by Dr. Jan Pol
The police also asked me to conduct an autopsy on the dog; they wanted me to remove the brain so it could be tested for rabies. All those tests came back negative. Finally they wanted me to cut off the dog’s head and feet and preserve them in the event this case went to trial. Instead, we saved the whole dog. That whole case was a tragedy for everybody.
I was also brought into a case by a pathologist out of Grand Rapids. A two-year-old girl had died, and the officers who had gone to her house had been stunned. People might have called it a pigsty, but pigs are clean animals; they keep the places they eat and sleep clean. The police officers said this little girl’s house was overrun by dogs and cats, and nobody had bothered to clean up their stool. The cops said they could scrape the manure right off the carpet and the kids were crawling through it.
This wasn’t the fault of any animal, but a child had died. The pathologist had found spots on the child’s liver that he thought might be worms that had been caused by exposure to the fecal matter. Then he sent us a sample of the stool they’d scraped off the floor to see if we could confirm the presence of worms. I looked at the sample under a microscope, and it was just loaded with worms’ eggs.
A few weeks later the pathologist sent me pictures of the liver—with a note explaining that he hadn’t found any worms at all in it. Instead he’d found a lot of little white spots that he couldn’t identify. He couldn’t confirm the cause of the child’s death and asked me to help.
When I looked at the liver sample, I knew exactly what had happened. I knew because I had seen the same thing years earlier when I’d done some autopsies on pigs. At that time we were struggling to keep worms out of pigs. We didn’t have the drugs we now have, so it was a real problem. What would happen was that roundworm larvae would crawl through the pig’s body, right into the liver. The larvae would die there and the result would be scar tissue. I told the pathologist, “You will not find worms in those white spots. That’s scar tissue; it’s where the larvae died. But those white spots mean the liver is infected.” That little girl’s liver was filled with white spots, and that’s why she died.
Sometimes it’s just too easy to blame animals for the actions of humans. Honestly, there have been many times in my career when instead of protecting people from animals, I found myself protecting animals from people. I was in the clinic one morning when an officer from the Department of Natural Resources showed up with about a dozen cages in a trailer. Inside each cage was a pretty unhappy-looking raccoon. Raccoons can be a nuisance, but generally if you leave them alone, they’ll leave you alone. I had never seen anything like this. I asked him, “Now, what in the world are you doing with these things?”
“We found a guy who was trapping live raccoons,” he said. “He was selling them in Kentucky.”
Selling raccoons in Kentucky? That sounded a bit like a sorry joke. Unless something very strange had been going on, I knew that there was no shortage of raccoons in Kentucky. “Why would anybody want to buy a raccoon?” I asked.
“Those Kentucky hunters will shoot anything that comes into their yard,” he explained. “But they all have dogs that want to hunt raccoon, and there’s not enough there for them. So he was selling them to these hunters, who would turn them loose, then hunt them with their dogs.” While it was legal to shoot raccoons in Michigan, it was not legal to trap them and sell them, because they belong to the state of Michigan.
So now the state of Michigan was the proud owner of a truckload of raccoons. “What are you going to do with them?” I asked.
He didn’t exactly know. “That’s why I’m here. How do they look to you?”
They looked like healthy and pretty angry raccoons to me. “Well, they all look mean,” I told him. “But they all look healthy enough that if you set ’em loose they’ll be fine.”
He nodded. “I think that’s what I’ll do, then.”
“Don’t get bit,” I cautioned him.
I enjoy hunting, but this wasn’t hunting; this was just cruelty to those animals. I guess that shouldn’t surprise me anymore, but it does still amaze me that people can be so cruel to animals. We had a cat named Tripod for several years, and he was named that because he had only three legs. Someone had found him and brought him in. He had a broken leg that couldn’t be saved, so we amputated it. The people who brought him in couldn’t afford to keep him, so we ended up taking him. We used to let our cats out at night if they wanted to go. One night not too long after Charles had started driving, he was on his way to pick up a pizza when he saw Tripod crossing the road—and then saw another car swerve to purposely hit the cat. He couldn’t believe that anyone could be that cruel. Well, that’s one place where animals seem to have more sense than people. I’ve never known an animal to hurt another animal for absolutely no reason. Animals might be protecting themselves or their family, they might be hungry, or they might be territorial, but just to hurt another living thing? No, that doesn’t happen in nature. So I don’t think it’s correct for someone to refer to an awful person as an “animal.”
Many years ago, we rescued a beautiful metallic black Great Dane. She was a nice dog; while she wasn’t exactly timid, she was docile. She attached herself to Diane, who referred to her as “my black shadow.” Wherever Diane went, this dog was right there behind her. It was the funniest thing; when Diane was vacuuming, she’d come into the room and that dog would be a step behind her.
On Thanksgiving Day we went to Diane’s mother’s place. We left the dog at home in the garage with an open door leading out to the fenced-in backyard, so she could get outside if she needed to. By the time we got home it was dark. We couldn’t find her; she wasn’t in the garage or the backyard. That was real strange; there was no reason she would have left the backyard. So we got in the car and drove around looking for her. We were concerned, but there was nothing we could do that night.
I got up early the next morning to look for her. I found her lying by our mailbox next to the road. Someone had shot her with a high-powered rifle. We never had a clue why she was out there or why someone would have done that to such a sweet animal. It was deer season, but a black dog that size couldn’t possibly have been mistaken for a deer. I didn’t understand that at all. Every year in the clinic we see animals hurt in hunting accidents, but those are accidents. This had to be intentional—had to be.
I’ve rarely seen an animal try to hurt a person for no reason, but I have seen the evidence of what people will do to animals. Having spent my life among animals, I have a lot of respect for them. Back in the Netherlands after the war, people didn’t have much, so in the summertime in particular they came out to the farm to try to get their strength back. My mother cooked for them and we let him see the animals. It seemed like it was good for them. The horses we had, we broke to ride. And these city kids came out there and wanted to ride a horse. We didn’t have saddles, so they rode bareback. I don’t think I was more than seven or eight years old when these teenagers showed up. We put one of them on a horse and he started riding. He didn’t know what he was doing, but once the horse settled in, it start trotting slowly. That teenager couldn’t hold on, so he slipped off the horse and fell underneath its four legs. That horse stopped dead in its tracks. It didn’t move. That boy crawled out from underneath and as soon as he was clear that horse took off like a battleship. But it had been so careful not to step on the boy. Even at that young age I remember being aware of that, even if I didn’t quite understand it. I’ve always loved horses, and it’s possible my love for them began that day.
I still see that type of behavior pretty often not far from the clinic. In 2004 Jodi and Ty Stuber founded the nonprofit HopeWell Ranch in Weidman, and I became their vet. What they do there is have horses work with people of all ages and disabilities, but especially young people with physical and learning disabilities, especially autism. They have close to twenty horses as well as different small animals, and we take care of them all; I cu
t their rabbits’ teeth and I take care of their horses. Seeing those horses working with those kids is amazing. In particular, I remember a case with a boy who hardly was talking. They brought him out next to a horse and told him to go ahead and pet the horse. He was pretty tentative at first—a big horse can be mighty imposing for a small boy—but he got up the courage and began petting it. And then in response, that horse bent its head way down and tucked that child underneath its head and between its front legs. It was as if it was protecting him. It was an unbelievable thing to see. Horses make great therapy animals; when you see a child who can’t walk or has difficulty walking on his or her own riding on a big horse, moving freely and easily in any direction he or she wants, just like any other kid, even if it’s for only a few minutes, it makes your heart burst.
Animals can even be taught to get along with other types of animals. We see that all the time. For a time we kept a few sheep at home. We had a ram we named Herman—Herman the ram. Rams are supposed to be pretty mean—that’s probably why they’re called rams—but Herman was as nice an animal as you could want to meet. When he saw people coming, he would run up to them and bang them gently with his head, demanding that they scratch his head. Well, I don’t know exactly what happened between Herman and the sheep, but he just didn’t want to live with his ladies anymore. So he started hanging out in the stable with the horses and eventually moved in with them. The horses didn’t seem to mind at all. And every night when I called the horses to get fed, they came galloping into the barn. We threw down hay for them, and then Herman came trotting in. He did develop a special friendship with one horse and he spent most of his time in that horse’s stall. When we finally decided to get rid of the sheep, we couldn’t get rid of Herman, so he lived out his life happily with the horses.
Elsie the cow also decided that she preferred to live with the horses. Elsie and the horses weren’t as friendly as Herman and the horses were, but there was mutual respect. There were never any problems between them. Then we got a goat. Usually goats and horses get along pretty well, but the horses didn’t like this goat at all, and the goat was scared of the horses. But Elsie and the goat became friends. Sometimes the horses tried to gang up on the goat, and that goat ran from them and hid in the safest place it knew—under Elsie. The goat literally stood under the cow and just looked at the horses, and because it was Elsie, the horses left the goat alone.
We have had all types of pets and never had a problem that I can remember with any of them. For me a pet is an animal you can talk to that will respond. At any time, we’ll have horses, lots of dogs and cats, some birds and fish and chickens, and sometimes a goat or a sheep. Right now we have five pet peacocks. When people find out we have five peacocks, they’re usually surprised, and eventually they ask me why. “Because they’re so smart,” I tell them. When they ask for an example, I tell them that they’re smart enough to get me to take care of them!
The fact is I really love those birds; I love their colors and I love the sounds they make. We’ve kept peacocks for at least twenty-five years. They’re tropical birds, so they have to live in the barn. I feed them corn and minerals, oats, and a lot of dog food. Peacocks love dog food—don’t ask! But in springtime a male peacock will pick a spot, and that’s it—that’s his spot. It stands there with its tail open in a half circle and screeches, and that sound travels for miles. That’s its mating call; it means, Hey ladies, here I am. Don’t I have a beautiful tail?
The female answers that call and they mate; then the female goes off and lays the eggs and takes care of them. The male just stays there, spreads his feathers, and looks good. The peacock’s call does sound a little like a person calling for help, so we have had people respond to it, calling to ask if someone at the house is in trouble. We always thank them for responding but explain that the call isn’t meant for them. Sometimes when a male is on its spot I walk behind it and quick grab one feather. The bird instantly drops its feathers, turns, and looks at me, as if to ask, Now, what did you do that for? Can’t you see I’m busy looking for girls? As soon as I leave, its feathers go back up again.
I’ve never had any problem with those birds. When I drive up to the house in my car, they stand there waiting patiently for me. When I put out their food, they come right up to me; like any animal I’ve ever known—except those bulls, which might be why they’re called bullheaded—they don’t bite the hand that feeds them.
The one thing I know is that whatever those birds get from me, I get more from them. When I look around and see my animals, there is a feeling of satisfaction I get that is impossible to describe. I have been so lucky to have been able to spend my life around animals—both my personal life and my professional life. In December 2013 I was asked by Central Michigan University to be one of the speakers at its commencement address. I thought for a long time about what I wanted to tell those young people. I was supposed to speak for ten minutes, and Diane was worried about that, although honestly she knows me enough not to be worried that I wouldn’t speak for less than that.
I have learned a lot of lessons doing my job that might be valuable to other people. For example, there are times in life that you’re just going to have to stand in a hole filled with manure to get the job done, and when that happens you do it and then you just wash it off and take satisfaction that you did a good job. I thought that maybe I should tell them about the feeling I still get every single time I help bring a calf or a lamb or any type of life into the world, or when I give an animal the treatment it needs; that feeling that, in my small way, I’ve helped a living creature. But finally when I stood up in front of almost twenty-five hundred people and looked down to see Diane sitting there with her eyes on her watch, I told them that the most important advice I could give them was “Never give up on your dreams. If there are molehills in the way, walk over them. And if your job is like a hobby, then you’ll never work a day in your life—and they’ll still pay you for it too.”
TV or Not TV?
WELCOME TO WEIDMAN
When Charles first approached me with the idea of doing a reality television show, I certainly didn’t take him very seriously. Charles has always had a very good imagination. When he was in third grade, his class had a substitute teacher. Charles was not making it easy for her, and she finally said to him, “Charles, do you want me to call your parents?”
And he looked right at her and told her, “You can’t. They died in a fire.” The teacher started crying. Then when she found out that Charles had made it up, we were invited to meet with her. Through the years we met a lot of Charles’s teachers and principals that way. He never did anything to hurt people, but he was always in the middle of some problem. Charles once described himself as a tornado just ripping through life. When Diane and I insisted we raise sheep to learn the importance of work, we decided we would raise only black sheep. When our kids first started bringing them to the fair, they were the only members of 4-H with black sheep. The judges didn’t like them and asked them to bring white sheep.
If somebody told Charles there was something he couldn’t do, well, that’s exactly what he wanted to do. I can’t imagine where he got that from. Charles wanted someone to tell him the difference between black sheep and white sheep. “A sheep is a sheep,” he said. Charles finally wore the judges down; he kept bringing his black sheep, and after a while nobody said anything to him anymore. That was Charles; he always liked being the one who stood out. Growing up, he made it clear that he had absolutely no interest in being a vet, no way; instead he wanted to be in the entertainment business. He had started making movies when he was eight years old. After graduating from college in Miami he moved to Los Angeles and started working in the type of jobs young people trying to break into that industry do. Being honest, it never occurred to me—and it probably didn’t occur to him for a long time—that there was any part of my world that other people would find entertaining.
Apparently he told his collea
gue out there, Jon Schroder, and his boss at Nickelodeon, Patrick Garney, crazy stories about his childhood and his family, especially me. I don’t know exactly what stories he told them: delivering cows in a blizzard; dressing up as a woman—a woman with a pretty thick mustache—for the community fund-raiser; or the time a policeman stopped me going . . . much too fast in my fancy Plymouth Prowler—but only because he wanted to see that unique car. But the three of them came up with the concept of doing a reality show about the practice. It was left to Charles to try to talk me into participating.
Charles and I have always had a very good, but sometimes loud, relationship. Neither one of us has ever been afraid to express his opinion. I remember one time we were having a discussion and it got louder and louder. Finally Diane got up to leave and said, “You guys go fight somewhere else.”