No sooner had the young vet climbed out of the cattle chute than our two farm dogs, Becky and Teddy, darted from the barn, each with a bull testicle dangling from its mouth. It’s a macabre sight, but one all too familiar to anyone spending time on a farm.
Home Vet Supplies
As I wrote out a check, Doc Beason stretched his shoulder to work out a kink where a 700-pound bull calf had kicked him. All in a day’s work, I thought. The rain was pouring down on the last day of winter, the barnyard was ankle deep in muck, yet the farm vet emerged with a grin on his face. No doubt he had chosen the right profession. I thought back to last year, when on a snowy January day he cheerfully came out one Sunday morning and put a prolapsed uterus back in a favored ewe.
Beason’s predecessor, Doc McCampbell, sported the same demeanor: cheerful, whether working in rain or sun. A similar day had the elder vet castrating a long line of weanling bull calves. He jumped into the chute, exclaiming, “Let the rodeo begin!” and was promptly stomped and kicked for his enthusiasm.
These are unusual days in the large-animal vet field. Nationally, 80% of all graduates from vet school are women. Now, women can certainly do large-animal work, but most choose not to. The few who do, choose the more lucrative equine field. Being a farm vet isn’t as well paid as small-animal or equine. As poet-vet Baxter Black points out, “there is no anthropomorphological attachment as exists in the pet world.” In other words, why spend $100 on a ewe that may only bring $110 at the stockyard?
Traditionally, most large-animal vets were men who came from a farming background. As the number of family farms and farm families plummeted, so too did the number of young men who valued that life. Valuing the farm life seems an essential to anyone, man or woman, who contemplates such a robust career as a large-animal vet. And combining a love for the physical demands of the farm vet with the educational drive to get through vet school reduces the number of prospective farm vets even further.
The dearth of farm vets, coupled with economics, means that those of us who farm livestock learn to do much of the doctoring ourselves. And Cindy and I do most of the castrating, worming, vaccinating, assisting with births, and other nonsurgical doctoring. Still, not having trained professionals available for that prolapsed uterus, cow that eats a nail, or any of the other seemingly endless ways in which an animal’s health can be imperiled is worrisome.
Watching our youthful vet jump back in his truck, wave, and drive off to his next round, I’m relieved that in spite of the shortage of farm vets across rural America, our needs appear to be met for some time to come.
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Reading this weekend: Ancient Herbs by Jeanne D’Andrea
March has been tough for the male livestock on the place. But one supposes it has to be.
We didn’t cut our bull calves at home, had a large clamping device made for the purpose. Haven’t seen one in quite some time. It wasn’t perfect… every once in a great while a calf might have a testicle escape. Trying to trap and rework a calf that’s already experienced the operation is – well, a bit more difficult than working them the first time.
We didn’t have a head chute, which brings me to ask… how do you secure a 700lb calf for this chore? We’d fashion our own sort of head shoot by securing a section of gate panel to post in the barn a couple feet from the barn wall. Calf goes in, son holds panel tight up against calf, Dad performs castration. If son should slip in course of proceeding, allowing calf some room to wiggle, Dad carefully chooses words to share with son (which needn’t be repeated here). The notion that son might be made to perform the castration one day gives extra incentive to holding the calf as still as he can.
Oh – the detail you left at SFF about harvesting eggs at night and encountering a critter that shouldn’t have been there… yeah, that is creepy. I’m guessing my hair would be much whiter today if I’d ever experienced that one.
HaHa! Love the father/son interaction, Clem. I’ll have tot tell a similar story sometime about the kid throwing rocks at an alligator right as my dad was trying to slip a noose over it’s head.
We have a sixty year-old headgate, made by Priefert. They replaced, at no charge, a missing part last year. Now that is standing behind your product!
Replacing a part for a sixty year-old piece of equipment tells me more than their desire to stand behind their product(s). So much anymore is designed with obsolescence in mind, just being capable of replacing that part amazes me. I think I like these folks and I don’t even know them. Perhaps their Dad was something like mine.
Nice writing.
Thanks, Debra. How is the new publishing venture going?
Reminds me of “All Things Bright and Beautiful.” Dhyan
Thanks, Dhyan. That was a wonderful series of books and TV programs. We routinely quote from it as we do farm work. Somethings don’t change.