Tales Of A Critterdoc

Chapter 1

The Runaway Horses

My dad grew up on a farm during the Depression. They didn’t own any tractors so they relied on horses to till the soil and perform other farm activities. My grandfather owned several teams of horses over the years. When Dad was about 15 years old, one of the horses of Grandpa’s team died unexpectedly. He needed a replacement and after a lot of searching, he found one. He chose a young horse that had never been teamed with another horse. Putting two horses together that aren’t used to each other can be a challenge, and it was.

As soon as the two were harnessed together, the new horse kept trying to run off and wasn’t obeying commands. Its behavior was upsetting the older horse which also began not obeying commands. My grandpa had planned to disc a field with them, but because of the unruly pair, he wasn’t getting anything accomplished. My great-grandfather watched the commotion and since he prided himself in being a top notch horse man, he yelled to grandpa that he'd take over and he would get the two to work together.

Great-grandpa was a huge man, weighing over 400 pounds. His plan was to use his weight to wear the pair down so they wouldn’t have the energy to act up. He sat on the horse drawn disc and his weight sunk the disc deep into the ground. He picked up the reins and began vigorously snapping the reins and whip, demanding the team go full out. He’d teach them who was in control. They obliged his command and began running full out but they weren’t responding to Great-grandpa’s directional commands or wearing down. They ran straight down the field with Great-grandpa in tow, went through the end of the field, and bore down on an upcoming tree. Despite Great-grandpa’s pleas of WHOA, they sped on. One horse went on one side of the tree and the other went on the opposite side. As they flew past the tree they tore off their harnesses which caused the disc to flip upside down on great-grandpa. My dad and grandpa rushed to great-grandpa and dad said, Is Grandpa alright? My grandpa replied, I think the horses just killed Grandpa!

Shortly, my great-grandpa opened one eye, then the other, and looked up at Grandpa and said, Take that so-and-so horse to town and sell him before I kill him!

Chapter 2

Turn Left, Please

When my dad was a teenager, he acquired a saddle horse that had an odd quirk. It would not respond to the reins to turn left. When Dad wanted the horse to go left, he had to rein the horse in a large right-hand circle which eventually brought him around to the direction he wished to go.

Trying to impress my grandfather and great-grandfather, he set out to teach the horse to turn left. After several failed attempts, he confided to my great-grandfather his problem. Great-grandfather's solution was for Dad to carry a short stick with him and when he asked the horse to turn left and it didn't, to hit the horse on the right side of his head with the stick which would make it turn left.

The next day, Dad saddled the horse and headed to town. He came to the point where he wanted the horse to turn left and it refused. Dad took out the stick and did what Great-grandpa had instructed him to do and it worked! Dad was feeling pretty good about the victory until he headed home. When he arrived at the same point where the lesson had been given earlier, he asked the horse to turn right and it refused! It wanted to turn left!

With time and patience, dad was able to teach the horse to turn both left and right without the aid of a stick.

Chapter 3

Burn Baby Burn

One time my grandpa was offered a team of mules to buy. After a lot of bargaining with the seller, Grandpa got the pair of mules cheap. My great-grandpa wasn’t thrilled about the purchase because he’d had many bad experiences with mules. Mules can be ornery, cantankerous, unpredictable, stubborn, and sometimes mean, and great-grandpa didn’t want them around. As it turned out, the mules didn’t have the typical bad qualities of most mules. They developed into a very good team of work mules. But, mules can be stubborn.

On one hot summer day the mules were hitched to a wagon for them to pull through a hay field while Dad and Grandpa stacked hay on it. They were nearly finished but a storm was approaching. They only had a few bales left to pick up and they could take the hay to the barn to protect it from the approaching rain. But the mules had a different idea. They balked. They refused to move despite strenuous pleas and a whip applied to their backside. Exasperated, Grandpa declared he’d get them to move! He gathered some loose hay, placed it under the mules, and set it on fire. The mules moved, but only far enough to get the fire from underneath them which put the fire under the wagon, setting it and the hay stacked on it on fire. The flames spooked the mules and they took off in a dead run, scattering burning hay all over the hayfield, setting the hayfield on fire.

The mules headed for home with the burning wagon in tow. A heavy rain soon began which extinguished the field and the wagon before they got to the barn. When Dad and Grandpa arrived home they were met by Great-grandpa who was standing next to the smoldering wagon and he said one short sentence. I knew those mules would be trouble someday.

Chapter 4

Strike Three!

My Mom's dad scratched out a living on a small farm on the banks of the Embarras River near the hamlet of Landes, IL. I heard him often say his farmground was better suited for raising weeds than corn. Nonetheless, it produced enough corn he was able to raise pigs.

I loved going to Grandpa's farm and I enjoyed helping him with his pigs. We’d climb aboard a smoky, noisy, old tractor and pull a wagon load of corn into the feedlot where I’d help unload it for the pigs to eat. Some of the pigs were huge sows (adult females) that looked and sounded very scary. Grandpa told me many times never go around the sows especially if their babies were nearby. Sows can become very mean if they feel their babies are being threatened.

One day while feeding the pigs, I saw a baby pig had gone under the fence that surrounded the feedlot and couldn’t find its way back to its mother. It was frantically squealing at the top of its lungs. Unbeknownst to Grandpa, I jumped off the wagon, climbed the fence, picked up the baby pig, and climbed back over the fence. When I looked up, I saw a huge sow charging directly at me. Frozen with fear, I couldn’t move. I closed my eyes and waited to be flattened by the sow. After a few seconds, realizing I was standing and hadn’t been trampled to death, I opened my eyes and saw the sow collapsed on the ground a few feet from me. Grandpa saw what was happening and bailed off the wagon, picked up a large stone that was nearby, and hurled a prefect strike to the forehead of the sow, knocking her out cold. After some stern words from Grandpa, he grabbed me and hugged me and told me I told you to never trust an old sow with babies, and since that day I never have.

Chapter 5

Spot The Wonder Dog

Along with farming, Grandpa was an avid hunter and trapper. He once had two beagle dogs that looked so much alike he named then Pete and Repeat. He also had a rat terrier he named Spot. Spot's only purpose in life was to be Grandpa's companion. As many rat terriers are, he was a character. He was 12 inches tall, weighed 12 pounds, and had a heart as big as a lion. He wasn’t afraid of anything and most creatures, large or small, respected or out right feared him. Apparently he believed his purpose was to protect and defend the farm and he did so with gusto.

Spot rarely missed a chance to prove to Grandpa, and maybe to himself, how brave he was. Once, Grandpa had a sow break through the fence around the pig lot and was wandering away. Spot saw her and took out after her. He leaped on her shoulders and grabbed one of the sow's ears and hung on for dear life, trying to persuade her to stop and turn around. The sow flung her head side to side trying to dislodge Spot, but she couldn’t. Eventually, the sow turned and headed back to the pig lot. Only then did Spot release his death grip on the sow's ear.

I once watched as Spot wait for over an hour while a huge tree snake made its way slowly down the trunk of a tree. As soon as it was in striking range, he grabbed it and dispatched it instantly. He was relentlessly on the lookout for rats and mice and if he got a glimpse of one, its fate was sealed.

The most amusing thing Spot did was chase thunder, not lightning strikes, but the sound of thunder. He would sit in the yard as a storm approached with his ears perked, his muscles taught, waiting to spring into action. Thunder would roll in the distance and he would run toward it growling and showing his teeth at the intruder. Thunder would rumble in a different location and he would tear off in that direction. He’d do this over and over until the storm passed.

Spot lived to a ripe old age and died of natural causes. When Spot died, Grandpa told me he was now in heaven closer to his arch enemy, thunder, and maybe now he would finally catch it.

Chapter 6

Doctor Grandma Lizzy

My interest in veterinary medicine can be partially traced to my dad’s mother, known to her grandkids as Grandma Lizzy. Grandma had a variety of pets throughout her life including, dogs, cats, and a parakeet named Petey. Most of her animals were very tame, except for one wily male cat named Tommy. He was as black as the ace of spades and had the temperament of the devil. Grandma repeatedly warned us grandkids to leave Tommy alone.

One day I was visiting Grandma Tommy showed up from one of his rounds. He was limping badly and had a deep puncture wound on the top of his neck. Grandma didn’t believe much in physicians and vitinaries were somewhere on her list below them. She kept a medicine cabinet stocked with peroxide, methiolate, mecurochrome, tincture of iodine, turpentine, white liniment, and a few other volatile chemicals which she claimed would cure anything.

Tommy's puncture wound needed attention and because of his temperament, Grandma knew