The Gift of Pets: Stories Only a Vet Could Tell by Bruce R. Coston

clenched teeth and the taut lines of his lips. With concern, I realized that his pent-up vitriol would soon erupt into a cosmic outburst, and I glanced furtively at the farmer. His cheeks were trembling and I could see mirth behind the cloak of his eyes.
    Vibrations began emanating from somewhere in the neighborhood of Dr. Boyd’s liver. His great belly began to quiver with burgeoning anger, redder now than I could believe. A low, building groan started in his throat, his Adam’s apple pumping up and down like a piston. With difficulty, he kept his lips closed to prevent the predictable verbiage from spilling out. But the effort was just too much. The groan became a grunt, and the force within the human pressure cooker was reaching critical proportions. I knew he was about to let fly with an earth-shattering barrage.
    “Ggggggaaa…” it began. Then I noticed his gaze turn to the farmer, whose face was set in a grimace born either of righteous indignation or overwhelming laughter. The distinction was not clear, but apparently at that moment, Dr. Boyd decided not to risk offending this longtime client. As the tectonic pressures finally overtook him, he let loose with the strongest oath he felt he could unleash in the presence of this devout Lutheran.
    “Ggggg … GOLLY!”
    The utter inadequacy of the expletive broke the dam of restraint in both the farmer and me, and we were rendered completely helpless by the laughter that erupted from us. We melted, weak and blathering onto our knees, roiling in belly-aching laughter. After a few seconds, I was relieved to see the lines on Dr. Boyd’s face softening, and before long he, too, was helpless with mirth. The three of us laughed for quite some time. Only a long grunt from the patient and the plopping of a healthy, squirming calf at our feet finally stopped us. It was a satisfying end to a farm call, and a typical morning in dairy practice. It was also the end of any thoughts on my part of spending my life as a cow doctor.

 
    My Day with the Horse Vets
    After the debacle with Dr. Boyd and the cattle calls, he realized that cow medicine was not in my future. Squelching his disappointment, he approached me one day during my senior year in high school with a suggestion.
    “Say, Bruce, I was thinking,” he said. “I’m probably not going to get you pumped up for dairy practice, am I?”
    “I just can’t see myself spending all my time with cows,” I replied.
    “Your interest is in horse practice, right?”
    “Yeah, horses are really my first love,” I responded. “Why do you ask?”
    “I have some colleagues over in Maple Plain who have a very busy and successful equine practice. I bet they would be willing to have you join them for a day to see what a horse practitioner does. Would you be interested in that?”
    “Oh yeah! That would be amazing. I’d love that!” I exclaimed.
    It was several weeks before he was able to schedule my day with the horse vets, and I was impatient. Finally, the day arrived and I drove the thirty-five miles from Hutchinson to Maple Plain and located the hospital. I walked into the lobby and introduced myself to the receptionist behind the counter, who surveyed me carefully, seeming strangely confused.
    “The doctors are in rounds in the back room,” she said, nodding her head in the direction of the doors behind her. “Go on back. They’re expecting you.”
    With eager anticipation, I made my way to the back, where I found four men in blue coveralls sitting in a darkened room and staring intently at the X-rays of a horse’s foot on the view box. I could make out the unmistakable outline of the hoof surrounding an array of unfamiliar bones standing out in stark contrast to the darkness on the rest of the film. My entrance distracted them and they turned in unison and stared at me, seeming, if not annoyed, at least a bit surprised. None of them spoke.
    “Hello,” I said tentatively. “I’m Bruce.”
    Still they stared at me