One Small Voice: Fond memories of a small-town vet

by Lynn Mandaville

When we moved to Arizona almost two years ago, we brought all eleven of our cats with us. I guess you could call us the crazy cat family, but we didn’t come by any of them deliberately.

When it all began we had one lovely dog named Ackie, a Golden Retriever/Huskie mix. She was sweet and funny, and had bone cancer. Yet while she was dying she still felt the need to protect us from a small, stray, gray cat who was prowling the back forty and eating her dog food.

The cat was kept at bay until the day Ackie died. Then, every day thereafter, when she heard our back slider open, the little gray moocher appeared on the deck, very pregnant and very desperate for food.  So we left the dog food out for her.

She was pregnant for about a week. Then one day she wasn’t pregnant any more, and we discovered four very small kittens under a tarp on the north side of the house. From that day on they were our family, too.

For advice on these new additions, we consulted Dr. Ken DeWeerd, a long-time Wayland fixture and seasoned veterinarian of large and small animals alike. He advised that we wait until Minnie the Moocher, as we had named the little scavenger, stopped nursing her brood before we had her neutered. But Minn didn’t stop nursing them until she was very pregnant with the next litter of seven, who also became family. That was just over ten years ago.

A few days ago, here in Chandler, Ariz., Minnie, who is now about 11 years old, went missing, and when she returned she was severely dehydrated, lethargic, and withdrawn. We happened upon a nice animal clinic here in Chandler, and while they tended to her we shared stories of our vet back home in Wayland.

I tell you all this as prelude to what I hope you’ll enjoy as a tribute to a fine veterinarian, but also a wonderful human being who cared not only for the animals, but for the people they “owned.”

For any who might not know about Doc DeWeerd, Ken has been a distinct presence in Wayland, with his long, flowing white hair and beard. His hands are large and calloused, but also gentle and deft with the animals he loves. He is retired now, and when he retired we were among the many who wondered how we would ever care for our pets without him.

The following anecdotes are part of our family lore, and attest to our fondness for a terrific human being.

When our boys were very young, about 7 and 9 years old, they found an injured o’possum on the road down the street from our house on 13th Street. They knew not to pick it up, so they stretchered it home on the blade of a snow shovel and placed it in a cardboard box in the garage. They told us about “Little Man” tearfully and asked us to take him to the vet.

We called Dr. Ken’s office, explained the situation, and were told to bring the o’possum in. While the boys watched, Ken examined the poor beast, gave it a B-12 shot and an antibiotic, and told the boys to make sure it had water to drink.  He discreetly let us know that the poor thing was a goner and sent us on our way. He refused to take a fee for his time, or for the medicine he had given, or for the lesson in compassion he had given our children.

When my son Nick was around 10, my mother gave him a lop-eared rabbit whom he named Hazel, after the main character in “Watership Down.” The rabbit was healthy and hale for many years, but he developed an abscess in one cheek. We took him to Ken for care. Ken wasn’t sure the poor bunny would survive (they are fragile animals), but he treated him and kept him for a day or two.

Every day Nick and his brother Randy (who were both in high school by now) visited at the little clinic on West Superior Street, and Ken’s staff allowed them in the back to hold and comfort the old bunny. Upon discharge, Ken charged a fee that was affordable for a teenage boy whose only financial assets were money from grandparents on birthdays.   

Many years later, after our boys were all grown up and we were tending to the multitude of cats who had compelled their adoption by us on 13th Street, one of Minn’s original litter managed to open his belly on our chain-link fence, and some of his intestine had protruded through the wound. Of course, it was a Sunday, late in the day. But we called Ken anyway, at his home. He didn’t hesitate to meet us at his office for the repair surgery. He told us he wouldn’t be able to bring in an assistant for the job, but if Dave were willing to stand in they could do the repair together.

It wasn’t a quick procedure. For well over an hour Dave suppressed his queasiness while Ken cut and trimmed and stitched Wild Thing’s belly back together. Surgery, anesthesia, antibiotics and whatever else we needed, Dr. DeWeerd provided us on a Sunday night for $40. Can you imagine anything remotely close to that happening today in a modern veterinary clinic?

We shared these stories with the vet who cared for Minn yesterday. She was moved by them, and told us we had been most fortunate. Today, however, she said that no vet would provide that same type of “casual” care for fear of a large malpractice lawsuit should something go wrong.

There are probably hundreds of more such stories that could be told by the good people of Wayland who turned to Ken in their times of need. During his long career he was a local, unsung treasure to the community and their four-footed friends. 

Dr. Ken DeWeerd will always have a special spot in Mandaville hearts. My grown men sons speak of him with deserved respect. We will surely retell our stories of him for a long time.