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 119 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: 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: Sheep on the Loose

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 appointments are routine breeding soundness evaluations on 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 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 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 important 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 stopped 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

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.  

Exactly one year ago, 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: Don’t worry Doc, She’s a Tame Cow

“Is the cow where you can catch her?,” was my first question.
Preston was a longtime client and on this particular day he had a cow that was having difficulty calving.

Responses to this question can vary. On this particular occasion the gentleman stated, “Don’t worry Doc, she is a tame cow. I raised her on a bucket.” He then gave a caveat, “Besides, she is too sick to run.”

“I really do not like trying to pull a calf without restraining the cow. I don’t want to get hurt,” I replied.

“We could even tie her up to one of the pillars in the barn,” he continued.

Now clearly, this should have raised a red flag. A 1800 pound snorting bovine is not to be taken lightly. The thought of working on her without a squeeze chute was ludicrous. Just think of the danger I would be subjecting myself to. A well placed kick could easily end my career.

“Can you please help me out, Doc?”, he begged.

Veterinarians all have a soft spot. We like to help people, and often we do so placing our own health and wellbeing on the back burner.

“I guess I could stop by,” I replied, “But please be sure to have a good rope handy.”

“You got it Doc!,” He promised.

When I arrived, Preston had the cow tied up to the center pillar of the barn. The massive beam was actually an old telephone pole.

The cow stood, chewing her cud as if nothing was amiss. A foot was clearly sticking out from the back end of the cow. From the appearance and position of the foot, I could immediately tell it was a back leg.

Delivering a breached calf is no easy feat. The size of the calf would make it impossible to turn around, and the best option was to attempt to pull the calf as it presented. The test for delivery of a calf in the backwards presentation but normal position and posture differ because the fetus should be first rotated 45-90 degrees by crossing the legs before attempting delivery to take advantage of the widest diameter of the cow’s pelvis.

Most experts say you should not apply more force than that of two strong men pulling by hand. But, if you’re alone in assisting a difficult birth, a calf jack can help generate the necessary force. Luckily I had my calf jack with me.

A calf jack is a long pole with a adapter that sits against the backside of the cow, just below the birth canal. There is a handle and jack that move along the entire length of the pole. OB chains are attached to the calve’s legs and then are attached to the jack. Extreme care must be taken to not apply too much pressure while using a calf jack. The health of the calf and mother could easily be compromised if the instrument is used improperly.

I attached the chains to the jack and gently began to tighten the slack. As I applied traction, the cow went crazy! She began to jump and kick and swing her head. I jumped back as fast as I could. She bellowed and began kicking her back legs in the air as if she were a rodeo bull.

The calf jack was firmly attached and stuck out straight nearly 6 feet from her rear end. This device became a formidable weapon and this cow knew exactly what to do. She was able swing it with extreme accuracy.

And boy did she ever swing it!

My OB bag was the first victim. It went flying through the air spreading instruments all over the barn. My water bucket next was launched vertically, covering all of us with fetal fluid and blood tinged warm water.

In a swift motion, the cow pivoted on her front feet, swinging her back end in an abrupt 180 turn. My back was turned to her when this happened and it caught me completely off guard. The calf jack, still sticking straight out from her backside, struck me about 2” below the back of my knees. This caused me to do a partial backflip. I landed on the soft bed of straw head-first.

“Preston!,” I shouted, “I thought you said she was tame!”

“Well, Doc, I ain’t never hooked one of those on her before!” he replied, with a look of bewilderment in his eyes.

Together we grabbed a large panel and placed it along side the raging bovine. She immediately calmed down and I returned to my job.

The calf was born alive! It was a precocious solid black bull calf with a stripe of white extending down his forehead. It weighed nearly 120 pounds!

“Good job Doc!” Preston exclaimed, “I was a little worried there for a minute!”

“So was I,” I replied, “So was I.”

The pain in my calves finally set in as I walked back to my truck. I had a battle wound that took weeks to heal – a linear bruise left by the unforgiving calf jack stuck to the backside of a most formidable and sinister cow.

And that is My Take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: The John Steiner Award for Practitioner Excellence

Dr. John Steiner was an incredible veterinarian. He graduated from the College of Veterinary Medicine at Cornell in 1968. He practiced first in New York and later in Lexington, KY as a prominent veterinarian at the famous Hagyard Equine. He was a sought-after speaker at both national and international veterinary meetings. He was a diplomat of the American College of Theriogenologists, specializing in equine reproduction, and served as President of this organization in 2005-2006. He authored numerous scientific articles and book chapters on a variety of equine reproduction topics. He influenced the entire veterinary industry and practiced the highest standard of care.

In 2008, Dr. Steiner passed away tragically after he was struck by a horse he was treating. I remember receiving the devastating news. I was in a Theriogenology lab exercise preparing to collect semen from a stallion. The professor gave us the sad news just as class was beginning. We all huddled in a circle and paused for a moment of silence as we remembered this giant of a man and the humongous hole that was left with his passing.

Just a few months later, in January of 2009, the Society for Theriogenology (SFT) created the Dr. John Steiner Award for Practitioner Excellence. The intent of this award is to recognize veterinarians who epitomize the objectives of the Society for Theriogenology to establish and promote standards of excellence, to disseminate emerging information to veterinarians and students, to serve as a global resource for scientific exchange, to foster client education and awareness, and to encourage a network of collegial exchange.

The award requires a unanimous vote by the SFT Executive Board. The award is presented at the annual Theriogenology Conference. Past winners include Dr. Tom Riddle (one of the founders of Rood & Riddle equine in Lexington, KY), Dr. Gary Warner (a pioneer in bovine reproduction and sports medicine), Dr. Don Sanders (a prolific author of over a dozen books), Dr. Jimmy Alexander (a respected bovine reproductive specialist), Dr. Marty Greer (veterinarian of the year Westminister Kennel Club 2023), Dr. Pete Sheerin (a renowned equine reproduction specialist), Dr. Mike Thompson (a successful business owner from Holly Springs Mississippi) and the legendary Dr. John Myers from Vinita, Oklahoma. I consider each of these exemplary veterinarians as cherished friends.

This last weekend, I was surprised to be awarded this honor at the annual conference in Birmingham, Alabama. I was overcome with emotion as the announcement was made. As I accepted the award, nearly all of the past recipients were in the audience. I humbly spoke of the giants in the veterinary industry that were in our presence and the impact they have had on me.

I reflected on an observation that King Solomon made, ¨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)

My career has been a product of both time and chance. So many random opportunities have presented themselves along the way. I have been very fortunate. I have experienced both successes and failures, triumphs and defeats. It has been wonderful! I wouldn’t do anything different, as each experience has helped me become who I am. I am so grateful for the mentors and friends that have helped me along the way. I am but a product of their efforts.

I am especially grateful for the loyal clients of Mountain West Animal Hospital that have trusted me over their years with the care of their animals. Without their trust, I would not be able to accomplish anything. This trust is something that I hold most sacredly, and I do my absolute best to never take this trust for granted.

This is a wonderful profession! I love what I do. I have been extremely blessed. The past 14 years have been full of adventures all over the world with animals of all types. I have followed my heart and intuition. It has been an exhilarating ride. I am excited for what the future holds.

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: The Society for Theriogenology

Greetings from Birmingham, Alabama! I am here to attend the annual conference of the Society for Theriogenology. It is so nice to be able to attend in-person veterinary conferences. The past few of years have made all of us miss out on so much that can only be experienced through in-person human interaction.

This conference is an annual event that I have attended since 2007. Each year the meeting is held in a different city around the country. I eagerly await this conference each summer.

What is Theriogenology? Theriogenology is the branch of veterinary medicine concerned with reproduction, including the physiology and pathology of male and female reproductive systems of animals and the clinical practice of veterinary obstetrics, gynecology, and andrology. It is analogous to the OBGYN, Neonatologist and Andrologist of human medicine – all combined in a single broad specialization. From antelope to zebras, Theriogenologists work on all species of animals. It is a challenging, unique and rewarding discipline.

I became interested in theriogenology as an undergraduate at Southern Utah University. A professor and mentor named Dan Dail introduced me to this most unique area of veterinary medicine. I learned a lot from him. He entrusted me with a research project looking at the correlation of body condition scores and first service conception rates in heat synchronized beef cattle. His mentorship, along with this research contributed to my acceptance into veterinary school.

At Washington State University, I had the privilege of working extensively with Ahmed Tibary, a world renowned theriogenologist. He has made endless contributions in teaching, published books, chapters and scientific articles. His comparative approach taught me how to think and reason through difficult cases. He also entrusted me with the animals under his care. We published a significant amount of information on reproduction in alpacas. I remember with fondness my time working with him.

My theriogenology work has made me a better veterinarian. My clinical approach has been shaped and molded by the examples of so many mentors and teachers. What drives me is the comparative medicine; that’s what makes my brain move. Whether I am in the clinic working on dogs or cats, or out working with bighorn sheep, elk, alpacas or water buffalo, I am doing what I love.

Upon a cabinet in the lobby of Mountain West Animal Hospital, a small statue sits. The statue depicts a bull named Nandi. Nandi is the white bull which symbolizes purity and justice in Hindu art and serves as the symbol of fertility in India. It is a Bos indicus bull anointed with gold and silver jewelry and its association in Hindu art and scriptures can be traced to the Indus Valley Civilization where dairy farming was the most important occupation. There are numerous temples in India dedicated solely to Nandi.

This statue was awarded to me after serving as president of the Society for Theriogenology in 2018. It is one of my most prized possessions. I am humbled by the opportunities that have come my way over the years as I have interacted with this unique group of veterinarians.

Kindness is a commonality among veterinarians who are reproductive specialists. They are approachable and humble. In a profession where arrogance often is the norm, they are a refreshing example of the best of the best. They are among the leadership at nearly every veterinary school in North America. They are leaving a lasting impression on the profession.

I am so proud to be a member of this group.

This is by far my favorite conference to attend. I look forward to learning from the best in the world this week and I can’t wait to apply what I learn at my own veterinary practice.

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: The Dinner Guest

“Hey Doc, we would love to have you over for dinner on Sunday. We will be having some ribeye steaks and banana cream pie.”

Hearing two of my favorite foods in the same sentence excites me. Who could turn down such an invitation? John and Laura were very loyal clients and were a pleasure to be around.

“I would love to!”, I excitedly responded.

“Great! We will eat at 7”, John instructed, “you can come a little early and have some root beer and see that new shed I am building.”

“I’ll be there”, I promised.

On Sunday evening I pulled into the driveway at exactly 6:45. John was waiting for me at the gate. He held a large frosted mug of root beer in his hand.

“Here it is Doc, fresh made.”

I grabbed the mug and took a sip. The sweet vanilla taste satiated my senses.

“Now, that is good!”, I exclaimed.

John then proceeded to show me around the yard. Most of my time with John and Laura was spent on the ranch. It was a nice break to be able to see their home. The yard was perfectly manicured, as is expected from a master farmer and crop producer.

The smell of the blooming purple lilacs reminded me just how beautiful this time of year is.

“Come on in Doc,” Laura continued, “dinner is on the table.”

As I entered the kitchen, the table was covered in a smorgasbord of deliciousness. Fresh potatoes, olives, bread, ribeye steak and banana cream pie awaited.

We sat down and began to eat. We laughed and joked as we finished the delicious meal.

“Hey Doc, there is another piece of steak here, would you like some more?”, John asked.

“I sure would,” I replied as I began cutting the fresh ribeye.

“Do you like it Doc?”, John inquisitively asked.

“Yes sir!” I replied

“Good. You remember that old cow that had mastitis and was prolapsed? You said we couldn’t sell her so we butchered her instead.”

News like this is never good to receive between bites.

Instantly, my voracious appetite disappeared.

All I could think in about was that nasty prolapsed cow. That cow that was now in my stomach.

“Can I have another glass of root beer?”, I politely asked, as I finished the steak.

After all, John and Laura are salt of the earth people.

However, this is the only time I will ever eat steak at their house.

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: Mold-A-Rama, the Magical Manufacturing Marvel

I had the privilege of being raised on a small farm in Castle Dale, Utah. Living in a small town had its perks for sure, for one, I rarely had to tell my parents when I got in trouble at school; as fast as word spreads in a small town, someone had almost always beaten me to it and mom and dad knew all of the details before I could even get home.

I loved growing up in a small town. I treasure the many wonderful people who helped shape my education and point me on the path I am on today.

My parents would set aside a few days each year where we could get away from the daily farm chores and spend time together as a family. I always looked forward to the time when we were able to leave Emery County and travel to the big city.

Vacations while growing up were typically short, lasting only a couple of days. I have many fond memories of visits to all of the national parks in the state and overnight trips to Salt Lake City. The overnight trips to Salt Lake were often planned around business meetings for my dad. We would typically come up early Friday morning and return home late Saturday.

We would usually stay at the Red Lion hotel in downtown Salt Lake. This hotel is still there, but it is now a Hilton hotel. I still remember the hotel layout. The swimming pool was located on the second floor. We must have stayed there a dozen times growing up.

Breakfast was always west of the temple at a Denny’s restaurant. It was a short 5 block walk from the hotel. I remember enjoying these meals immensely, despite the food being typical greasy breakfast items.

Following breakfast on Saturday morning, we would make a trip to the zoo. As children, we loved visiting the Hogle Zoo. I particularly looked forward to the Mold-A-Rama machines. These peculiar machines would make wax animal figurines on demand. The process melted polyethylene pellets at about 225 degrees and then injected the resulting liquid into a two-piece mold. Before the plastic could completely cool, a blast of high-pressure air would push any remaining liquid out a drainage hole in the bottom of the mold, leaving the sculpture hollow. Next, antifreeze was pumped inside and then drained to cool and harden the waxy plastic shell. The mold separated and the finished figure was ready. The whole process took less than a minute to complete.

For a five-year-old kid, they were a magical manufacturing marvel. These figurines were of many different animals and colors. I remember getting a gorilla, a giraffe, a lion, and many others. I still remember the smell of the freshly molded wax. The animals were quite hot when they came out of the machine, necessitating a fair amount of cooling off by rapidly blowing on them from all sides.

These were treasures to us. They would eventually crumble and fall apart, but they were placed on shelves in our rooms until that happened. There was something mystical and mysterious about owning a 4-inch mold of wax shaped like a gorilla.

Much of my love for animals was sparked by these trips to the zoo. In particular it instigated the comparative curiosity that has made my career so unique. I remember comparing different breeds of monkeys and apes, using the appearance of their hands, in particular their thumbs. I also wondered what was inside the camel’s humps, a question that took over 20 years to find the true answer, which came firsthand from the world’s foremost expert in this species. These trips led to my collecting zoo animal cards and reading about animal facts as a hobby.

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. It is interesting how these experiences all pointed to what I now do as a profession. I am glad I had the opportunity to go on these annual trips and for the wonderful memories that still remain.

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM