My Take Tuesday: The Belligerent Bovine

January in Utah is a beautiful time of the year. The land is white. The peaks are white. The roof tops of the houses and barns are blanketed in white. All is lost in the colorless landscape in which a sense of peace takes over, the long nights settle in, the land is in a slumber and the world is put down to rest. Then suddenly, without just cause, comes a blast of bitter blizzards, and winter deepens her grip.

This particular morning was bitter cold. The air burned my face as I stepped out my front door. When temperatures reach twenty below zero, your nostrils sting and burn with each breath. Still, despite the extreme cold, there is a stillness and quiet peace that overwhelms you during the Utah January nights. These quiet midnight journeys to respond to emergency calls provide a time for me to reflect and think. In my busy life, I often have little time alone and I cherish those infrequent moments.

The call on this particular night was a cow with a laceration. Somehow this massive Hereford had tangled herself up in a barb wire fence. As I arrived, the gaping wound was dripping with fresh red blood. Steam would rise from the scarlet stained snow beneath as the blood trickled down and alongside the squeeze chute.

It was obvious that sutures would need to be placed.

A test of a veterinarian’s ability could be most easily assessed by watching him or her suture a laceration in -20 temperatures. It is indeed one of the most arduous of tasks.

As I pulled out my box of supplies, I noticed that a majority of drugs within my medical box were completely frozen. Fortunately, the lidocaine remained aqueous. I pulled out a large syringe and began injecting the local anesthetic along the periphery of the lesion. The old cow bellowed as I injected the Lidocaine. It was clear that she was very unhappy with her predicament.

I began to place the sutures in a simple interrupted pattern. A break was necessary between each suture placement as the stinging cold weather rendered my fingers numb and stiff. In a futile attempt, I tried exhaling on my frozen fingers hoping that they regain some function. This only made the numbness much worse.

As I placed the last onerous suture, the cow lunged forward in the squeeze chute. Her massive belly pinned my fingers against the side of the squeeze chute. A sharp pain shot up my arm as I jumped and pulled my hand back. Nervous to check to see what damage was caused to my numb smashed fingers, I exclaimed, “Alright, turn her lose. We are done.”

As soon as the head gate opened, this massive Hereford jumped forward and exited the chute bellowing and swinging her head. She ran straight ahead for about 20 yards at which time she paused. She then turned around and set her focus on me.

I immediately knew I was in trouble. I quickly grabbed my tools and began running for the fence; 1800 pounds of solid bovine came thundering toward me making me forget about anything except for escaping her wrath.

After a short run, with the bellowing cow in close pursuit, I reached the lodge pole pine fence that surrounded the corral. I dared not look back as I scampered over the fence. I could hear the angry cow snarling and could feel the sound of each hoof pounding the ground as she bounded towards me.

I made it across the fence safely. Upon reaching the other side I peered back at the massive cow. She stood facing the fence, head down, with a most bewildered look in her eyes. My heart pounded uncontrollably and I began to shake. This was one angry cow!

Immediately, my squished hand began to throb. The feeling in my fingers returned and I walked back to my truck.

As I drove away, I was very much relived to be leaving the belligerent bovine far behind. This was a close call and I was very fortunate to have made it out of the pen without any serious harm.

As I headed down the cold frozen highway, my mind returned to my time as a student in veterinary school. In the large animal section of the Veterinary Teaching Hospital at Washington State University there was a magnetic sign that could be placed on the pen of a fractious animal. The sign read, “Fractious cow can make it to gate in 2.5 seconds. Can you?”

It would be fitting to have such a sign to hang near the squeeze chute on this particular Utah County farm.

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: The Society for Theriogenology  

Greeting from 30,000 feet! This week I am writing from the air. As I peer out the plane window, I see a limitless sky. I love flying! I am en route to Milwaukee, Wisconsin to attend the annual conference of the Society for Theriogenology. 

This is an annal 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 August.

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. Dan Dail passed away a few years ago. 

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.

It is my privilege to serve as the current president of this organization. Throughout the past year, a large statue has been on display on top of the glass case in the lobby of Mountain West Animal Hospital. The statue depicts a bull named Nandi, the Hindu god of fertility. This statue resides with the current president of the Society for Theriogenology during their tenure. The wooden base has the names of each president since the founding of the organization many years ago. These names represent some of the best of the best and each has left a unique mark in the world of animal reproduction. I am humbled to see my name on this plaque. 

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. 

It has been a tremendous honor for me to serve as president of this organization this past year. 

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: Don’t worry Doc, he won’t bite

“Don’t worry Doc, he won’t bite.” 

If ever a red flag was raised, these simple words would surely do it. I worry every time I hear the phrase. It reminds me of the required vet school class that covered the autonomic nervous system. The fight or flight impulse is part of that system. And in most cases, the fight response prevails. Invariably, when someone says this, I am going to be bitten.

It was a routine appointment, simple annual vaccinations. It should have gone smoothly.

As I administered the last vaccination, all seemed to be going smoothly. When all of the sudden, this unseeingly sweet little dog became, without warning, a biting, raging canine tornado.

This form of aggression can be defined by the word “IATROGENIC”. The definition of this fancy word is simple, it was caused by ME. This little guy was furious, and come hell or high water, he was going to let me have it.

His attack was swift. He had sunk his teeth deep into my left hand. I instinctively pulled back as he loosened his grip. I thought for a brief moment that it was over, but before I could remove my hand, he chomped down a second time.

Blood poured from my lacerated fingers.

The owner looked up, shook her head, and said, “Come to think of it, he did that to the last vet also.”

“Gee thanks,” I muttered.

If anyone ever tells you, “Don’t worry, he won’t bite.”

Take it from me – BEWARE!

You are about to be bitten!

And That is My Take

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: A Scar

You can definitely see it if you look close enough, each time I extend my left hand with my palm down. It runs nearly perpendicular to the axis of my index finger.

Scars are a physical reminder of our own survival. They tell a story about places that you’ve been. They are tangible roadmaps to life’s lessons learned.

Every time I notice the scar on my finger, my mind travels back to my senior year of veterinary school in 2008. My best friends from veterinary school, Dan and Travis, were with me on this wild adventure.

It was a beautiful November day in Emmett, Idaho. The crisp fall air and dark yellow leaves of the cottonwood trees reminded me why this was my favorite time of the year.

During my last year of veterinary school, an entire month was spent at the Caine Veterinary Teaching Center in Caldwell, ID. This provided hands on training in a variety of agricultural species. Our days were spent on massive dairy operations, in the classroom and at livestock auctions.

On this particular day the sale yard was full. Cattle of every breed, gender and size were being sold and sorted through the sale barn.

My tasks were simple: 1) Vaccinate the females between 4-10 months of age. 2) Diagnose pregnancy in adult females. 3) An occasional bull calf would also need to be castrated.

Often cattle are sold because of their disposition. Wild, aggressive and flighty cattle are difficult to handle. Studies have shown a lower pregnancy rate among beef cattle that are flighty. Farmers are quick to cull cows that exhibit these traits. Therefore, wild and crazy cattle are prevalent at a livestock auction. Extreme care must be taken to avoid injury.

Facilities to process cattle make all of the difference for a veterinarian. It is very dangerous to attempt to process cattle in a rickety old squeeze chute. Unfortunately, too many sale barns have cattle handling facilities that leave much to be desired.

A black Angus calf entered the chute. I had castrated many calves before this and was very comfortable with the procedure. To facilitate castration, I entered the squeeze chute behind the calf. I reached down and made an incision. The calf immediately jumped and kicked. His right hind leg hit my right hand with incredible accuracy. The knife, still held securely in my right hand, plunged downward. The blade entered the index finger of my left hand, right between the first and second knuckles. The blade sank deep, and only stopped as it hit the bone in my finger.

The pain was immediate. I quickly exited the chute, holding my left hand tightly. Blood poured down my hand and dropped on the ground. The professor asked, “What happened?”

“I cut myself,” I responded.

As I stepped away from the squeeze chute, I glanced down at my finger. The open wound gushed blood. I immediately became light headed and nearly fainted as I stumbled to the truck.

I wrapped my finger tightly and headed to the nearest urgent care clinic. The throbbing pain seems to peak with each heartbeat.

After a couple hours and a few sutures, I was back at the sale yard. The remainder of the day went smoothly.

I will forever carry a reminder of that November day in Emmett, Idaho. Although time tends to color our memories optimistically, I still remember the painful lesson I learned that day.

Such is life. The ups and downs leave us battered and scarred. But with time, things get better. The pain won’t always be there and someday we will look back at each scrape and scratch and be reminded that scars are beautiful.

