Dubbie

I had been in private veterinary practice only a few months. A beautiful May day early afternoon I received a call to come to a hog ranch in San Marcos.

"Mr. Stephens thinks his hogs are dying of poison. He wants you to come right away," my receptionist announced to me.

"In that case I will need to suit up for an autopsy. I will need my autopsy kit with sharp knife and forceps. Also containers for laboratory tissue samples. I will need disinfectant, my notebook and pen. I will be back in two hours or less, I hope!"

On Washington Street in Escondido I turned left on Vista Way. The graveled road had just been graded and offered easy travel. As I entered the eucalyptus lined lane leading from Vista Way to Mr. Stephens' farm, he was waiting at the white wooden gate in front of his house.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Stephens. So you think your hogs have been poisoned? And these are the prize Poland China stock your son Stevie started as a 4-H project?"

"Yeah, I'm certain they are poisoned. I'm sure of it! It's a darn shame too! They started getting sick three days ago. Four nice spring pigs are dead already and several more are dying. Poisoned!"

Mr. Stephens was a tall strong typical Missouri type farmer. He was dressed in blue bib overalls and plaid shirt. He was very adamant in his conviction that poison was wiping him out of the swine business! His scowling arrogant attitude made me feel uneasy.

He wiped the sweat from his face with a wrinkled handkerchief retrieved from his hip pocket. After running his big fingers through his black curly hair, he straightened his beard with a single down stroke of his open hand.

He threw back his manly shoulders and with his beady dark eyes he searched me from top to bottom. He seemed to have a question about a young veterinarian's expertise. He then ordered, "Follow me!" With long swift strides--as if to say lets go get 'em--he led me through a white fenced corral.

"Come on, they are over this way, Doc." His voice had mellowed to a more compassionate tone. Maybe he was accepting me as a professional which made me feel a bit more comfortable.

"Why do you think they are poisoned, Mr. Stephens?" I asked.

"Oh I just know it! They act like it. I know poison when I see it! I'm mad as hell! I'm sick at heart and sick of farming! It burns me to the bones!"

"Where and how do you account for poison Mr. Stephens?" I asked.

"It's the feed...poisoned feed, that's how. Where?...It's that cussed feed store! They are robbers. Their feed is too costly and now its poisoned!"

As I climbed into the pen with several animals I asked, "Have you had your hogs vaccinated? Didn't the 4-H Club recommend hog cholera vaccinations?"

"No, No, No. That's a waste of money, besides, vaccines don't protect against poison!"

"Mr Stephens, in the beginning did your sick animals act and look like the one standing in the shaded corner? See how he holds his head down? He stands rigid with eyes closed and an attitude of `I'm just thinking it over'."

"Yeah, but what does that have to do with it?"

"Oh its one typical sign of an acute contagious disease of swine. But let me go ahead with my examinations for a specific diagnosis. I will begin with this sick animal. It's temperature is 105 degrees. Wow, I can feel the feverish heat from his arm pit through my rubber gloves! This smell is stifling. It smells like a slaughter house in here!"

"Now, Mr. Stephens, with your permission I would like to autopsy that dead pig over there." As, I wound my way among the pigs some were lively and alert, but others showed suffering and lifeless actions. I could hear groaning, grunting, grinding teeth and labored breathing! From two very sick pigs faint squeals and gurgling sounds were omens of death!

The acrid odors tossed by a light breeze invaded the area with rancid stench! I was uncomfortable, yet determined.

Intent upon getting a proper diagnosis I sweated through my ordeal. I was empathetic with this farmer's plight even though his disbelief in my ability and medications stirred my ire. But after all, he was the one to pay me and the one to make the decision whether he wished to save the herd or face certain disaster. I could only diagnose and recommend treatment of the disease then offer my prognosis.

"Mr. Stephens, I will need food samples from the food you are currently feeding for the toxicology laboratory. I will get tissue samples as I proceed with the autopsy. One thing more. Please bring a bucket of hot soapy water with a little lye added and a brush for cleaning my rubber boots when I finish. Right now I must continue my search for specific cause of this deceased pig--he was a very nice pig.

Too bad he didn't make it. He appears to have been show quality stock."

Ah ha! See the reddish purple color in the pits of his rear legs and arms? Another evidence of the contagious disease! I'll open the body cavity. Look, the kidneys are spotted with speckled blood hemorrhages. A third sign! And the liver is involved! The large intestine has the tell tale petechial hemorrhages. Decomposing necrosis has set in; the gaseous odors are sickening. No wonder these turkey buzzards are circling your premises.

"Mr. Stephens, your hogs are dying from hog cholera! I will verify my diagnosis from the tissue laboratory with the specimens I have gathered. I recommend that we start vaccination procedures immediately. Maybe we can save some of your fine animals!"

"Yeah, but how much will that cost?"

"About a hundred dollars for your herd of the 37 head left. The sick one will need anti-cholera serum in addition to vaccine. Antibodies are built faster that way."

"A hundred dollars? That's ridiculous!"

"Perhaps not. If you save even one it will pay for the treatment of the others at today's market value. There's no guarantee, but my experience tells me you have a good chance of saving several of your prize animals. I have the medications in my car under refrigeration."

"Not so fast young man! I'm not so sure, even now. If you are so confident of your expertise and medicines, take that sick one over there with you. It's yours. Treat it or kill it. Just see if you can cure it."

"That's not my normal procedure, but I am so sure of my diagnosis that I will take your challenge. I'll name him 'Dubbie' since you are so doubtful of his outcome."

When I was homeward bound I could not help feeling pity for Mr. Stephens. Maybe, just maybe he would change his mind and take a last ditch chance of saving his investment.

Dubbie was near motionless. Only a few weak grunts were heard as he bounced on the car's back seat gunny sack bed. He would soon have a new home. "You better live or my name will be Petrified Wood," I addressed my new charge.

Two days later I telephoned Mr. Stephens to report laboratory findings. "The toxicology laboratory found no poisons in the food samples and the histology laboratory confirmed my diagnosis of hog cholera. Dubbie has improved, he is eating now and he is more lively."

"Doc, five more of my prize pigs have died, and several more are very ill. It's not worth while now! I will just have a mass burial and go to work at the defense plants in San Diego. It's all over."

"I'm so sorry. Too bad your pigs were not vaccinated prior to illness. I'll let you know about Dubbie's progress."

Dubbie continued to improve. He made a complete recovery. Several months later I met Mr. Stephens shopping for groceries, he told me he lost all of his swine. I invited him to come by to see Dubbie, who now weighed 180 pounds. Mr. Stephens declined my invitation with a grunt of dismissal.

Now each time I pass Palamor College site, I remember that site was formerly Mr. Stephen's farm. Mr. Stephens was a doubter and lost!

This page is maintained by Dr. Wood's son, Harold W. Wood, Jr., of Visalia, California.
My E-mail address is: harold@planetaryexploration.net

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