My Daddy Never Gets A Live One!!

True life events of S. L. Stephenson, DVM aka [email protected]

My Daddy Never Gets A Live One!!

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My Daddy Never Gets A

Live One!Written and experienced by S.L. Stephenson, DVM

akaDrShinola

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mailto:[email protected]



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TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE – (RUBOR) 3CHAPTER TWO - (ET TUMORE) 13

CHAPTER THREE – (CON CALORE) 51

CHAPTER FOUR – (ET DOLORE) 74CHAPTER FIVE – (RUBOR ET TUMORE CON CALORE ET DOLORE)

91CHAPTER SIX – (CONCLUSION) 112

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Chapter One

(rubor)(redness)

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DrShinola… How in the world did I get to be known as “DrShinola”?

I mean, really… That’s a dumb name, don’t you think? Now, I’m not

saying that I’m dumb enough not to know the difference between

feces (shit) and Shinola, but - oh, well… never mind! It is kind of a

catchy name, so I’m going to keep it! That’ll be my pen name. I love it

when people ask me, “How in the world did you decide on a shitty

name like DrShinola?” Excuse me “French”, but I’m glad you asked!

What in the world is Shinola anyway? How did I obtain a doctorate

degree in Shinola? Ask anyone less than 50 yrs old these days and

they have no idea what Shinola is. I’ll try to explain… Shinola is (or

was) a brand of shoe polish previously manufactured in the U.S.A. The

alliteration or assonance and the fact that the two commodities in this

phrase could possibly be confused are the root. Both words begin with

“sh”. The distinction is well made; only one of them would be good to

apply to your shoes and only particularly dim, i.e. (not bright) people

could be expected to mix them up. Of course, outside America, most

people don't know Shinola from anything at all, as they've never

heard of it. Even in America it would probably not be widely

remembered but for this phrase. (“… don’t know shit from Shinola!”)

Authorities don’t know Shinola from that other stuff, either!

Shinola was a brand of shoe polish popular in the first half of the 20th

century. The expression “Doesn’t know shit from Shinola” became

popular in World War II era, used to denote a hopelessly clueless

individual.

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The 'ola' suffix is popular in the USA as part of trade names, e.g.

Crayola, Granola etc. This leads to the pronunciation of Shinola as

shine + ola. That spoils the alliteration a little as it would work better

as shin + ola. One has to be a PhD to understand all of this, don’t you

think? Uh, no…

Let me explain the origin of my honorary title. In the early 1990’s,

just after E. coli, a normal bacterial intestinal inhabitant located in

every animal species made its impact by infecting people who had

eaten a hamburger (ground beef) which had not been fully cooked. It

was sometimes a fatal infection to many people and was rightfully

deemed a critical item for correction by the Food Safety Inspection

Service, a division of the United States Department of Agriculture.

Keep in mind, we’re dealing with a microscopic bacterium here, and

the USDA/FSIS needed to be able to identify fecal contamination of

animal carcasses at slaughter, no matter how small the poop

(contaminant) was.

I was picked to be on the team with the USDA/FSIS to arrive at a

written description of feces so that all inspection personnel would know

exactly what they were to be looking for. In short, we needed to

educate the inspection force on how to recognize feces, i.e. shit, crap,

poop, intestinal expulsion! Is this a new disease caused by a new

bacterium? Was this a newly discovered disease? Was this something

never before recognized? Nope, nada, uh-uh… you gotta be kidding

me!

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Escherichia coli has been here forever. Many humans have very

little natural immunity to this bacterium which is a normal intestinal

inhabitant. “Wash your hands after you pet the dog, Stevie!” Mom

used to say. Teachers would say, “Students, be sure to use the hand

sanitizer before touching the keyboard, pencils, books, etc.” Even in

the grocery stores, hand sanitizer is offered before using their “dirty”

grocery carts! I even saw a sign in one of the high school classrooms

advising students to use a paper towel to cover the doorknobs before

entering a classroom! No wonder we have basically no immunity to

bacteria found in feces. We’re simply too clean!!

When I was selected for this project, I thought, “What an odd

assignment, but I felt I was up to this meaningful (shitty) assignment

and I wanted to go.” (Anything to get out and away from the meat

inspectors in Cactus, Texas!) I knew I had ideas to offer, but I couldn’t

go empty handed. It’s just not me, as you will soon find out. I had a

couple of days, so I began developing my strategy. I needed to find

something that reminds everybody of feces without having to describe

it.

If anyone knew their shit, it was me! The use of humor is often a

very effective ingredient in teaching. If it makes someone smile at the

thought, they won’t likely forget it. Actually, every animal including

humans produces feces. We’re full of it! How can I make them think

of feces and enjoy it? Make them happy that they make it? Then,

when I thought my luck couldn’t get any better, an extremely

enjoyable movie came into being. “The Jerk” entered into the world!

The movie “The Jerk” gave me an idea. Navin Johnson, played by

Steve Martin was adopted by a family of black sharecroppers. When

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he was about to leave his home, his black father took him into the

farmyard to teach him a few things before he went out into the real

world. “See that?” his father asked as he pointed to the ground.

“That’s shit! See this? (He was holding up a can of Shinola.) This is

Shinola.” Then he repeated “shit” by pointing to the pile on the

ground and repeated “Shinola” as he pointed to the can he was

holding.

Navin replied as he pointed to the ground, “Shit!” Then he pointed

to the can his adopted father was holding and said, “Shinola!” Then

he repeated himself to demonstrate that he knew the difference, (or at

least could differentiate) between Shit and Shinola.

When I thought about the task of developing a written description of

feces, I knew I had a winner. Just as Navin’s dad told him, “Son, you’re

going to be all right!” I knew that I too, was going to be all right!

Suddenly, I had an idea I just had to act on! I had to find a

container of Shinola! Shinola was no longer for sale or in

production. I searched everywhere… I finally found it in an antique

store in Fort Worth, Texas, but on my way back to my car, I tripped and

fell. I cradled the bottle of Shinola as I hit the ground and broke a

couple of my ribs, but I protected my Shinola! Navin would have

been proud of me! A painful shopping spree, but I had it! I had the

very item which would make everyone smile when they thought of

feces. “I’m somebody!” I exclaimed to myself.

When I arrived at the descriptive meeting, we began straining on

this important function… Sort of like having a bowel movement… This

is getting better and better, i.e. my bowel movement function I just

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talked about! I hadn’t planned on this nifty addition to my writings,

but as the urge hits, MOVE ON IT!!

We spent three or four days trying to describe feces which is

produced via bowel movements, defecation, rectal excrement, to

produce this E. coli contaminated feces, aka crap, poop, stool, caca or

shit if you will! This sounds like it would not be complicated, but it was

much more difficult than it sounds.

The task of describing feces in layman’s terms was and still is a

difficult task. Excuse this next example, but let’s try to describe a

buggar. You try to describe a buggar. What color is it? Does it have

anything else mixed in with it? Is your nose bloody? What about when

you pass a buggar, aren’t you blowing your nose? Why not simply fan

it? Isn’t snot simply a collection of buggars? Try to describe water…

There’s plain water which is the clear colorless liquid, odorless and

tasteless when pure. Water occurs as rain, fog, sleet, hail, snow and

ice. It forms rivers, lakes and seas, and is essential for life. Naturally

occurring water picks up color and taste from substances in its

environment. Water in its purest form is made up solely of two

elements, hydrogen and oxygen. The chemical formula of water is

simply H2O.

There are many variations of water. There’s clear and colorless

water. Muddy water, cloudy water, colored water, running water,

standing water, rain, snow, sleet, hail, fog, etc. See the difficulty? Now

let’s get back to feces. Let’s get back to the reason we’re talking

about this crap, shit if you will!

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Everyone knows where feces comes from, what it is, what it smells

like, and on and on! I finally said, "We can't describe feces, because

we don't have our standard!" They asked me. "What's the standard?"

I said, "We can't describe avian (chicken, geese, turkeys, etc.) feces,

bovine (cattle) feces, porcine (pig) feces, ovine (sheep) feces, caprine

(goat) feces, equine (horse) feces (I had no idea what species an

ostrich is, so I said ostrich shit), because we don't know "shit" from …

wait a second.

I needed to produce my throbbing, but invaluable visual example

which was my container of shoe polish, my theatrical description, my

“Shinola"! My ribs still hurt… That's when I decided my name should

be and will be (no shit) "DrShinola"! Let’s return to my book now that

I’ve told you how I became known as “DrShinola”.

As clearly as yesterday, (must have been 7 or 8) I remember hiding

behind the fence in back of the barn, (I did not want to be seen…) I

was crying and praying for each calf's life as my step-father (Henry)

worked calves through the squeeze chute. Each feeble calf would

struggle frantically as it entered the squeeze chute only to have the

solid steel walls cave in on each side and the head gate slam shut on

its tender neck. The calf would assume the same stance a convicted

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felon on death row would show as he entered the electric chair or gas

chamber. (I remember seeing death row inmates at the movies…)

Then the injections began...then the branding as white smoke

billowed into the air, incinerating the hair and boiling the hide...then

the knife castration...then the sawing off of the horns with blood

spurting high into the air after the head was completely secured by an

iron bar squishing the calf’s head onto the head gate.

After the horns were sawed off, a hot branding iron was pressed

onto the blood vessels to sear off or cauterize the bleeding. Then the

calf was given a bolus of big ol' pills. Then it was given a shot right in

the eyelid for pinkeye. On top of all that, the calf’s eyes were sprayed

purple!

As he would turn it loose in preparation for the next calf, Henry

would jokingly exclaim, "I guess that one'll die!" as he made an

expression of pain on his face, just to enjoy my reaction. Then he

assumed an agonizing stance, again for my benefit. When the chute

would open up to let the calf go, the calf would just stand there, shake

its head in anguish after being vaccinated, branded, dewormed,

deloused, treated for pink-eye, given antibiotics, sulfa-boluses,

dehorned and castrated.

Then it would take off in a conquered trot. As I mentally tried to put

myself through this rough handling, I was horrified for a moment. I

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was amazed at the ability of each calf to recover so quickly from this

grisly ordeal. Millions of calves have undergone the same treatment

worldwide, (and still do). I now realize that few suffer any long-term ill

effects, but I took him seriously and prayed more earnestly for the

calf's life than any preacher had ever prayed for a terminally ill human

patient.

After Henry and I finished working the cattle through this

nightmare, it was time to get back on the tractor. We had just finished

cutting the wheat and we had a lot of plowing to do. Henry was a

farmer and I was his helper, i.e. “his fuddler”. I looked up “fuddle” in

the dictionary and it apparently involves alcohol, but I’ve never been a

drinker and Henry was way too religious to ever even think of alcohol.

He just liked the word, I guess. Henry raised wheat, cattle, maize,

alfalfa and anything else to make money for the family, and I was his

associate. There. That sounds better… his associate, not his fuddler!

As I climbed onto the tractor and sat down on the hot metal seat, I

began to think of my background. I was still feeling sorry for the

calves.

I thought about my real Dad. He died when I was three years old.

He was a pharmacist and owned the drug store in Groom, Texas. I

spent my days in Groom going to all the local businesses. I was well-

known as “Stevie boy”. The only vision of Dad I remember seeing is

him dressed in grey slacks with a white shirt (sleeves rolled to the

elbows) standing over the kitchen sink vomiting blood.

Mom says this did not happen, but that is what I remember. While I

was in veterinary school, I learned that uremia, which he reportedly

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died from, is toxic, and destroys the blood vessels and causes bleeding

in the G. I. tract. This confirmed his death (to me) of his uremic

poisoning due to kidney failure.

Since this is what I remember about my Dad dying, I guess I need

to explain how this collection of my memories took place. In 1996, my

sisters asked each sibling to write one of our favorite memories to be

included as a memento for each of us in our family.

I struggled with this assignment for weeks. When the deadline

drew near, I decided I would include many of the memorable events

about my life. I could not limit myself to only one event. This is what I

created. These events created me.

Chapter Two

(Et tumor)(and swelling)

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Memories of

Stephen Lynn Stephenson, aka

Stevie Boy Stephenson, aka

Stevie Stephenson, aka

Steve Stephenson, aka

S. L. Stephenson, D.V.M., aka

Dr. Stephenson, aka

DrShinola

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MY MEMORIES

I decided that if I was ever going to get some of my memories on

paper, I'd better make them short. I'm going to start by telling you

mostly about my growing up in Groom. All will be randomly listed as

my memory is triggered with no particular order or reason. I admit

that I am a man of few words, so don’t expect much description of

places, people or things. Read it as written and you’ll enjoy it, I hope!

The reason for telling you all about my earlier years is to help you

understand why I am like I am!

I was one content kid

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All little boys fall in love. I’ve got to tell you about my love affairs I

fell into in my younger years, starting with my first girl friend, Gay Nell

in the first grade. I used to smooch her picture! Wow… I thought she

was beautiful! I was deeply in love, (of course I was only in the 1st

grade.) My high school sisters had a pair of long white gloves I used to

take to bed with me. That way I could dream about Gay Nell kissing

me as she wore those long white gloves. That’s about as far as this

love episode lasted as she moved away sometime that year. I was

heartbroken. I remember telling myself, “No more women (well, girls)

for me!”

I appointed myself as President of the Local Women Haters Club. If

“Alfalfa” from the “Little Rascals” could get appointed, so could I. I

think I decided to hate girls, because I could not imagine my love being

so cruel by moving away when I so deeply adored her. Of course, I had

no idea what reason her parents had for moving my love escort out of

my life! Who did they think they were? Grown-ups? I made Danny,

my neighborhood best friend, the vice-president. I doubt if I ever told

Danny why I started the women-haters club. He just went along with

me. One doesn’t tell Alfalfa “no”. No questions asked.

Melody moved into my life when I was in the sixth grade. I had

been President of the Women Hater’s Club for nearly five years when I

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decided that girls really weren’t all that bad. She had boobs! I had no

idea what they were for, but I did like the looks of ‘em! In the sixth

grade! Big ‘uns! Melody, as well, was a fine-looking girl. Ok,

beautiful…

One problem appeared that I had not really figured on with Melody.

My step-father, Henry was an Elder in the church we attended and I

had been told I could not comfortably date or ever eventually marry a

Catholic. (Now really…, I was a whopping 11 years old!) Things never

did really work out with Melody and me. She had a really mean

brother, named Larry, who hated me. I think he hated me because I

could not speak a word when I got close to Melody. I was more or less

a “mute”.

Larry was killed in the Vietnam War years later after we grew older.

I went to Washington, DC a few years ago and found his name on the

Vietnam Memorial, also known as, “The Wall”. He hated everyone. It

wouldn’t surprise me if he’ll try to beat me up when I kick the bucket…

My condolences to his relatives, especially Melody…

I used to dream about Melody while I was plowing. She’d come

floating over the horizon wearing a beautiful white dress and bringing

me something to eat. I would then imagine taking her into my arms

and kissing her passionately. I was some kind of a romantic, huh?

Well, marriage for me, an 11 year old was out of the question for

Melody and me. Time to move on…

When Beverly and her big brother Steve moved to Groom, my

fascination with Melody came to a sudden stop. Melody really was

pretty, but WOW, Beverly was gorgeous! Beverly had long beautiful

blonde hair. She wasn’t interested in me, though. She was dating a

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fellow named Herbie, who I’ll discuss later on. Notice my never-ending

desire to be with beautiful women?

I was completely speechless around all girls, but managed to work

up the strength once and asked Beverly to sit by me in the movie

theatre in Groom. She said, “Yes!” When I got to the movies, I was all

“slicked up” and waited for her to arrive. Problem was, she never

showed up! Guess she forgot, huh? I was devastated for a week or so,

until I fell in love again.

I discovered a girl in high school named Twyla during the coldest,

wettest winter I had ever experienced. Twyla was a bit of a “tomboy”,

but I fell for her, anyway. I used to make plans during that winter of

asking Twyla to go for a ride with me on my Harley Davidson M-50

when the weather warmed up to at least 40 degrees Fahrenheit.

I don’t think it ever reached the 40 degree temperature mark, even

today. Twyla was really smart and eventually became an osteopathic

physician. I don’t think we ever went out together, as it never warmed

up! Time to move on… Maybe this is where I get my instinctive need

to accept change and move on into another situation. Gay Nell moved

out of my life, Melody didn’t work out, Beverly didn’t accept me, Twyla

… well, and the weather never cooperated!

Farther along in high school, I met Paulette through a friend of mine

named James. James had been making trips to Panhandle which was

30 miles from Groom and asked me if I wanted a girlfriend. I said,

“sure” and he said, “Do you want to have a really good-looking

girlfriend or one who is plainer looking?”

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I said, “You can have the really good-looking one and I’ll take

what’s left, as long as she ain’t too bad!” After our first double date,

all roads led to Panhandle for several years. As it turned out, I fell

deeply in love (again) and even asked Paulette to marry me. I was

really serious and even bought a diamond ring for her! I was not a

man without a plan, and yes, I thought she was beautiful, too.

In 1969, I graduated from high school in Groom and was ready for

college. I used to watch all the TV shows I could about being a

physician. Marcus Welby, MD, was my favorite television show. Ben

Casey, Dr. Kildare and Chicago Hope were also watched religiously by

me. My plans after college were to go on into medical school and also

to marry Paulette.

Paulette was a year behind me, so she stayed in Panhandle while I

was away in college. I spent my first year at Midwestern University in

Wichita Falls, Texas. I missed Paulette relentlessly, so I went home

every weekend. I used to dream with Paulette about my desires to

become a neurosurgeon. I had it all figured out how I could transplant

a head from one person to another. Bet I could’ve done it, too!

I had a cousin who was a surgeon in Wichita Falls and he knew of

my desire to become a physician. He even allowed me to watch him

perform surgery once. He took some guy’s lung out and when he was

finished removing it, you could have heard a pin drop. The nurses and

I were simply in awe from observing this procedure. He realized the

moment of extreme silence and kicked a stainless steel bucket across

the floor and announced, “I thought for a moment that he might have

“kicked the bucket!”

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I thought the nurses were going to get angry or worse when the

bucket quit bouncing around, but they just laughed like I did.

Everyone was relieved, as this was an extremely serious, life-

threatening operation. A little humor goes a long way.

I darn near went broke driving back and forth from Wichita Falls to

Groom and to Panhandle and to Amarillo or Pampa to take Paulette to

the movies and to eat out. Gasoline was extremely expensive! I’d pull

into a gas station and would immediately drive off. There’s no way I

was going to pay

$ 0.32 per gallon! Gas wars were common then and I was used to

seeing gasoline in the $0.19 range. The cheapest I ever bought

gasoline was $0.11 per gallon, and that’s where it should still be. I

can’t believe we’re paying over $3.00 per gallon now. Unbelievable…

During one of my trips home later that year, Paulette announced to

me that she wanted to live her own life and that we should break up.

She said she wanted to be able to date other guys for events like the

Senior prom, dances and so on.

I was completely taken by surprise and had no idea how to react. I

finally figured I’d go ahead and get it over with. I thought that at the

current gas price of $0.32 per gallon, it was just as well. I took her

home, followed her into her house and loaded up every single thing I

had given her, including her, diamond… I mean MY diamond ring.

After all, I paid for it!

After the break up, I drove back to my apartment in Canyon, Texas.

The more I thought about my dilemma, the madder I became. I hit my

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windshield so hard, it totally shattered, well, cracked badly. Luckily, it

was shatterproof, but I had to drive the rest of the way with my head

out the window so I could see. I felt like a dog riding with my head out

the window.

I met Judy by “making the drag” in Pampa, Texas. Guys used to

drive down one street for several blocks, turn left and go several more

blocks, then turn around and retrace the route. While all guys were

doing this, we’d find a car with girls in it and decide whether or not to

pick them up. I picked Judy and we had a very short date. Then I

asked her to go out again with me, but she was going to a business

school in Amarillo. I told her I was going to college at WT and I only

lived about 20 minutes or so from her apartment. We dated for

several months and she was and still is a really nice girl. Judy was very

sympathetic towards me and listened patiently as I cried about losing

Paulette. I learned to like Judy, but never really felt like I loved her, so

I tried to reunite with Paulette.

I invited Judy to a Christmas dinner at my house in Groom to meet

my parents. I couldn’t stop grieving for Paulette, so I broke up with her

and tried to get Paulette back into my life. (Yeah, right…) Good thing

Paulette never responded favorably to my pleas.

Connie was Judy’s roommate and I met her while I was dating

Judy. Wow, that was tough, as Connie was then and still is today, (I

think) beautiful! I couldn’t take my eyes off of Connie. I never found

out her measurements, but I’ll bet they were pert-near perfect!

One day while I was visiting Connie at their apartment, a pickup

screeched to a stop in their drive-by street. Judy and her new

boyfriend were parked in their car outside the apartment. Pickup

doors slammed shut and people started hollering at each other, then

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the fist fight began. Judy’s ex-boyfriend and his friend began beating

up her new boyfriend. I ran outside and pulled them off and they

started hitting me! “What am I getting into,” I thought.

I started to slug them, but kept thinking about breaking my

windshield after I ended it with Paulette. One guy was standing with

his legs wide apart and I thought seriously about kicking him in the

testicles, but I didn’t want to kill the guy. I let them keep hitting me,

but I did bob and weave a lot. I mean, I ain’t a dumb-ass, you know.

As time progressed, I asked Connie to marry me. She said yes!

Connie and I had planned to elope, but didn’t think about our secret

getting out, much less getting our marriage license published in the

Amarillo paper. Cybil, Mom’s friend in Groom, found out about it and

called Mom to inform her of our marriage license. We had a full church

wedding 6 days later with all the trimmings thanks to Mom. Mom

passed away in 2006, so I should to tell you of a few of my events with

her… This poem strongly reminds me of her.

ME MUDDER

When my prayers were poorly said,

who tucked me in me widdle bed

and spanked me butt ‘til it was red?

.......Me Mudder!

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In the morning,

when the lights would come

and in me crib me dribbled some,

who wiped me widdle tiny bun?

.......Me Mudder!

Who took me from me cozy cot

and placed me on me ice cold pot

and made me pee-pee

when me could not?

.......Me Mudder!

Who's hair so gently she would part

and hold me tightly to her heart

and sometimes squeeze me

‘til I'd.....fart?

.......Me Mudder!

Who looked at me with eyebrows

drooped, and screamed and yelled

‘til she had the croup when in

me Sunday pants I...pooped?

.......Me Mudder!

I now realize how literal a kid takes what a grownup says. When I

was a kid, Mom used to tell me when I went outside how I had better

not get my Sunday school clothes muddy. I took my clothes off and

hung them on my tricycle while I jumped in a mud puddle. Didn't get

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my clothes dirty. Well, I did get my underwear dirty. I was about 6

years old…

Carolyn, my sister and I played behind the drug store after a huge

rain. I thought I could float across the mini-lake in a potato chip can

and had to stand for hours behind the drug store while I dried out in

the sun. Carolyn got a big kick out of my misery.

I remember some drunk showing up in Groom. He had no legs and

rode on a wooden platform on wheels. He used pieces of wood and his

arms to propel himself forward while his torso was on his “vehicle”. I

thought I saw a go-cart coming out of the drug store, so I ran down to

look this apparatus over. I’d never seen anything like this before and I

was really excited.

When I made it to the front of the drug store, I guess I made this

guy extremely uncomfortable and he, without more ado, started

screaming, "Look at me! Look at me! Make fun of me! Make fun of

me!" Everyone thought my eyes were going to pop out. Carolyn and I

hid in upstairs in the drug store for awhile. Anything to get out of his

sight and mind. I just knew he was going to kill me.

I made a soup to feed the same fellow, just in case he ever tried to

track me down. It contained rotten vegetables, table scraps, dog poop,

gasoline, spoiled milk, chocolate (for flavoring), dirt, gravel, cigarette

butts, dead sparrows, oil, etc. It stunk so much he never came back

to try it. I guess he figured he'd better not mess with me!

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I remember having the mumps and being too sick to go to school,

but not too sick to have a good time. I wanted to go out and play,

because I wasn’t feeling that bad. I looked like I had two jaw breakers

in my mouth when I looked in the mirror. I was really swollen up! I

was home alone, so I called the drug store to ask Mom if I could go

outside. Mom said “No!”

I was really hacked off, so I threw my tinker toy can. It bounced

around the living room and landed on the coffee table. The table had a

glass top and it shattered the glass. “What have I done now?” I

thought. I quickly came up with a solution. I lined up all my tinker toys

and told Mom not to bother it, because I was making something

special. It worked for about two weeks.

When I used to get in trouble, Mom would pull a belt out to spank

me. Keep in mind, this was before child abuse laws, child protective

services, etc. came into being. I'd get Mom laughing and the

punishment wouldn't be so bad. I think that method is hereditary,

because Stephen, my son used it very effectively on me.

When Stephen would get in trouble, I used to spank him. Just as I

was about to apply either my hand or my belt to his rear, Stephen

would ask me, “Ever wonder how Dolly Parton got two black eyes?” I

knew better than to ask, “Why?”, but I couldn’t resist what I knew was

coming. I’d say “No. Why?” He’d say, “From jogging!” Then we’d

both laugh our heads off. This trick didn’t work with Connie.

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Henry and I were our own worst enemies. I remember taking the

engine on our Minneapolis Moline (the farm tractor) completely apart

several times while Henry (my step-dad) and I tried to figure out why

water was getting into the oil. We finally gave-up and took it to the

mechanic and let him fix it.

I used to spend hours walking around the horse tank gathering

snails. Henry called me his "fuddler." I was a good “fuddler”.

Maxine, my sister and Lynda, Maxine’s best friend once drove me

into the country and made me kiss them on the cheek or I'd have to

walk back. The first time they tried, I started walking. The next time

they gave me the choice I gave them a very quick peck. Boy, I hated

that, but it was a long way back to town.

My first fishing trip with Henry, my step-father was in Canton,

Oklahoma. It was great. We didn't have anything but a blanket, a

pillow and a couple of fishing poles. We got there late at night and

found a spot that looked ok, but it had lots of rocks. We unrolled our

sleeping bags and lay there a few minutes, planning on going to sleep.

Henry was about to call it quits until I stretched and said, "Man, this

is really living!" Henry just groaned and rolled over.

On another fishing trip, we forgot our alarm clock and didn't have a

watch. We got up at the same time, looked at the horizon, saw a glow

and decided to go into town to eat a quick breakfast so that we could

start fishing early, early!

When we got to Canton, there was absolutely nobody around

except a night watchman. We waved him down and asked him where

everyone was. He told us it was 2:00 a.m. and they were all at home,

except for him.

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We went back to the camp and slept until after 9:00 a.m. Then

when we did start fishing, other fishermen were talking about how the

fish had been biting like crazy earlier that morning. Later that day, the

dam was opened. There was an old man with at least 999 fishing

poles, (well, at least six), set up over the bridge. I asked if the fish

were biting and he said, "No! Fishin' ain't no good around here, but

they were sure biting earlier this morning." His fish stringer was full…

I used to get blamed for everything. One time, Mom blamed me for

carving a game of tic-tac-toe on some wax fruit. About a year later, I

was getting into trouble again and I told Mom that I didn't do it, just

like I hadn’t played tic-tac-toe on the wax fruit. Carolyn finally owned

up to it, but she didn't get into trouble.

I remember going to a church camp at Camp Blue Haven in New

Mexico and getting so homesick that I was a blubbering idiot for the

entire two weeks. Camp Blue Haven is a church camp. Remember

Henry, my step father, the Elder? Where else could I have gone?

Camp Blue Haven is in the mountains and is an absolutely gorgeous

place. Mountains, creeks, rough terrain, etc. My cup of tea, so to

speak.

During that particular visit to Camp Blue Haven, during a hike, I

found a sack lunch that some camper had left behind on the same trail

two weeks before. I really made fun of that dummy. We kept hiking

and lunch time came around. Problem was, during my laughing and

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making fun of the kid who had left his lunch, I had picked his up and

left my nice fresh one there! “Maybe,” I thought, “some kid will pick

mine up and leave theirs behind for someone else and so on. I always

have an answer for nearly every situation!

Carolyn had and still does have a friend named Patricia. Herby

used to date Beverly, so I didn’t think a whole lot of him. Carolyn

spent the night at her house, while I spent the night in a tent outside

their house while it was raining. I was miserable, thinking that they

were having the time of their life while I was cooped up in the stupid

tent. I think they really had a good time. I didn’t…

On one of our many trips to Oklahoma with Mom, Carolyn and I

would drive Mom nuts by singing “The Volga Boat Song”. For the life

of me, I have no idea where I heard that song. Cartoons, I guess. My

sister’s husband told her. I looked it up on the internet, and sure

enough, that’s the song! Maybe it will be on a bestselling record label

one of these days with our words! We’d sing, “Oh, what's the next

town? Oh, what's the next town? Oh, what's, what's, what's, what's,

what's the next town?” These will be the words to this hit when it’s on

the radio.

I saw my first "Body Shop" on one of those trips to Oklahoma and

was horrified with the thought. I was thinking that they sold used

arms, legs, eyes, hearts, etc. I looked that place over very carefully to

see if I could see any body parts lying around. Never saw any…

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On one of our trips to Oklahoma, Mom, Carolyn and I would take

long walks down the farm roads. If Carolyn’s friend Vicki was walking, I

really liked that. I thought she was gorgeous! I worried about ol’

“Tuffy Guffy”! I remember when we stayed in Oklahoma while

Grandma was sick, Mom enrolled us in the Byron School because we

were going to be there quite awhile.

While I was going to school in Byron, I became the target of "Tuffy

Guffy". He hated me. I remember that I was the only kid in Byron who

could march to the beat of the music in class. The other kids hated me

for that, but not as badly as “Tuffy Guffy”.

My Dad had a brother named, “Carroll” who I called, “Uncle Carroll”.

He was cool and used to show Carolyn and I magic tricks. My favorite

was a disappearing coin using colored paper. He’d put a coin in a

piece of paper, wrap it up inside another piece of paper, then another

and then turn it over three times and it would disappear! Boy was I

dumb. I really thought it worked! I didn’t know he had matching

papers on the back of the original papers.

Ah, the memories just keep flowing in. If you’ve never done this,

write a list of several memories as they come to you and keep adding

more to it. It’s hard to stop, and just when you think you’re done,

somebody will say, “I remember when you did this…” and you’ll have

another unforgettable recollection to add to your compilation.

My first vehicle I drove was a yellow 1952 3/4 ton Chevrolet pickup.

I could make it backfire like everything by driving it while revving it up

in second gear, turning off the ignition until it would just about come to

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a stop, then turn the key back on. Most cars would simply go "BANG",

but this pickup sounded like Mount Carmel's 51st day in Waco, TX!

Yeah, I’ll get into my veterinary stories when I finish telling a few more

of my incidents, descriptions, or series of events in a narrative that is

part of the whole but may digress from the main plot. I’m having too

much fun writing these things! I looked up the word “events” to see

how the dictionary identifies with me. Pretty good, huh?

I once chased a baby rabbit into a fenced-off corner in Mobeetie and

literally fell through the ground into a septic tank. Henry made me ride

home in the back of the pickup. He said I stunk…Yeah, I did…

I helped Henry build an addition to the house in Groom during the

time he married Mom. We used to eat honey on crackers as a snack. I

really didn’t help, because I had a lot of important “fuddling” to do.

Remember, I was probably less than five years old!

Groom did not have a swimming pool, so we’d have to drive to

White Deer to go swimming. We had to have pretzels afterwards.

That was tradition. I remember so many details about different events.

I remember getting my coronet in the sixth grade and figuring out

how to play the school song before school even started. I was pretty

good! When school started, I played it for the band director and he

was impeccably impressed. He couldn’t believe it and had me play it

in front of the high school band as punishment for their not being able

to. When I finished playing it from memory, he said, “If Stevie can play

the school song, why can’t you? He’s in the sixth grade and he’s only

12 years old!”

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I made first chair coronet, but got beat out of first chair frequently

by Lanny. Lanny studied the notes and knew them by name. I simply

knew when it sounded good. Lanny was better than me, so I wanted to

switch from coronet to the trombone. The band director didn't want

me to, as I was always coming up with a new twist on my music.

Apparently, he enjoyed working with me.

When he moved away, a new band director moved to Groom. I

asked him if I could switch from playing the coronet to the trombone.

He reviewed the previous band director’s notes and asked me if I had

ever played the trombone. I said, “No, but it sounds like it would be

fun.” He said if I could play the trombone and play him a song the

next day that I could switch. I switched the next day!

Being the only trombone player in the band, our new band director

had an idea which turned out to be a “hoot”. While we were marching,

I would start marching in a different direction and would start playing

whatever I wanted to play. The drum major would stop the band,

come yell at me and tell me, “You better stop messing around and

MARCH WITH THE BAND and PLAY THE MUSIC WE’RE

PLAYING!” So we’d start marching again and off I’d go playing songs

I liked and showed off in front of the stadium crowd. She’d stop the

band and come holler at me some more, only much louder.

Then she’d scream, “If you mess around one more time, I’m going to

kill you! You’re messing everyone up and you’re an embarrassment to

the Groom Tigers!” I acted like I was really sorry, but when the band

started marching and playing again, off I’d go… She stopped the band

and ran over to me and pulled out a blank gun and shot me deader n’

a hammer!

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I just laid there and the school ambulance drove across the football

field and stopped between me and the stands. The crowd couldn’t see

me because of the ambulance. They loaded my trombone, put it in on

the stretcher, then into the ambulance and drove off. I quickly

recovered and ran like a maniac trying to catch the ambulance,

because I was the injured party, not my trombone. The crowd thought

it was hilarious!

When I got in high school Lanny and I were selected to be in the

National FFA band. I have no idea how or why I was chosen, but I was.

Lanny was good enough that I knew why he was selected. He was just

good! The music we were sent to practice on had one trombone part

that was really high pitched and very fast. I practiced it to perfection

and as luck would have it, the band director had us to try out using

that particular piece of music. I blew everyone else out of their chairs.

I got first chair out of over 25 trombone players and I couldn't even

read music. I played by sight, position and sound. If it sounded good

and in tune to me, it was good and in tune. The second chair

trombone freaked out when the band director told me to play my G-

sharp and I asked him, “which line is it on?”

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While I was in high school, Lanny started a band called the

“Constellations". We played Herb Alpert’s Tijuana Brass music. My

sister, Carolyn, arranged for us to play for the Area FHA convention in

Amarillo. There were close to 3,000 girls at the FHA Convention who

treated us like the Beatles! All of the band groups were told to be able

to play no more than 15 minutes worth of music. We were about 7th in

line and all the other bands had guitar players and they could sing. We

played our three songs and left the stage after our 15 minutes were

up. No singing, just strictly instrumental music.

The girls “booed” the following bands off and screamed for us to

return! Yes, we were good! I think we played for about an hour before

the girls had to leave. Wow, I can now imagine what the Beatles went

through! Lanny teaches band in a high school now. He still plays very,

very well! I doubt if I could even blow a note, but give me day or so

and I’ll play a song for you!

Danny’s dad used to give me and his boys a burr haircut in the

spring. We all thought we were some cool looking dudes. I had really

big ears, but I could wiggle them, so I was cool, too.

Mom and Maxine tricked me into going home from the drug store,

grabbed me tightly as we walked right past the Chevy to go get a shot

at the doctor’s clinic. They had to start dragging me as soon as I

realized what was about to happen. I really hated shots. Still do.

I remember collecting the state disks from Val-O-Milk candy, the

best candy in the world! Cadbury Eggs top the list now.

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I remember the horror on Mom's face when Dr. Levy diagnosed my

diabetes. I doubt if anyone counted grams of the different food groups

like Mom. When I went into the hospital to learn how to give myself

shots and how to eat right, I weighed about 98 pounds. When I was

released from the hospital two weeks later, I weighed 138 pounds! I

had gained 2 pounds every day. I could have been in any stock show!

Before I was diagnosed with diabetes, I could probably have eaten

more than Hulk Hogan. I would sit down after school and eat an entire

loaf of whole wheat bread (toasted) with butter and still be hungry for

supper. I couldn't go a single hour without having to get a drink of

water and go to the bathroom. Now that my diabetes has been

diagnosed, you guessed it… shots!

Car trips were miserable, as Mom and Henry used to get really

annoyed at me for having to stop the car to use the bathroom and get

a drink so much.

I played football in Jr. High. The football team went to close by

towns in our school district, and their teams would come and play on

our football field in Groom, too. We made one trip to Shamrock for a

football game, but they weren’t in our school district and they had

much larger players than Groom had. I was up against a huge guy, so I

made a deal with him that if he left me alone, I'd sure stay out of his

way. I'm not so sure that everyone else on the team didn't make the

same deal. We lost, which was not uncommon.

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I was really touched by Gaylord’s (the preacher) sermon one

Sunday morning. I wanted to be baptized, but had not really talked it

over with Mom and Henry. I sweated that entire afternoon thinking

that if the world should come to an end, I'd be going to Hell. Not once

did I think about me dying. The world was going to come to an end. I

got baptized that night.

I had a Hampshire sow in high school. I'd ride her up and down the

alley just like a horse. No wonder she never really had a decent litter

of pigs, but she sure looked cool (black and white) when I’d scrub the

mud off her.

My best friend in school was Gary. He was severely retarded and

was tongue tied. When he'd get into trouble, I had to go with him to

the office to be his interpreter. I always got him out of trouble with

my version of what he said. You could ask him to say, “girl.” He’d say,

“tool.” Ask him to say, “school” and he’d say, “”tool.” Then ask him to

say , “schoolgirl” and he’d say, “tool tool.” Made perfect sense to me,

but nobody else could understand what he meant to say. Since

nobody knew what he was saying, I never did let him get into trouble!

Gary had a cousin, Robbie which was several years younger than

me. The kids in that family were either severely retarded or were

classified as near genius. Robbie was in the third grade and I was in

high school. He was in the genius category. He stayed up with me one

night while I was delivering pigs and I taught him how to play chess.

After 3 games, we would reach a stale mate almost every time.

While I was in about the third grade, I was picked to be the

entertainment during the intermission at a high school play. I dressed

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like an old man and sang "This Old House". I had a fake beard,

overalls and went out all bent over and really hammed it up. I had a

standing ovation and had to sing it again!

I spent one night with Ray, another friend of mine, when I was in

high school. He woke me at 2:00A.M. and wanted me to give him a

haircut. All he had was a pair of hog shears. He went to school the

next day completely bald. It started out as a regular haircut, but since

I’d never cut hair before and I had sort of butchered it, we decided to

cut all of his hair off. His girlfriend didn't like me from that day

forward.

My favorite video of all times has got to be, "A Christmas Story"

based on a novel, "In God We Trust, All Others Pay Cash." Once you

see it, you'll know why. I relate to Ralphie.

Jimmy and I went out after church one Sunday to "lay a strip of

rubber"

with his Chevy. We were going about 30 mph in reverse, threw it into

first gear and BAM! The transmission gears started falling out onto the

pavement. We were stupid enough to think that we could fix it. We

finally found a discarded transmission in the junkyard and worked for

several hours on another unsuccessful venture.

One Christmas, the Groom City Council decided to decorate Main

Street for the holidays. They purchased a large pine tree and set it on

Main Street. It was fully decorated and they even had purchased a

Santa Clause.

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The Santa Claus caught my attention and I thought it would be neat

if we did a little decorating of our own. I found a toilet in the junkyard

and had Santa “sit for a spell”! He was quickly removed, or I guess

they found a plumber somewhere to relocate the toilet! I think that

Santa was stuck to it, as he was not there anymore, either.

In my pre-teen years, I remember my wonderful sisters making

fudge and locking me out of the kitchen. I loved fudge, but they

weren’t going to let me have any! I took a butcher knife and whittled

on the dining room chair. Mom kept the chair as evidence.

When a second grader got into trouble, a lot of the time the

punishment was to go sit in the first grade for an hour or so. I spent a

few hours visiting the first grade. I thought I was hiding, but Maxine

saw my name on the back of my belt. She is 10 years older than I am.

Each morning in grade school, I would stop by Mr. Reno's office (he

was the principal) and would wiggle my ears for him. If you got into

trouble in the elementary school, you had to spend time standing in

the hall.

Yeah, I got to stand in the hall quite a bit. I would wiggle my ears

for Mr. Reno when I was standing out there. He enjoyed my

punishment!

In high school, Ray and I went hunting and shot at a decoy in a lake

until it sunk. Ray had some solid lead shotgun shells that would shoot

one single bullet which weighed about as much as 10 or 20 - 22 shells.

Yeah, we sunk a duck!

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I remember plowing with the one-way. It’s called a one-way,

because you could only turn the tractor one direction. If you turned

the wrong direction, the tractor tires would run into the tires on the

plow. A 7 or 8 foot tractor tire meeting with a 2 foot plow tire wasn’t a

pretty site.

I turned the correct direction one time, too tight and the brace bar

caught on the lug of the tractor tires and the entire plow was standing

straight up above the tractor. When Henry saw that from the pickup,

I’d bet that he ran those 50 yards in world record time! I’ll guess the

plow weighed at least 3,000 pounds and it was standing on end at a 90

degree angle to the soft ground that I had just plowed.

I used to go to the junkyard with John and shoot 22's at bottles for

target practice. He had brought some M-80's (firecrackers) and they

started the junkyard grass and weeds on fire.

We tried to use our Levi jackets we were wearing to beat the fire

out and spilled 22 shells on the ground. The bullets fell out of out our

pockets as we beat the burning bushes. They started shooting

everywhere due to the fire, so we took cover behind more junk in the

junk yard. Now I know what the Branch Dividian’s in Waco felt like.

In college, I worked for a local veterinarian. He needed to haul a

load of pigs to East Texas. I told him, “Yeah, I can drive that truck and

trailer to East Texas for you.” Jimmy and I left Canyon, Texas on this

trip to deliver the pigs. We didn’t have any trouble, until we got down

the road quite a ways and were very, very tired. We drove through a

small rain storm and here’s what happened. The truck jackknifed,

ripped a butane hose off of the tank and caught the butane on fire.

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The truck ran on butane and not gasoline. Jimmy and I were extremely

lucky that we didn't get hurt at all. Not a scratch. That butane tank

blew up like a bomb. Traffic was stopped and some nut asked me if he

could help. I said, “sure”. Little did I know he meant, “Can I open the

trailer doors and let the pigs out?”

Needless to say, we spent the next several hours chasing pigs all

over East Texas. A couple of guys who were helping corral the pigs

started telling each other how much they were going to be charging for

their help. I said, “There ain’t no way I’m going to pay you guys that

much money.” “Say, aren’t you the guy who asked me if you could

help?”

Well, the policemen were standing right there and they instructed

me to pay the man. Needless to say, I had to empty my pockets and

sign a paper that I’d mail them the rest when I got home.

I castrated a calf and stretched its scrotum over my pickup

gearshift knob and let it dry. Man, it stunk for several days, but it sure

looked cool! I had a fur-lined gear shift knob! Girls wouldn't ride in my

pickup when I told them what it was. They’d make me stop and let

them get out.

I had a job running the movie projectors at the Groom theatre.

What a loser that deal was, but I got to see the movies for free, and I

got a discount on pop corn and cokes!

I applied for a job at the meat market in Groom when I was in high

school. They hired me as a joke, thinking that I wouldn't last long.

Turned out that I could out work them! Nobody has ever seen water

fights like we used to have. Bill, the owner, hired some fellow to work

named Joe Olstein. He’d come to work late and sometimes drunk.

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Eventually, I would have to go knock on his door at the motel to get

him to come to work.

Now, his last name was Olstein, but we called him “Holstein”. I think

we darned near drowned him! We’d put buckets of water on partially

opened doors and ask him to go through the door to find something we

were asking for. Then we’d have to go get somebody’s meat out of the

walk-in freezer and his wet apron would freeze and make it almost

impossible for him to walk. He got wetter’n everyone else, as nobody

had any sympathy for him. We are still all really good friends today.

Well, not counting ol’ Holstein!

Little Willie, another retarded kid, would work at the meat market

for a package of liver or hamburger rather than money. I caught him

using lard for hair cream. Being “all slicked up” fit his description

perfectly. Little Willy would occasionally say a cuss word. I’d tell him

that the next time I heard him say anything like that, I was going to

wash his mouth out with soap from a spray bottle full of soap. He’d

help me slice bacon and then he’d say, “damn”. Before I could do

anything, he’d pick up the spray bottle and squirt his mouth full of

soap. Looked like he had rabies!

One day, I asked Little Willy why he didn’t ask for money instead of

packages of liver or hamburger for his pay. He asked me if I got paid

with money. I asked him how he thought I bought my new car!

He said, “You mean I could buy a car by working for money?”

I said, “Well, nearly.” “I made most of my money by doing tricks!”

“What kind of tricks?” he asked.

I had this all pre-planned and said, “Like this.” I would put a quarter

on my forehead and put a large metal funnel into my pants right above

my belt buckle. I’d tell him I had to bend back as far as I could, stand

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up straight and try to make the quarter land in the funnel. When I

straightened up, I would catch the quarter in the funnel and it was

mine to keep!

He asked, “Can I do that, too?”

“Sure can,” I replied. Then I told him to look as far up as he could

and I put a quarter on his head. I told him to lean back further and

further and when I say, “that’s enough, you’ll earn your quarter.” Well,

he said he wanted to make enough to buy his own car, so I let him

earn a few quarters. When he had two or three, I told him to lean a

little further back, then further, then when he was about to fall over

backwards, I reached into the freezer and pulled a bucket of ice cold

water out and poured it into his money-catching funnel!

What happened next really made me die laughing. Instead of

pulling the funnel out of his pants, he went into some sort of a

shivering routine and let the ice cold water drain out of the funnel and

down his legs into his boots!

From that day on, Little Willy never would accept any money for his

efforts at the meat market!

I would help build shocks out of bundles of cane in October and

Henry paid me so I could go to the Halloween Carnival. A “shock”

looks like a teepee, and the rain simply runs off. It is an ideal way to

store cattle feed in the fields. I just knew I could fly like Superman,

and these shocks provided a safe, soft landing site for me when I would

come back to Earth.

Henry and I built miles and miles of barbed wire fence. We dug all

the post holes by hand and used the pickup to tighten the wires

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between the posts. Henry built the strongest corner posts around.

They never budged. I’ll bet money they are still in good shape!

I had my acceptance letter to veterinary school framed and it still

hangs in my home office, along with my other degrees and my real

Dad’s diploma from Pharmacy School.

Maxine, my oldest sister would take me to the dentist in Pampa for

fluoride treatments. I was out of there in less than 5 minutes and she

wouldn’t believe I went in.

On one of my fishing trips, while Henry was renting the gear for the

boat I caught a nice catfish while the boat was still on the bank. We

thought this is going to be a great fishing trip. That poor fish was the

only one we caught on that particular fishing trip and the boat dragged

him to death…

I experienced deep sorrow during a funeral for Ed, my dog. Ed was

about the dumbest dog I’ve ever seen, but I still hated it when he died.

One of the most moving days I ever had was when Connie and I

were feeling especially uncomfortable and miserable in church when

Sarah and Stephen both went forward to be baptized, September 6,

1992.

Danny, Jerry and I picked up all the shingles, nails and trash around

the Golden Spread Motel after they got a new roof when we were just

kids. After a long days work, the owner paid us 50 cents and gave us a

rotten peach. I gave him the 50 cents back and told him he probably

needed it worse than I did. I was extremely insulted by his lousy pay. I

threw the peach away, too.

On hot summer days, I would hike to George Latta’s farm and go

swimming in his horse tank. Again, Groom didn’t have a swimming

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pool. I still had to have my pretzels, but then I’d pick off the leeches

that had attached to me while we were swimming

On Larry’s farm, while Larry was out playing in a pasture, a bobcat

was running and was apparently looking somewhere else. He ran right

into and over Larry. He was bitten, scratched and then had to take the

rabies shots right in his belly! That was awful! Having to take the

shots, not being bitten and scratched by a bobcat.

Henry used to smoke like a freight train. Yeah, I tried smoking

cigarettes, but couldn’t stand the smell of ‘em. Still hate cigarettes!

I remember fighting with Carolyn, because "She's looking at me!"

"Well, he's looking at me!" One time during a fight with Carolyn, she

made me so mad that I gave her “the finger.” She ran inside the

house and wanted me to show Mom what a terrible thing I had done.

What, am I nuts? I wasn't about to show Mom. It was my word against

hers. "Did!" "Did not!"

Don, another friend of mine, well, actually he was kind of a ‘dork’

got into big trouble when he snuck into the neighbor’s garage and

started a lawnmower over a bag of dry cement dust. Their garage

looked like it was on fire from the outside.

I have always hated shots. I watched as Carolyn got a shot

between her toes by the foot doctor. I fainted dead away. That ain't

no place to be getting a shot!

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I remember washing and waxing several family cars. That was

something to do in Groom, Texas. Our family had the cleanest and

shiniest cars in town!

When I was in high school, Henry drove me to Amarillo to look at

cars. I bought my brand new car for $2,995.00! I looked at Corvette

Stingrays and told them they’d never sell a Corvette! They’d never

get $5,000.00 on any one car. I had the coolest looking set of

“wheels” around. I had a bright yellow Ford Fairlane that I kept

spotless and always shiny with no fingerprints allowed.

One day, Mom, Marlys and Larry went on a short trip. I was bored,

so I washed and waxed Larry's Mustang. He let me take it on a date!

I took Paulette’s sister on my date and had an absolutely horrible time.

The boys in Panhandle kept trying to run me out of town.

My back bedroom was the dumpsite of the house in Groom. I

hated all the disorganization. Now, I'm a compulsive picker-upper.

While I was going to Midwestern University in Wichita Falls, my

step-sister, Marlys lived in Dallas with her husband Larry. Larry was in

dental school. He’d tell me about his human cadaver. Marlys wrote to

me in school and tell me to come see them any time. “No time like

now,” I thought. I rode with a friend who lived in Fort Worth. We drove

about half way and I tried to call them again. I hadn’t called them

before I left. When I finally got Marlys on the phone, she told me they

were going out of town. Time for plan B. After I hung up, I had him

drop me off at the bus station.

Now, there I was at this bus station in Bowie, Texas. I’m a diabetic,

and it was time for supper, so I ordered a hamburger. After I finished

my meal, I paid and went walking around town waiting for the time

when the bus was going to leave. No real place to go, so I went back

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to the bus station. I was bored, so I decided to go ahead and buy my

ticket.

The fare was $1.50, and I had spent all of my cash on supper, so I

pulled out my checkbook.

“Oh, we don’t take checks,” the lady said.

I said, “I need to buy my ticket, and I have no cash. You’ll have to

take a check.”

She said, “We’ve heard that before, but you still have to pay cash.”

Now, here I was, a college student with my suitcase, a duffle bag

full of dirty laundry and my books. I said for her to call my banker, but

she wasn’t going to make a long distance phone call to call up a “fake”

banker. I walked all over that town trying to cash a check for a lousy

$1.50 and no one would cash it! I finally called the college bible chair

and had someone come and pick me up. When I told Mom about my

ordeal, she was blistering mad and called up the bus company and

registered a very valid complaint.

In high school, I took a chemistry course and found for formula for

nitro-glycerin. Wow! After I put the appropriate chemicals together, I

put a cork on the test tube and walked very, very slowly to the

bathroom. I carefully put the lid down on the toilet and climbed on. I

very carefully used an eye dropper to see if it would explode when

drops of my nitro hit the floor. Luckily, I wasn't a very good chemist as

my personal presence proves.

On my way back to the classroom, the school principal stopped me

to ask what I was doing out of class. I told him that I had to use the

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bathroom. Then he started visiting with me about my trombone and

band activities. We talked for quite awhile. Now, I had this test tube

full of my nitro-glycerin in my pants pocket.

I guess my body temperature initiated some sort of a chemical

reaction and the rubber cork popped out of the end of the test tube.

Smoke started pouring out of my pants and these strong acidic

mixtures escaped and my pants started dissolving. I ran back to the

bathroom and started taking all of my clothes off, which didn’t take

long as there wasn’t a whole lot left on me. I had to get somebody to

call my house and have Mom bring me some clothes. The principal

thought this was all really funny, especially after I told him about my

nitro-glycerin invention.

I traded a miniature football for a collie I named Chris. Chris was a

good looking dog. Smart, too. I remember when Chris got run over by

a car he was chasing and dying. As I look back from a veterinarian's

perspective, I honestly think I could have saved him.

Red and Ed were two other dogs I had. Red was the best dog I

think I ever had as a kid. Ed was rather obnoxious and really dumb,

but Red liked him. I guess since Red liked Ed, I should like him, too.

Patricia and Herbie had a dog named “Tippie”. Red used to get into

fights with Tippie all the time. Ed never did. He was a chicken, and did

I mention he was dumb?

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I remember hauling cattle back and forth to Mobeetie in a pickup

and trailer. That’s why I had told the veterinarian I could haul his pigs

for him to East Texas.

I drove Mom crazy with my Harley Davidson M-50. She had

discussed sending me to a military school for rowdy kids, but never

did.

I got a bicycle for Christmas one year. It was a warm day, so I took

it outside. I asked Mom, "What do I do now?"

I kept the cattle chute full while Henry worked the cattle, when I

wasn’t busy “fuddling”.

When we owned the drug store, Tom, the Candy Man would give me

candy samples. He asked me if I would ride the elephant from the

Carnival in town. I told him, "No. My Momma never would let me ride

an elephant."

Seniors always had to leave their mark on their town. I made my

mark by climbing to the top of the water tower and spray painted “SR-

69” on it. The local constable pulled me over while I laid a strip of

rubber on the highway. The next day he came into the meat market

where I was working and said, “You weren’t speeding last night, were

you? Just like you didn’t paint the water tower?!”

I remember my very first (and only) criminal offense. Time to

“fess-up”. Ray and I decided it was time to test the ‘criminal life’, so

we decided to break into the local filling station on main street! If we

got caught, it wouldn’t be too serious, because it was closed anyway.

Obviously, there was nothing inside that we could see through the

windows. We decided we would break into the restroom instead. We

were seniors in high school, and Ray was drunk. I hated the taste of

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beer, so I was 100% sober. We wedged open the top window, climbed

inside and decided we’d steal the rubber machine.

We pried, hammered, sawed and finally got it off the wall. Then we

loaded it into Ray’s El Camino and took it into the country to see what

we had stolen. To our delight, we split 200 rubbers and $16.00 in

quarters! I hid mine in a bank and put it under a dresser in my

bedroom. Later on, I found it and opened the bank to check my

“stash” and it was empty! “Oh, Man!”

A few months later, the town whore came up pregnant and we were

talking about it at supper. Mom asked, “Did you do it?” (I knew right

then and there who had found my rubbers). No, I didn’t do it!

Secretly, I had been told they were used to keep men from wetting the

bed…

Please remember that these were the first ones that came to mind.

I didn't intentionally leave any event out. I’ll soon quit re-reading this,

as I constantly make changes to it or add another episode. I’ve had a

blast putting this together and would strongly encourage you to do the

same with your life story. I have many more, but I need to save them

for my next book(s)! Enjoy!

With all of these experiences, why hasn’t a TV show similar to

“Happy Days” or “The Little Rascals” gotten in touch with me? We

could have a “Happy Days Revisited” show! I’m available!

Happy memories!

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Chapter Three

(cum calore’)

(with heat)

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In 1976, one must realize there are only 24 veterinary schools in the U.S.A. Compare 24 veterinary schools to 40 dental schools, 26 osteopathic schools, 125 medical schools, 86 pharmacy schools, 241 physician assistant schools Looks to me that it was a lot harder to get into veterinary school than it was into medical, osteopathic, dental or pharmacy schools. Not only that, the medical profession only has to learn the anatomy and physiology of one species, Homo sapiens. Veterinary school is:

Harder to get into, as the sheer numbers are against the applicants.

A veterinary student must learn about more than one species. A veterinary student has to learn about much more

pharmacology, anatomy and disease conditions due to species variations.

I started my practice in 1976, just after finishing veterinary school at Texas A&M University. If you have raised kids (or been one), and gone through the pet syndrome, including toilet flush burials for dead goldfish, the story below will have you laughing out LOUD, (I hope)! I read this and just had to include this as a part of my book. Again, this wasn’t my joke, but I can see myself in the vet’s place doing the same thing. Give the credit for this to somebody else. The joke begins with a man talking to an associate at work: “I had to take my son's lizard to the vet last night. Here's what happened: Just after dinner, my son came up to tell me there was ‘something wrong’ with one of the two lizards he holds prisoner in his room.” "He's just lying there looking sick," he told me. "I'm serious, Dad. Can you help?" I put my best lizard-healer expression on my face and followed him into his bedroom. One of the little lizards was indeed lying on its back, looking stressed. I immediately knew what to do. Call my wife! "Honey," I called, "come look at the lizard!" "Oh, my gosh!" my wife exclaimed. "She's having babies." "What?" my son demanded. "But their names are Bert and Ernie, Mom!" I was equally outraged. "Hey, how can that be? I thought we said we didn't want them to reproduce," I said accusingly to my wife. "Well, what do you want me to do, post a sign in their cage?" she inquired (I think she actually said this sarcastically!). "No, but you were supposed to get two boys!" I reminded her, (in my most loving, calm, sweet voice, while gritting my teeth). "Yeah, we even named them Bert and Ernie!" my son agreed.

"Well, it's just a little hard to tell on some guys, you know," she

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informed me (Again with the sarcasm!) By now the rest of the family had gathered to see what was going on. I shrugged, deciding to make the best of it. "Kids, this is going to be a wondrous experience," I announced. "We're about to witness the miracle of birth." "Oh, gross!" they shrieked. "Well, isn't THAT just great? What are we going to do with a litter of tiny little lizard babies?" my wife wanted to know. We peered at the patient. After much struggling, what looked like a tiny foot would appear briefly, vanishing a scant second later. "We don't appear to be making much progress," I noted. "It's breech," my wife whispered, horrified. "Do something, Dad!" my son urged. "Okay, okay." Squeamishly, I reached in and grabbed the foot when it next appeared, giving it a gentle tug. It disappeared. I tried several more times with the same results. "Should I call 911?" my eldest daughter wanted to know "Maybe they could talk us through the trauma" (You see a pattern here with the females in my house?) "Let's get Ernie to the vet," I said grimly. We drove to the vet with my son holding the cage in his lap. "Breathe, Ernie, breathe," he urged. "I don't think lizards do Lamaze," his mother noted to him. (Women can be so cruel to their own young. I mean what she does to me is one thing, but this boy is of her womb, for God's sake.) The vet took Ernie back to the examining room and peered at the little animal through a magnifying glass. "What do you think, Doc, a C-section?" I suggested scientifically. "Oh, very interesting, " he murmured. "Mr. And Mrs. Cameron, may I speak to you privately for a moment?" I gulped, nodding for my son to step outside. "Is Ernie going to be okay?" my wife asked.

"Oh, perfectly," the vet assured us. "This lizard is not in labor. In fact, that isn't EVER going to happen . . . Ernie is a boy. You see, Ernie is a young male. And occasionally, as they come into maturity, like most male species, they um . . . um… masturbate. Just the way he did, lying on his back." he blushed, glancing at my wife. We were silent, absorbing this. "So, Ernie's just…, just .... excited?"

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my wife offered. "Exactly," the vet replied, relieved that we understood. More silence. Then my vicious, cruel wife started to giggle. And then even laugh loudly. "What's so funny?" I demanded, knowing, but not believing that the woman I married would commit the upcoming affront to my flawless manliness. Tears were now running down her face. "It's just . . . that ,,, I'm picturing you pulling on its . its . . teeny little . ." She gasped for more air to bellow in laughter once more. "That's enough," I warned. We thanked the vet, paid him and hurriedly bundled the lizard and our son back into the car. He was glad everything was going to be okay. "I know Ernie's really thankful for what you did, Dad," he told me. "Oh, you have NO idea," my wife agreed, collapsing with laughter. Two lizards: $150.00

One cage: $50.00Trip to the vet: $30.00

Memory of your husband pulling on a lizard's winkie: Priceless. Moral of the story: Pay attention in biology class! Reptiles lay

eggs!!

One early morning, after I had taken care of the hospitalized pets, the telephone rang. “Dr. Stephenson,” the caller asked, “Can I bring you a sample? Something terrible is happening to me.” “I’m just too embarrassed to go see my doctor. Can I bring it in to you?” “Yes, you can.” I answered her as reassuringly as I could and wondered what kind of sample she was referring to. “I’ll be right there, but this is horrible and I don’t want you to laugh at me.” she said and then hung up the phone. Shortly later, Mrs. Smith came into the clinic. Now, Mrs. Smith was

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probably in her 70’s, maybe even in her 80’s, and we’re talking August here. She came in dressed in a heavy black overcoat that was fully snapped up and she was very distressed. Tears were running down her cheeks and she managed to say, “Now, promise that you won’t make fun of me, but I think I passed (pooped) something and I want you to look at it to see if I have something seriously wrong.” I was thinking, “tapeworms, blood, something she ate that could not be digested, etc., etc.” I can’t believe I made no reaction to her when she said, “I pooped something)!” Then she produced this large coffee can that was wrapped in a paper bag, then by foil, then by a plastic bag. Whatever was in there would not have escaped no matter what! “I could not believe it when I saw this thing swimming around in my toilet,” she said. “What in the world have I passed (pooped) now?” “What have I let into my clinic,” I thought to myself. “Let’s take a look,” I said in my most professional manner. I took the bag containing the foil wrapped coffee can from her. I could hear something sloshing around in the can! She moved away and stood in the corner of my exam room. “I just can’t look. Promise you won’t make fun of me,” she whispered. I took the can out of the paper bag, out of the plastic bag and began unwrapping the foil. The sloshing noise kept getting louder as I removed each muffling piece of wrapping from the can. She tells me again, “Please don’t make fun of me. This is the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen and I can’t bear to see it again.” She walked out of the room, crying. Slosh, slosh, slosh ,slosh. Noises kept coming from inside the can…

I took the lid off the coffee can and immediately started laughing to myself so that she would not hear. “Mrs. Smith,” I said. “You can come back in now. There’s nothing for you to worry about.” She cautiously entered the exam room. The critter was still sloshing around in the can. “Mrs. Smith,” I said, “This is a mouse. Probably either fell into the toilet just as you went to the bathroom, or swam up and into your toilet through the sewer system.” Mrs. Smith asks, “I pooped a mouse? Should I go to the Doctor? Am I going to die?” I explained to her again, “You did not pass this mouse. Again, it either fell in or swam in and you don’t have anything to worry about, except that you probably have mice in your house.

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“Are you sure, Doc?” she asked. “Absolutely,” biting my lip as subtly as I could manage. “You’re going to be fine. No charge, and thank you for coming in.” I couldn’t bear to charge her for this, but now I have a mouse to get rid of. As soon as she left, I had to decide what to do with this mouse. I couldn’t bear to kill it. What a time this critter must have had, ending up swimming in the toilet, then be scooped up and placed into a coffee can with feces, toilet paper and urine laden water only to be hauled around with no fresh air for a couple of hours. I took the can behind the clinic and decided to let the mouse run free! He deserved his freedom Our background and circumstances may have influenced who we are, but we are responsible for who we become. So, the joke I shared with you and the story that followed shows my love for people and for life. There’s good in everyone, and everything happens for a reason. Remember, “You are the author of your own story.”

In 1993, I read about a veterinary clinic in Albuquerque, New Mexico that had indicated it had a different approach in charging for their services. I was intrigued by the concept, so I managed to talk my partner into letting me to go see the plan in action. I drove to the facility and learned after I arrived that it was an emergency, after hours, veterinary clinic. In other words, it was not a regular veterinary clinic where a pet owner would take their pet for routine vaccinations, checkups, etc. An Emergency Veterinary Clinic was for life threatening unexpected and sudden events that must be dealt with urgently. This was a group of veterinarians who had hired one veterinarian to take care of their emergency after hour calls. Shortly after I arrived and introduced myself, an emergency case arrived. A dog had been run over by a car. The dog was bleeding badly from a broken leg and from being thrown into the sharp edge of a culvert. The veterinarian on duty took the information from the pet owner and seemed to be more concerned about getting paid than he seemed to be of the pain the animal was experiencing.

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I made a mental note of the incident and watched as the veterinarian treated the dog for shock, stopped the bleeding and informed the pet owner that the broken leg needed to have surgery performed on it to allow it to heal uninfected and to heal correctly. The surgery would be performed the next day when the animal was stabilized. “That will be $275.00 for the services tonight,” the attending veterinarian unemotionally said. “I don’t have that kind of money,” the dog owner cried! “Cash or credit card?” insisted the veterinarian. “How much to put him to sl…, well, can I charge it?” the dog owner asked. “Again,” the veterinarian selfishly inquired, “Cash or credit card?” I excused myself and left. “Enough of his ideas. Nothing out of the ordinary,” I thought to myself, “This was a wasted trip and I had learned nothing…” I left after thanking the veterinarian for his time. “Yeah, right,” I thought to myself. “Thanks for nothing…” I stopped and picked up a cup of coffee to sip on while I drove home.

On my way home, as I was drinking my coffee, I began thinking of my personal experiences with my medical history. “How are the physicians coping with their income needs,” I asked myself. My personal health care plan was utilizing an HMO, which had its good points and its bad points. It had been good for me, as it had been extremely affordable, but it required me to get pre-approval for any specialist visits. With me being a diabetic, I went to a specialist more than I saw my regular physician. My income as a practicing veterinarian was based on 90% of the work I do, which was service related and 10% costs me money. In other words, when I dispense medications, I have to buy them first and then pass this expense on to my clients. My examination and office visit costs me nothing and is pure profit. Then I got to thinking about how many clients I had. This was when veterinarians were offering expensive seminars on practice management techniques and ways to improve the veterinarians’ income. Most veterinary practice advisors want to find out how much income each office visits brings in. A veterinary surgeon might only get 10 animals referred to him each month, but his income per visit would be very high. If a client wants to come in for a flea bath, and the

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next one only wants to purchase a can of dog food, then how do you figure their average? I kept thinking about this, and when I got home, I went straight to the clinic and counted how many clients I had and what my total gross income was. Next, I divided my gross income by the number of clients I had. I was making only $33.00 per client per year. That was disappointing. If I could come up with an attractive plan which would be sellable, and be able to improve my income and provide more to my clients, there had to be a better way. I had an idea! Why don’t I design a health plan for pets that would be very similar to the HMO plans the human physicians utilize? Surely, this would be feasible! I needed to think of a way to sell my services at a more than reasonable rate, pass my expenses on to my clients and theoretically I could make money on my idea. For some reason, a name popped into my head. I called my idea the “Tender Loving Care (TLC) Pet Health Program.” This is just too easy!

Now I needed to decide on what to include and what not to include. Here’s what I decided to not include:

Neglect (I wanted my clients to use this program.) Pre-existing conditions (Obviously, I didn’t want to allow an

animal needing expensive care to wreck my income!) Vicious animals (I don’t like being bitten!) Vaccinations and diseases for which the animal was not

properly vaccinated. External parasites (All pets can get fleas and ticks) Heartworm treatments (Heartworms are preventable) Outside laboratory charges Cosmetic surgeries Spays and castrations Boarding and grooming Dispensed medications Anesthesia

Now I needed to come up with a list of guidelines:

Coverage would begin upon receipt of payment

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Coverage expires one year to date after receiving their payment

Coverage is usually available when the pet receives its adult vaccinations

Coverage is not transferable from animal to animal Coverage is for services rendered at our hospital This is a non-refundable program Renewal is at your option on an annual basis

I immediately sat down and wrote a letter of introduction. My partner agreed, so here is what it said: “We are pleased to introduce the Tender Loving Care (TLC) Pet Health Program. TLC emphasizes preventive veterinary medicine and encourages you to bring your pet in at the first sign of illness. A pet, when seen early in a diseased condition responds much better and faster to medical and surgical treatments.

TLC will be available to you after a satisfactory initial physical examination, followed by an annual pre-paid fee, renewable yearly at your option. Eligible animals will receive, at no additional charge, all office calls – no matter how many, hospitalization, x-rays, surgeries (other than optional cosmetic surgical procedures), dental care, two heartworm tests, obstetrics, emergency calls and more. Coverage is good only at our hospital for one year following the enrollment date. It is our sincere wish and goal to be able to provide your pet with our best efforts of quality veterinary care at a reasonable cost. We firmly believe that once enrolled in this unique program that you will enjoy a more positive approach to veterinary medicine and that the dreaded alternative of euthanasia due to high medical and surgical costs will be virtually eliminated. We encourage you to call and set-up an appointment to enroll your pet on the TLC Program. We are extremely optimistic and excited about this new concept and feel that we will be able to offer you our best, at a tremendous savings to you!” Well, the ball was rolling! I sent the letter to all of my clients, and they enrolled in droves! Now I needed to incorporate other ideas in my dream world. This included: A TLC Charge Card. I had been bothered by my accounts receivables, as they had been slow to pay, and difficult to collect on those who hadn’t been paying. I developed a motto which simply said, “We WANT your credit to go to the dogs!” My local bank had agreed to back this endeavor as long as they were in charge of

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approving those desiring to obtain this particular credit card. I sent a letter of introduction to all of my clients and offered them the opportunity to be approved. As it turns out, a very high percentage of my clients were approved and I was able to convert their account receivables into cash. Now, they owed the bank, not me! The TLC Charge card began to surpass the incoming cash by a margin of two to one. In other words, for every dollar that was put on a clients VISA or Master Card, I took in TWO dollars through the TLC Charge Card! I then began dreaming of ways to market these ideas to other veterinarians all over the nation! Wow! My initial trip to see how another veterinarian in Albuquerque, New Mexico marketed his services had exploded by the creation of TLC!

I visited with other veterinarians, including a retired veterinarian in Canyon, Texas. He introduced me to a college student who had shown him some of his cartoon artwork. I told him my ideas and he drew a cartoon dog that had his front leg (arm) in a bandage and had a bandage on his head. I named him ”KIPI” which was an acronym which stood for “Keeping Independent Practitioners Independent”. Now I gave him a story to design a coloring book for the pet owner’s kids. Kipi’s story which was a 10 page coloring book showed a healthy puppy that was playing ball with a young boy. The ball bounced into the street and it now shows a picture of the puppy laying in the street with tire marks on his body. Then he is rushed to the veterinary clinic, and X-rays are taken of his broken leg and the veterinarian says, “Looks like we need to do surgery!” The cartoon book continues and shows the puppy in a hospital bed saying, “”Boy, I’m glad my veterinarian’s phone number was on my dog tag!” Then a nurse gives Kipi his medication and wheels him around in a wheelchair to cheer him up. Finally, the nurse delivers the good news to Kipi and tells him he gets to go home today. Then Kipi gets the bill and he is worried that it is going to be too high for his owners, but finally on the last page, Kipi is smiling and kicking his heels when he realizes that he had been put on the TLC Pet Health Program a few days before the accident! The cartoon showing him being happy about the phone number being on his rabies tag brought up another idea! Why not sell a TLC owner’s pet tag with a 1-800 TLC-VETS phone number on it? I could register and identify each tag with the owner’s phone number in the

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event the pet became lost or injured and it needed to be put in contact with its owner! Another masterpiece!

My idea grown to include:

The TLC Pet Health Program The TLC Charge Card The TLC coloring book The TLC owner’s identification tag A national toll free phone number My newsletter idea which, in essence was a ghost writing

service.

A ghost writing service was developed for veterinarians to help build their practices, but also to market TLC to their clients. (You would never have known that they hadn’t written their own newsletter. I allowed them to choose their topics, the color of ink and paper and then I wrote their newsletters for them. I sent them a proof for their final approval and printed the number of newsletters they had requested. Usually this amounted to several thousand newsletters. I allowed complete freedom to make their newsletters extremely custom-made, such as including specific news to personalize their newsletters for them. This was extremely popular, and some included items such as information about their receptionist’s new child when she had delivered it. Wow! Then when they asked how they should send them out, I offered to address them and would mail them when they told me to. Service with a smile, I always say! I needed to develop a plan to get this in front of other veterinarians quick! How was TLC doing in my practice? Tremendously! Remember, I had told you I was grossing around $33.00 per pet per year prior to TLC ? I used the same formula, took my total gross

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income for the year and divided it by the number of clients I had and it had grown to over $100.00 per pet income per year! TLC had tripled my income in one year, and I was having a blast! My clients loved it, my banker, partner and I loved it. I was having a virtual orgy!

I had a usage major usage rate of less than 3%. In other words, when people thought enough of their animal to enroll it on the best health care plan, i.e. TLC, they take very good care of their pet. Only 3 TLC enrolled pets out of 100 were ever hit by a car, got into fights or developed a preventable disease. A broken leg repair normally cost close to $600.00. I charged $65.00 to enroll a pet on TLC, so when one of the TLC pets broke a leg, I had 97 other TLC enrollees to pay for it! Instead of a lousy $600.00 to fix a broken leg, I made over $6,000.00! I needed to get my ideas out in front of other veterinarians, so I decided I needed to set up a booth at veterinary conventions to get the word out. I had always enjoyed touring the exhibits at veterinary conventions, so I asked the pharmaceutical agents how they got a booth started. That was easy. All the conventions wanted was the payment to lock in the exhibitors’ site at the upcoming convention. Now I had to put together my display, my paperwork to pass out and design the targeted item I was going to promote during a very short time frame. My step-father, Henry, helped me build a portable, dog house which could be taken apart and reassembled to make it transportable and attractive. It was big enough to walk in and big enough to allow other veterinarians to set down and discuss my ideas. I think my clients thought I was nuts when I practiced putting this human-sized dog house together in my waiting room. At least their kids thought it was neat and I did received many favorable comments on its attractiveness. I kept the local printer busy when I ordered a couple thousand brochures, newsletter design kits and a list of all my writings for the upcoming conventions. I decided to market my ghost writings first. I would custom write their newsletter and deliver the proof at the convention. I was definitely on a roll! I loaded my pickup and drove to New Orleans for my first showing at the American Association of Small

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Animal Practitioners convention. I had a friend who agreed to help and we drove all night to get there. We were pooped, and the rooms were not ready yet, so we drove onto a ferry to cross the Mississippi River. I fell asleep and the watchman nearly threw me out because I was loitering!

When our rooms were ready, we checked in and immediately went to bed to get ready for our first convention. I was really keyed up and could not wait for the convention to begin, when suddenly, I had another idea! Why not make something that could be sold to all veterinarians, their clients and be so attractive, it could be marketed over and over and over! I told my helper about it and he told me to wait and let’s see how this first promotion was going to go over. I was going to be going to another convention in Florida in less than a month, so I agreed to wait, but I didn’t have to stop thinking about it! Needless to say, I had my hands full. Now that I’ve arrived in New Orleans, I have to put my dog house display together and hope that it sells. Looking back, I should have hired a promoter, or somebody who would take my idea into the next stage. What a dummy I had been. I spent a ton of money trying to visit with bankers, going to veterinary conventions to set up booths and haven’t made a single sell yet! Now here I was with another one of my brainstorming thoughts, yet this idea was so good, it just has to work! I called my partner in Canyon and told him about it. It sounded good to him too! I’ll get into this a little later. One early morning, after I had taken care of the hospitalized pets, the telephone rang. “Dr. Stephenson,” the caller asked, “Can I bring you a sample? Something terrible is happening to me.” “I’m just too embarrassed to go see my doctor. Can I bring it in to you?” “Yes, you can.” I answered her as reassuringly as I could and wondered what kind of sample she was referring to. “I’ll be right there, but this is horrible and I don’t want you to laugh at me.” she said and then hung up the phone. Shortly later, Mrs. Smith came into the clinic. Now, Mrs. Smith was probably in her 70’s, maybe even in her 80’s, and we’re talking August here. She came in dressed in a heavy black overcoat that was fully snapped up and she was very distressed. Tears were running down

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her cheeks and she managed to say, “Now, promise that you won’t make fun of me, but I think I passed (pooped) something and I want you to look at it to see if I have something seriously wrong.” I was thinking, “tapeworms, blood, something she ate that could not be digested, etc., etc.” I can’t believe I made no reaction to her when she said, “I pooped something)!”

Then she produced this large coffee can that was wrapped in a paper bag, then by foil, then by a plastic bag. Whatever was in there would not have escaped no matter what! “I could not believe it when I saw this thing swimming around in my toilet,” she said. “What in the world have I passed (pooped) now?” “What have I let into my clinic,” I thought to myself. “Let’s take a look,” I said in my most professional manner. I took the bag containing the foil wrapped coffee can from her. I could hear something sloshing around in the can! She moved away and stood in the corner of my exam room. “I just can’t look. Promise you won’t make fun of me,” she whispered. I took the can out of the paper bag, out of the plastic bag and began unwrapping the foil. The sloshing noise kept getting louder as I removed each muffling piece of wrapping from the can. She tells me again, “Please don’t make fun of me. This is the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen and I can’t bear to see it again.” She walked out of the room, crying. Slosh, slosh, slosh ,slosh. Noises kept coming from inside the can… I took the lid off the coffee can and immediately started laughing to myself so that she would not hear. “Mrs. Smith,” I said. “You can come back in now. There’s nothing for you to worry about.” She cautiously entered the exam room. The critter was still sloshing around in the can. “Mrs. Smith,” I said, “This is a mouse. Probably either fell into the toilet just as you went to the bathroom, or swam up and into your toilet through the sewer system.” Mrs. Smith asks, “I pooped a mouse? Should I go to the Doctor? Am I going to die?” I explained to her again, “You did not pass this mouse. Again, it either fell in or swam in and you don’t have anything to worry about, except that you probably have mice in your house. “Are you sure, Doc?” she asked. “Absolutely,” biting my lip as subtly as I could manage. “You’re going to be fine. No charge, and thank you for coming in.”

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I couldn’t bear to charge her for this, but now I have a mouse to get rid of. As soon as she left, I had to decide what to do with this mouse. I couldn’t bear to kill it. What a time this critter must have had, ending up swimming in the toilet, then be scooped up and placed into a coffee can with feces, toilet paper and urine laden water only to be hauled around with no fresh air for a couple of hours. I took the can behind the clinic and decided to let the mouse run free! He deserved his freedom Our background and circumstances may have influenced who we are, but we are responsible for who we become. So, the joke I shared with you and the story that followed shows my love for people and for life. There’s good in everyone, and everything happens for a reason. Remember, “You are the author of your own story.” In 1993, I read about a veterinary clinic in Albuquerque, New Mexico that had indicated it had a different approach in charging for their services. I was intrigued by the concept, so I managed to talk my partner into letting me to go see the plan in action. I drove to the facility and learned after I arrived that it was an emergency, after hours, veterinary clinic. In other words, it was not a regular veterinary clinic where a pet owner would take their pet for routine vaccinations, checkups, etc. An Emergency Veterinary Clinic was for life threatening unexpected and sudden events that must be dealt with urgently. This was a group of veterinarians who had hired one veterinarian to take care of their emergency after hour calls. Shortly after I arrived and introduced myself, an emergency case arrived. A dog had been run over by a car. The dog was bleeding badly from a broken leg and from being thrown into the sharp edge of a culvert. The veterinarian on duty took the information from the pet owner and seemed to be more concerned about getting paid than he seemed to be of the pain the animal was experiencing. I made a mental note of the incident and watched as the veterinarian treated the dog for shock, stopped the bleeding and informed the pet owner that the broken leg needed to have surgery performed on it to allow it to heal uninfected and to heal correctly. The surgery would be performed the next day when the animal was stabilized. “That will be $275.00 for the services tonight,” the attending veterinarian unemotionally said. “I don’t have that kind of money,” the dog owner cried! “Cash or credit card?” insisted the veterinarian.

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“How much to put him to sl…, well, can I charge it?” the dog owner asked. “Enough of his ideas. Nothing out of the ordinary,” I thought to myself, “This was a wasted trip and I had learned nothing…” I left after thanking the veterinarian for his time. “Yeah, right,” I thought to myself. “Thanks for nothing…” I stopped and picked up a cup of coffee to sip on while I drove home. On my way home, as I was drinking my coffee, I began thinking of my personal experiences with my medical history. “How are the physicians coping with their income needs,” I asked myself. My personal health care plan was utilizing an HMO, which had its good points and its bad points. It had been good for me, as it had been extremely affordable, but it required me to get pre-approval for any specialist visits. With me being a diabetic, I went to a specialist more than I saw my regular physician. My income as a practicing veterinarian was based on 90% of the work I do, which was service related and 10% costs me money. In other words, when I dispense medications, I have to buy them first and then pass this expense on to my clients. My examination and office visit costs me nothing and is pure profit. Then I got to thinking about how many clients I had. This was when veterinarians were offering expensive seminars on practice management techniques and ways to improve the veterinarians’ income. Most veterinary practice advisors want to find out how much income each office visits brings in. A veterinary surgeon might only get 10 animals referred to him each month, but his income per visit would be very high. If a client wants to come in for a flea bath, and the next one only wants to purchase a can of dog food, then how do you figure their average? I kept thinking about this, and when I got home, I went straight to the clinic and counted how many clients I had and what my total gross income was. Next, I divided my gross income by the number of clients I had. I was making only $33.00 per client per year. That was disappointing. If I could come up with an attractive plan which would be sellable, and be able to improve my income and provide more to my clients, there had to be a better way.

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I had an idea! Why don’t I design a health plan for pets that would be very similar to the HMO plans the human physicians utilize? Surely, this would be feasible! I needed to think of a way to sell my services at a more than reasonable rate, pass my expenses on to my clients and theoretically I could make money on my idea. For some reason, a name popped into my head. I called my idea the “Tender Loving Care (TLC) Pet Health Program.” This is just too easy! Now I needed to decide on what to include and what not to include. Here’s what I decided to not include:

Neglect (I wanted my clients to use this program.) Pre-existing conditions (Obviously, I didn’t want to allow an

animal needing expensive care to wreck my income!) Vicious animals (I don’t like being bitten!) Vaccinations and diseases for which the animal was not

properly vaccinated. External parasites (All pets can get fleas and ticks) Heartworm treatments (Heartworms are preventable) Outside laboratory charges Cosmetic surgeries Spays and castrations Boarding and grooming Dispensed medications Anesthesia

Now I needed to come up with a list of guidelines:

Coverage would begin upon receipt of payment Coverage expires one year to date after receiving their

payment Coverage is usually available when the pet receives its adult

vaccinations Coverage is not transferable from animal to animal Coverage is for services rendered at our hospital This is a non-refundable program Renewal is at your option on an annual basis

I immediately sat down and wrote a letter of introduction. My partner agreed, so here is what it said: “We are pleased to introduce the Tender Loving Care (TLC) Pet Health Program. TLC emphasizes preventive veterinary medicine and encourages you to bring your pet

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in at the first sign of illness. A pet, when seen early in a diseased condition responds much better and faster to medical and surgical treatments. TLC will be available to you after a satisfactory initial physical examination, followed by an annual pre-paid fee, renewable yearly at your option. Eligible animals will receive, at no additional charge, all office calls – no matter how many, hospitalization, x-rays, surgeries (other than optional cosmetic surgical procedures), dental care, two heartworm tests, obstetrics, emergency calls and more. Coverage is good only at our hospital for one year following the enrollment date. It is our sincere wish and goal to be able to provide your pet with our best efforts of quality veterinary care at a reasonable cost. We firmly believe that once enrolled in this unique program that you will enjoy a more positive approach to veterinary medicine and that the dreaded alternative of euthanasia due to high medical and surgical costs will be virtually eliminated. We encourage you to call and set-up an appointment to enroll your pet on the TLC Program. We are extremely optimistic and excited about this new concept and feel that we will be able to offer you our best, at a tremendous savings to you!” Well, the ball was rolling! I sent the letter to all of my clients, and they enrolled in droves! Now I needed to incorporate other ideas in my dream world. This included: A TLC Charge Card. I had been bothered by my accounts receivables, as they had been slow to pay, and difficult to collect on those who hadn’t been paying. I developed a motto which simply said, “We WANT your credit to go to the dogs!” My local bank had agreed to back this endeavor as long as they were in charge of approving those desiring to obtain this particular credit card. I sent a letter of introduction to all of my clients and offered them the opportunity to be approved. As it turns out, a very high percentage of my clients were approved and I was able to convert their account receivables into cash. Now, they owed the bank, not me!

The TLC Charge card began to surpass the incoming cash by a margin of two to one. In other words, for every dollar that was put on a clients VISA or Master Card, I took in TWO dollars through the TLC Charge Card! I then began dreaming of ways to market these ideas to other veterinarians all over the nation! Wow! My initial trip to see how

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another veterinarian in Albuquerque, New Mexico marketed his services had exploded! I visited with other veterinarians, including a retired veterinarian in Canyon, Texas. He introduced me to a college student who had shown him some of his cartoon artwork. I told him my ideas and he drew a cartoon dog that had his front leg (arm) in a bandage and had a bandage on his head. I named him ”KIPI” which was an acronym which stood for “Keeping Independent Practitioners Independent”. Now I gave him a story to design a coloring book for the pet owner’s kids. Kipi’s story which was a 10 page coloring book showed a healthy puppy that was playing ball with a young boy. The ball bounced into the street and it now shows a picture of the puppy laying in the street with tire marks on his body. Then he is rushed to the veterinary clinic, and X-rays are taken of his broken leg and the veterinarian says, “Looks like we need to do surgery!” The cartoon book continues and shows the puppy in a hospital bed saying, “”Boy, I’m glad my veterinarian’s phone number was on my dog tag!” Then a nurse gives Kipi his medication and wheels him around in a wheelchair to cheer him up. Finally, the nurse delivers the good news to Kipi and tells him he gets to go home today. Then Kipi gets the bill and he is worried that it is going to be too high for his owners, but finally on the last page, Kipi is smiling and kicking his heels when he realizes that he had been put on the TLC Pet Health Program a few days before the accident! The cartoon showing him being happy about the phone number being on his rabies tag brought up another idea! Why not sell a TLC owner’s pet tag with a 1-800 TLC-VETS phone number on it? I could register and identify each tag with the owner’s phone number in the event the pet became lost or injured and it needed to be put in contact with its owner! Another masterpiece!

My idea grown to include:

The TLC Pet Health Program The TLC Charge Card The TLC coloring book The TLC owner’s identification tag A national toll free phone number My newsletter idea which, in essence was a ghost writing

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service. A ghost writing service was developed for veterinarians to help build their practices, but also to market TLC to their clients. (You would never have known that they hadn’t written their own newsletter. I allowed them to choose their topics, the color of ink and paper and then I wrote their newsletters for them. I sent them a proof for their final approval and printed the number of newsletters they had requested. Usually this amounted to several thousand newsletters. I allowed complete freedom to make their newsletters extremely custom-made, such as including specific news to personalize their newsletters for them. This was extremely popular, and some included items such as information about their receptionist’s new child when she had delivered it. Wow! Then when they asked how they should send them out, I offered to address them and would mail them when they told me to. Service with a smile, I always say! I needed to develop a plan to get this in front of other veterinarians quick! How was TLC doing in my practice? Tremendously! Remember, I had told you I was grossing around $33.00 per pet per year prior to TLC ? I used the same formula, took my total gross income for the year and divided it by the number of clients I had and it had grown to over $100.00 per pet income per year! TLC had tripled my income in one year, and I was having a blast! My clients loved it, my banker, partner and I loved it. I was having a virtual orgy!

I had a usage major usage rate of less than 3%. In other words, when people thought enough of their animal to enroll it on the best health care plan, i.e. TLC, they take very good care of their pet. Only 3 TLC enrolled pets out of 100 were ever hit by a car, got into fights or developed a preventable disease. A broken leg repair normally cost close to $600.00. I charged $65.00 to enroll a pet on TLC, so when one of the TLC pets broke a leg, I had 97 other TLC enrollees to pay for it! Instead of a lousy $600.00 to fix a broken leg, I made over $6,000.00! I needed to get my ideas out in front of other veterinarians, so I decided I needed to set up a booth at veterinary conventions to get the word out. I had always enjoyed touring the exhibits at veterinary conventions,

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so I asked the pharmaceutical agents how they got a booth started. That was easy. All the conventions wanted was the payment to lock in the exhibitors’ site at the upcoming convention. Now I had to put together my display, my paperwork to pass out and design the targeted item I was going to promote during a very short time frame. My step-father, Henry, helped me build a portable, dog house which could be taken apart and reassembled to make it transportable and attractive. It was big enough to walk in and big enough to allow other veterinarians to set down and discuss my ideas. I think my clients thought I was nuts when I practiced putting this human-sized dog house together in my waiting room. At least their kids thought it was neat and I did received many favorable comments on its attractiveness. I kept the local printer busy when I ordered a couple thousand brochures, newsletter design kits and a list of all my writings for the upcoming conventions. I decided to market my ghost writings first. I would custom write their newsletter and deliver the proof at the convention. I was definitely on a roll! I loaded my pickup and drove to New Orleans for my first showing at the American Association of Small Animal Practitioners convention. I had a friend who agreed to help and we drove all night to get there. We were pooped, and the rooms were not ready yet, so we drove onto a ferry to cross the Mississippi River. I fell asleep and the watchman nearly threw me out because I was loitering!

When our rooms were ready, we checked in and immediately went to bed to get ready for our first convention. I was really keyed up and could not wait for the convention to begin, when suddenly, I had another idea! Why not make something that could be sold to all veterinarians, their clients and be so attractive, it could be marketed over and over and over! I told my helper about it and he told me to wait and let’s see how this first promotion was going to go over. I was going to be going to another convention in Florida in less than a month, so I agreed to wait, but I didn’t have to stop thinking about it! Needless to say, I had my hands full. Now that I’ve arrived in New Orleans, I have to put my dog house display together and hope that it sells. Looking back, I should have hired a promoter, or somebody who

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would take my idea into the next stage. What a dummy I had been. I spent a ton of money trying to visit with bankers, going to veterinary conventions to set up booths and haven’t made a single sell yet! Now here I was with another one of my brainstorming thoughts, yet this idea was so good, it just has to work! I called my partner in Canyon and told him about it. It sounded good to him too! I’ll get into this a little later.

Chapter Four

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(con calore)

(with heat)

I sat in a withdrawn mood in the movie theater with my wife,

Connie. She

asked me what was wrong, as I was extremely depressed. I knew I

was depressed, because every time I started to talk to anyone, I would

have to hold back the tears. That’s the way my depression works. I

can watch a commercial and have to leave the room, because I don’t

want anyone to see me tearing-up when the grocery clerk tells the

guy, “‘Please, don’t squeeze the Charmin!” I hate that. Obviously, this

was not a depressible incident I was going through. This was much

worse. “Why me,” I thought. “Why can’t I feel with my hands

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anymore? Why can’t I perform surgery? Being a veterinarian, I use my

hands and legs all the time! I could not tell if I was holding a dog’s

uterus or a piece of her intestines. Why can’t I feel anymore? I can’t

even tell if I even have shoes on without looking first. Why can’t I do

the things most people take for granted anymore? Why?”

Connie, my wife needed an answer. I could not begin to remember

what this movie was about, who was the main character was or the

plot. “Just great”, I thought. “Not only is my career about to come to a

sudden end, but now I can’t even remember what this dumb movie is

about.”

I took a deep breath and began tearfully telling Connie of a phone

call I had received that afternoon in my veterinary practice. I had a

waiting room full of dogs and cats. Our boarding facility was at its

limit. Now, here is a board certified M.D. neurologist that calls me at

work and he says, “I have your diagnosis. You were right! You have

the big M!” “You have multiple sclerosis, (MS).”

“What an ASS”, I thought!

“How dare you call me at my practice to unload this crap on me

like this,” I thought. “What an ASS!”

With the symptoms of numbness of my feet and legs, extreme

muscle fatigue and loss of sensations in my abdomen, I had been

thinking that I had Guillian-Barre’ syndrome and had been worried I

might be living for awhile in an iron lung.

But oh, no, my so-called physician had laid a much worse diagnosis

on me. Now I wish I had gotten the Guillian-Barre’ diagnosis… At least

it would have been temporarily horrible instead of permanently

horrible!

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I had learned that there was no cure for Guillian-Barre’ syndrome.

However, many treatments were available to help reduce symptoms,

treat complications, and speed up recovery. This would not have been

a permanent condition. See the conflicting information I had

discovered?

1st I read there was no known cure for Guillian-Barre’, then…

2nd I read that this is not a permanent condition.

3rd I read that treatments can speed up recovery! Duh!

1st no cure, 2nd not permanent and 3rd, speed up recovery?

The following is a brief recap of what I had discovered.

When symptoms of Guillian-Barre’ were severe, I would need to go

to the hospital for breathing help, treatment, and physical therapy.

Possibly even being confined to an iron lung. Yuk!

If that didn’t work, then I would be drained like a calf at slaughter!

A method called plasmapheresis is used to remove a person's blood, (I

think I’d be rather anemic if I they removed all my blood, don’t you?)

Then replace my blood with intravenous (IV) fluids (be like refilling

your

glass of milk with water) or (fill your car’s gas tank with water) donated

blood (now they’re talkin’!) that is free of proteins called antibodies

which is a protein produced by “B” cells (These are cell types)

produced from the Thymus gland in the body in response to an

antigen, for example, a bacterium or virus. I had not been sick, so I

don’t think my antibodies were working on any bacterium or viruses in

me.

Autoimmunity is caused by the reaction of an antibody to

substances that occur naturally in the body. Now that sort of made

sense. Maybe I’m allergic to myself!

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High-dose immunoglobulin therapy (IVIg) is another procedure used

to reduce the severity and length of Guillain-Barre symptoms. Big ol’

shots! I hate shots!

Other treatments are directed at preventing complications. (Oh, this

gets better!)

Proper body positioning or a feeding tube may be used to

prevent choking during feeding. (Huh?)

Blood thinners may be used to prevent blood clots.

Pain is treated aggressively with anti-inflammatory medicines

and narcotics, if needed.

Let’s see, I will be severely anemic, be a free bleeder, but I

shouldn’t worry. I’ll be so drugged out that I probably won’t care

anyway!

Luckily, at least Guillian-Barre’ had been ruled out! I had even told

my neurologist to not diagnose Guillian-Barre’, because it sounds like I

wouldn’t enjoy the treatments. Enough of that!

I then suggested to my neurologist that maybe he should check me

over to rule out multiple sclerosis! Damn, why hadn’t I gone to

medical school rather than veterinary school?

Now, I would never call my pet owning clients to tell them of a bad

diagnosis like that. Where’s the professionalism that a good physician

should have? Notice I said should have. I don’t think this guy was a

good physician. A good physician would have good

professionalism. Didn’t he realize what horribly awful news this was?

Why would he call anyone at their work to tell them they are really,

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really sick and have no cure? He didn’t even ask me if I was sitting

down!

He knew I was a veterinarian. I asked him if I should come in to

learn more of what I can do and what to expect.

He said, “Not really. There’s nothing we can do for it.”

My mind was blown away by this phone call. I would never call up

any of my pet owning clients with news like this! “Oh, you were right,

Your pet, ‘Fluffy’ is an epileptic with a brain tumor, chronic bowel

syndrome, a weak heart and failing kidneys.” “Should you come in to

see me?”, you ask. “Nah, Nothing can be done to help you. You’re the

proud owner of a really sick dog, cat, ferret, horse, pig, parakeet,

canary, cow, turtle, giraffe, whatever!” “Learn to live with it!” “Gotta’

run!”

My career has always been highly pleasurable, highly motivating

and extremely fun! I have had a blast! I love being a veterinarian and

thoroughly enjoyed working for and with my clients, then I get this

phone call from my MD-neurologist telling me that basically my future

is ruined.

I can’t say that he improved my patient skills. I never had been a

good patient.

I remember one time when I had been admitted to the hospital

while I was passing a kidney stone. I was in terrible pain, under heavy

narcotic relief from the Doctor, extremely uncomfortable, nauseated

and totally exhausted. I remember hollering out at the nurses, “I

wouldn’t let a dog lie here and suffer like this!” When I blurted

that out, they immediately put me in isolation. I can’t compliment

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them on their shot technique after they put me in isolation, either.

“Roll over!” “There now, that didn’t hurt now, did it?” (Yeah, it did…)

OK, now that I’ve got that written down, let’s talk about more of my

cases as a practicing veterinarian. While I was in my internship at

Cornell in the late 1970’s, an unusual case was submitted for

diagnosis.

Dr. King was the instructor and he had read something about a new

condition which affects dogs. A brand new, unheard of disease.

Infected dogs develop severe diarrhea and their intestinal tract sloughs

its lining. They either bleed to death, or die from dehydration. Cats

have a similar condition called ‘Panleukopenia”. It’s called “Parvo”

virus infection in dogs, or simply “Parvo”. There is no cure. Dogs with

Parvo are more than likely going to die. Just like in cats, their white

cell counts go way down and secondary infections can easily occur.

Infected dogs start showing signs of being infected by throwing up,

followed by diarrhea, progressing to a bloody diarrhea and die, again,

either by severe dehydration or bleed to death through the intestines.

For some reason, Doberman Pinchers simply die. A Parvo infected

Doberman is a dead Doberman. The younger a puppy is, the harder it

is for any canine species to survive. Greyhounds are similar to the

Dobermans. They die.

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I never saw a case until I moved to Canyon, Texas. When Parvo hit

town, it spread like wildfire. I was doing everything I could to save an

infected dog, but nothing seemed to be working on helping them

survive this terrible disease.

I knew I had to do something, because it’s just too hard to tell a

family that their beloved dog is probably going to die. I decided to

make a list of their problems for me to see if I could assist in their

recovery:

Severe and uncontrollable vomiting

Severe dehydration

Malnutrition

Blood loss

Secondary bacterial infections due to low white blood cell counts

Other than these problems, it’ll be a piece of cake to help them,

right? Uh, no… No cake that I’ve ever seen.

What could I do to help with these problems? While I was attending

veterinary school at Texas A&M, one professor advised us that

whenever we think that a dog is showing signs of distemper, we should

immediately give the dog a shot of the distemper vaccine IV. In other

words, use a sterile water diluent to reconstitute the dry vaccine and

give it to the dog directly in its vein. Now, the Distemper vaccine was

also given with the hepatitis and Lepto vaccines. He advised against

giving the Lepto vaccine intravenously.

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This did help dogs with distemper, so why not try it on Parvo

infected dogs? But, surely more can be done than simply give them a

vaccine intravenously. Obviously, fluids should be given IV just as

soon as I suspected a dog has Parvo. What about the extreme nausea?

I decided to cut them off from all eating and drinking until I thought

they could keep it down. Nothing to eat or drink until they look better.

Sort of like playing the trombone by ear, huh?

Other veterinarians I had visited with were doing these two things,

but nobody seemed to be treating the blood loss. I couldn’t treat it

either, so why not give them a blood transfusion to help them along?

Dogs are not like people. Transfusing one dog’s blood into another

doesn’t cause the same problems as it does in people. I just needed to

find a blood donor.

I went to the dog pound in Amarillo and found a large and powerful

dog. A Rottweiler is mostly black with tan markings and it has a

smooth hair coat. “Good,“ I thought. At least I won’t have to groom

him or spend much time keeping him somewhat presentable.” Now,

some Rottweiler’s are not friendly dogs, but this one was very friendly.

I’d be able to easily withdraw blood from the large veins on his front

legs.

I vaccinated him as soon as I returned to the veterinary clinic, and

sure enough, a Parvo dog came in with bloody diarrhea and vomiting. I

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gave the dog nothing to eat or drink and started him on an IV giving

him fluids. This case was squirting blood from his rear end. Wow, did

he stink up the entire clinic!

I gave him the Parvo vaccine in his veins and had my receptionist

hold our blood donor dog so I could drain some of his blood out to give

to our new patient. He died a day or so later. “Maybe,” I thought, ”I

didn’t give him enough blood.”

Several more blood transfusions were given over the next couple of

months to Parvo dogs, but the blood transfusions didn’t seem to be

helping. I started wondering if the stray dog populations were

decreasing.

Nobody ever brings a stray dog to the vet, so why weren’t they

dying? As it turns out, the dog catcher told me that there were just as

many stray dogs as ever. Why were they living?

Oh, well, I had this big healthy Rottweiler who was a joy to be

around. My two kids, Sarah and Stephen loved him and kept wanting

to take him home. I finally said ok, so we took him home for a few

months. Finally, a Greyhound came in the clinic with Parvo. It

belonged to a couple who owned a Harley Davidson Motorcycle shop in

Amarillo. It was a racing Greyhound and they were desperate for it to

survive. I thought I’ll go IV with the vaccine, start it on fluids and give

it a blood transfusion. Now, my Rottweiler hadn’t been bled for several

months, but he was easily bled and the transfusion was given.

I hospitalized this dog and really didn’t expect it to live, because he

was in really bad shape. By golly, over the next couple of days, he was

showing signs of improving! I fed him and let it drink some water and

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he kept it in! I called the owners and told them the good news about

him wanting to be fed. As it turned out, Greyhounds are very similar to

Dobermans and they rarely, if ever, survive Parvo. This Greyhound

went home healthy the next day.

“Why,” I thought, “had the transfusion worked so well this time, but

hadn’t helped at all the other times I had given blood?” Could this be

why the stray dogs weren’t getting infected with the Parvo Virus?

“Duh,” I said to myself, “How about their natural immunity?” My

Rottweiler was not a stray, but he certainly was exposed to this deadly

viral infection. I’ll bet his titer against Parvo would be very high. At

least I hoped so. Vaccines can help protect animals against diseases,

but I still believe that mother nature is the ultimate physician! Again,

why aren’t their dead stray dogs laying in the street? I still think it’s

because they are constantly exposed to Parvo and they have become

immune to it. I’ll also bet that people who are exposed to feces on a

regular basis have a natural immunity to protect them from getting

sick when they eat a hamburger patty that is contaminated with E.

coli! Well, back to my book.

I drew another sample of his blood and sent it to the Texas

Veterinary Medical Diagnostic Lab to see what his Parvo titer would be.

I had to wait a couple of days to confirm my educated guess that his

titer was extremely high. Sure enough, it was extremely high.

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Sure enough, another Parvo case arrived. I immediately hooked

this dog up on an IV for fluids and gave it the vaccine intravenously. I

then bled my Rottweiler and centrifuged his blood to collect 10 CCs of

his serum and injected it into my Parvo patient intravenously. I sent

his stood sample and blood in to confirm that it was indeed Parvo and

his white cell count was critically low. This dog was exhibiting severe

nausea and bloody diarrhea. He was already dehydrated and was a

classic Parvo infected dog. I stayed with him all day and that night to

change his fluids when they needed replenishing and to observe his

progress. Within 24 hours, he was much more alert and he even acted

like he wanted something to eat or drink, but I held him off of anything

orally. Two days after I began my new therapy regime with my

Rottweiler’s serum therapy, he ate and drank and held everything

down. I discontinued the IV fluids and sent him home a normal,

healthy dog on the third day. Needless to say, I was on Cloud Nine!

I had the Texas Veterinary Diagnostic Laboratory’s confirmation of a

Parvo infected dog to boot! This was almost unbelievable how my

Rottweiler who had been exposed to numerous Parvo infected cases

had built his immunity to such a tremendous high. He had saved this

dog!

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Now, let me incorporate some of my practice experience in my

opinion of E. coli infections in humans after they eat partially cooked

ground beef products. Surely, when E. coli became so prominent in

the early 1990’s physicians, Ph.D.s, microbiologists, epidemiologists

involved in the scientific and medical study and transmission of

disease within a population must have had a “hay-day" with the almost

instantaneous opportunities for in-depth studies, theses to be written,

pharmaceutical advances due to treatment opportunities, etc. etc. Has

no one noticed the lack of common sense that apparently has infected

the meat industry, the USDA/FSIS regulatory agencies, the worldwide

population? What are these people thinking?

I've watched with interest many of the USDA/FSIS Agency's

recommendations to aid in controlling the E. coli pathogen and others.

Little seems to being done to address the public's educational need to

protect themselves by demanding fully cooked (well-done) ground

meat/poultry products.

Nobody has clearly explained why the public in general won't

accept a partially cooked pork product and why they shouldn't accept

a partially cooked ground meat/poultry product. I've thought of a

public educational spot which could clearly explain this. If a heat-

sensitive dye (155 degrees F) could be devised, the person performing

the demonstration could explain that this bucket of dye contains a

deadly pathogen and he/she is going to have a cooking demonstration

to show why one should not accept a partially cooked ground beef

product.

He/she would then dip a steak in the dye and state that it is going

to be cooked medium-well. As the dye “contaminates” the surface, it

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is explained to the viewers that this is how E. coli contaminates meat

products. The steak would then be cooked medium rare and then cut

to demonstrate to the public that the dye has been neutralized as the

surface did reach a temperature exceeding 155 degrees F. The interior

portion of the steak is pink and shows no dye, so this steak is safe to

eat.

Then the moderator would take some ground beef and thoroughly

mix the dye throughout and cook one of the patties “medium rare” and

the other one “well done”. The outer surface of both patties is going to

be a golden brown and looks fully cooked. When the medium rare

patty is broken in half, the dye would still be present on the interior of

the meat patty, which is where the surface bacterial contaminates end

up through the mixing/grinding process. The moderator would explain

that this patty is not safe to eat and then would break open the fully

cooked patty and demonstrate that the dye has been neutralized and

is safe to eat. He/she could end the spot by stating, "Just as you

demand fully cooked pork, it is up to you, the consumer to demand

fully cooked ground beef."

If you go to just about any restaurant and order a chopped sirloin

dinner, many waiters will ask, "How would you like that cooked?" It

ought to be law that they only serve a fully cooked ground beef

product and if the consumer requests a less than fully cooked ground

beef product, then they should be required to sign a release, releasing

the restaurant from all liabilities from illness thought to be linked to

their food service.

This should be done diplomatically and fully explained and stressed

to the consuming public that this is everyone’s responsibility to accept

only fully cooked ground meat products they are fixing to consume.

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Educating and reminding the public that the USDA/FSIS is doing all

it can to assure a clean/wholesome product is of paramount

importance. Put the final responsibility on the consumer. The meat

industry and the USDA/FSIS will continue pursuing a clean and safe

meat supply, but it is up to the consumer to accept only a fully cooked

ground meat. E. coli illnesses continue to appear, so accept your

responsibility.

Look for a moment at the "clean meat program." First, one needs

to observe live beef in a feedlot. These animals are lying on mountains

of manure, loaded onto a truck where they squirt feces all over each

other and their hair is full of feces/ingesta. Then they arrive at the

packing plant. The government employee is expected to stop the line

and require trimming of any identifiable feces/ingesta, but really don't

pay much attention to hairs on the carcass. Remember the conditions

I just explained and ask yourself, "What's wrong with this picture?"

We're dealing with microscopic bacteria here, not a grossly visible

crawling creature.

Question #1. Why hasn’t the USDA/FSIS implemented a regulation

to hose down cattle when they arrive at the packing plant? No, this

won’t eliminate E. coli, but it will reduce the population of this

dangerous microorganism. A better suggestion would be for the

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packing plants to implement this on their own to avoid another Federal

Regulation!

Question #2. Why is hair allowed to pass inspection? Why hasn’t

the cattle industry implemented this? Accept their responsibility!

Remember the mountains of feces the cattle lay on in the feedlots?

Think on the feces covered cattle as they are unloaded from the

trucks!

Question #3. Why doesn’t someone implement a carcass wash to

actively destroy any living microorganisms? Surely there are safe for

human consumption sprays that could be applied to the carcasses

before they leave the slaughter floor, or just as they enter into the

coolers.

Question #4. Has anyone looked at the population as to who is

becoming infected? Is it the younger generation with lower immune

levels? Is it more prevalent in cancer treatment individuals who have

lost their immunity due to chemotherapy? AIDS people who have little

or no immunity? Have any dairymen been infected? Have any large

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animal practicing veterinarians been infected? I would wager money

that the low immunity individuals lead the pack on being infected. I

would wager that no dairy personnel, no feedlot personnel or large

animal practitioners (DVM) have been infected. Why hasn’t a study

been done to review what I think should be apparent? People who

have a natural immunity by being exposed on a regular basis are at a

much lower risk! This would be extremely simple to prove, extremely

easy to correct and extremely economical to prevent! Why aren’t the

pharmaceutical manufacturers getting involved in an oral vaccine?

Remember what your mother always told you. You are what you eat.

Maybe we are just a little too clean! Once again, follow the KISS

principle! Keep It Simple Sir (or Stupid)!

Five Chapter85




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(et dolore’)(and pain)

I owe a lot to Ol’ Fred, a friend of mine in Ithaca, New York. While I

was in the middle of my internship in veterinary pathology at Cornell

University, Fred was telling my daughter a story about Noah and the

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Ark one night. Now, Sarah was about three years old and had (still

does) a mind like a bear trap. Once she latches onto a thought, it’s a

done deal. When he got to the part about the flood and about all the

animals drowning and dying, Sarah woke up and said, “So my Daddy

could work on them?” This story will introduce you to my career and

life. I’ll begin by telling you a very short version involving me in

general veterinary practice that led to the writing of this book. I owe

the title of this book to my daughter, Sarah.

I graduated from veterinary school in 1976 and entered into the

world as a man who was going to help every animal in the world have

a better life! In August of 1976, immediately after graduation, I

remember my classmates telling me of the situations they were going

to be working with. Many were going into the military, many into

private practices and one or two were going to keep going for further

education, internships, etc. Not me!

I wasn’t going to be working for anyone for a lousy $1,500.00 per

month! I knew I was worth more than that, so I decided to go into

practice all on my own. After all, I was now a D.V.M. and had

graduated cum laude! I wanted to be close to my hometown in the

Texas Panhandle, and so did my wife. I looked many places over and

finally picked to start my veterinary clinic in Panhandle, Texas. Little

did I realize why nobody else had picked this location, but we’ll get into

this a little later…

For now, I had a family to support and animals to help! Show me

the money!

We rented a large trailer house on the north edge of the city of

Panhandle, Texas. We would be able to see the cold fronts coming into

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the Texas panhandle. This was the biggest house Connie and I had

lived in since we got married. It had a huge attached garage area and

I was making plans to convert it into my veterinary clinic when the

Mayor of Panhandle arrived. We had a few minutes of general

conversation about me setting up my veterinary practice. The

conversation soon was brought to a blinding stop when he informed

me that I could not practice within the city limits. Seems as though

some folks didn’t want to have sick dogs, dead cattle, bottles of

medicine spilling out of the back of my pickup.

Never mind the chickens and dogs and horses running loose in my

next-door neighbor’s yard!

This unwelcome conversation was over when my first client drove

up! A cowboy jumped out of the pickup and asked me, “Are you the

new veterinarian?”

I said, “Yes.”

He said, “Follow me! I’ve got a horse that is bleeding to death!”

I threw a surgery pack together and jumped into my pickup to

follow him. He drove, I drove. he’d turn, I’d turn. As we drove, my

mind retuned to veterinary school. Now, horses are ok for other people

to own and mess with, but I can’t say I really enjoy working on them.

During veterinary school, I had this feeling that one of these days, a

horse was going to kick me, and that would probably be it for me!

90% of the horses that come to Texas A&M were either high

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powered race horses, or breeding stock. I remember one clinician

telling me to help put a horse in the stocks so he could be X-rayed. A

horse stock is similar to parallel handrails to steady the person going

through a narrow opening.

Once the horse is placed within the “stock”, it is much easier to

restrain and administer the medications, pass a stomach tube to

administer deworming medications or take X-Rays, etc.

This particular horse had a different mind about being put in a

horse stock! The horse refused to be in this confined area. After

several attempts to lead him into the stocks, the clinician told me to

lock arms behind this horse and we’d push him into the stock. Yeah,

right! I weighed a healthy 135 lbs or so, and he thought we could push

this 1,200+ lb. horse into a stock where he didn’t want to go?

Well, I got kicked right in the chest which threw me plumb across

the room! He said, “Let’s try again!”

I said, “No, let’s don’t.”

He left in a huff and said, “I’ll go get someone who’s not afraid of

horses like you are!”

“Fine” I said. After he left, I took my coat off and threw it over the

horses head, which in essence blinded him, led him in a tight circle two

or three times and when the clinician came back with his helpers, the

horse was

waiting for him in the stock!

“How’d you do that?” he asked.

Then reality came back to me.

We arrived at the scene of the bleeding horse. My first case! I saw

the horse standing in the middle of the road with another cowboy

holding his hand on the horse’s neck. There was blood all over

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everything and everybody. We stopped and got out.

“What seems to be the problem?” I asked.

“Well, I was putting shoes on this horse and he jumped out of my

reach. I got so mad at him, I took a swing at him with my hammer

and, and, well, just look!”

When he moved his hand, blood gushed out of the horse’s jugular

vein like a garden hose under pressure! I said, “Hold your hand on his

neck to stop the bleeding until I get my surgery pack ready.” He

immediately fainted and fell right under the horse! Now I was holding

the blood gushing jugular vein. Talk about a bloody mess!

Luckily, the horse wasn’t too shook up over all this and he luckily

moved over so he wouldn’t step on this cowboy. The first fellow that

had come to find me stopped the bleeding while I got my surgery pack

ready and put my surgery gloves on.

After a few quick sutures, I had sewn up the horse’s jugular vein

almost as good as new! I gave the horse a Tetanus shot, some

antibiotics and got some billing information from the cowboys and

went back home to continue working on our house.

While I was telling Connie about my first call, another pickup

stopped in the driveway. A man introduced himself saying he was the

sheriff. “Oh great, another official telling me I can’t practice veterinary

medicine within the city limits,” I thought. “There goes the money,

instead of show me the money.”

I said,” What can I do for you?” I didn’t have the time to change my

clothes and I was still covered in blood. I think it sort of made him

nervous, and he was the sheriff! He said his kid’s pony was all

crippled up and needed to be put to sleep.

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I was thinking, “Let’s look it over first and then decide what to do.”

I went to his place and looked the pony over. He had a bad limp on his

left rear leg, but was a good-looking pony. I felt all over his leg and

said, “This is going to need to be radiographed, but unfortunately, my

X-ray machine hasn’t arrived yet and there’s nothing I can do without

seeing what’s causing the problem.”

I continued on, “I’ll have to recommend you to take him to another

nearby vet so he could take the X-rays to see what was going on.”

He said, “Nah, let’s just put him to sleep.” “Put him out of his

misery!” “I don’t have the money to pay to anyone to have much else

done to him.”

I said, “You sure? If it’s broken, it may be able to be fixed.” Now, I

was secretly jumping for joy, as I didn’t want to become known as the

local horse doctor, and I was already beginning to get a reputation!

He said, “Just do it!” I agreed, and quickly put this creature out of

his misery. Then I made the ultimate booboo!

I said, “Care if I cut into his knee to see what was broken?”

He said, “Be my guest, but I you ain’t getting’ another nickel from

me…can’t pay you anything other than for putting him to sleep.”

I thought, “Tightwad”, but said, “No charge. This will simply be to

satisfy my curiosity to see what’s broken.” I quickly cut into the

horse’s knee and in all honesty, I couldn’t see anything broken!” Not

to be put at the mercy of the local sheriff, I grabbed the horse’s

kneecap and said, “Wow! Look at that!”

Luckily, he too fainted, so I sewed up the dead pony’s knee and

then made sure the sheriff was ok. Whew! I still don’t care much for

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horses! Give me a calf, pig, goat, dog, cat, anything, but leave the

horses to someone else!

I remember back in veterinary school, I used to trade all of my

horse “clients” for anything except another horse. As we made our

daily rounds in the large animal clinic to observe various interesting

cases, one horse was circling in his pen. For those of you who are not

familiar, an animal will walk continuously in a circle, termed “circling”,

a name formerly applied to Listeriosis in sheep, because of the

tendency of the affected animals to move in a circle, going nowhere

except in a circular pattern. When the instructor asked me why the

horse was “circling”, I said, “Where else can he go?

Sort of a bad day in practice with two emergency horse calls,

unpacking and a run-in with the mayor of Panhandle.

At least the bleeding horse had lived. Now I’ve got to concentrate

on finding a different location to work out of. Remember, the Mayor

said I could not practice within the city limits.

As I drove around looking for a place to put a veterinary clinic, I

thought about my first day of veterinary college at Texas A&M

University. I sat in this huge auditorium listening to freshman

orientation. The Dean of the Texas A& M College of Veterinary

Medicine said, "You must realize that this class of first-year

veterinary medical students at the Texas A&M College of

Veterinary Medicine could have been comprised of 4.0 GPA

applicants, (straight A's), but because of your interview,

veterinary aptitude test scores and overall GPA, we elected to

choose you. You are not, however, out of the woods! If you'll

turn around and look, you'll see 25 'vultures' who will audit

your classes during the next two years in anticipation that you

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will fail. Study hard, work hard and welcome to the Texas A&M

College of Veterinary Medicine." As he spoke, I faded back to May,

1973 as I nervously opened an envelope from Texas A&M University.

I was a wreck until I read the first line which read, "Mr.

Stephenson, I am pleased to inform you that you have been

selected for admission to the professional curriculum in

veterinary medicine and surgery effective with the Fall

Trimester, 1973." (I framed that acceptance letter and it still hangs

in my house, today.)

As I faded further into the past, I was aroused into total reality as a

"streaker" shot across the auditorium stage behind Dr. Alvin Price,

Dean of the College of Veterinary Medicine. The class broke into a

thunderous laughter as the dean displayed total outrage as the naked

"hippie" revealed himself. Once things had settled down and the

streaker disappeared, we were introduced to numerous professors,

counselors, advisors, interns and residents. My self confidence and

pride began to surge. Professionalism was on its way!

I really wish I had been wise enough to record my thoughts,

experiences and details on a notepad! All of my memories bounce off

another one, so I’ll do my best to keep this in somewhat of a proper

sequence. Oh, well, I’m rambling, so back to my stories…

I actually thought veterinary school was much, much easier for me

than regular course work was in college. I was genuinely interested in

veterinary medicine and was not really interested in physics, history,

botany and general college coursework for the requirements to

graduate. Had I not been accepted into veterinary school, I guess I

would have been a biology teacher, either in high schools or in a

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college. Luckily, my fate was well-defined and I did not have to worry

about what I would do with a B.S. in biology.

I had thought about going into a pharmacy school and follow my

real Dad’s footsteps, but that was simply not to be.

I was called for an interview in Houston at the pharmacy school,

before I heard from Texas A&M. My wife and I drove to Houston in our

Volkswagen. We were on our honeymoon, believe it or not, and not

only was I going to interview for acceptance into pharmacy school, I

also was going to be interviewed at Texas A&M University at the

College of Veterinary Medicine!

My interview at the pharmacy school could not have been any

worse. During my interview, I excused myself to go to the restroom

and promptly began throwing up in the toilet. When I throw up,

everyone knows I throw up. It makes me groan and moan and I begin

crying from the severe contractions of my stomach to relieve itself of

all its contents. Not only was my stomach expulsion clearing all

contents out of my stomach, I lurched forward enough to drop my

glasses into the toilet, full of vomit!

I guess I completed my interview in Houston. I don’t really

remember, as I had a beautiful wife I needed to pay attention to, and

also had to drive to College Station for my interview at Texas A&M.

We arrived in College Station that same evening as I had my

pharmacy school interview. We checked into the motel, took a “love

nap” and then drove to the veterinary college for the interview into

veterinary school. My interview could not have gone better. One of

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the professors asked me if I really wanted to be a veterinarian. Before

I could answer him, one of the other professors said, “Hell yes, he

wants to be a veterinarian. Haven’t you been listening to his answers

to all of our questions?”

Needless to say, I agreed with his answer and simply nodded my

head, “Yes, I do want to be a veterinarian.” With that, I asked them if

they had any more questions for me (they did not) so I left. Feeling

pretty good, I picked up Connie and we drove around Texas A&M and

soon, I felt that I belonged there in College Station.

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PURPLE COW'S PROJECTED FEAST

Reflections on a mythic beast,

Which’s quite remarkable, at least

I never saw a purple cow,

I never hope to see one;

But I can tell you, anyhow;

I'd rather see than be one!

by Gelett Burgess

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This nonsensical children's poem written by Gelett Burgess

suddenly took on a no-nonsense color. On October 9, 1990, being a

USDA/FSIS veterinarian, I had the unique opportunity to see firsthand 7

purple steer carcasses. It is a requirement that every animal pass an

ante-mortem examination prior to slaughter. These 389 head of M-

branded (Mexican origin) steers from the Swisher County Cattle

Company of Tulia, Texas did not reveal any abnormalities. Cattle

imported from Old Mexico must be branded with an “M” on one of their

cheeks, the soft side area of the face between the nose and ear.

All animals examined appeared to be normal, comfortable cattle,

showing no signs of disease or illnesses. The first grossly visible post-

mortem abnormality was found at the final rail inspection area by the

USDA/FSIS inspector. This carcass displayed a deeply purple stained

peritoneum.

The carcass was tagged and retained for veterinary disposition.

Besides the abnormally colored peritoneum, it also had a deep purplish

discoloration of the nuchal ligament, the penis, aorta and all blood

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vessels. This carcass was condemned under code 607 (pigmentary

conditions). Shortly thereafter, a second carcass was railed out on the

final carcass inspection station and was similarly condemned. The

inspectors on the head and viscera stations were alerted to intensify

their efforts to identify any abnormal coloration of the head, eyes and

viscera. 5 more were railed out for final veterinary disposition showing

many abnormalities. The rumen and spleen were a "hot pink" color,

the posterior vena cava attached to the liver was purple, the lungs

were purple, the aorta and heart valves were purple, the peritoneum,

pleura and nuchal ligament were purple, the linea alba was purple and

the outer fascial covering of the carcass was a "hot pink". These five

were U.S. Retained pending laboratory diagnosis.

As this had been the first time that this purple discoloration had

been seen at this facility, I retained the other 382 steer carcasses in

the cooler for a second evaluation during the grading process the next

day. Each carcass was re-examined by a USDA/FSIS inspector for any

evidence of discoloration of the peritoneum and/or nuchal ligament.

The aorta and penis were also evaluated. The USDA graders were

alerted to our findings and they, too, looked for any abnormal

coloration. No others were found.

Fixed and frozen tissues were submitted to the USDA's Eastern

Laboratory in Athens, Georgia. The accession #: A7500 laboratory

findings were: "Some skeletal muscle fibers were swollen and hyaline

in appearance. The liver capsule was covered by layers of smooth

muscle. The visceral pleura of the lung were thickened by collagenous

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connective tissue. The spleen was similarly covered by a dense

collagen capsule with hyperplasic mesothelium.

Increased numbers of neutrophiles were present surrounding

periarteriolar lymphatic sheaths." A comment that, "Grossly, the

connective tissues were discolored by a deep purple. However, this

eye or pigment was removed during tissue processing and was

therefore not apparent upon examination of the slides." This comment

has since been deleted due to a simple masking of the discoloration by

the dyes. Unstained sections revealed a deep purple discoloration of

the tissues. The laboratory has been unsuccessful in extracting the

pigment by using water, alcohol and ammonia.

On October 15,1990, 248 M-branded (Mexican origin) steers from a

Swisher County Cattle Company of Tulia, Texas were slaughtered and

3 more cattle were U.S. Retained with identical pigmentary lesions.

Fixed and frozen tissues were submitted to the Texas Veterinary

Medical Diagnostic Laboratory in Amarillo, Texas, accession

#A90289043. Their findings also reflected that the pigment persists in

tissues after tissue processing. The TVMDL's comments:

"Characterization of the pigment is not possible in stained (H&E) and

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unstained tissue sections. Due to the distribution of pigment, elastic

fibers and tissues containing high concentrations of elastic fibers such

as nuchal ligament and aorta seem to be preferentially affected.

Dyes used in some medicaments such as methylrosaniline (gentian

violet) or basic fuchsin, both having a purple or violet color might be

considerations. In addition, fuchsin dyes may have an affinity for

elastic fibers as they are used in special stains for these fibers.

Incrimination of gardenias as a possible source of pigmentation could

not be corroborated due to the paucity of literature on this subject.

Telephone conversation with Dr. John King, Cornell University on

9/18/90 would suggest gardenias could not be ruled out as source of

the pigment. As far as the above noted dyes are concerned, gentian

violet has been used intravenously (indications not given in available

literature), orally as a parasiticide and topically in some animals."

In Dr. King's book, "An Atlas of General Pathology", JCRR & PRIT, Dr.

King makes reference on page 5, Plate 9: "GARDENIA POISONING". In

this text, Dr. King describes a bluish grey discoloration of the pig's skin,

peritoneum, aorta, brain and meninges as the end result of being fed

the seeds of the gardenia plant, Gardenia jasminoides. The actual

agent is not known. This was described as an example of exogenous

pigmentation.

On October 16, 1990, after consulting with the pathologists in

Athens, Georgia, the decision was made to condemn the remaining 8

carcasses being retained. During the process of boning out the

carcasses into smaller portions for rendering purposes, it was noted

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that the smaller blood vessels, ligaments and fascial planes were

likewise discolored, making it virtually impossible to remove the

affected tissues. While the causative agent is not known yet, the

condemnation was supported for esthetic purposes.

On October 23, 1990, another M-branded steer from Swisher

County Cattle Company was condemned due to this purplish

discoloration. A silver metal ear tag #SARHCTB-Z 208956 was

recovered and was being traced to a herd of origin in Old Mexico. All

inspection personnel at Est. 3D were alerted to notice any abnormal

pigmentation of any M-branded cattle. A differential diagnosis of

porphyria, melanosis and ochronosis would have to be included, but

this purple discoloration does not fit the classical lesions of these.

Other suggestions include tissue residues of gentian violet following

treatment for castration wounds, methylene blue following treatment

for nitrate poisoning and other pigmented medications for wound

treatments, parasitic treatments, etc.

Telephone consultation with the management of Swisher County

Cattle Company as to the treatment programs of these cattle did not

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reveal any clues as to the cause. It should be noted that only cattle of

Mexican origin have been the subject of this exogenous pigmentation

and no other cattle from this feed yard was affected. All cattle had

received the same treatment program throughout their stay at the

feed yard.

Later in 1990, I contacted Dr. Lynn Post who was doing an

internship in toxicology in Louisiana. He did a literature search and

found articles in South Columbia in which they described the identical

lesions and condemnation in cattle. This article described a plant,

Bunchosia pseudonitida as the causative agent. This plant is also

thought to be present in Mexico and to date, is the most likely

causative agent. Tissues were submitted to Dr. Don Franco, head of

Slaughter Operations in D.C. for photography and visual examination.

The proofs should still be there. I did not receive a copy of the pictures

nor proofs.

I did suggest to the lab in Athens that a very interesting study could

easily be conducted by feeding Bunchosia spp. to some test cattle to

determine levels producing lesions, extent of lesions, etc. and that

they could also feed some of these purple discolored tissues to test

animals to determine if they exhibit any ill-effects or if the

discoloration would occur in the animals following ingesting the

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discolored tissues. It would be very interesting for this type of follow-

up to determine scientifically what we're dealing with.

An initial cursory inspection of the affected carcass could possibly

lead to the improper instruction to "peel-out" the peritoneum and

pleura and to pass the carcass for human consumption. All USDA-FSIS

personnel should be alerted to look closely at other tissues not

normally receiving much attention such as the nuchal ligament, the

large blood vessels, the linea alba and fascial planes for discoloration.

All inspection personnel should be alerted when any M-branded

cattle are slaughtered and all ear tags should be collected for possible

trace backs on this condition, and of course, for TB trace backs. The

head inspector should additionally observe the sclera and nuchal

ligament attachment; the viscera inspector should be looking for a

"hot pink" rumen and spleen, purple aorta and vena cava and purple

heart valves; the final carcass inspector should look for purple

discoloration of the peritoneum, pleura, penis, nuchal ligament and

linea alba for a "hot pink" discoloration of the outer fascial covering of

the carcass.

This overall discoloration is much more evident when an affected

carcass is compared to a normal carcass. Close ante-mortem

inspection has failed to reveal any external lesions, but during hide

removal, it was noted that the skin is likewise discolored.

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I never saw a purple cow

I never hope to see one;

But I can tell you, anyhow,

I'd rather see than eat one!

by S. L. Stephenson, DVM

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Chapter Six

(Rumor et tumore’ con calore’ et

dolore’)

(Redness and swelling with heat and pain)

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I had many experiences with my wife and kids involving farm calls.

In 1981 the phone rang asking for me. I had a call to go assist a local

farmer in pulling or delivering a calf. Now, I had made many trips to

feed yards to pull, or deliver newly born calves. (The feed yards

generally don’t call the veterinarian unless the chain breaks on the

wire stretcher, or if their tractor breaks down, as the feedlot cowboys

try to pull the calf by themselves...) I invited my wife and kids to

accompany me, as it was a beautiful spring day. The sun was shining,

not a cloud in the sky, no wind, 75°F., and the grass was green, flowers

blooming and it was a picture perfect day to be outside.

We all climbed in the pickup and headed blissfully down the road to

deliver this calf. As we drove into the farmyard, Sarah (who was 5½

years old) began to get really excited. We arrived and looked the

situation over. The heifer was in a pen, straining to push out this calf.

This rarely happens when the heifer is already caught and penned.

Most of the time I would have to drive my pickup to herd the calf into a

lot, then drive her into a pen so I could rope her. Luck was on my side

today!

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I introduced myself and my family to the farmer and began putting

on my coveralls, rubber sleeves and assembling the calf puller. Before

I could stop her, my daughter Sarah ran over to the farmer, tugged on

his pants and proudly said, “My Daddy never gets a live one!” She

was thinking about my feedlot experiences, my internship in veterinary

pathology and other “gory” events she had seen me do. She was

thinking of the many dead calves I had pulled at feed yards, performed

a fetotomy on (which means it had to be taken apart inside the cow,

limb by limb, head, pelvis and any other body parts - one piece at a

time-) or had to resort to perform a c-section to remove the dead calf.

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Education

My Daddy Never Gets A Live One!!