A medical doctor friend of mine was
recounting his experiences in Africa as a volunteer for a church
missionary program. He said it was very satisfying for the soul but his
biggest problem was communicating with the patients. He gave me an odd
look and said it gave him a begrudging respect for veterinarians.
Several
ago I made a trip to Australia. Grand folks, hospitable and definitely
livestock people. However, it did take me several days to get used to
the language. It’s like you’re talkin’ Spanish to Italians…they sound so
much alike, you actually think you’re communicating!
The
only thing I really learned to say in Australian was ketchup. But they
call it T’maw-tow-sawz. It didn’t stop me from makin’ friends. I spent a
week each with a couple of bush country veterinarians. On the day they
planned to pass me from one to the other we made the trip from Barraba
to Quirindi. The three of us found much in common, as three ol’ cow vets
could. We spent the afternoon at an Angus field day.
That evening my hosts had planned a big formal supper. On our way home a call came over the two-way.
“Can you attend a kawving?” it squawked.
“A carving?” I asked.
“Yes, a kawving.”
It
was getting dark as we climbed out of the car at a little farm. The
wife said her husband was detained at the pub but the heifer was in the
crush. Said heifer was smallish and pitiful lookin’. Sort of a magpie
Angus cross. Two cold hooves stuck out behind her tail. It didn’t look
good. My colleagues introduced me to the Missus and explained, to my
surprise, that she would be pleased to see the American method.
The
chute was covered and had a concrete floor. Unfortunately, the floor
was wider than the tin roof so the afternoon shower had left two inches
of standing muck right where we laid the heifer down.
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