The Circle of Life at the Vets

We have a new picture in our waiting room. A Norman Rockwell print, “At the Vets” depicts a young boy holding a Beagle puppy with a make-shift bandage around its head. Surrounding the pair is a colorful bunch of clients and pets only Mr. Rockwell could create.

              This picture was the first thing I saw when I entered the office of Dr. E. F. Laman on a cold Saturday morning in December nearly thirty years ago. I was a twenty- four year old senior veterinary student who made the trek from Columbus to Delphos to ask him about a job. Edward Franklin Laman was a big man then, a rather imposing figure to this nervous, skinny kid. He proved to be as warm and friendly as they come, though, and made me feel very welcome.

Although I didn’t get the job that day, I didn’t give up. The reason for that was simple. There was no place else I wanted to be.

              Last Friday was a complex day for me. To borrow from Dickens, it was the best of days; it was the worst of days. In the morning, I was given a message to call a young man named Cory who had a problem with some sheep. Two of his ewe lambs had died suddenly, and he was quite concerned.
    
              His last name was Eickholt. Heck, half the population of Putnam County are Eickholts. To which clan he belonged, I hadn’t a clue- until he gave me directions to the farm.

It was his late grandpa Orval’s place, and now the house and buildings belonged to Cory. I hadn’t been there in years. His dad and uncles used to raise hogs together and were known as the Eickholt Pork Producers. They didn’t have a lot of hogs, but they took good care of them and were proud of what they raised. 

             Cory’s dad, Tim, was there when I arrived, and I joked with him how glad I was that one of them finally had the sense to raise sheep. With the history Cory gave me- the lambs had been on pasture until a couple of weeks ago, and hadn’t been de-wormed for two to three months, I suspected a parasite problem.

When Tim showed me the lambs, that assumption was quickly borne out. When I pulled down their lower eyelids, the inner conjunctival tissues of both lambs were as white as a sheet. This was the work of a nasty parasite known as Hemonchus contortus, the barber pole worm, a voracious blood-sucker and the killer of many sheep in this part of the world. I gave Cory instructions on what products to use and how to strategically de-worm the flock to keep this from happening again.

             It was great to be back there, and even greater to see a new generation take interest in agriculture, especially sheep production, as Cory had done. As I drove out the driveway, I waved to Tim as he was climbing aboard the old Farmall tractor, a déjà vu moment from twenty years before when I’d wave to Orval.

            Sadly, my euphoria didn’t last long. A few hours later we received a call that Dr. Laman, now a resident at Vancrest in Delphos, was nearing the end of his well-lived life. The Rockwell print, of course, resided there, too, not far from his bed.

Ed’s wife, Anne, was by his side when Bonnie and I arrived, and we had a heartfelt visit with her as we celebrated his life. Ed loved being a veterinarian. He loved caring for animals in need, but he loved helping their people even more. That was the most important thing he taught me, and the boy with the puppy perfectly defined his life’s work.

             Before we left, Anne told me to take the picture. “Ed wanted you to have it,” she said. Walking down the long hallway with the treasured print, I was overcome with a sense of loss I hadn’t felt since the death of my own mother.

 Ed, also, gave me my life. Not the heartbeat, breathing kind my parents provided, but the life I have now- my career, my farm, even all of those darn sheep. If he hadn’t given me the job or sold his practice to us so Bonnie could join me, none of that would have been possible. To say “thank you” for all that he did for us doesn’t seem adequate.

               After the picture was hung in its new location, I stepped back for a better look, and for some reason my mind drifted to the climactic battle scene from the movie, “Saving Private Ryan,” where the gravely wounded Capt. Miller gives his final order to the young Ryan: “Earn this!”

I hope I can.

Written by Dr. John Jones in Memory of Dr. Ed ‘Doc’ Laman