As a Veterinarian I try to be proactive in preventing problems from happening. I spend large portions of my day preg-checking cattle, so that important management decisions can be made as to when the right time to “dry” the cow might be, this is important in helping to prevent numerous problems and metabolic diseases that can occur with an unexpected birth.
I also dedicate a significant amount of time into vaccinating animals, to help protect human and animal health from numerous infectious diseases.
Yet despite my best efforts at trying to be proactive and preventing fires, my day quite often feels like it rapidly devolves into simply putting out fires around the county. There’s a colic at this farm, an animal in labor at another farm, a bloated steer across the county.
I had recently received a phone call from one of the nicest ladies I know (but she also has about the least amount of common sense of anyone I know) wanting to have a few calves dehorned. I had politely suggested that she bring them in to me. For two reasons. One because her place is waaay out in the middle of nowhere, and two, because despite what she thinks, she has absolutely no facilities to work her animals in (there is an ancient rusted chute sitting in the middle of a giant corral with no alley leading to it. She seems to think it should be easy for me to rope her animals, most of which weigh at least 5 times as much as I do, and to drag them into her chute).
She had agreed to bring them in. But about 5 minutes after this conversation she calls back, saying: “On second thought I think I’d better have you come out here. I also have some goats, I need you to look at. I bought them a while back, and they haven’t been able to get up in a month.” My mind starts churning as to what could keep a goat down for a month, and yet still be alive. I feel bad for the goats, thinking they probably need to be euthanized, and agree to go to her place. As she’s hanging up, she throws in “Don’t worry, I have a new set up to work the calves in.”
As I pull into her place I see several calves with horns running free in her yard and parking lot. The calves I need obviously aren’t even caught. Then I notice her new set up for working the calves. A “new” slightly less rusted out chute sitting in the middle of the driveway, again with no alley, or anyway to get the animals to it.
I start by asking about the poor down goats. Turns out, they’re not actually down. They’re just ancient goats, with chronic arthritis that find it easier to graze walking around on their knees so they don’t have to bend over so much.
So we start on the first calf. With a bucket of grain they are able to lure it close enough for me to rope, and to begin dragging to the chute. This call is going to take way longer than it should, but this not being my first rodeo on this place, at least I was expecting it.
As I prepare to dehorn the first calf, I suggest that instead of watching me work perhaps they could be working on catching the second calf. Soon I find myself alone, my calf is dehorned, I’m just waiting for them to come back with the second one.
That’s when I notice the smell. I think I smell smoke. I start looking around wondering where it could be coming from. That’s when I notice the tractor someone had been driving when I pulled in, and it’s smoking. No it’s doing more than smoking, I see flames!
“Hey!” I yell at the top of my lungs. “Your tractor is on fire!”
“Don’t worry.” someone yells back, from behind the house. “It always smokes when you turn it off.” “No! It’s actually on fire! I can see the flames!” I yell.
I run to the house, and pound on the door. A little old man answers. “Do you have a fire extinguisher?” I ask. “No, we’ve never had any use for one of those.” I see the hose on the house running out to the stock tank. I turn on the water, and run out to grab the end of it. Unfortunately it barely reaches, the stock tank, and won’t get close to the tractor. So I grab the nearest bucket, dunk it in the tank, and start carrying it towards the tractor.
“What about this calf?” They yell at me from the middle of the parking lot, holding the second calf near the chute.
“Let it go! And help me put out this fire!” Soon we have a full fledged bucket brigade formed. Consisting of me, the sweet old lady who called me, her two daughters, three small grandchildren, and the decrepit old man who told me they don’t have a fire extinguisher. Soon enough the fire is out. I’m no mechanic, but I’m pretty sure it will need significant work to ever run again, but at least it didn’t burn clear to the ground, or take the nearby barn with it.
Now, I get the pleasure of roping and dragging the second calf back to the chute, who having been caught once already had no interest in being caught a second time. Not to mention calves three, and four.
Yes, some days it feels like I just spend my whole day driving around the county putting out fires.
PS - I’d like to offer a special thanks to Dr. Hannah Klein for helping me put out animal fires today, while I found myself putting out actual fires.