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: The Alpine Buttercup

One of my favorite flowers is the Alpine Buttercup. Seen only by those who venture near or above the timberline, it follows the melting snow into the sunshine. In the early spring, it fights its way up through the cold hard earth. Along the snow banks high in the Rocky Mountains, this flower is the first to emerge, often blooming through the melting snow.

I have often wondered how this plant can be so hardy. Ranunculus acraeus is a plant of environmental extremes, hence the species name acraeus, meaning “on high”.

I often wonder what it would be like if we could switch roles with the buttercup. What if we could be as resilient as this small plant?

We would become this tender whitish-yellow chute. It hasn’t felt the suns warmth, the green is yet to come. This tender seedling pushes up through the cold hard ground.

The moment it emerges, it is subject to all of the dangers and injury that can befall anything alive and growing. A wandering deer passes by and steps on the tender plant and smashes it down. Yet, the chute pushes back up.

A hungry chipmunk discovers the plant and bites off its tender delicacy. Still out of it’s reservoir of power, the buttercup pushes up.

It struggles toward to the sun, despite the adversities that attack it.

Then one day it bursts into a tight yellow bud.

It affirms that underneath the old rotten layers of winter snow there is new good life.

My thoughts turn to an exchange in one of my favorite books, Edmond, who has suffered unspeakable torture and pain is addressing a young but courageous Albert. He says, “Life is a storm, my young friend. You will bask in the sunlight one moment, be shattered on the rocks the next. What makes you a man is what you do when that storm comes. You must look into that storm and shout… Do your worst, for I will do mine! Then the fates will know you as we know you.” (Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo)

The fleeting emotion we call happiness, is but a comparison of one state to another. And as such, those who have experienced extreme pain and grief, are most capable to experience supreme happiness.

Life is full of brambles and thorns. It has to be. There is no growth without challenge, and no challenge occurs without some level of uncertainty and presentation of incommodious circumstances.

A few years ago, during a severe winter storm, I passed a herd of bison standing in a large meadow on the side of the road. The storm was intense, with over 18 inches of accumulation in just a few hours. The bison, ironically, stood still in the middle of the meadow. In conditions that would kill entire herds of cattle, these majestic animals stand face first in the winter fury as the wind blows and the snow accumulates. They don’t turn their hindquarters into the wind, nor do they move with it. They stand and face the storms of life undaunted, stoic and valiant.

Perhaps we would do well to emulate the bison, as we face the uncertainties and challenges that we face in life. The storms of life will inevitably come, so why not face them? And face them with strength, determination, and power. Sure, it’ll feel uncomfortable at first, it may even be scary, but if we get comfortable with the feeling of being uncomfortable – that discomfort will begin to lessen.

I don’t know how long your storm will last or how intense it is. But I am confident we will all fare the storm better if we face it head on. Just breathe, put your head down and find a way through. We must have tough times to fully appreciate the good times that lie ahead.

Just like the Alpine Buttercup, we all contribute to the beauty of this world. We are an infinitesimal part of it. Still each of us, no matter how humble, no matter how lowly or simple, we all have a critical part to play.

We only must recognize our role and take it on.

Either we bloom, or we sadly wither away.

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: Father’s Day

The giant snowflakes gently fell in perfect rhythm. Even though it was 6:00 AM, I could see clearly through the winter whiteness.  This particular winter during the 1980’s in Castle Dale was incredibly harsh. Nearly 18” of snow had fallen over the past 24 hours. The field across the street from my parents house was covered in a thick blanket of white. I bundled up as I prepared to leave the house to do the morning farm chores.

My dad led the way as we headed across the street to the corals. The deep snow proved to be a challenge for my short legs. I jumped and lengthened my stride as I placed my feet inside my father’s footprints. As long as I followed his steps, the path seemed manageable

My dad is a giant of a man. I remember attending a Cub Scout pack meeting as a young boy. At this meeting, a plank was placed on the floor and a 16 penny nail was started in the center. A competition was held where all of the father’s in the room had a chance to hit the nail as hard as they could. Some were able to drive the nail in completely with 2 or 3 hits. When my dad’s turn came around, he buried the nail with a single swing of the hammer. I remember thinking how amazing that was! He could loosen old rusty bolts with a quick flick of his wrist, he could throw a bale of hay on top of a haystack and no one could use a shovel like him. In my eyes as a young boy, he seemed to be able to do anything. My dad has been my hero as far back as I can remember.

I remember a time where he had learned that a man living in town did not have a bed in his house to sleep on. My dad went and purchased a brand new bed with his own money and delivered it to this man that he didn’t even know. Years later, this man told me that this act was the kindest thing that anyone had ever done for him in his life. My dad taught me how to care for others less fortunate time and time again through his example.

Each summer, my dad would set aside time to take each of his five children camping with him individually. We would get to chose the destination of this one on one time. I remember the cold air and the damp grass. I remember the smell of the air. I remember eating Pringles and sitting by a campfire. I remember eating small boxes of Cocoa Krispies and catching fish.

Oh how I looked forward to my annual camping trip with dad! My favorite spot was in Upper Joe’s Valley. This overnight camping trip always provided an escape  from the every day chores and busy summer days.

Despite working 7-5 every day, somehow dad would find the time in his incredibly busy schedule to take each one of us individually every single year. This was dad‘s way of showing us how much he cared. Although he loved each of us equally, during these outings we all felt very special. I remember every single trip and I cherish these memories.

I remember one particular time when I was working at the cemetery. The volume of work there had overwhelmed me. There was so much to do and I couldn’t get it done. Dad, after working all day at a thankless and stressful job, came to the cemetery and cut the individual daisy flowers off of the dozen or so bushes in the flower bed. This tedious process took several hours. I was thankful that night, but now looking back, tears come to my eyes. I know how tired and worn out I am after working all day. How did he have the energy to do all that he did?

In today’s world fathers come and go. Having a stable father is a rarity. My dad was always there to work with us. I remember many times going out to the farm with dad and being so stressed I couldn’t function, and after a few hours of digging ditch anything that was bothering me would disappear. Growing up,  I was taught how to do good work and to be proud of my accomplishments. My dad did this, not by leaving a list of chores to be accomplished, but by working right there alongside us.

A statue on my dad’s dresser depicts a father with a small child sitting on his knee. The inscription reads, “Any man can be a father, but it takes someone special to be a daddy.” My daddy’s example was not lost on me. His unconditional love has inspired each of his 5 children to be the best that we can be.

As Father’s Day approaches, I still find myself trying to follow my father’s footprints in the deep snow. He is my constancy and my mentor, my rock and my friend. He is my hero!

Happy Father’s Day dad!

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: Kissing a Camel

During the month of November a couple of years back, I had the opportunity to travel to Williams, AZ.

Nestled amongst the Ponderosa pines and Douglas-firs of Arizona’s Kaibab National Forest, Williams is a magical place this time of year. The Christmas season is already in full swing there. All of the restaurants along the historic Route 66, are decorated and lit up with colorful Christmas lights. The scenery is breathtaking and the atmosphere is most jovial.

Just 8 miles east of Williams you will find the Grand Canyon Deer Farm. Originally established in 1969, this exceptional educational treasure – owned and operated by Randy and Pat George since March 1987 – offers a terrific interactive animal experience for adults and children alike. Initially opened as a Deer Farm the business has expanded over the years and has now became a fully-fledged Petting Zoo with over 100 animals including; Bison, Camels, Goats, Llamas, Elk, Porcupines, Fallow Deer, Mule Deer, Reindeer, Coatimundis, Miniature Donkeys, A Zonkey, Pot Bellied Pigs and Wallabies.

While there, I performed two artificial insemination procedures on their female resident reindeer. We were also generously treated by Pat to a VIP experience with the animals. As  veterinarian, it will come as no surprise that I love animals. Spending time looking at different animals and watching their behavior is my favorite thing to do. The Grand Canyon Deer Farm is a unique experience, as it allows you to pet and feed myriads of these animals. My children especially enjoyed the up close interaction with the animals.

“Hey dad, I just kissed a camel!” Those were the first words I heard from my young daughter’s mouth as she came running up to me. The excitement in her voice made me pay attention. “You what? A camel?” I asked. “Yes dad,” she responded,  “You need to do it. Come here.”

The procedure is simple. Place a carrot in your mouth. Stand near the perimeter of the pen. Lean in gently. The camel will reach out and gentle take the carrot from your mouth. In the process, the camel’s lips will definitely touch yours! As camels do not have upper incisors, there is no danger of getting injured during this activity.

The months of June and July are a perfect time to visit the Grand Canyon Deer Farm this year. Baby fallow deer are being born and this summer they have something incredibly unique and special – a baby reindeer!

This is a place everyone should have on their bucket list. When visiting the Grand Canyon or even Las Vegas, making the trip to Williams to visit the Grand Canyon Deer Farm is definitely worth it!

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM