A Collection of Beginnings

My Father

To say I have had an uninteresting childhood would be a lie. In fact, I would consider my childhood outdated by today's standards, one few of my peers ever lived, and one it is doubtful their children ever will. Mostly, this is because I grew up on a farm. I do not believe this to be a bad thing. Actually, it is probably quite good. I rarely get sick, and I know more about the various health problems that inflict the livestock population than most. But really, I blame this all on my father.

As an impressionable child, my greatest wish was to be his exact copy. I loved his laugh, his smile, and his people-centered personality. Simply put, he was my idol, and as the center of my world, he could do no wrong. Unfortunately, this also included his behavior when he took my brothers and I on 'calls'. As a large animal veterinarian, he worked on livestock every day. Need ear tags? Fly spray? Health certificates for a cattle show? He was your man.

However, since livestock tend to be rather large (shocker), being a large animal veterinarian requires hard physical labor. Surprisingly enough, this is not the best place for young children. As my brothers and I stood at a safe distance watching all the commotion, it was easy to pick up on the curse words that flew through the air whenever something went wrong. This was not an uncommon occurrence. Afterwards, my brothers and I would try out these new words ourselves, saying them at random intervals to gauge our parent's reactions. In preschool, we delighted in telling these swear words to our classmates, so much so that it was not unusual for our mother to warn the teacher that "They've been out with Steve again" after dropping us off.

Later, in our teens, we were expected to lend a helping hand as he explained the procedure. Although I may have hated spraying fly spray or twisting tails to make cattle move through a chute, I absolutely loved going along whenever he pulled a calf. Generally, the calls always started like this:

"Well Doc, she's been pushing all morning..." the farmer's voice could be heard through the phone, clearly worried about his cow now that it was evening and he had finished supper.

"Have you stuck your hand up to feel around inside her?" My father would usually reply, right in the middle of eating.

From here, the conversation would go one of two directions. A "No" would result in my father ending the conversation soon after, promising to be out as soon as he had finished his supper. A "Yes" would lead to more pressing questions, such as "Does it feel like the calf is twisted?" and "How big is the calf?" Eventually, he would stop eating, put on his boots, and head out the door towards the farm, inviting whoever wanted to go with him.

If I had no pressing homework I usually went; pulling on my boots as I hoped with all my might for a cesarean section. Although used only as a last resort, the few c-sections I have seen are some of the most prized memories of my childhood. A strange pastime for any child, sure, but very interesting to watch.

If a c-section was deemed necessary, my father would ask the farmer his advice on the cleanest area he could work. Once decided on the spot, he would head towards his truck, coming back with a blue tarp he kept just for these occasions. Knocking the cow out with an injection, my father would prep the area, numbing the spot with even more shots and scrubbing the area clean. Taking out his scalpel, he would make the first cut. Continuing on, he'd finally open the cow up enough to get to the calf, pulling it out and laying it in my general direction.

This was my cue. Rushing forward, I'd vigorously rub the calf to get its circulation going, listening for its first gasp of breath as its mother was stitched back up. The calf was always sticky from the placenta, and even after washing my hands it took quite some time for the smell to fade. Honestly though, it was all worth it. After the cow was back up and licking her calf, there was no better feeling in the entire world. The farmer was happy, the cow and the calf were happy, and it was proof that your hard work had paid off.

It was this sense of hard work and accomplishment that drove my father to become a veterinarian, and it is something I will always associate him with.