Baxter Black

“Age-in’ a cow is ’bout the thing I hate most. Seems like they can tell the instant you cross the line into the strike zone.”

How many of you have ever had a new veterinarian out to your place? You think you’re scared?

Each fall, the governor of the great state of South Dakota hosts his Invitational Pheasant Hunt. This is meant to be a way to show off South Dakota’s state bird, their pride and joy, the wily pheasant.

As Noah said when he went out on the deck to check the windshield wipers, “I should’a brought a raincoat.”

Paul’s day started out with a drum roll. Every morning for months, as he went into the machine shed, he noticed the rusty gate hinge on the door jamb.

I read somewhere the average “practice life span” of a large-animal vet is eight years. After they quit L.A. practice, they go into small-animal practice, government work, industry, university, research or some other less hazardous profession.

It is a wonder some vet students don’t get discouraged. I don’t mean from the grueling hours of study, the four years without sleep or the daunting specter of trying to cram 10 metric tons of knowledge into a 6-ounce brain.