Thursday, February 20, 2014

Toad Twittering.

My grandfather and his brother-in-law had were friends and both were veterinarians.  My sister found these two poems which they wrote.  One to my Grandfather C. G. Cole and the other from Jean R Underwood.  I am not sure when they poems were written but it would have in the 1930's or about.

Enjoy!


THE T.B. INSPECTOR
A T.B. Inspector in the course of a day,
Has much to put up with in earning his pay:
He goes through the mud no matter now deep,
An appointment he made and feels he must keep.

He stops at John Jones’ about ten miles out,
And whether John’s home he’s always in doubt,
If he finds him at all John will start in and say:
Doc, I don’t believe I’ll test today;
I’ve got so much that I must do,
I haven’t got time to monkey with you,

Besides Bill Taylor said last night,
That the graft in this testin ‘is surely a fright;
He said these gol dern vets don’t know,
A reactin cow from a buffalo.
They’re in with the packers to get our cows,
And he says, by gosh, that he allows,
They won’t test his’n without some fun,
‘Cause he’ll chase’ em away if it takes a gun.

So the vet he spends an hour or so,
Convincin’ Jones that Bill don’t know.
If he finally decides that he’ll let him test,
He helps drive ‘em in and the vet does the rest,
Injects ‘em tags ’em, puts down the amount,
So they’ll know what to pay if any’s thrown out.

Jones thinks they’re worth a hundred and ‘leven,
While the vet thinks they’re high at seventy-seven.
The cows they step on the vet’s poor toes,
And how many kicks he gets no one knows,
And then he goes on to Farmer Brown,
And maybe here he gets knocked down.
So it goes on the whole day through,
‘Till he gets home at night all black and blue.

But it might be true that the time will come yet,
When things get better for this poor vet.
                                    -Dr. C. G. Cole, Story County




STATE SERUM and SUPPLY Co.
INCORPORATED
18TH AND Maury Streets
DES MOINES, IOWA
Phones, Day, Maple 2978, Night, Walnut 7657
J.R. Underwood:D.V.M.
Professor Cole, who in is lecture is full of theories and conjectures.
Convinces us that it’s no trick to cure poor piggy when he’s sick.
“Why if his breath is coming fast, as if each one would be the last.
Give him some good strong stimulant and rub his snout with the liniment”.

Or if on Dobbins neck should grow a good old fashioned this olow.
Don’t think that death is growing near; just pour some urine in his ear.
“There’s quality to that, there’s class. It’s better yet to add some glass”.

At diagnosis he is there, can track each symptom to its lair.
Combine them all, make a disease, he does it gracefully with ease.
Just like that, he can guard the City meat supply; can operate on Fido’s eye
Can treat the chicken when they’re sick, he understands the fever stick.

He’s getting by, he knows the game, he knows what makes the horses lame.
He don’t need any boosts or pull, for when it doubt he throws the bull.
It’s also great to hear him rant about that College serum plant.
Not if this “expert” only knew half of the damage that they do.

He’d put for sale sign on the door and stop making serum evermore.
It seems as though they really can’t make serum in that plant.
I don’t understand there’s something wrong,
                 the virus is weak and the serum  ain’t  strong.

It’s been that way for a year or two and its raising Hell now I tell you.
They ought to “can” this Doctor Cole and put a real Vet in control.
One that is able wise and good, I’d recommend Doc Underwood.
The moral of this little poem
I hope you will all take home.
If you should own a healthy pig
Keep it away from red-haired “Dig”.

Written by Dr. Jean R. Underwood D.V.M. about his brother-in-law Dr. Clarence Gordon Cole “Dig.

No comments: