My Take Tuesday: Baby Chicks

I love springtime in Utah County! The grass is leaving behind its dormant brown state and turning dark green, the flowers are blooming as if to welcome the longer days and the beautiful season filled with the sound of birds chirping and new life coming into the world. I love baby animals! From lambs to foals, from reindeer calves to baby chicks, Spring is filled with hope for the future.

I recall days long ago in Castle Dale, UT. While growing up, we would receive day old chicks during the third week of April. I would await this day with all of the excitement a small child could muster.

In the basement of my parents house, my dad made a make shift brooder. This was made of a large cardboard box lined with newspaper and a heat lamp placed at just the right height to provide the needed warmth for the freshly hatched chicks. They would crowd around the light bulb and nestle tightly together as they slept. There was a constant chorus of peeping.

In a sense, I was a student as I sat and watched the starlings each morning. I learned through deliberate, diligent observation. I faithfully fed and watered the hatchlings each morning and night. I carefully placed fresh newspaper in the box with each feeding. I closely observed how they would eat selectively, picking out shiny pieces of corn before consuming the finely ground mash. As they drank, they would take just a few drops in their mouth and then lift their head upwards, pointing their beaks, and would swallow each drop of water. I learned how to tell if a chick was ill or otherwise isolated, and I would tend to these with as much care as possible. I remember crying as some of the chicks didn’t make it. These experiences were my first real exposure to the frailty of life and the sting of death.

As the chicks grew and matured, I was allowed to go to the chicken coop to collect eggs. One by one, I set them in my basket, the brightest white with the deepest red, the palest green alongside the softest brown.

When I was a child, I frequently dreamed that I could fly. It felt so natural to come down the stairs as if on wings, swooping out the door, joining the wild birds and eagles that soar above Castle Valley. In one dream, I coasted over our chicken coop, and peered through windows of protective wire. I saw the hens, the roosters, the pheasants and the chukars all waking and stretching their wings, as if they wanted to fly alongside me.  I woke up grounded, wishing the freedom of flight could be as easy for me.

I find that in today’s chaotic world, the simplest things are forgotten and over looked. The beauty of a sunrise, the fresh dew on a summer’s morning, the sound of a mountain creek, and the clean smell in the air after it rains: these simple things are there constantly, but we have to take the time out of our busy lives for deliberate and diligent observation. No matter our circumstances, no matter our challenges or trials, there is something each day to embrace and cherish.

Often, our mind conflates the world and our own interpretation of it without much thought. We simply assume that the way we see is the way it is. And once that way is verbalized, put into specific words with specific meanings, it becomes all the more difficult to parse. The challenge, is to recognize and appreciate all of the little moments of joy that come along and to enjoy this unpredictable journey of life.

When I am faced with a problem or challenge, I try to approach it like a young observant child. After all, the world never stops teaching us if we have the humility of a beginner’s mind and the generosity to share it with others. This is all we need to do.

Everything else is inconsequential.

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 good bye 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 4x 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 to 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 trough 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: Skunked

A couple of weeks ago, a Boy Scout troop stopped by the clinic at the end of the day for a tour. As I showed them around and answered their questions, I couldn’t help but reminisce about my time as a boy scout.

The year was 1995.

Boy scout troop 306 of the Castle Dale 1st Ward embarked on a week long 50 mile hike during the month of July. The hike began on a Monday at Ferron reservoir and ended on Saturday at Indian Creek Campground in the beautiful Manti Lasal National Forest.

As a 14 year old kid, I was just like most of the other boys in my troop: wholly naive and completely unaware of my ignorance. My sense of adventure far outweighed sound logic and I was prone to encounter trouble because of my mischievous nature. My little brother Caleb and my best friend Zac were my partners in crime and were witnesses to myriads of situations that shaped our imaginative Boy Scout days working on merit badges, monthly camp outs and high adventure events that eventually led to each of us earning ours the rank Eagle Scout. These experiences consequently helped make us into the men we are today.

