As I drove up to Margo and Jack Cottner’s stable I was greeted by their enormous group of dogs. Between 30 and 40 dogs of all breeds lived on the property and they all loved Margo. When I arrived,  Margo came out of her trailer as usual with a whip in hand, which she used to beat the ground in a circle all around her to keep the dogs from jumping on her. She only did this for a moment, until the pack of dogs, so happy to see her, had settled down.  Margo had taken each dog in, a stray with no home.  They were well fed and loved by her, but veterinary care was only given to treat the most severe problems.

Soon Margo and I and all the dogs headed for the stable.  The stable was old and made of tin walls and roof, but was large.  It had a center alleyway with 36 stalls made of wood, 18 down each side.

It seemed to me that the horse Margo wanted examined was always located in the last stall at the end of the barn. As we walked down the alleyway past the other stalls, she would ask questions about the horses we were passing.   Most of the time I would stop and glance at whatever she was asking about and give her some free advice, but on this day I was in a hurry and needed to keep to my schedule.  I had made up my mind that I was not going to stop and look at anything else.

About half-way through the barn, Margo, who was walking behind me, stopped in front of a stall and said, “Do you think this mare is pregnant?” Already past the stall and determined to not be waylaid by anything, I replied, “You cannot determine pregnancy just by looking at a horse, it requires a rectal exam”, and walked on. Margo said, “But just look at her.  Look how big her belly is.” I was now at least five stalls beyond Margo and because no real question about any illness had been brought up, I was not going to go back and look.  I said, “Many things can make a horse’s abdomen swell—anything from increased roughage consumption to possibly having a big tumor," thinking of the 20-pound splenic tumor we had just removed from a 100-pound dog earlier in the week. When Margo realized I was not coming back to look she continued on to the stall where we looked at the sick horse I had been called to see.

About three and a half months later, one morning just as small animal office hours were beginning, Margo had stopped in to pick up some medication.  As she was leaving she saw me and said, “Hi Dr. Walsh.  Hey, remember that mare you said had a tumor in her belly?  Well, this morning she had a beautiful chestnut filly with a star and two white socks!  Guess what?  We named her for you---we call her Tumor,”  She laughed and went out the door.

I went to the waiting room to bring in the first patient.  I opened the door and saw that the room was full.  I was so embarrassed to know that the whole room of people had heard Margo’s conversation.  I wanted to explain to them all that no exam had been performed on the horse, but I realized it would only make matters worse. I realized that Margo had had the last laugh and that any comment from a young vet in a hurry might well come back another day and haunt him.

Later that day I saw the mare and filly and both were fine. I found out subsequently that Margo only called the filly “Tumor” on the first day, and renamed her “Sophie,” for which I was thankful.