I was at a tie stall barn today, working on a down cow (hypocalcemia aka milk fever aka really hard time standing up) for a 93 year old man, whose family has had this farm for his entire life. Hunched over from obvious years of hard labor, a torn plaid shirt that was probably purchased in the 1920s. The lines of passion and tears were clearly marked on his face. He sat over me in silence, waiting for the bottle of calcium to work its magic in his beloved holstein.
After I finished treating her, the vet went out to the truck to clean up the supplies and check on some other emergency calls we had to accomplish for the day. While absent, I took the time to look around a barn that was over 4x my own age. The broken floor boards on the ceiling, the smell of silage everywhere. But despite the antique look of the place, I could feel the old mans pride and passion brimming off the walls. This is where his grandparents first brought their dairy to back in the late 1800s. There was an untold history here, and I wished I had more than 45 minutes to explore.
As I was saying goodbye to the farmer, his granddaughter ran in from the house, followed by whom I assumed to be his daughter. The little girl asked me if I was a veterinarian. I gently pointed to the vet I have been shadowing for over a week as the one to ask. She looked up, surprised to learn I still had a long way to go to being a vet. And stated "Well I'm going to grow up and save all of the animals, especially the cows for my grandfather, so he can keep milking the cows in heaven." This statement took me by surprise, because usually, I try and avoid conversations that have anything to do with leaving this world.
The grandfather, still leaning on the barn door with a silent but soft demeanor, smiled at me and then his granddaughter. He thanked me for helping him with his cow, without ever explaining what his young granddaughter's comment meant.
He called for her, and they went and sat down in the hay together, while she played in what was obviously a cow pie. As I walked out of the barn with my vet, I heard him tell her "You don't have to save the world. I believe that's already been done." I smiled as I left through the milking parlor. Above the door leaving the barn, I got a quick glimpse of words that this man has lived by for 93 years.
"Never forget to pray."
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