Reindeer rarely have difficulty giving birth. Fortunately, nature has provided this species with amazing vitality. Young calves stand within minutes of being born. Predation is the primary cause of death in newborn calves. To minimize this, cows synchronize their birthing. If all of the calves are born at the same time, fewer are killed by predators. Gestation length can vary as much as 45 days to accomplish this. Such synchrony is fascinating, but provides considerable challenges with domesticated herds. Occasionally, calves are born premature and lung development is not complete. Sadly, many of these calves die.
As a veterinarian, I perform a considerable number of artificial inseminations on reindeer each year. The calves produced by this procedure are especially valuable. Intense care is given to newborns to ensure the best chances of survival.
A few years back, a young male calf was born during the summer. He had a unique white marking on his nose. This calf was a charmer. We all instantly fell in love with him.
On examination, the calf showed considerable effort in his breathing. His lungs were not working as they should. Research has shown that these calves lack a chemical called Surfactant. Surfactant reduces the surface tension of fluid in the lungs and helps make the small air sacs in the lungs (alveoli) more stable. This keeps them from collapsing when an individual exhales. In preparation for breathing air, fetuses begin making surfactant while still in the the uterus. With some reindeer calves, this production is incomplete when they are born.
Treatment consists of replacement surfactant therapy. This is often not feasible in veterinary medicine because of the high cost of synthetic surfactant. When is is available, it must be administered within 6 hours of birth to be effective.
The second treatment is placing the calf in an incubator (very similar to ones used with human neonates) and administering oxygen. Some calves will improve with this treatment. We placed him inside the oxygen chamber and waited. Feeding was required every 2-3 hours. The first few hours were touch and go, but little by little, improvement was noted. His tiny lungs slowly began to function properly.
Fortunately, things improved for this beautiful calf. We named him White Lightning, reflecting the distinctive white stripe on his nose.
Miraculously, on this hot summer day, a life was saved. As you can see in the photos, we were all happy to pose with the calf, with the exception of my youngest son, KW. He fortunately has overcome his fear of reindeer. 🙂
N. Isaac Bott, DVM

 Many of the pictures I post are of Mountain West Animal Hospital’s resident reindeer. They are very docile and love the attention. Sven and Titus will pose for photos and love little children. Sven even has a fondness for the color pink.

However, not all reindeer are like this. A male reindeer’s personality changes dramatically as the breeding season approaches. Circulating levels of testosterone dramatically increase in late August. This hormone will make an otherwise tame male become a raging, grunting and aggressive mess.
A couple of years ago, I received a call from a reindeer farmer in northern Utah. He had a male reindeer that had injured the base of his antler. August heat and fresh blood are a recipe for complications due to either a severe bacterial infection and/or an infestation of disgusting maggots.
I arrived at the farm and immediately realized that the bull was in full rut. I had just left the office and, like a true nerd, had placed an external hard drive for my computer in my front pocket.
The bull was not very happy to be caught. It took three of us to restrain him while I treated his injury. His massive antlers could easily lift us off the ground and fling us in any direction desired.
Just as I finished the treatment, he broke lose. He immediately turned toward me. I had very little time to react. I stood there holding empty syringes and iodine in my hands, helpless and very much vulnerable. His attack was swift. A single charge knocked me on the ground.
I lay there struggling to catch my breath. The sudden impact of the ground on my back left me with temporary paralysis of the diaphragm which made it difficult to take a breath. When I finally did breathe, I was bombarded with excruciating pain over the left side of my chest. I reached into my pocket and removed the external hard drive. It was shattered.

I was very much defeated and beaten, but overall ok after I got on my feet. The pain was caused from two cracked ribs. Other than that, I had no further damage from the incident.
I learned my lesson that day. Rutting male reindeer cannot be trusted. They are the most dangerous animal I have ever worked with. They make a Jersey dairy bull seem like a young puppy.
I am glad I had the external hard drive in my pocket. The antlers would have easily punctured my lung and inflicted life threatening injuries.
If you ever see a male reindeer grunting, snorting and peeing on itself – STAY AWAY!

You have been warned.

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

Heroes cease to exist in two ways, either through disappointment or death. If you are lucky, the later is the case.

My childhood hero just took his last breath.

As I sit here with tears streaming down my cheeks, I hope that I can eloquently articulate my feelings.

If you are lucky enough to know my uncle Jerry Bott, then you have the privilege of knowing the best person I have ever met. There is no better example of loyalty, charity and love than he was.

I grew up right across the streets from him. Our gray house faced his small white house. For my entire life growing up, I would see Jerry at least two times every day.

I owe my very life to my uncle Jerry. Once, as a curious 5 year old, I was standing in the doorway to his kitchen. Jerry had a bag of those pink chalky wintergreen disc candies. I placed one in my mouth, and somehow got it lodged inside my trachea. Jerry must have sensed my panic, but he calmly walked over and gave a firm push on my stomach and the piece of candy shot across the room.

There is no one more patient than my uncle Jerry. It would be impossible to be so. I remember every day growing up, Jerry dropping everything he was doing, even if it was sleeping following a graveyard shift, to give my little brother Seth a tractor ride down the street. I know that many days he didn’t want to do it, but he never complained a single time. He was grateful for the time to spend with Seth.

I remember my younger brother Seth having a severe seizure as a child. He was rushed to the hospital by ambulance. I was beside myself. Uncle Jerry came over and silently sat in a recliner next to me for the entire night. After an hour or so, he looked at me and said, “don’t worry Isaac, Seth is going to be ok.” He was right. Although it was a very long night, he sat there the entire time.

Years later, after a cousin of mine was killed in a car crash, we were standing at the grave side. I watched Jerry walk over and give my uncle a hug. Jerry began to sob. I could literally feel the love he had for my cousin and my uncle’s family.

While in high school, I did not know what direction I needed to go in life. Jerry one day, quietly predicted that I would become a veterinarian. I remember thinking that notion was crazy! But, as always, he was right.

In high school, following my first heartbreak, I remember sitting in his kitchen crying as I recounted what had happened. Jerry calmly looked at me and told me it would be ok. He was right, everything did turn out ok, but it was his words of comfort that calmed my troubled soul.

The corrals below Jerry’s house become filled with manure in the winter. It is at least knee deep by February. I remember one year standing in this disgusting green pool of filth with a scoop shovel. The task seemed insurmountable, the stench seemed inconceivable, and my will power seemed inaccessible. Jerry came down, calmly entered the coral and began scooping the green filth into the wagon. He looked at me and said, “Isaac, thanks for letting me help. This is one of my favorite things to do.” Now clearly, he was bluffing, but his optimism turned this job that I absolutely despised into something tolerable. Jerry was the hardest worker I have ever met.

My generous nature is because of what I learned from my sweet uncle Jerry. Over the years he has spent hundreds of thousands of dollars helping other people. He would quietly go to the grocery store and take groceries to those who needed them. He never wanted any credit for the thousands of acts of service he provided to the fortunate residents of Castle Dale, but each of us that he served are much better people because of his love.

Jerry would use his gloves until they fell apart. Holes in the fingers were fixed with duct tape. Socks that would not stay up were held in place with rubber bands. He would sew the holes in his socks where his toe would eventually wear through. He was the absolute example of personal frugality, yet he would give so much to all those around him. Watching his generosity was inspiring, but watching him go without taught me what true sacrifice is.

Jerry would sit for hours, listening to me tell him about veterinary school. I would share my triumphs and failures. He would attentively listen, and make me feel as if nothing mattered more in that moment than I did. It must have been so boring for him to have to listen to me go on and on, but he never showed it. He picked me back up when I fell down, he consoled me when I was heart broke. There are dozens of times that he comforted me and took my pain away.

I literally could write a book on all of my memories of uncle Jerry. He has been like a second father to each one of my siblings and I. We are so lucky to have had the chance to spend so much time with him.

Every hundred or so years, God smiles and sends one of his noble and great ones to earth. These individuals lift all those around them, and share the love of the Master Himself. Jerry was indeed one of those noble souls. Today, he was called back home by that Maker who gave him life.

There is one less cowboy in Castle Dale, and a saddle that is empty today, but there is a grand reunion up in heaven as he is welcomed home by loved ones.

I love you Jerry. Thank you for believing in me before I believed in myself. Thank you for teaching me to love, and give and serve. Your influence will forever remain in my heart.

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. 

My Take Tuesday: Why did you become a veterinarian?

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

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.

Louis W. Peterson made his living as a farmer. Life during this time could not have been easy. 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 110 year old, pocket size 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 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.
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 or Kenneth realized that, more than 60 years after their deaths, a veterinarian 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 Ruff Week

Some weeks just don’t go as planned. This past week has been somewhat of a rough one for me.

It all began on Sunday morning, as I stopped at the clinic to feed the animals. One of our resident reindeer, Titus, is in full blown rut. While normally docile and approachable, during the breeding season he morphs into a grunting, aggressive and unpredictable mess. As I was pouring out his feed, he apparently identified me as a threat to his masculinity. He left a large abrasion on my left arm, just above my wrist.

Monday also proved to be stressful. One of the most difficult surgeries I have to perform is known as an intestinal resection and anastomosis – in english: taking out a section of intestine that is diseased or otherwise obstructed. This surgery requires extreme precision. Fortunately, it was a success and the patient is doing very well. However, after a long day at the clinic, a three hour surgery can cause significant fatigue.

Tuesday morning, my first patient, a small dog, bit my right hand twice before I could even react. The owner, after witnessing the vicious attack, said, “Oh, she sometimes bites.” “Gee thanks,” I muttered.

Thursday night, I stayed at the clinic following an after hours emergency, while moving around in the dark trying to lay down on my cot, I tripped over a box and landed face first on the ground. The fall caused a large 3” gash on my right leg and actually ripped the small toenail off of my right foot.

A cat bite later in the week added to my list of deleterious events. A cat bite is never a good thing, as research shows nearly 50% of these become infected in humans, and as luck would have it, this one swelled up almost immediately.

To culminate the stressful week, Sunday morning, while making preparations for a trip to the veterinary school at Utah State, I passed out. Extreme fatigue had finally caught up with me, and rest became mandatory.

Life is full of rough patches, and often these events occur in unison. Perhaps, when things are going a particular way, we tend to focus on it, whether positive or negative. Whatever the reason, I am glad it is a new week.

A week like this begs the question, “Where is the glory?”

Despite events such as these, I am living my dream. I am doing what I love, and enjoying every minute of it.

Glory comes from the love of life, the love of people, the love of animals, and the love of of being able to help those animals and their owners.

I love being a veterinarian!

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

This past week, I received the devastating news that a beloved family member is suffering from a very severe infirmity. News like this is difficult to process. Much of who I am can be attributed to this family member. He is a man’s man, and is the best human being I have ever known.

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)