I was reading a story written by Dr. Bo Brock. He is a veterinarian in Lamesa, Texas. He writes some very funny stories about the life of a rural veterinarian. He has a wonderful prospective on life and just how humerus animals can be. This story below is actually a very poignant one about his dad and his guidance. It reminded me about a story I love to tell about my Grandpa. My brother and I spent almost everyday growing up at our grandparents house. As little kids we were over there playing and then as teenagers we had our show animals(pigs, sheep and steers) there. My grandparents were so proud of me when I decided to become a Veterinarian and just beside themselves when I actually graduated! It was not long after that Grandpa asked me what kind of animals I would be 'working on'. I responded 'dogs and cats'. Grandpa thought about it for a minute and said; 'Well after you been there for awhile they'll probably let you move up to the big animals'!! I thought about trying to explain to him about the changing views on pets, but thought better of it and just shock my head yes... My Grandpa has passed on now but I often remember those times as a kid and like Dr. Brock I get the 'I wishes'.
'I wish he were here'
Jun 1, 2002
By: Bo Brock, DVM, Dipl. ABVP
DVM NEWSMAGAZINE
"Good throw," Papaw shouted as I completed my first back-of-the-pick-up rope sling.
On the first attempt, I caught the sick calf around the neck. I was about 12-years-old and no words could have made my head swell bigger than any kind of "atta-boy" from him. I called him Papaw and he called me Tirdhead. He was my hero. He had the patience of Job with me as he taught me how to work. He had taught me to whirl that rope and size my loop. He had taught me to keep my slack until just the right moment when I should close it down on my target.
It has been more than six years since he died. Just today I remembered him deeply with the fond memories that can only come after the sting of loss has passed and reveals the voice he left to guide me. It was this little voice I heard with each item I removed from the trailer. My wife, Kerri, and I finally got a storage house. The day after he died, I loaded up all the things out of the barn that he had told me were mine when he passed on. They were all packed neatly into a stock trailer that belonged to his dad. The thing was at least 60 years old but still rolled as smooth as it had the day he built it, attesting to the way he cared for things. The trailer and all my treasures had been in storage since a few days after he died.
Pieces of history
It took me hours to move the pieces of our history together from the trailer to the storage house. Each nugget brought back a moment that he and I had spent together; him teaching me and me not even knowing that there was a lesson in progress. He made learning the lessons of life such fun that it was years later, when I had grown into a man, before I even realized how much he taught me and how much time he spent doing it.
One at a time, I blew the dust away and soaked up the memories. My first bits. Two saddle blankets that were over-used. Vintage syringes that were made of solid glass and needles that were made of stainless steel. These were the things he used to teach me how animals had feelings and needed proper care.
As I dug through the pile I uncovered a bottle of "Thermic Linement." It must be 30 years old. He used it on every sore horse we ever had. Said it "pulled out the swellin'. " When I opened it, the strong menthol medicine smell rushed into my smeller and brought back all the memories of being a kid with him and thinking he was the smartest man alive. He could fix anything that was ailing. He was so particular about how to care for our animals. Everything had to be done correctly and at the right time. Even though he had no idea, Papaw was instilling in me a lifetime mission of seeing about the needs of animals. He gave me an incredible interest in caring for critters that lives on today.
'Find the moments'
He also challenged me to find the moments. He had an incredible way of seeing the world. I would hear him describe an event and his description was much better than actually living through the moment. His way of describing brought things to mind that were generally unnoticed by a less observant person. I used to love to hear him tell someone else an event that he and I had lived through together. Listening to him made me aware that I was not watching the world close enough.
He would often ask me what I thought the horse I was on might be thinking. He would tell me that if I would look at things through the horse's eyes, it would open up an entirely new world. Through the eyes of critters I would find an entirely new perspective.
"Good throw," Papaw shouted as I completed my first back-of-the-pickup rope sling. The thing he had not told me was what to do next. The calf may have been sick, but he still weighed 500 pounds and I weighed in at about 85. I watched as the coils of rope in my hand got smaller and smaller and the calf got farther and farther away. In a panic, I dallied to the nearest thing in sight, a CB antenna coming off the headache rack. Well, it wasn't a whole antenna, just the spring that made up the base. The antenna had broken off years ago. This, of course, didn't even slow him down. As the tension hit the antenna, the knot on the end of the rope hit my hand. Not wanting to disappoint my hero, I held onto that knot for dear life.
The next thing I remember was a moment of peaceful flying before me, the CB antenna, the bracket that held it on and the driver's side rear view mirror that was hung on my boot hit the ground like Johnny Bench sliding into home plate. All I could hear was, "Let go of the rope, Tirdhead!!!!!" He was saying it over and over and the sound was getting softer and softer as the calf pulled me in the direction of his momma. By now, letting go was not an option. The bracket of the antenna had wedged between my hand and the rope and I were being pulled along like a rag doll.
Ear surfing
The only thing I remember hurting while I was being pulled was my left ear. Somehow in the fall it had filled up with dirt and grass. I must have been surfing on that ear for about a hundred yards before any other part of my body hit the ground. The dragging began to slow as the calf wore down. He finally stopped well short of his momma. Being 12-years-old and made of rubber, I hopped right up and jumped on him like a rodeo clown. By the time Papaw got there, I had it tied up and was working it over. If you can tell how bad a dragging is by the amount of dirt in your underwear, this one was monumental! I had enough in my britches to grow potatoes! It was filling up my boots as I got up to walk away.
We gave the calf a few shots to get him well and then I got a total body rubdown with, what else, Thermic Linement. You remember, it "pulls out the swellin'."
Whole new perspective
I miss him. I miss his view of life. I miss being called Tirdhead. I wish I had told him how much he influenced me and how I watched him and hung on his every word. He got to see me become a veterinarian. In his own way, he displayed how proud he was without ever saying those words. I wish he were here now to read these words he spoke as we road through the weeds and mosquitoes and see how they gave me a whole new perspective. I wish he were here now to give me guidance and fill my world with his thoughts, but I guess I'll have to settle for the voice he left to guide me.
