The Vet’s Revenge By Lee Pitts •

The Vet’s Revenge is a short, but intense story of revenge.

Lee Pitts is a columnist for The and Paso Robles Press who can be reached at [email protected]. data-medium-file=”” data-large-file=”” data-large-file=”https ••KEEP••Lee-Pitts Mug.jpg?fit=237 percent 2C300&ssl=1••KEEP••Lee-Pitts Mug.jpg?fit=237 percent 2C300&ssl=1 data-large-file=”” data-large-file=”” data-large-file=”http ••KEEP••Lee-Pitts Mug.jpg?fit=435 percent 2C550&ssl=1••KEEP••Lee-Pitts Mug.jpg?fit=435 percent 2C550&ssl=1 ” src=” width=”237″ height=”300″ ••KEEP••Lee-Pitts Mug.jpg?resize=237 percent 2C300&ssl=1••KEEP••Lee-Pitts Mug.jpg?resize=237 percent 2C300&ssl=1 data-recalc-dims= ” alt=”” class=”wp-image-24805 jetpack-lazy-image” data-recalc-dims= ” alt=”” class=”wp-image-24805 jetpack-lazy-image” data-recalc-dim “1” data-lazy- data-lazy- data-lazy-src=””” ••KEEP••Lee-Pitts Mug.jpg?resize=237 percent 2C300&is-pending-load=1#038;ssl=1″ /> ••KEEP••Lee-Pitts Mug.jpg?resize=237 percent 2C300&is-pending-load=1#038;ssl=1″ /> Lee Pitts is a columnist for The and Paso Robles Press who can be reached at [email protected].

Lee Pitts contributed to this article.

In our county, my veterinarian is a local celebrity and the only person I know with an unlisted phone number. He refuses to speak with me for a variety of reasons. Perhaps it’s the ranch’s massive Powder River gate, which is hanging off its hinges, or the corrugated road. It might also be that I contact his wife and get him in trouble when he leaves some costly equipment behind. Then there’s the fact that I once sold him some cows… once is the important word here. Or he could be scared that I’ll write anything negative about him, which I would never do.

The “Ayatollah Cow” had prolapsed, so I instructed my wife to contact the veterinarian while I gathered up the cow. As the crow flies, Ayatollah was only about 30 yards away from the corrals, but 30 miles distant as the cow flies. Without a question, the Ayatollah is the world’s smartest and meanest cow.

After approximately three hours, the gentleman was ready to give up. As a result, I proceeded with “Plan B.” We placed the young calf in the back of the vehicle in an effort to deceive the Ayatollah, since I believed I knew which one belonged to the cow. I’d ride alongside Gentleman, gently nudging her in the correct way. The issue was that my wife had to ride Gentleman while my wife stayed in the rear of the truck to prevent the calf from leaping out. We were one person short, and the vet hadn’t arrived yet, which was fortunate since “Plan B” had failed miserably.

We’re going to get through this together, Atascadero


We had to eventually bring in every single cow before sorting the Ayatollah. The vet and the cow were both enraged after such a long wait. The prolapse had returned in the meanwhile. I had Doc give Gentleman his annual vaccinations, which is a “sore topic” since it is also the consequence, because I didn’t want the trip to be a complete waste. Before leaving, Doc examined the newborn calf and speculated that something was amiss with it.

There is nothing more adorable than a newborn calf, and I didn’t want anything terrible to happen to this one. A fecal sample was taken by the doctor. “Give one tablet twice a day till they are gone,” he smiled as he handed me a bag of green pills.

“Wait a minute, Doc,” says the narrator. Do that mean I have to separate the Ayatollah and her child twice a day?”

With a “Get Even” glint in his eye, he replied, “Yes.” In the bag that Doc had handed me, there must have been a million green tablets. They were, I believe, reproducing.

I sacrificed the dog and the woman once to separate the cow from her calf… the keyword being “once.” “Ayatollah is simply bluffing,” I said to the wife, who acted as a decoy. I’ll swoop in and give the infant its green pill if you catch her attention.” Before swinging in my way, the Ayatollah pushed my wife over the barrier. I’d given the calf its medication and had moved out of the way just in time to watch it spit out. The calf was quickly losing its “cuteness.”

In the days that followed, I tried every technique I knew to keep the two apart. Twice a day, the “Raging Cow,” along with my gates, became unhinged. I hated the ritual; my wife was sick of cleaning my Levi’s, and the calf seemed to be in good shape. In any case, it has the potential to be a real kicker. I considered putting the cow in the squeeze chute for four days, and I contacted the doctor to check if they didn’t have a “great big, long-lasting green pill” on hand. I could see he relished the opportunity to tell me, “No.”

When I’d finished the bag of green tablets, the Avenger phoned to say that the lab had returned the results and that, “Perhaps,” there wasn’t anything wrong with the calf after all. That’s incredible! Heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh

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