My Take Tuesday: Tempus Fugit

This week marks 13 years since my graduation from veterinary school. I can’t believe how fast time has flown by!

Over the course of the past thirteen years, I have many accomplishments that I am proud of. It has been a most remarkable journey.

It seems like just last week when I was saying farewell to some of my dearest friends and colleagues. Members of my class have traveled all over the world and have already left an impressive mark on the field of veterinary medicine. Many have completed residences and internships.

Some are clinical pathologists, oncologists, zoo veterinarians, cow calf specialists, internal medicine and equine specialists, mixed animal practice owners, epidemiologists and USDA food supply veterinarians. I am fortunate to have spent my veterinary school years surrounded by such exceptional people.

Looking back at my journey, I could not have dreamed of the adventures and opportunities that awaited me in my first decade of veterinary practice. It has been an exhilarating ride. I have been knocked down several times during this journey. With each failure, I have tried to get back up, dust myself off and move forward. Hard time times have come before, and they are bound to come again. When they come, I grit my teeth, bow my head and ride straight into the wind. Each struggle has been followed by myriads of opportunities. One cannot fully appreciate the highs of life without experiencing the lows. As Ernest Hemingway aptly observed, “Night is always darker before the dawn and life is the same, the hard times will pass, every thing will get better and sun will shine brighter then ever.”

Timing and chance have tremendous bearing on each of our lives and careers. I have had successes and experiences that were not in my wildest dreams when I graduated. I have performed veterinary work in 8 countries, 27 US states, performed reproductive work on 39 different species, performed over 65,000 small animal examinations and have helped build a successful veterinary practice. I have also published 8 scientific papers and just recently authored my first textbook chapter.

I cannot think of a profession that is more rewarding. I have had the opportunity to travel to many faraway places to share some of the successes I have had with today’s veterinary students. I very much enjoy the opportunity to do this. I always encourage students to be different and to follow their hearts. My advice to them is to always seek self-discovery and self-improvement. There is very little satisfaction when comparing oneself to others. So much time is wasted when trying to be better than someone else. The true test of success is measured when looking at your own improvement and progress. Are you better than you used to be? If you focus on being your best-self your potential is unlimited. When using others as a comparison, there will always be someone bigger, better or stronger.

Each of us are unique. Look at your thumb. Your thumbprint is a testament to your uniqueness. Your individual thumbprint is different than any of the billions of individuals that are alive today. No one ever has, or ever will have the same thumbprint. Your identity is as unique as your thumbprint. Your perspective and personality are not shared by any other person. These traits are arrows in our quiver of individual contribution. Why is it so difficult to acknowledge this? Self-awareness is the key to harnessing and honing this uniqueness in an effective fashion. As we become self-aware, we are able to visualize, assess, nock, draw back and place a precise arrow in the bullseye of our desired target.

Thank you to my many mentors who have guided me and made me what I am today.

I look forward with optimism at the journey ahead. I have found my passion. I love what I do.

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

My Take Tuesday: The Fragility of Life

Just west of Castle Dale, Utah, the sky above Horn Mountain turns a beautiful cinnamon on clear summer nights as the sun sets over the place that I call home. These summer nights smell of freshly cut grass and alfalfa, of roses and cottonwood trees, of sagebrush and lilacs.

If you are heading west along Bott Lane, just past the tall poplar trees, lies a piece of ground that was homesteaded by my great-great grandfather. This piece of land has passed from generation to generation, from fathers to sons, and has always remained in my family.

On the east side of this piece of land, a silhouette of a Ford Tractor and a Hesston Hydroswing Swather were visible on many beautiful summer evenings during my childhood. On the tractor, sat my uncle Jerry Bott.

Jerry was a giant of a man. He stood over 6’4”. His gentle demeanor and kind heart were his most precious of character traits. His soft voice and carefully chosen words were never cross or unkind. At least two times every day, I would be able to greet my uncle as I would enter his house before milking our cows. He became my constancy, my anchor, as I grew from a small child into the man I am today.

On this particular night almost 30 years ago, in 1990, my uncle Jerry was cutting the first crop of hay. The tall grass makes this cutting the most difficult on the equipment. Constant attention must be given to the rotating wheel and hay knives that were prone to clogging.

This time of year, hen Ringneck pheasants are on their nests. They sit so still that even the loud rumbling of a tractor and the ground tremors of the hay cutter leave her undeterred. Occasionally, these hens are injured or killed as they sit on their eggs. The nest, whether it be full of chirping hatchings or incubating eggs, is left to the merciless predators from the air and the nearby fortress of trees and Russian Olives that run along Cottonwood Creek.

As the sun faded behind the towering cliffs of Horn Mountain, I stood on my parents’ lawn, looking eagerly at the approaching two-toned tan GMC Sierra. My hero was coming home for the night.

As Jerry exited his truck, he held under his arm a brown paper grocery bag. His long stride headed towards me instead of his house across the street.

As he approached, he called my name.

“Isaac,” his low and gentle voice called, “I have something for you.”

He handed me the brown paper bag.

Inside, a green towel was wrapped gently around 8 medium sized olive-colored eggs.

“These are pheasant eggs,” he continued, “and they need to be cared for.”

“Isaac, I know that you will do a good job at taking care of them.”

I looked in the sack as Jerry walked back across the street and into his house.

“How do you hatch pheasant eggs?”, I wondered as I entered my parent’s house.

My incubator was nothing special, just a Styrofoam box with a small heater inside. Knowing that peasant eggs incubate for 23 days, I set the temperature and humidity and carefully laid the eggs inside.

I faithfully turned the eggs three times a day for three weeks.

Somehow, the incubation was successful, and the eggs all hatched out. The tan chicks had dark brown stripes that ran parallel along their backs.

I was overjoyed when I told my uncle Jerry about my accomplishment.

“Uncle Jerry,” I exclaimed, “I did it! The eggs hatched!”

“That is great!”, he responded, “Isaac, I knew you could do it.”

His response and validation filled my system with light and my soul with joy.

The world with all of its power and wisdom, with all the gilded glory and show, its libraries and evidence, shrink into complete insignificance when compared to the simple lesson of the fragility and value of life that my uncle Jerry taught me that warm summer evening.

Over the years, uncle Jerry often repeated this encouragement as I navigated the brambles and thorns of life. When I graduated high school, then college and eventually veterinary school, his reassurance illuminated my understanding of my potential and his unwavering love and support. He gently counseled me, “Isaac, find your passion. Cultivate it. Work hard and be the best that you can be. And then share it with the world.” 

There are days that change the times and there is a time to say goodbye. My sweet uncle Jerry passed away in late 2016. His loss left a tear in the eye and a hole in the heart of all my family members.

There is a place beyond the clouds, in the cinnamon sky to the west of Castle Dale, where a precious angel resides.

Somethings never change. Yet, there are things that change us all. This experience changed me.

My uncle Jerry’s lesson, from long ago, was not lost on me.

Each and every day, I remember the immense value of life, as I attend to my four-legged patients.

As lives are saved and others are lost, I remember how important it is for someone to take initiative and to tend to the responsibility to care for the helpless and to speak for those without a voice.

This is a lesson my dear uncle Jerry so effectively showed me how to apply and live, and it is a responsibility I take most sacredly.

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: The Llama que se llama Lloyd

It was a typical Sunday afternoon; I was taking advantage of the quiet afternoon by sitting down on the couch. The phone startled me just as I was getting to the good part of one of my favorite movies.

I hit pause as I picked up my cell phone and gave my usual salutation, “Hello, this is Dr. Bott.”

“Hey Doc! I need you to come check on my llama. He’s gone absolutely berserk!”

I could hear panic in her voice as she continued, “He just ate my blouse from the clothesline. Yesterday, he spit right in my eye. He keeps biting Susie and Dolly, thems my other llamas, and he keeps attacking anyone that enters his pen!”

The potent potion of human personality makes taking calls like this very unpredictable, and my experience has shown that some of the most colorful of souls happen to also have llamas.

She continued, “I tried using lavender oil to calm him, but he bit my finger!”

“Oh my!” I replied.

Over time, the term “berserk” has been used rather freely to describe llamas or alpacas that deviate from the expected behavioral norm.

I could tell this client was truly terrified of the llama and needed immediate assistance.

My next questions were precise, “Is your llama male?”

She replied, “Ya’ darn tootin’ he is.”

I quickly followed up with, “Is he castrated?”

“No, we ain’t got around to it.”

In my experience, nothing will calm a crazy macho llamoid like castration. When possible, castration should be performed before the male attains puberty.

As I drove south on I-15, I reviewed in my mind the condition known as berserk llama syndrome or berserk male syndrome (as it is more pronounced in males). It is a psychological condition suffered by human-raised llamas and alpacas that can cause them to exhibit dangerously aggressive behavior towards humans. The term has been overused, however, and is sometimes inappropriately applied to llamas with aggressive personalities that are not truly “berserk”. The condition is a result of the llama imprinting on its human handlers to such a degree that it considers them to be fellow llamas. Imprinting can be caused by bottle feeding and by isolation from other llamas.

Male llamas suffering from this condition become dangerous when this behavior is directed toward humans. This behavior can be so aggressive that these males sometimes have to be euthanized.

As I turned down the road onto the farm, a large white llama could be seen running the perimeter of the pen. His vocalization, a high shrill mixed with a gurgling, guttural sound, pierced the solitude in the cab of my pickup. It was immediately obvious, that Lloyd the Llama was very upset.

Lloyd had distinctively long hair, known as fiber in llamas and alpacas, around his face. If it weren’t for his long banana shaped ears, he could easily be confused for an alpaca.

Llamas are pseudo-ruminants – they chew their cud similar to cattle. The spit that llamas produce is actually ingesta from their first stomach compartment. This foul-smelling stuff is very unpleasant. Because of my previous llama adventures, I know that it tastes horrible, and it stings when it hits your skin or eyes.

As I approached the fence to meet Mrs. Jones, I heard the unmistakable ‘Pffffffffft” that accompanies a huge ball of llama spit. Before I could react, the large gob of green nastiness spattered across my face.

Imprecations are sure to follow something like this, even from the calmest of veterinarians.

“We need to sedate Lloyd,” I explained to Mrs. Jones, “We should look at his teeth and also castrate him while he is asleep.”

Mrs. Jones had no problem with my proposed battle plan. As she stated, “Maybe he will calm down if we chop his balls off!”

For some reason, I always have giggled when a grown up speaks like this. I smiled as I filled my syringe with the Camelid Cocktail of Anesthesia.

Administering an intramuscular injection on Lloyd proved to be no easy task. Both Mrs. Jones and I received another round of llama spit and multiple kicks from his agile hind legs.

Soon Lloyd sat down and peacefully fell asleep.

As I opened his mouth, I noticed the nidus of his outbursts. His premolars, known in this species as fighting teeth, were actually growing into the sensitive skin inside his cheek.

The fix was simple, the fighting teeth were removed. As per Mrs. Jones request, he was also castrated.

Lloyd woke up a new llama. He calmly allowed Mrs. Jones to lead him back into his pen.

“That’s my boy!” She exclaimed as Lloyd rubbed his face gently on her check.

It was no short of a miracle. Lloyd wasn’t berserk, he was simply in pain.

My job as a veterinarian would be so much easier if I could have the luxury of simply asking, “Where does it hurt?”

Even though animals can’t talk, they certainly can communicate with us if we are willing and observant enough to listen.

I will never forget this important lesson that I learned from Lloyd the Llama.

And That is My Take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: The Most Difficult Part of My Job

Death and dying are uncomfortable subjects. For some, it stirs up painful memories of past losses. For others, it is a reminder of our mortality or the mortality of those we love.

As I tend to the animals in my care, I will lose patients to death despite my best efforts. Often at these times, I am exposed to the emotions of the families who have loved them. For some, there are dramatic outbursts; for others, emotions will be put on hold for private moments.

As different as people are, so are their reactions. No right or wrong. I always try to respect and accept the fact that we all grieve and express grief in our own way and in our own time, and I try my best to be there to support my clients through this most difficult time.

I have to deal with death on a daily basis. Many of these are pets that need to be euthanized. It is among the most difficult aspects of my job. I see the sadness in family members eyes when they have to say goodbye to their family member. I often tear up when the strong bond between the family and pet is obvious.

I cannot feel their pain. I did not have the years of interaction with their family member. I didn’t see the unique personality they are talking about. I only have treated this pet on a few occasions and our interactions usually lasted only a few minutes.

What I can show is empathy. My professional familiarity with death means I also know a great deal about grief — my own, of course, and also that of the families whose pets I have looked after throughout their lives.

Dealing with this on a daily basis for many years is difficult. Many veterinarians suffer from severe burnout and fatigue, and sadly a 2.7x higher suicide rate when compared to the general public.

Veterinarians encounter death frequently, along with some moral issues human doctors never face. Consider the client I need to counsel and help to choose between a costly operation for their pet or paying their mortgage — or worse, a beloved patient I operate on who, despite good care, still dies. Or another case where horrific animal abuse is evident.

When these stresses combine with long working hours and on-call pressures, it’s easy to see how anyone could melt down.

I try hard to focus on the goodness of people who save animals, instead of the evil of those who hurt them. This helps tremendously. I count myself so fortunate to have the clients that I do. They are loyal and caring. They are kind. I take the trust they have in me very seriously and I do my best every day to be the very best veterinarian I can be.

The loss of a pet should not be taken lightly, and it is not something most people get over quickly or easily – although many may think there is a social stigma not to grieve for animals as we do for humans. The fact is that the bond that is formed between people and their pets is in many cases even stronger than some of the bonds between people.

Although I do not fully understand the love you have for your pet, I do care about your feelings and try my best to show this with each interaction I have. This is particularly true when dealing with these difficult end of life decisions. If you have had to go through this, my heart aches for you.

Losing a pet is tough. I mourn your loss.

I also strongly believe that the bond between human and animal continues, across the rainbow bridge, between this life and the next.

And that is My Take

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: The Value of a Mentor

During the last year of most veterinary school programs, time is set aside for students to spend away from the veterinary school immersed in clinical practice in what is known as a preceptorship. At Washington State University, this is a four-credit (four-week) guided preceptorship experience.

I didn’t have the luxury of visiting the list of clinics that provided a mixed-animal (a clinic that treats large and small animals) preceptorship because of my chaotic schedule of rotations at the veterinary school. Instead, I sat in an office and read over a binder of information about the possible selections. A new clinic had just been added to the book that was offering a guided preceptorship for the first time.

The name of the clinic was Mt. Spokane Veterinary Hospital. It was located north of Spokane, in Mead, right off Newport Highway. I had a gut feeling that this would be the best place for me to complete my preceptorship. I would be the very first student preceptor at the clinic.

Of all of the training I have received during my career as a veterinarian, I count the four weeks spent at Mt. Spokane Veterinary Hospital as the most influential and consequential in where I am today.

I found the team at the hospital very welcoming and nurturing. Every team member made me feel welcome from day one. I quickly learned of the flow of the hospital and began assisting in appointments and surgeries.

Drs. Randy Scott and Luther McConnel were very generous with their time. Having a student dampens the efficiency of the clinic as it requires much time and patience. Busy veterinary practices can be extremely intense to the exclusion of student education. I found their practice to be the exact opposite. The case load was vast and diverse, but they took the time to make sure I felt involved and that I was learning about the routine cases that rarely present to veterinary school teaching hospitals.

Veterinary school does not provide much surgical experience. We learn anatomy and have extensive classroom training on tissue handling and surgery, but actual hands-on surgery is something that is typically acquired away from the veterinary school.

During my month working with Dr. Scott, I had the opportunity to tweak and refine my surgical skills. Dr. Scott never criticized me, rather he gave me pointers on how to hold surgical instruments and how to precisely use a scalpel and place suture knots. He did this in a manner that was constructive and not condescending. He created an environment of learning. He saw something in me that I did not see. He taught me to trust my skill and my ability as I entered the real world as a practicing veterinarian. He became a trusted mentor.

Dr. Randy Scott is a truly unselfish person who helped me with little in return. He was genuinely altruistic. He built my confidence, encouraged me to grow, and patiently watched me fall and regain my balance. He saw something in me that I didn’t even know I possessed.

The word “mentor” as applied to such a person has its roots in Greek mythology. In the Odyssey, Mentor was a character who advised and protected Odysseus’ son Telemachus. A 1699 novel called Les Aventures de Télémaque (“The Adventures of Telemachus”), introduced a character named Mentor who served as Telemachus’ tutor. Mentor was the hero of the story, and turned out to be Minerva, the goddess of wisdom, in disguise. The modern usage of the term “mentor” seems to have arisen from that book.

A great mentor wants you to succeed, and he or she will actively support your success with words and action. The great mentor will never be envious or feel threatened by your growth; he or she will congratulate you on your triumphs and help you recover from your setbacks. The generous mentor will make connections or offer resources that could be useful to you whenever he or she can. Most important, a generous mentor believes in your potential, and communicates that to you freely and with hope. The generous mentor supports you to become the person you want to become.

How grateful I am for the mentorship I received under Dr. Randy Scott. Looking back at all the opportunities I’ve had as veterinarian have pivoted on the training I received from him. My first veterinary work on deer, elk and moose all began during my time at his clinic. I would have never had the courage to work with reindeer without this essential knowledge base. My surgical skills, from the way I hold my suture and my needle drivers, to the way I perform orthopedic surgery, all began and were nurtured under his mentorship. He taught me that what we did was small and beautiful- but that the animals we helped were precious.

Over the years, I have remained close with Dr. Scott. He has even stopped in to visit my veterinary hospital in Springville. He has done so much for me and taught me so much about science, about life, about everything. My biggest fear has always been in letting him down. I work my hardest so that he can be proud of me and to show him that his trust in me was not wasted.

The true test of one’s character comes when there exists no sphere of recognition potential, no roar and support of a crowd and no chance of fame or fortune. Being simply motivated by the genuine desire to help others, never entertaining the thought of self-interest, is the defining characteristic of a good mentor.

If you are lucky, and few of us are, at some point in your life you acquire a good mentor. Timing and chance aligned in my life and I was able to find one. I will forever count this mentor as a cherished and dear friend.

And that is my take,

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

Pictured is Dr. Randy Scott and I at Mountain West Animal Hospital

My Take Tuesday: Weathering the Storm

Spring has arrived in Utah County, and with it will likely come the rain and loud crashes of thunder that are characteristic of this season here on the Wasatch front. 

For some pets, along with those Spring storms, comes extreme noise or storm phobia. It can be heartbreaking to watch: Even before the first clap of thunder, otherwise well-behaved dogs begin to pace, pant, cling to their owners, hide in the closet, or jam themselves behind the toilet. In severe cases, they’ll claw through drywall, chew carpets, or break through windows in their escalating panic. This “phobia” is common in dogs, with some studies estimating that up to 20% are affected to some degree. We don’t always know why some animals are afraid and others seem to do just fine. We do know that this phobia involves physiologic, emotional, and behavioral components. Therefore, the management options for this condition vary from pet to pet, and each case is treated individually. 

The standard therapy for canine behaviors that are fear-driven includes desensitization. But thunderstorm phobia is an exception, because it’s difficult to mimic all the different triggers that set off a fear response – in particular changes in barometric pressure, static electricity, and whatever scents dogs seem to notice with an impending change in the weather.

In addition, desensitization is first and foremost about either eliminating or controlling the dog’s exposure to the feared stimulus. Obviously, depending on where the dog lives, it’s impossible to do this with any success when you’re dealing with a thunderstorm phobia.

Another problem is that desensitization has to be done in each room of the house, because the new coping skill your dog learns in the living room will be forgotten in the kitchen. These challenges make desensitization attempts much less successful and effective when it comes to storm phobias.

A misconception is that storm related troubles don’t happen to cats.  It is harder to detect in cats because they like to run and hide when they are upset.  We may not notice the cat has become scarce.  Dogs manifest signs in different and usually more visible ways.  Some may pace and pant.  Others may become destructive; digging, urinating, causing damage to your home and even themselves.  They may howl or whine.  A dog that is inside may want to be outside and a dog that is usually outside may make a break for the door to come in.  

Cats might like some extra attention from you during a storm.  A treat saved for just such times could help as well.  

If you have an outside dog, allowing him in for a bit might relieve some of the stress.  Turn on a television or radio.  Some dogs may prefer to be in a smaller space so a kennel or the bathroom might be comforting. Taking a dog out on a leash for a brief time during the noise and then returning inside to pet and play has been a successful treatment.  If worse comes to worst, there are some great anti-anxiety medications that you can get from your veterinarian. There is also a tight fighting jacket that has been developed and marketed to treat mild forms of anxiety. Also, if you like the natural approach, there is a pheromone that can help calm them. Results with this approach are mixed, but some do seem to benefit. It comes in a spray bottle, plug-in and convenient collar.  

In my experience, the most effective treatments include changing some features in the environment, applying some behavior modification techniques and, in many cases, some anti-anxiety medication.

While noise and storm phobias are common, they can be challenging to treat. It is best to address these cases using a multimodal approach, realizing that no one treatment will work every time in every dog. If your pet is among those that suffer from this condition, partner with your veterinarian to develop a management plan. 

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: The Plasticity of Parturion

Mongolian gazelle (Procapra gutturosa), are a medium-sized antelope with a heart-shaped patch of white fur on their rump. They are among the last great herds of migratory wildlife. Over 1.5 million of these antelope migrate across the vast expanse of Mongolia’s Eastern Steppe—the largest intact grassland in the world—as they search for forage throughout the year.

Herds of as many as 100,000 gazelle are commonly seen across the steppe with larger congregations occasionally reported. During the two weeks of the calving season, up to 400,000 females will gather, and the vast majority will give birth within a four-day period. This is a unique phenomenon. This is thought to be a strategy to reduce neonatal death loss due to predation. This synchronicity also ensures that the young will grow big enough by winter to survive the harsh weather. Some studies also hypothesize and attribute the synchronization of parturition to plant phenology, with birth occurring when there is maximum available forage.

This synchronization of parturition has been described in reindeer, caribou, alpacas, wildebeest and many other migratory species. It has also been described in other species such as the banded mongoose. Induction of parturition among animals varies greatly, but nearly all of them involve progestagens, estrogens, progtaglandins and oxytocin. These adaptations are not only beneficial to the offspring, but are mutualistic for the dam as well.

Nature has created many adaptations that we are just beginning to understand. Over thousands of years, these species have survived because of these unique adaptations. As we learn more about exactly how this phenomenon occurs, it will have a significant impact on use in species conservation and agricultural animal production.

Clearly, the future of this technology in the conservation of endangered species as well as in agricultural production will rely on our developing a better understanding of the interaction of reproductive function with such diverse aspects of animal management as behavior, nutrition, stress and genetics. Who knows, perhaps this technology application can also help humans.

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: Where the Daffodils Grow 

On 22 August 1877 Brigham Young issued a formal call for settlers to locate in Castle Valley. This was the last such directive from the “Great Colonizer” before his death just 7 days later. If you have ever visited Emery County, you come away with the realization that the best was saved for last.

Castle Valley is a state of extremes, from the mystical beauty of the towering Wasatch Mountains to the west to the highest order of desolation in the San Rafael Desert on the east. Even there, among the sage brush and cedars, a pristine beauty beckons the attentive eye. 

My great- great grandfather – Boye Petersen heeded Brigham Young’s call and was one of the original settlers of Castle Dale. He homesteaded the West Farm – a 48 acre piece of land that our family still owns today. The straight road it is on connects Castle Dale with Orangeville and is aptly named Bott Lane. 

Growing up in Castle Dale helped me develop three unique character traits that have proven useful throughout my life.  I developed a strong work ethic, a vivid imagination and a unique self-awareness. This is home. There is something about Emery County that heals my soul. It is my constancy and my serene sanctuary where I can reflect and recharge. Even though I now reside two hours north in Utah County, I still feel connected and drawn to the well worn paths of my youth and the Blue Clay Hills just south of Castle Dale. I have Trail Mountain lightning running though my veins and the Castle Valley thunder pounding in my chest. 

Winters in Castle Valley can be brutal. The snow and ice seem to linger. Farm chores like milking and feeding cows are much more difficult the longer the winter draws on. Piles of cow manure freeze as solid as stone and the ground around water troughs turns into a sheet of ice. One cannot help but feel a longing for warmer weather and new life.

In late winter, each morning and afternoon, I would leave my parents’ house and cross the street on my way to the corral. I would walk along a shaded well-worn path along the east and south side of my uncle Jerry’s house. Between the edge of the house and the sidewalk, green stems would suddenly poke through the frozen ground. The first sight of these unassuming leaves beckons to the attentive eye that the worst of winter is passed and that spring is soon to follow. 

The leaves and stems grow quickly, symbolizing rebirth and new beginnings. They bloom with their cheery yellow hues. Each one is perfect, a golden trumpet amid a fanfare of halo petal. 

Daffodils are majestic, but so delicate, and they wave like tomorrow is guaranteed. After a few short weeks, they are gone, not returning for the remainder of the year. 

The Latin name for daffodil is Narcissus. It is believed to be named after the son of the river god from Greek mythology. 

Its blooming happiness may be fleeting but at the very least, it’s still enjoyed by those observant enough to see its beauty. They stand rooted, soaking in the sunshine and taking in yesterday’s rain through their fine roots. 

Daffodils remind me of my sweet uncle Jerry. He passed away in 2016. He was a gentle giant and, along with his twin brother Jeffry, are the kindest people I have even known. 

As the snow melts and the days get longer, the geese will return as a symbol of change. And once again natures palate will color Castle Valley. 

When the canyon rivers and mountain streams flow, spring will follow at last, in Castle Dale, UT, where the daffodils grow. 

And that is my take. 

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: The Quest For Excellence

The quest to compete is an inherent human feature. We are all born with a natural instinct, striving to be the best we can be. Elite athletes spend thousands of hours practicing; perfecting their swing, throw or shot. Musicians dedicate thousands of hours to practice the instrument of their choice, all in an effort to produce the best product that they are capable of.

I am intrigued that the term used to refer to the art of veterinary medicine is the word “practice”. I think a more appropriate phrase would be deliberate practice.

While regular practice might include mindless repetitions, deliberate practice requires focused attention and is conducted with the specific goal of improving performance. Deliberate practice refers to a special type of practice that is purposeful and systematic. Each day at my veterinary hospital I am presented with an array of cases. They vary from routine health examinations and vaccinations, to allergies, ear infections, fractures and surgical emergencies. In any given day, I perform a half a dozen surgeries and see around 30 appointments. I have been doing this day in and day out over the past 13 years.

Something I quickly learned as a newly practicing veterinarian was that it was impossible for me to know everything. There would always be an elusive diagnosis or a complicated clinical presentation that would completely contradict the veterinary school education and the knowledge of an experienced veterinarian. No matter how much I tried and cared, there would always be patients that I could not save, cases that I could not diagnose and clients that I could not satisfy. This reality was a bitter pill for me to swallow.

While I was a teenager, a cousin of mine named Jesse Bott shared with me an insightful observation. He cogently opined that, “Being better than someone else is nothing. However, being better than your old self is everything.”

This simple concept was life changing for me. My cousin Jesse was tragically killed in an automobile accident in 1998, but his counsel will forever guide my career and life choices.

Something that has distinguished me from other veterinarians is simply my desire to do something different. To provide a service or product that is unique. Trying to be better than someone else has really never entered my mind. I simply strive to be the best that I can be. This has brought me successes that I never dreamed possible when I entered veterinary school.

What does it take to succeed? What are the secrets of the most successful people? It has been shown that a certain number of traits including passion, perseverance, imagination, intellectual curiosity, and openness to experience– do significantly explain differences in success, but they are the certainly not the only factors.

An article in an issue of Fortune magazine indicated that we will achieve greatness only through an enormous amount of hard work over many years. . . . The good news is that[our] lack of a natural gift is irrelevant—talent has little or nothing to do with greatness. . . .
. . . Nobody is great without work. [Geoffrey Colvin, “What It Takes to Be Great,” Fortune 154, no. 9 (30 October 2006): 88]

As a practicing veterinarian, I continually strive to improve my knowledge and performance. Technology is rapidly evolving in the field of veterinary medicine and it is my responsibility to keep up with the research and technological advances that occur constantly.

This week, a majority of the team at Mountain West Animal Hospital are attending the Western Veterinary Conference in Las Vegas, NV. There are thousands of veterinarians and veterinary technicians that attend this massive event. This annual conference is something that we each look forward to. We attend 3 days of continuing education classes given by industry leaders and thinkers. In the exhibit hall, we see and receive hands-on experience with the latest in diagnostic and surgical equipment.

I always come away from this conference with a renewed resolve to be the best that I can possibly be.

As the lyrics of the popular country song, written by Ashley Gorley, read,
“I ain’t as good as I’m gonna get, But I’m better than I used to be.”

After all, that is the true measure of success.

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