Leathers spoke clearly and concisely. He desired all of his students to share in this quality. Nearly all of us use what are called fillers in our conversations. Filler can consist of words, such as “like,” or “you know,” frequently combined in the phrase “like, you know . . .” In these instances, the words are essentially meaningless except as conversation cues. A related phenomenon is speech disfluency, when one pauses in mid-sentence to try to recall the rest of the thought. Most of us are unaware of the extent we use fillers. The best way to become self-aware is to record a conversation or speech. This was Dr Leather’s way of teaching us to be better.

The task seemed simple. Prepare a 1 minute speech. Only 1 minute. It could be on anything you wanted to talk about. This 60 seconds of material needed to be memorized and presented to the 100+ member class. Each student’s speech was to be recorded.

Our assignment was to then take the tape home and play it back. We were required to write down exactly what was said (including the ums, sighs, coughs, grunts, ands, and other filler words we inadvertently use while speaking). This task is not a pleasant one. For most of us, these sounds are probably more common than the words between them. Following this, we were to correct the transcription and submit a final document stating what we should have said in the absence of filler words.

This exercise proved to be a learning experience. I became much more aware of my speech. I focused specifically on avoiding filler words. It changed the way I interacted with those around me. It helped me professionally.

Dr Leather’s has taught and influenced thousands of veterinary students over the years. His legacy is unparalleled at Washington State University. I count myself privileged to have been taught by one of the best.

My final question for this revered professor was simple. I asked, “You have had a remarkable career. What advice would you give to young veterinarians just beginning this journey?”

His response is one that I will forever remember.

“Just focus on your sphere of influence. Just do the best that you can and expect that others are doing the same.”

I think it would be wise for all to follow this cogent and concise advice from Dr. Charles Leathers.

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