Friday afternoon. Doghouse. Cold. Windy. Snow on the ground. Ice on my bath rock in Moore’s Run.
A fresh fire in Doghouse’s stove. Split cedar. I love the stuff. Fires start fast, burn hot. Satisfying pops and crackles. Cedar doesn’t hold a fire long, Need round seasoned oak for that, but split cedar over a nest of twisted newspaper and fine split cedar kindling sure gets heat up and moving quick.
I sat back in Pap’s old recliner to enjoy sounds of rising comfort. I’d put a jug of Canadian Mist at my elbow before I sat. A couple small swallows worked just fine as contemplation starters.
Found myself gazing at Pap’s pan. Shallow wash basin, aluminum, a million small dents, hanging on a nail. Beneath pan, a homemade paper towel roller, a wash cloth bar, a rubber bucket filled with creek water and two Spam can soap dishes, one for Ivory creek soap and one for Lava hand soap. That whole setup constitutes Doghouse’s indoor plumbing and ablution station.
Pap hauled that pan around as long as I remember him practicing veterinary medicine. Any procedure that required a little water handy brought out pan to hold it. Pan also transported small items, suture needles and thread, boluses (big pills) some homemade, bottles of disinfectant, etc. from his car trunk to vicinity of the animal patient. I was often enlisted as pan transporter and guard.
I remember so vividly the sound of obstetrical chains and handles clinking and scraping as they warmed and disinfected in their pan bath. A cow calving, a problem, call Doc. Pap and I would drive up, stop at the house or wherever he saw men standing, get out and ask, “Where is she?” He’d ask a few more questions and take a quick look at his patient. If action was truly called for, he’d order a bucket of hot water from farmer’s kitchen.
Old pan got part of the contents of that bucket. He’d pour in a sizable dollop of disinfectant and order “put the chains in boy.” I’d gingerly dig around in his heavy cotton “bag of tricks” for chains and handles and drop them into pan’s milky contents.
Once work began, he often found chains weren’t needed. A simple adjustment of presentation, perhaps straightening of front legs with calf’s nose tucked between them and the job is over before anybody gets decently dirty. Nasty presentations sometimes called for both Pap’s expertise and my main strength and awkwardness on the chains.
I’ve pulled a lot of calves while on shitty stable floors. With luck, a bit of fresh hay from Cow’s man- ger or straw from farmer’s bedding pile served to soak up moisture under my butt. I’d sit, feet braced against cow’s hind quarters, perhaps pulling alternately, perhaps in rhythm with cow’s contractions. Sometimes down toward her heels or up toward her tail root, all Pap’s instruction. Chains looped around calf’s legs sometimes pulled alternately to straighten protracted limbs. Sometimes a heavy haul on both legs, either both front or both behind, brought baby into my lap.
I’ve never seen a Cesarean Section in a cow or sheep. Condition under which we worked in air or dirty stable were not sanitary enough to risk opening the animal. We did what was necessary with conditions we had to work with. When case was complete, no matter the outcome, chains went back into the pan along with our hands for a quick cleaning. We’d do a better job when we got home.
I sat looking at pan, remembering wet cold discomfort, just today’s, of so many times it was used. I remembered pouring of hot water from farmer’s bucket to give Pap’s hands a rinse before he gripped old Studebaker’s steering wheel to take us home to popping cedar fire.