Doctor or Vet?

My brother, Phillip, liked being a farmer, but it was hard to do without having a large yard. We had a two acre lot, and dad fenced off a pasture area out back just right for keeping a couple of horses or cows. Since we didn't own either, dad let Phillip use it sometimes.

Phillip had quite an imagination when naming his cows. One year he raised a black and white cow named Oreo, but it was more common for him to call them things like Porter House and T-Bone.

One day Moe saw dad walk past our back window carrying a brown paper bag, with a stern, determined look on his face. A second later Phillip followed him, holding a rope and also looking very sober and determined. Then came Alan, my sister Linda's husband. He was almost skipping as he followed the other two, a huge grin on his face. Moe's curiosity was piqued, but he was in the middle of something, so he had to wait until the men came back to find out what was up.

“What were you doing out in the pasture?” Moe asked when dad came back into the house a little later.

“One of Phillip's cows had an infected eye,” dad told him. “He got a shot from the vet, but it had to be given in his eye, so we called Alan to come over and help.”

Well, that explained everything. Alan was fascinated with anything medical, even administering shots in sick cows eyes. It's a good thing he eventually sold his restaurant equipment repair business and went to medical school, because he was always a born doctor.