As the only veterinarian for 100 square miles, Dad was called upon for many different animal situations.
And some not so much.
It was also his job to carry out the government programs of the time.
Brucellosis testing, for one.
And vaccinating for whatever was currently deemed important.
I should probably explain that, when a government vaccine program was initiated, the bottles of vaccine were sent along with little, metal tags.
After an animal had been properly vaccinated, a tag was clamped at the edge of one ear.
Proof of the deed.
Both duties involved long hours standing beside a chute - vaccine gun in one hand and tagging pliers in the other - while cattle were shuffled and sorted.
One herd was taking a particularly long time.
Whatever the reason, Dad found himself standing for long periods of time with literally nothing to do.
Not a good situation for someone like him.
The owner had turned away, trying to see over the fence at what was going on in the next pen.
Dad glanced over.
The coat and coveralls the rancher was wearing were . . . right there.
He reached out with his tagging pliers.
Deftly (Ooh, I like that word!) and effectively pinning the man's coat and coveralls together.
The work continued.
Cattle were pressed forward down the chute.
Vaccinated and tagged.
Finally, the long job drew to a close.
As Dad was packing away his instruments, the rancher invited him inside for a chat and a hot drink.
I should mention here that the people who live in the wide stretches of ranching country are among the most welcoming and friendly in the world.
Any excuse is a good excuse for an invitation to visit.
I love it.
Back to my story . . .
Dad accepted the invite.
The two of them walked to the farm house.
And into the back porch.
Dad removed his boots.
The rancher did the same.
Dad removed his coat.
The rancher . . . didn't.
Oh, there was an attempt.
Some grunting and a couple of gruff words.
But, for some reason, the man and his coat simply couldn't . . . part company.
So to speak.
Finally, the man stripped off his coat and coveralls together.
And discovered the little, metal clip that held both of them firmly together.
He turned an accusing glare on Dad.
Who, with a wide grin on his face, found somewhere else to look.
The tag was easily pried off.
And coat and coveralls hung neatly – and separately – in the closet.
But the prank was never forgotten.
For years afterwards, whenever vaccinating, my Dad, veterinarians in general, the Government, ranching, chores, or ranch life were mentioned, that rancher would recall the time that Dad stapled him into his clothes.
The days come and go on a ranch.
But a good prank goes on forever.