On the second night of this long hike, we made camp at a place called Cove Lake. This beautiful lake is just a few miles from the scenic skyline drive and is nestled in a large grove of Douglas Fir and Ponderosa pines.

As Boy Scouts do, we set out to set up camp and explore the lake. We soon found out that we were not the only species inhabiting the camp on this particular night. We shared the campsite with one of the most widely distributed mammals in North America, Mephitis mephitis, or the common stripped skunk. The fecund creatures were everywhere. As we floated around the lake on a makeshift raft, we could see dozens of them around the waters edge.

We clearly had a dilemma. Almost immediately, the skunks began ransacking our tents and food supply. These smelly stripped critters were endlessly curious about the bipedal invasive species that had entered their territory.

Passive in nature, skunks will avoid contact with humans and domestic animals; however, when challenged they are amply prepared to protect themselves.
If a skunk feels threatened, it will give a warning which includes hissing, stomping of feet, and elevation of the tail. Failure to heed the warning signs will result in the unlucky aggressor being sprayed with the skunk’s anal gland secretions. Skunks are highly accurate in their aim and can spray 7 to 15 feet away!

A dozen rambunctious boys were immediately perceived as a threat by the striped beast. They seemed to coordinate the invasion of the camp, approaching from all directions.

A scout watching the skunk rodeo spoke to me, “Hey Isaac, if you hold a skunk by its tail it can’t spray you.”

The notion had some truthiness to it, after all, if it can’t plant its feet it likely wouldn’t be able to empty its scent glands.

Without any further thought, I reached out and grabbed the nearest skunk by the tail. I lifted it directly in the air and held it suspended with my arms straight out.

The little guy simply twirled slightly and lined his backside to my face and fiercely sprayed with all that he had.

It went directly in my mouth and up my nose. It covered my entire face and some even got in my eyes.

I immediately began vomiting uncontrollably. By eyes burned and my vision became blurry.

What a lesson! Take my word for it, a skunk can certainly spray when it’s feet aren’t off the ground. This equivocated logic is dangerous.

As Mark Twain once observed, “It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.”

The odeur fetide that I experienced 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!

It took weeks before I stopped smelling skunk.

Frantically, I raided the food tent in search of cans of tomato juice. I found 8 cans and a can opener. I then took a tomato shower. I scrubbed my head in it, my whole body was covered in tomatoes. You haven’t lived until you take a shower in tomato sauce.

The rest of the week proved to be much less adventurous. I was forced to sleep in my own tent and I walked behind everyone else along the trails.

Now when I see a skunk, I give it plenty of space. And I tell everyone that I can that contrary to popular myth, a skunk can spray even when being held off the ground by its tail!

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: Up A Tree

In the early spring, when the ice and snow begin to disappear, most of the fields in Utah County are a muddy disgusting mess. A farmer would be wise to avoid calving their cattle during this time. A clean environment required for calving is impossible to find in a swampy, muddy field.

Dwane is not a typical farmer. To him, this is the perfect time of year for calving. His solution to the muddy disgusting mess in his pasture was simple: A four wheeler.

Each morning he would ride around the cow pasture to check on his pregnant stock. On this particular day, had spotted one cow calving and could see the infant’s nose and one foot exposed. Circumstances such as this require help from DocBott.

“Hey Doc, I need some help with one of my cows,” Dwane stated matter-of-factly, “She is kind of a wild one, so I don’t dare work on her by myself.”

I know better than to get myself into a situation like this. There is no way it can end well. Unfortunately, as it often goes, I gave in and headed towards Dwane’s place in Palmyra.

Dwane sat, on his Honda four wheeler at the gate. Every inch of the machine was covered in dark brown mud. As I looked into the field, I could see a few cows standing literally knee deep in mud.

“What a mess!”, I exclaimed, “Dwane, you really need to get a barn if you are going to calve out this time of year.”

“Yeah, I know,” he replied, “But you know how beef prices are this year.”

He did have a point, unpredictable and forceful influences that have negligible affect on most businesses, can dramatically alter the beef industry. From changing product demand, rising input costs and market fluctuations, to weather patterns and even consumer nutrition and lifestyle trends, farmers and ranchers must balance a long list of variables in order to be successful. The beef industry is not for the faint of heart.

“Where is she?,” I asked.

“Hop on, Doc, I will take you to her”

Out in the center of the field, along side a large cottonwood tree, the big Angus cow was comfortably sitting. As we approached her on the four wheeler, the wide eyed cow jumped up on her feet. Almost instantly, out popped the calf.

“Wow!” Dwane explained, that was easier than I thought it would be.

“It sure was,” I replied.

We should have just kept driving on the four wheeler at this point. The mother and newborn were both apparently healthy. There was no reason to stay, except that Dwane felt this was an opportune time to put a tag in the calf’s ear while we were near.

We dismounted and quietly approached the new born calf. Dwane reached down and quickly placed the tag in the left ear of the calf. The small calf let out a quiet but deliberate “moooooo”.

No sooner had the calf opened its mouth, the cow charged. She hit Dwane squarely in the chest. He immediately flew backwards towards the tree. He quickly jumped up and raced behind the tree, trying to use its massive trunk as a shield from the raging bovine.

I raced behind the tree as she bellowed and snorted. I looked at Dwane and he looked at me. We both knew there was only one way out – and that was up! We both climbed as fast as we could. Our mud covered rubber boots slid as we tried to climb the massive tree.

A large low hanging branch provided support as we held on and climbed on top of the life saving perch.

“Are you ok?” I asked

“Yeah,” Dwane replied between gasps, “I thought we were both dead!”

“Me too!” I agreed.

Fortunately, we have cell phones in today’s world, if not for that, Dwane and I would have had to stay in the tree for who knows how long.

“Just look for a four wheeler and a savage cow circling a tree,” I heard Dwane say as he grinned.

As we rode out of the pasture, he commented, “Hey Doc, I think I just might get that barn after all.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” I agreed, “I ain’t much of a tree climber!”

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

 

My Take Tuesday: The Interview

The day was February 14, 2005. I sat nervously in the reception area of Bustad Hall. In front of me was a paper with an essay question, the question dealt with Bovine spongiform encephalopathy (BSE) and its implications on the current cattle market. My understanding of the disease at the time was very limited. I began my essay talking about the devastating effect that mad cow disease had on beef exports from the United States.

Upon completion of my essay, I walked down the hall to a conference room. I sat at a table and a panel of 4 people then interviewed me for a spot in the Washington State University College of Veterinary Medicine class of 2009.

The odds were stacked against me. I was applying as a non-resident. Statistically, my chances of being accepted were only around 7%. My palms were sweating as the questions came. First we talked about my mediocre grades in Chemistry. After struggling with the first semester of Organic Chemistry, I repeated the class with much better results. I discussed the difficulty of Ty Redd’s O-Chem class and the hundreds of hours I spent studying and reviewing the material. A grade of a B in this class was a huge relief for me. Although it fell short of an elusive A, I was confident that this arduous class had prepared me for the rigorous academic curriculum encountered during veterinary school. I was confident that Southern Utah University had prepared me well for professional school.

Questions followed about current events, ethical situations, animal welfare and why I wanted to be a veterinarian.

I remember leaving the interview relieved it was over, but very much unsure of my performance.

Two weeks later, I received a call from the associate dean of the veterinary school at WSU. He extended to me an offer of admission to veterinary school. I remember the excitement I felt after hanging up the phone. I cried when I called home to tell my family the good news. So much hard work and time had gone into this.

Little did I know that veterinary school would prove to be more challenging than I had ever anticipated. The next 4 years were filled with successes and failures, triumphs and defeat. But such is life. Nothing of significance comes without hard work and the presentation of incommodious circumstances. In the end, I successfully completed the program and received my Doctor Of Veterinary Medicine.

I remember the day of my interview so well. In fact, the feelings of anxiety crept back to me this past month. I was privileged to conduct the interviews of over 30 prospective veterinary students at the School of Veterinary Medicine at Utah State University. Over two long days, we met with each candidate and asked questions very similar to the ones I was asked during my interview. I know the feeling they felt must have paralleled my own as I sat in their seat many years ago.

This profession contains some of the finest people I have ever met. We are a group of very diverse backgrounds and interests, united with the commonality of a love for medicine, surgery, animals and communication with their owners.

Looking back, I cannot imagine being anything other than a veterinarian. I love what I do.

And That is My Take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: Reflection

The wind howled, its lonesome lullaby piercing my ears as I turned up my coat collar. The desolate country lay still, with its towering stone cliffs and sage brush interrupted only occasionally by small clumps of cedar trees. The trail I was climbing was built by the CCC project (Civilian Conservation Corps) in the 1930’s during the Great Depression. The winding trail jots back and forth in a switchback as it leads to the south end of Trail Mountain.

I stood in awe as I gazed at the clear smooth reflective surface of Joe’s Valley Reservoir. The water was as smooth as glass and the towering mountains seemed to peer back from the water.

I have so many childhood memories of hiking this trail with my family, of fishing in the lake below and of family reunions with loved ones who are no longer here.

This is home. There is something about Emery County that heals my soul. This is my constancy and my serene sanctuary where I can reflect and recharge.

At its simplest, reflection is about careful thought. But the kind of reflection that is most valuable is more nuanced than that. The most useful reflection involves the conscious consideration and analysis of beliefs and actions for the purpose of learning. Reflection gives the brain an opportunity to pause amidst the chaos, untangle and sort through observations and experiences, consider multiple possible interpretations, and create meaning. This meaning becomes learning, which can then inform future mindsets and actions.

A reflective period need not be a time to be unduly harsh with ourselves, but rather to be lovingly honest. Firm yet forgiving. After all, endless rumination and self-recrimination keeps us trapped in a past we cannot change, and no one benefits from this. An attitude of self-forgiveness can liberate us from old patterns or ways of being that we likely adopted for a reason, but that do not serve us nor adequately reflect who we are and who we’d like to be.

Taking time to reflect will most certainly help you recharge. It will help you refocus and it will bring feelings of gratitude and purpose that are otherwise never experienced.

Try it. You will not regret it.

If you need a spot, there is a place along the CCC trail high above the world’s most beautiful reservoir just west of Castle Dale, Utah.

And at is My Take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: The Saga of the Saiga

They look like something you would read about in a Dr Seuss book. From their long exaggerated proboscis to their loud nasal roars; this species is truly unique. Their bulbous noses, which hang over their mouths, give these antelope an almost comical appearance. The nose is flexible and can be inflated, helping them to breathe warm air in the freezing winters and filter air in the arid summers as they sprint with their heads down in a cloud of dust.  Over the past few years, they have made a comeback in their native home of Kazakhstan. But this all changed recently and now they are in grave danger.

There was almost something biblical about the scene of devastation that lay across the wide-open fields in the wilderness of the Kazakhstan steppe. Dotted across the grassy plain, as far as the eye could see, were the corpses of thousands upon thousands of saiga antelope. All appeared to have fallen where they were feeding.

The saiga – whose migrations form one of the great wildlife spectacles – were victims of a mass mortality event, a single, catastrophic incident that wipes out vast numbers of a species in a short period of time. These Mass Mortality Events are among the most extreme events of nature. They affect starfish, bats, coral reefs and sardines. They can push species to the brink of extinction, or throw a spanner into the complex web of life in an ecosystem.

When this event occurred in 2015, over 200,000 (more than half the total population)  died due to a mysterious illness. This mass die off baffled both veterinarians and scientists as they scrambled to identify the cause.  The culprit was identified as a bacteria called Pasteurella multocida. This bacteria normally lives harmlessly in the tonsils of some, if not all, of the antelope. It is thought that an unusual rise in temperature and an increase in humidity above 80% in the previous few days had stimulated the bacteria to pass into the bloodstream where it caused haemorrhagic septicaemia, or simply put –  blood poisoning.

Mass mortality events are not unusual for saiga antelopes, with a case occurring as recently as 2010 with 12,000 dead animals. However, the scale of the current event is unprecedented relative to the total population size. Often these mass mortality events occur in the birth period, when Saiga females come together in vast herds to all give birth within a peak period of less than one week.

Sometimes the answer to saving a species involves exportation, sequestration and assisted reproductive technologies to enhance genetic diversity. In my opinion, this is key to save the saiga antelope.

The saiga antelope is truly unique. They existed at the same time as the sabertooth and wooly mammoth. They are a relic of the past.

I hope we can save this species. They are truly remarkable!

And that’s my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

 

My Take Tuesday: Spit Happens

I received a call a few months back regarding a sick llama. It was from a new client that wanted to know if I knew anything about llamas and alpacas. Calls like this are somewhat frequent. Asking a vet if they know anything about llamas is like asking a pediatrician if they know anything about 8 year olds. I responded, that I was indeed familiar with all camelids and had worked extensively with them as a veterinarian.

As I arrived at the farm, it was obvious that this wasn’t a typical llama ranch. It seemed as though I had traveled back in time to the 60’s. I was meandering into an apparent neighborhood of Hippie-ville. The van parked outside the gate looked just like the Mystery Machine from Scooby Doo. The bright colors were also painted on each of the barns and small buildings of the property and even covered the bases of the tall Chinese Elm trees.

One would not immediately equate going barefoot with farm life, I suppose, especially if the farm in question is shared with livestock. There are serious concerns regarding hook worm, and other parasites that could easily be transferred through the lack of shoes, and to be certain, stepping on manure barefoot has little appeal to the average person. However, a couple of barefooted and worry-free people were standing at the end of the driveway to greet me on this particular day.

One of the owners held a small white paper cup in her hands. As I greeted her, she held the cup up and asked me to take a sip.

“What is it?”, I asked, not fully anticipating the response I received.

“It is Holy Water”, she responded. “We always make the healer drink before the llama.”

Perhaps the shock of the colorful ambience and barefoot attendants clouded my judgement, what ever the reason, I grabbed the cup and took a small drink. Immediately, I realized my mistake, but could do nothing but swallow the mysterious potion. It was the most disgusting thing I had ever ingested. I smiled, and politely asked where the sick llama was located.

The large white llama was setting in a “kush” position, a term llama farmers use for sternal recumbency. As I approached, he raised his mouth in the air and pinned his ears back against his head.

I moved cautiously, as these signs are consistent with a llama that is going to spit at you. This nasty dark green elixir is actually not spit at all, but is the regurgitated contents from the first stomach compartment. The slew is a mixture of partially digested feed, stomach juice and miscellaneous microbes.

Llamas are well aware of a veterinarian’s never-ending quest to stick needles in them; and if provoked, they will spit copiously at you with unpleasant accuracy of aim.

There is a classic sound a llama will make before spitting. The unmistakable gurgling sound is followed by a distinct “pfffffpth”, as the stomach contents spew from the mouth.

The cause of the llama’s discomfort was a large Russian Olive thorn sticking out from the back of the left elbow. I gently reached down and removed the dagger like thorn.

It appeared as though I had escaped unscathed. The llama, with its ears still pinned back, watched me closely, but did not spit.

As I turned my head slightly, I began to speak with the owners. I explained the after care that would be required for a full recovery and encouraged them to remove the large Russian Olive plants that lined the south side of their pasture. I asked if they had any questions and turned back towards the llama.

My mouth was between words then the attack happened. The trajectory and accuracy were unparalleled. The llama spit with sharp-shooter accuracy, and the stomach contents went directly into my mouth.

I immediately began to gag. I then began to dry heave uncontrollably. The owners stood in awe as I struggled to rid my mouth of the fowl taste of fermented llama feed.

There is no amount of listerine that can remove the taste of llama spit. It will stay in your mouth for days.

“Are you alright?,” the bearded man asked.

“Yeah”, I muttered, as I looked up.

“You got to learn to keep your mouth closed, Doc”, he continued, “Especially if you are going to work on llamas.”

I didn’t know how to respond. After working on literally thousands of llamas and alpacas, this was the first time spit had actually entered my mouth.

I accepted my defeat and curiously inquired, “Can I have another drink of Holy Water?”

And that is my take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM

Above the timberline, soaring over the lofty mountains of the Manti Lasal National Forest fly two bald eagles. The eagle flies higher than other birds, and its vantage point must exceed that of any other creature. An eagle’s eye is almost as large as a human’s but its sharpness is at least four times that of a person with perfect vision. The eagle can identify prey moving almost a mile away. That means that an eagle flying at an altitude of 1000 feet over open country could spot prey over an area of almost 3 square miles from a fixed position.

To glimpse the soaring splendor of a pair of majestic bald eagles is a rare and wonderful sight. These beautiful birds fly through the deep blue skies that surround Castle Valley.

For some unknown reason, this pair of eagles chose an unusual spot to call home and build their nest. Leaving behind the towering mountain cliffs and desolate desert that closely surround Castle Dale, they instead selected a small clump of Cottonwood trees located in the corner of an open dry land alfalfa patch.

I recall my father purchasing this land in the late 1980’s. We plowed the blue clay soil and planted alfalfa on the areas that were fertile enough to support crop production.

The very next year, while we were feeding cows, we noticed two bald eagles perched in the clump of Cottonwood trees at the bottom of the field. I recall thinking how unusual it was to see two bald eagles in the same tree.
During the next few months, these eagles built a massive nest. We watched as they carried sticks and bark from miles away. The nest was an engineering marvel, built high in the tree below the crown supported by large solid branch extending straight east. The nest was constructed of interwoven sticks. The interior was lined with grass, corn stalks, branches, and other material. The bowl was filled with soft materials and their own downy feathers.

I recall the first eaglets born on the farm. In a rare event, 3 offspring were hatched and successfully raised. I remember seeing the newborn eaglets. They are covered with gray down, and so light they almost appear white. It isn’t until years later that their characteristic white head feathers develop as they reach adulthood. The babies grow rapidly, adding about a half pound to a pound of body weight every week until they are about 9-10 weeks old.

Every spring, I watched as these birds hatched, learned to fly and left the nest. Year after year, decade after decade, this process repeated itself producing many successful offspring.

Each breeding season, material was added to the nest and it’s size increased by up to a foot in height and diameter each year. The nest became visible from great distances as its size increased.

The bald eagles were a welcome sight. Each year they would appear right before Christmas. I remember seeing them consistently every year while growing up. They stood perched, looking down on my every move. A feeling of safety and security ensued as these majestic guardians stood watch. Their presence inspired insight, bravery, and wisdom.

Although we all recognize the Bald Eagle as the national symbol of the United States, and as a proud icon of patriotism. I feel they could serve just as well or better as symbols of faithful monogamy. When one of these birds of prey finds his or her mate, the pair stays together for life. They are strong and independent; they are survivors. They are majestic and bold. They are a symbol of strength and determination.

February 14th coincides each year with the return of the magnificent birds to the nest in the cottonwood trees south of town.

There is safety in constancy, and measured security in consistency. I am glad that high in the blue skies above Castle Dale, there is a welcoming place, where the eagles fly.

Happy Valentine’s Day!
N. Isaac Bott, DVM

My Take Tuesday: The Late Night Call

The phone rang at exactly 2:03 AM. I jumped out of bed and sleepily answered, “Hello?”.

Calls like this often come in the early morning hours. Animals, it seems, have the worst troubles while we are sleeping.

“Hey Doc, can you come out to my place?”

“What’s going on?”, I responded, wiping the sleep from my eyes.

“It is one of my ewes, Doc, she has 5 hooves sticking out of her backside!”, he explained with a dramatic tone.

“Alright, I will be right there”, I replied, as I quickly changed my clothes and dressed for the outside temperatures. Situations like this seem to always occur in January, when the temperature is below zero.

I fired up my pickup truck and headed down the road.

Mr. Johnson was a long time client and a good sheep man. He knows enough to get through most situations and is good about calling me before all hope is lost.

Farmers like Mr. Johnson are becoming more and more rare. Large corporate companies have taken over so much of the agriculture industry and have forced the small guys out, sending along the notion that each individual animal has value simply because it lives. The loss of both equates to a disappearance of my favorite part of being a mixed animal veterinarian – the interactions I have with people. The ability to help individual people through service for their animals is the hallmark and joy of being a successful veterinarian.

Bravery and survival are sojourners, and Mr Johnson still fights daily to stay afloat and continue his 100+ year family legacy of sheep farming.

As I pulled into the Johnson ranch, my headlights hit the west side of the weathered old barn. Missing slats checkered the barn wood walls and added variety to the relic that can be seen during the day from the busy interstate, I-15.

As I stepped into the barn, Mr. Johnson greeted me warmly. “Hazel is making some hot chocolate for you Doc, we sure do appreciate you coming out in the middle of the night like this.”

He pointed me to the Suffolk ewe. She was indeed in distress, and sure enough, 5 legs and small hooves were protruding from her back side.

I calmly knelt down behind her and began my work. A recent trip to Auburn University provided me with a valuable trick in a situation like this. A small dose of Epinepherine was administered intramuscularly, and almost instantaneously, her uterus relaxed.

I gently pushed each of the legs back in and blindly felt around with my hand. A head was readily palpable, as was a tail, and a second head.

“Well, we at least have three!”, I exclaimed as Mr. Johnson anxiously looked on.

I continued to palpate until I was certain that I had two front feet from the same lamb and began the delivery. The first lamb was a large buck, nearly 18 pounds and jet black. The second and third were both ewes and were smaller and lighter in color. I then reached back in, and to my amazement, pulled out a 4th lamb. The last one was a buck and was much smaller in size compared to its birthmates.

All four lambs immediately began moving after being delivered. Mr. Johnson and Hazel gently rubbed each of them with warm towels as they coaxed them to breath.

After the delivery, mother and each of the quadruplets were doing remarkable well.

“We have never had 4 babies at once!”, Hazel exclaimed, “It looks like we will be busy bottle feeding!”

I sipped on my hot chocolate as I watched the newly born lambs stand for the first time.

I thanked the Johnsons as I pulled away.

As my headlights again hit the barn wall and then the straight long driveway of the Johnson ranch, the lights hit a barren tree along the fence line. The branches were covered in small ice and snow fragments that sparkled in the headlights. As I peered out my window, the barb wire strands seemed to glisten and sparkle as I traveled down the roadway.

I sat in amazement. Here is a simple ranch with a barn that is falling apart, yet on this cold winter night, it was a quiet serene paradise.

I pondered how fortunate I am. While the rest of the world is in bed, I have the privilege of bringing life into the world and seeing the majesty of God’s creation.

In this acquisitive world we must learn that in our lives we can’t have everything. But if we have freedom of spirit: to imagine, to question, to explore; then we have everything we need. To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive. The journey is the reward. I love being a veterinarian!

And that is my Take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM