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April 28, 2007 at 9:41 am
I remember when Barbaro first was injured. People from all over the world were calling my emergency department and literally demanding they I (we) put them in touch immediately with the staff overseeing his care because they had some type of miracle cure – whether it be special Parguayian (?) carrots, acupuncture, special machines, and whatever other ideas they had.
It was like accident chasers and these people were literally so worked up they would yell and scream at us when we told them we couldn’t get them in touch with the doctors.
Half the reason we couldn’t was because A) Barbaro wasn’t at our facility and B) the owners are very wealthy and had employed the best minds in veterinary care – don’t you think they would have been exploring all options?
It’s amazing to hear people tell you they’re not veterinarians, but that they always wanted to be, and that’s why the idea they have to save the horse was more important than anybody else’s and that’s why I should put them directly in touch with the doctors on the case.
I can’t tell you how many calls we got but I would say I fielded hundreds myself. And not just calls from concerned individuals who simply liked horses, but also from horse owners, non-veterinary doctors, inventors, media personalities.
My god was it horrible. Our lines were so flooded with non-emergency calls related to Barbaro, it makes me wonder how many true emergencies for our hospital were missed because the phones were ringing literally off the hook.
April 28, 2007 at 8:56 pm
I guess it’s my farm boy upbringing showing through here.
Barbaro was a horse. A beautiful, magnificent horse. But still only a horse.
What happened to him was a damned shame.
But he was still only a horse. He wasn’t a symbol of a city. Or an emblem of anything.
He was a horse.
April 29, 2007 at 4:31 pm
You know, Frank, that’s interesting, because I’ve always seen that attitude toward animals in my dad, who is also a farm boy. (And I’ve inherited it.) He respects animals, but he also keeps them in perspective. Kind of like a construction worker would do with a good power tool.
April 29, 2007 at 5:39 pm
Well, I’m not sure I’d go as far as consider it analagous to a worker and a tool. They are still sentient beings who should be treated with kindness and care until it’s time . . . .
(aside) One of the problems I have with the animal rights bunch (PETA=People Eating Tasty Animals) is that they have completely lost touch with where food comes from. But that’s another tirade.
Howsomever . . .
I remember when my father bought a steer one year.
My brother got really attached to “Cubby.” It was very difficult for him when Cubby ended up in the freezer.
My old friend Jack, with whom I worked for many years, used to tell the story, probably apocryphal that, when he and his sister were growing up in the Great Depression, his parents raised rabbits.
For food.
He and his sister had trouble dealing with that, until they came to a new naming scheme.
They named all the rabbits “Lunch.”
April 29, 2007 at 7:58 pm
“My brother got really attached to “Cubby.â€? It was very difficult for him when Cubby ended up in the freezer.”
I got over it. In fact, I could go for a good steak right now.
April 29, 2007 at 9:55 pm
I would have problems with Cubby in the freezer too, but I was raised in Dallas, by a divorced woman. Meat came from, & still does, the store. In plastic wrap. Unless Chris visits Brian after he, Brian, went hunting. Then Chris comes home with some kind of carcass & a glaze to go with it. ICK!!!!! (Yes, I’ve tasted it. Elk, deer, buffalo, geese, wild turkey, quail, dove, rabbit, squirrel, & pheasant, but I drew the line at rattlesnake. Didn’t try the alligator he had once either. I didn’t like any of it.)
April 30, 2007 at 6:53 pm
G. Gordon Liddy once cooked a rat and ate it.