05/24/2026
Another true story from Dr. Weeman…
Ah, it’s Sunday. The day of rest. I’m up early to carve time into the schedule to pay bills, log mileage and deal with managing a practice. Before the coffee is poured the phone makes that dreaded noise to indicate there’s a voicemail. Great, what is it this time? Probably another non-client that has miraculously discovered our number for the first time. Maybe a non-essential question that just has to be asked at this inappropriate hour? Nope-this is legit, it’s a client with a real need. I pause and remind myself this is the career of a country veterinarian….perhaps if I head out right now and they make this one of those days they sleep in, I can get home in time for the kids to awake, the bills and logistics will just need to wait, hopefully I can be quick.
The sunrise is beautiful. It’s a brisk morning, when is spring going to actually arrive I wonder. As I pull in the straight, well-manicured, tree-lined and immaculately fenced lane I can’t help but smile at the emu’s, the peacock just…peacocking over there. The now growing steer that was dying that one time looking across the pasture at me…he probably wants another shot of whiskey (that’s another story).
I pull around the barn. It’s one of those functioning farms that could easily be drawn into a children’s book. Speaking of children-I see a text from my wife that my oldest is having an absolute meltdown because I promised I’d wake him up in the morning and I’m not there. I guess as they say, choose between being a good dad and a good vet. They do say that right? This is a solid client-someone has to be disappointed-I’ll go home and teach this lesson when time permits but for now, I’ve a job to do at an inopportune time and I can’t make everyone happy.
The pond with its geese and horse pens with onlooking equids will be our backdrop.
I slide the barn doors open, I’m met by four men staring back. There’s 1500lbs of mom tied over here to my right in a pen meant for equids now commandeered by bovids. Flat like pancakes I see two calves along the opposite wall. The one entirely non-responsive, the other right behind. The ears of these twin babies remind me of one of the sad donkeys on Pinnochio’s Pleasure Island. Limp and entirely lifeless. What the heck, I thought they just needed some help nursing?
I assess the situation. I use my best Spanish to get a few critical questions answered. They were born last night. About 8 hours ago. They won’t nurse, they won’t stand and that’s what I’ve got. Mom seems fine.
Okaaaay, well, I scan the calves with my eyes. My first thought is this is a lost cause-both will die. The heifer over here is completely non-responsive. She is a “gonner” for sure. Upon making my assessment I resign her fate and I move on to her brother…he can at least hold his head up-perhaps if I help him now there’s a chance for him. Triage can be rough but we’ve limited resources-two of them, one of me. Both have a temp too low to read (less than 90 degrees).
That’s never good.
I don’t need very much communication to know the answer is not going to be to euthanize these babies. These men of few words aren’t standing here for me to put these calves down, they want them saved. Honestly, I’m eager to try-I can’t find any real reason these calves are in such a stuporous state. I think they’re literally just freezing to death even though it is a solid fifty some degrees out here. Fine, let’s try. As fate would have it, I remember this barn has a microwave. Hell, it has basically everything my house has…probably more. I microwave the fluids, it’s not ideal but it gets the job done quickly and may just save a life. Dextrose added, carefully dosed warm fluids administered via jugular catheter over prescribed timing and after some minutes the bull begins to have a little discussion with me. Nothing major but he’s talking. The guys like that. More heaters show up to put on the calves….circuit breakers begin to pop. I guess his temp must be rising? Nope. Still too low to read.
Embarrassing, I move on…. We’ve only begun this two-part series. I neglected that heifer and the bull has finished his fluids, it’s time to actually help her. The process repeats. She speaks and she lifts her head. Hi sweetheart-I didn’t think you could do that. I feel incentivized. The guys like this too. Mom’s now been tied over here for at least a couple of hours and she’s a little restless. So much for this call being quick. She’s reminded that if she’d done a better job perhaps none of us would be in this situation so she should relax…. To my delight, she actually does.
Both calves have now had max fluids, max heat has been applied (the circuits won’t allow any more) and yet they lay here, still pretty much dying. I think a bit, then ask: “tienes agua calor en aqui”? I’m sure it’s not perfect Spanish but I get an enthusiastic “Si”.
Some Spanish later I get a medium size feed pan in my hands. I fill it with hot water from the wash rack, stick the thermometer in there, measure 103 and put the heifer in the pan. She basically falls asleep. Then after what feels like forever holding her head to prevent drowning and repeatedly warming the water she starts to move her eyes, then her little legs. Holy crap, there’s a readable temperature; great!
Looking over my shoulder constantly the bull isn’t making many gains. Now the heifer is. Perhaps I need to stop ignoring him? There’s only one pan. How long exactly are we going to keep this up? We procure a work truck with an extended cab and I get the guys to park it facing the sun and to crank the heat. They’ll do just about anything for these calves. I finish soaking the heifer to a readable temperature and I put her in the truck. She’s unimpressed but her head is up… that seems promising. I focus on the bull. The process repeats. His temp is seemingly more stubborn to rise. I’m back to feeling like they’ll both die. Perhaps I've now ignored him for too long?
After some time in the blazing hot truck both lift their heads. With some gentle coaxing they nurse a smidge of mom’s colostrum from the bottle. Sweat dripping from my brow I lean over these calves in this crowded pickup coaxing them to nurse the bottle and they’re gracious enough to do so. I look up and see an anxious face pressed onto the tinted window. I can’t see if he’s excited but I think he may be. I’m starting to think the calves might live but I’m going to die in this vehicle from heat exhaustion. I must stay in here and with them a bit longer.
I get a couple pints of milk delivered to both calves…it’s not a lot, but it’s not insignificant given where we came from and ultimately we didn’t drench them-this is about as natural as it can get and it’s a far better way to feed these delicate babes. Their temps stabilize at 95 and with some encouragement the calves try to stand!
We’re now hours into this call. It’s lunch time-the guys show up with tacos and orange soda. I love orange soda! I think these babies have a solid chance and with care directions delivered, some meds injected for good measure, milk in their belly and steady progress observed, I think they can live.
I drive off while wrestling with my tacos. They insisted on feeding me tacos and I’m grateful! Over the subsequent days the calves get stronger. Mom allows them to nurse, and alas, we finally get to relax knowing it was all worth it.
Today the calves (and mom) are happy and healthy and my child accepts that I’ll be there to wake him up on Sunday as long as I don’t have an emergency. I think this is winning.
