My Take Tuesday: The Society for Theriogenology

Tomorrow I am traveling to Bellevue, Washington 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 couple 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 a 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 came 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: 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 appointment is a routine breeding soundness evaluation of a group of Rambouillet rams.

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

A large horse trailer was backed up against the gate of the pen, with about two feet of space between the edge of the 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 valuable lessons I learned is to always have a perimeter fence as a backup when working with sheep.

Sheep are a prey species, and their only defense is to flee. The flock of rams fled in unison down the gravel path. They all 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: Human Blood

Times of severe stress, injury or fear can trigger the reflex: your blood pressure drops, your heart rate slows. This reaction is primeval stuff, buried deep within our brains. Medically, it goes by the name “vasovagal syncope.” Common folk like me simply call it fainting.

Being a veterinarian is not for the faint of heart. On any given day, I will treat a myriad of infirmities. The sight of blood, pus, maggots and trauma are part of a normal day at the clinic. I, fortunately, am not affected by this. I am able to reason and think clearly in situations like this and am able to immediately go about trying to fix the problem. I’ve seen some nasty stuff, but not once have I ever felt lightheaded with animal blood.

Human blood is a different story. Ironically, I cannot deal with human blood. The sight of it makes me queasy. I have fainted a couple of times at the sight of my own blood. I find it strange that I am fine with animal blood but so unstable when it comes to people.

As luck would have it, on a number of occasions, clients have experienced medical emergencies as I worked on their pets. During one of these situations, I overheard a radio exchange between emergency responders and dispatch.

“He is with a veterinarian,” the dispatcher said.

“Oh good,” the emergency responder replied.

Upon hearing this, I exclaimed, “No, it’s not good! I don’t do human blood! You had better hurry up and get here!”

Keeping it together in such situations is difficult for me. Luckily, no one has died in these situations. However, I did experience a very close call a few years back.

Sheldon was a nice man. His gentle smile and blue eyes were reflective of his kind nature. He raised beautiful Charolais cattle. The pure white bulls he hauled into the clinic on this particular day were no exception. The massive 2000+ pound animals were there to be semen tested before the breeding season.

Sheldon walked with his cane along the side of the alley that led to the squeeze chute. He gently nudged the first bull as I closed the hydronic chute. He opened the side gate and stood directly behind the bull.

I asked about his farm and about the drive down to the clinic. He seemed happy and excited about the coming spring.

As I proceeded to work on the bull, I turned my back to reach for some supplies.

I then asked, “Sheldon, can you help me hold this?”

There was no reply.

“Sheldon,” I continued.

Still no response. I peered into the chute where he was standing just moments before and he was nowhere to be found. As I stood up and entered the side gate, I found Sheldon lying in the alley. His head was lying just inches from the back feet of a bull. Any sudden movements and the bull could easily crush his skull. 

My blood pressure skyrocketed!

Instinctively, I picked him up and carried him out the side gate. He was non-responsive. I grabbed my stethoscope and listened to his heart. The rate and rhythm were irregular. He was clearly having a heart attack. I shouted for an assistant in the clinic. I asked her to dial 911 and get an ambulance there as soon as possible. I elevated his head and began the first aid I had been taught many times.

I sat with Sheldon until the ambulance arrived. His vitals continued to be irregular, but he continued to breath. As the EMTs arrived, they loaded him in the ambulance. As they pulled out of the clinic, despite having the light on and the sirens blaring, a car nearly side swiped the ambulance.

I stood there in awe. My body trembled as the stress finally caught up. I paced around the parking lot for nearly a half an hour until my nerves were under control and I was able to return to work.

Somehow Sheldon survived the ordeal. I visited him that night in the Payson hospital. He was his normal self as we joked about how bad he had scared me.

He thanked me for helping him.

“It is a good thing you knew what to do,” he continued, “I am lucky you were there.”

If he only knew how uncomfortable I am in situations like this. It took several days for me to be able to return to normal life. The thought of seeing him lying unconscious in the alley with such large animals on either side of him still haunts me to this day.

Fortunately, no other heart attacks have occurred on my watch since that day.

I can quickly fix even the most gruesome lacerations on an animal without a second thought, but when it comes to people, Doc Bott is not the person you want at your side.

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: Discover

As a child, I grew up in Castle Dale, Utah. My family had a small farm where we raised sheep, cattle and chickens. We had several pastures which we would rotate the sheep and feeder calves. It was always fun when we turned the animals into a new pasture. Their first response was to run and jump and frolic at their newfound freedom. I experimented and found this behavior to occur even when they were moved to a smaller pasture. This behavior consistently would occur with what seemed to be only one requirement – wide open space. This freed them from their paradigm. They respond the same way with grass, mud and even snow. Wide open space makes them run and jump and seemingly find energy and happiness.

I find myself, all too often, enclosed in a self-imposed corral whose fences limit progression and success. I built these barriers and dare not venture outside these boundaries, lest I be consumed by predators. I think many of us live out our existence in such a fashion. It feels safe. If we never risk anything, we seemingly will never lose anything. 

I submit that it is far more dangerous for us to remain inside these fences, never challenging ourselves, never truly reaching our full potentials. This meandering in mediocrity knows no true success. As Mark Twain stated, “20 years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did”. No growth occurs without challenge, and no challenge occurs without some level of uncertainty and presentation of incommodious circumstances. 

With that, I throw off the bowlines. I set sail away from the safe harbor with the intent of catching the trade winds in my sails. I stand on the edge of the bough, letting my toes hang over just a bit. It is time to explore, dream and discover……

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

Today’s My Take is a repeat from exactly a year ago. On this day, my sweet grandmother passed away unexpectedly. 

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

This past weekend, late one night I wandered outside my back door. The sky over Springville this time of year is magical. One of my favorite things to do is look at the sky on a clear night. 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:

My Take Tuesday: Shonna Dean Peterson

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: Best of Utah Valley 2022

Mountain West Animal Hospital has once again been voted the Best Veterinary Center in Utah Valley for 2022. This is our 9^th consecutive year receiving this honor. 

This recognition comes thanks to a wonderful and dedicated team. I simply cannot get through the day without the extraordinary help of each one of them. They provide the individualized care and compassion that make our hospital so unique

Our veterinary technicians, Katie and Carol, are the unsung heroes of your pet’s veterinary care team. They take radiographs, perform dental cleanings, monitor anesthesia, fill prescriptions and a myriad of other tasks.  Jordan, our office manager, runs the ins and outs of the day-to-day operations. Her job is so important, and she does a wonderful job showing kindness and empathy to all. 

Without these devoted professionals, my office would be a sea of chaos and confusion. They are my right hand and my left. They work in a high-stress environment, putting in long hours, caring for ill and anxious pets, cleaning messes, and putting themselves at risk of physical harm. They do this because they care. They care about each of our clients and their four-legged family members.

Our doctors are each unique and are dedicated to the profession. Dr. LeMonds works tirelessly to treat and diagnose difficult cases. She provides excellent care to each patient that she sees and communicates the complex nature of medicine in a manner that clients are able to understand. Dr. King also helps at the clinic when scheduling permits. His kind demeanor is endearing to clients and his presence provides a sense of comfort that helps in the difficult end of life decisions that require extreme care and empathy. 

Mountain West Animal Hospital was built in 1977. We have been serving the Springville community for nearly 45 years. Our founder, Dr. Harold J. Davis built this clinic and business with a solid foundation of honesty, a friendly atmosphere and the practice of quality veterinary medicine and surgery. Dr. Davis continues to work each Wednesday at the clinic, and his service is so appreciated. 

Looking back at our heritage, we are proud to espouse the values that Dr. Davis first envisioned. Although the building has changed colors and we are constantly updating our technology, the business remains the same. Our mission is to provide the best possible veterinary care for our patients by maintaining and utilizing state of the art facilities and equipment, and by employing and developing a well-trained competent and caring staff. We are dedicated to providing friendly, compassionate service to our clients in an atmosphere of professionalism, respect and concern. We want your experience with us to be a good one. 

We are deeply grateful to have been voted Best of Utah Valley once again in 2022. 

Thank you, Utah Valley, we’re truly honored!

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: Frank The Turtle

Third grade seemed to be a particularly creative time during my childhood. I remember sitting quietly in Mrs. Wikersham’s class at Castle Dale Elementary. As part of our daily routine, we would recite a poem each day. Most of the poems were short and simple and easy to remember. I still remember most of them verbatim. One of my favorites was about a little turtle, and it went like this:

“There was a little turtle.

He lived in a box.

He swam in a puddle.

He climbed on the rocks.

He snapped at a mosquito.

He snapped at a flea.

He snapped at a minnow.

And he snapped at me.

He caught the mosquito.

He caught the flea.

He caught the minnow.

But he didn’t catch me!”

I remember Mrs. Wikersham’s facial expressions vividly as she would teach us hand actions that went along with this poem.

A snapping turtle? It was something I could only dream about as a sheltered kid in a small town.

I recently thought about Mrs. Wikersham’s class after receiving an unusual call.

Frank the turtle needed an examination and a health certificate before flying to a warmer state. His owner called and explained that she could not find a veterinarian that would look at her turtle before her afternoon flight.

I really don’t know much about exotic pets, I somewhat reluctantly agreed to see her and provide the needed travel paperwork.

I entered the exam room to see the cutest little turtle imaginable. His innocent eyes peered up at me as I held him in my hands. I quickly looked him over and filled out the needed paperwork.

I handed the paperwork to the client and wished her safe travels. I then reached down to pat Frank on the top of his shell. Without warning, Frank snapped the tip of my right pointer finger.

Immediately, pain shot up my hand and continued all the way up my arm.

“Ouch!!!” I exclaimed, “That really hurts!”

Bewilderment filled my eyes. I didn’t see this coming. Frank, it turns out isn’t quite as sweet as he appears.

He might have snapped at that mosquito and caught that flea,

But in the end, Frank the turtle also caught me!

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: Hazel and the Skunk

As a teenager growing up in the small town of Castle Dale, I looked forward to summers at the end of each school year. Summer meant freedom from both homework and sitting at a school desk.

For me, a perfect summer day would have to include vanilla ice cream, snow cones and strawberry shortcake. The tranquil Castle Valley evenings provided frequent opportunities to cook hot dogs, hamburgers and steaks on the grill, corn on the cob on the stove, and juicy Green River watermelon slabs with each meal.

Summertime also meant hard work. Apart from the irrigating and farm chores, there were a number of elderly widows in Castle Dale that would hire my siblings and I to mow their lawns each week during the summer.

Hazel was my favorite. Her small house stood just north of the new recreation center in Castle Dale. Hazel was like family to me. Her friendly demeanor and kindness were manifest each and every time I mowed her lawn.

She had a small but verdant lawn that surrounded her small gray house. Along the south end of her property, huge trees stood as sentinels protecting the house from the frequent Castle Valley wind. The deep green leaves of the tall trees overlooked a perfectly manicured garden with straight rows of Swiss chard, chives, radishes, peas, carrots, spinach and lettuce.

Her lawn was difficult to mow. The frequent flowers and bushes required extreme care and precision with the lawn mower and edger. I would frequently graze her chives and the onion smell would instantly give away my error.

“On no, you hit my chives!” she would say. I anticipate that she planted larger quantities each year knowing that some would certainly fall prey to my mower.

After finishing the mowing, Hazel would prepare red punch and cookies. I would sit on a couch in her living room as I savored the snacks week after week. Hazel would ask about how my life was going, and she would tell stories of her Seely and Livingston pioneer ancestors that helped settle Utah and build the iconic Salt Lake Temple.

Hazel loved cats. She had a cat door that would lead out to the back yard from her kitchen. She would place a large bowl of cat food in the center of the kitchen and the cats could enter and leave as they please.

On this particular day, Hazel commented about how much cat food she had been going through. She noted that she would have to fill the cat dish 3 or 4 times a day and that each time she entered the kitchen, the bowl would be empty.

As I sat on the couch, I had a clear view of the cat bowl in the kitchen. As Hazel spoke, from the corner of my eye I noticed some movement near the bowl. As I turned my head and looked into the kitchen, the biggest skunk I had ever seen wobbled over to the food bowl and began gorging.

“Hazel!” I exclaimed. “That is not a cat, it is a big fat humongous skunk!”

“My laws!” she gasped. “Get it out of here!”

As I jumped up, the startled skunk made a dash for the door. Its overweight body condition inhibited it from any appreciable speed. The large belly nearly dragged on the ground as it meandered away. As it leaped for the cat door, the front half of the body exited perfectly, however, its back half didn’t quite make it. As the obese animal heaved its back end though the door, it simultaneously and voluminously sprayed the contents of its scent glands in my direction. This wallop of its defense mechanism filled the entire kitchen.

If you haven’t experienced the mephitic smell of a skunk from up close, the odeur fétide is actually a thick, volatile, oily liquid that obtains its pungency from sulfur-based thiols. There in nothing that smells worse than skunk spray inside your nose!

Hazel and I exited out the front door. We propped open the kitchen door and placed a fan on the floor to help air out the house. We laughed about it for hours.

Hazel passed away shortly after Memorial Day in 2003. I sure do miss her.

Each and every summer day brings back the fond memories of Hazel, the obese skunk, and the all-you-can-eat Mephitis buffet.

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM