The Tale of Mack and Opsonia: An Immunology Love Story

submission by Wilson Chung - Atlantic Veterinary College

"There is a disease upon this world, Mack. We have to do what we can to save it."

"I know that. I've fought the invaders before. But this time is different...I can't see any of them. None of the phages can."

"But I can." Opsonia stepped forward. "I can see them, and I can show them to you. Then you can destroy them, and this world may yet live on."

"You would be killed in the process. I can't do it. I won't."

"This is what I was made to do, Mack." she said, her voice growing soft. "If I don't act, the world as we know it will end."

"I don't care, Opsonia. I don't care if the world crashes down and we die here. As long as we're together." Mack said. Opsonia smiled sadly.

"You have to live on and keep fighting. And you'll find another. Someone young and wild who will love you even more than I."

"I care not for those reckless lymphomaniacs. I love only you, Opsonia. We complement each other so well."

"...I know."

They drifted together in silence for several moments.

"There." Opsonia's eyes widened. "There's one of them. The invaders."

"Don't do this. Please."

"I have to." Without another word, she ran towards the foreign entity.

"Opsonia! Don't!" Mack chased after her, but could not keep up with his great size. He watched in horror as she stopped suddenly and presented the invader to him.

"We always knew it would end like this, Mack." she said, eyes glistening.

"I can't. Opsonia..."

She was bound to the invader now; there was no turning back.

"Do it, Mack. Do it."

He embraced her, gently, and blinked back his tears.

"I love you." she said softly. He continued to wrap himself around her, then the invader, completely engulfing them. Soon he could feel them both being undone.

"I'm sorry." he whispered.

The world continued to flow around him.

T'was the Night Before Finals

Submission by Shanna Johnson from Cornell

1  T’was the night before finals, when all through the house

2  no one dared disturb them, not even a spouse

3  Stacks of class notes, highlighted with car

4  old sweatpants going on their sixth day of wear

5  The good kids are already snug in their beds

6  while flow charts and flash cards dance in their heads.

7  Others are cramming their strained thinking caps

8  ...and some jolt awake from unintended naps.

9  Meanwhile you sit there, running short on good humor,

10  berating yourself for not starting sooner.

11  It all seemed more manageable just one week ago

12  Who knew that the going would be quite this slow.

13  If only you didn’t succumb to the need

14  to indulge in facebook, NetFlix, and Buzzfeed!

15  Or all of the goodies you procrastibaked,

16  which in more ways than one were unhealthy mistakes.

17  Sometimes that’s just how you can cope, I suppose

18  when trying to sip from the full-blast firehose.

19  Lament your poor icebergs, whose penguins have gone

20  (though honestly, some just never made it on).

21  This is way too much for one mind to remember

22  and you feel like you burnt out way back in September.

23  But tonight you persist with the mental jujitsu

24  as you question the value of your learning issues.

25  Because you know that you need a solid foundation

26  to make a reality of your aspirations.

27  So bring on the sundry sources of caffeine,

28  and redefine your standards for “clean,”

29  tackle complex concepts in logical groups,

30  and wade through the jargon alphabet soup.

31  Now with your resolve strengthened anew

32  you start planning what’s left for you to get through.

33  When from your kitchen there arose such a clatter,

34  you swear softly and go to see what is the matter.

35  Down the hallway you flew like a flash

36  to determine what was the source of the crash.

37  You flipped on the switch, and the dim glow

38  illuminated the crime scene below.

39  In the midst is your pet, who should feel disgrace

40  But no regret can be found in their smug little face.

41  Some part of you wants to scream off your head...

42  but you sigh and begrudgingly cuddle ‘em instead.

43  Because you know at the end of the day,

44  it’s their antics that keep true insanity at bay.

45  They’re always a welcome source of distraction

46  When you really need non-judgmental interaction.

47  (Seriously though, I know that it’s tough

48  To constantly feel like you aren’t good enough.

49  But there are plenty of us here in the vulnerable zone

50  even when it feels like you’re stuck here alone.)

51  So loosen up little soldier; be at your ease.

52  It’s true what they say: B’s and C’s get degrees.

53  Dress comfy, eat something, other good rules of thumb

54  can prep you for when the dreaded hour has come.

55  When you take a deep breath and enter the room,

56  and try to shake that sense of impending doom.

57  A wave of tension sweeps through your neighbors

58  as they start handing out thick packets of papers.

59  You stretch out your neck and clear out your thoughts

60  as you settle into that perfect test-taking spot.

61  The time has come now to swallow your fright

62  Good luck to all, let’s give ‘em a good fight! 

A Murder Most Fowl

The story of a suburban pre-vet student learning the harsh realities of farm life

by Kate Connell (Penn) - Volume 51: Issue 2 Foot in Mouth Disease Winner

            When I decided to work on a pig farm after college, I thought that I had seen it all. I had spent three years shadowing in a veterinary office and four years working on a sheep hobby farm. I would go to upstate New York to spread my infinite medical wisdom to these farmers, and was clearly equipped to tackle any challenges that came my way. Nature would teach me some humility. 

            The first challenge came sooner than expected during the first week: a fox targeted the chicken tractors that housed a couple hundred birds. Not only did he kill three chickens, but he left half a dozen in a fairly maimed condition. We euthanized all but one—a chicken with a six-inch superficial chest wound. I said that I could save him, and stitched him up with an unpracticed hand. Fortunately, he was a good patient: shocked, easily restrained, and fairly stupid. We placed him in the safety of his own personal trashcan, and thus Fernando the chicken became one of the house instead of one of the flock.  

            Even once he was fully healed, Fernando never rejoined his many siblings, instead roaming around the barn and living the good life of a pet chicken. He tried to make friends with the egg-layers, but they were fast and scrappy while poor Fernando was slow and, again, fairly stupid. Keep in mind he had a long family tree of ancestors bred for big breasts and little brains.           Fernando

           So Fernando befriended the only animals in the barn that accepted him for who he was: the mama pigs and the piglets. These ladies were used to the great open skies and pastures, and were stir-crazy with their litters of hungry, whiny babies. Anyway, they showed interest in Fernando, and would let him sleep nearby without bothering him. It was actually quite cute, one of those magical interspecies relationships, right? Perhaps you realize what I did not. And that is the fact that pigs are omnivores. They’re smart enough to lay in wait for this dumb chicken to come in closer and closer until… 

Take a look at the picture there. Notice anything about Fernando? (Aside from his beautiful dye-job? I told you, he was a pet at this point. And maybe we were playing with the sheep tag and decided that he could be a pride chicken. But I digress.) 

Your keen eye probably caught the shredded tail feathers, but doesn’t he look a little asymmetrical? I considered these questions as I mucked a stall before finally decided to investigate. The reason he looks so asymmetrical is because he’s missing a wing. There was also a violent explosion of feathers by the pigpen. As it turns out, Fernando got so comfortable with his pig friends that he decided to sleep against the gate, where a nimble pig was able to grab his wing and detach it from his body. 

I frantically wondered what I should do, but at this point our amputee chicken had already clotted, and was cranky that I hadn’t put out his feed yet. So Fernando lived on. 

And continued to sleep next to the pigpen. You see, there are some things we  can fix, like a simple laceration, and then there are things, like a dumbass chicken with no learning curve, that we will never be able to fix. Fernando made it another six months before I got the call from the farm to inform me that the pigs had finally caught him. RIP Fernando.

 …Wait, you thought that was the end of the story? Well, it was for Fernando. But not for us. You see, during the Age of Fernando in the barn, we still had the problem of the fox and our chicken tractors. Internet research will tell you a thousand ways to reinforce a chicken coop against foxes, and then it will inform you that those reinforcements rarely hold up against a determined fox. And our fox was determined.  

     The population of our grass-fed flock had dwindled from two hundred to a hundred and twenty before we realized that we weren’t going outfox this fox. So I learned how to shoot my very first rifle. (Before you go calling PETA, may I point out that foxes are not endangered in New York, and I had spent every morning for the past few weeks pulling maimed chickens out of our coop and having to put them out of their misery. This fox was not just taking one for the road. He was a sadistic bastard who was torturing my poor, stupid chickens every night. The part of me against hunting was dead and gone.)

     We constructed ourselves a hunter’s tree stand overlooking the pasture and within easy range of the chicken tractor. For the next few nights, we watched over the chickens in shifts, keeping a keen eye open for our fox. It’s no surprise that he was onto us, big smelly humans sitting in a tree above his dinner. But we continued our guard duties, ever vigilant. And then he finally came around.   

            Let me set the scene for you (because this was fantastic, and I’m actually not taking any artistic licenses here): it was close to midnight, and I was wrapped in a winter jacket, reading a James Patterson book by flashlight. The sheep and chickens were silent beneath the tree. There was a glow on the horizon from the moon hidden beneath the clouds, but with no towns around us for miles, it was enough that you could see the shadows of the land sprawled below. When the moon finally peaked through the clouds, a wall of fog rose dramatically out of the swamp at the edge of the property. 

            I won’t lie, I was already a little wired from reading a murder mystery in the dark, alone in middle of nowhere, hanging out in a tree waiting to hear the slightest movement from our fox. 

            The fog rolled in, and the temperature plummeted as soon as it hit me. Thoughts of dementors and horror movies danced through my head, but I was determined to make it to the end of my shift. I wanted to experience the true farm life, and gosh darn it if this wasn’t the real deal. I settled down with my book again, and the anxiety that had risen with the fog settled with me. 

           Finally my watch beeped. No sounds from below, but I decided to casually sweep the flashlight over the ground, just in case. 

            Have you ever caught a predator’s eyes in a beam of light? Because let me tell you, they jump out like ghostly green rays, bright enough to pierce the fog and cause your heart to explode out of your chest. I managed not to scream, and fumbled for the gun. It was cumbersome and I had only hunted cardboard boxes up until this moment. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the fox stand, stretch, and casually saunter through the tall grass and out of sight before I had even found the safety.    

            And thus ended our attempt to catch the fox. We settled on slaughtering the chickens 10 days ahead of schedule, popping open a bottle of wine and watching The Fantastic Mr. Fox (extremely accurate according to my experience). 

            To wrap this up, and let me say I’m normally not big on morals at the end of a story, but I feel like this is an important one: there are some battles that you’re not going to win as a vet. Even if you learn how to do a heart transplant to save a gored chicken, that damn fox will be back to finish the job one way or another. Or if you invent a prosthetic for your amputee chicken, it will still sleep next to the pigs. Nature is harsh, and there’s only so much that we can do as vets to work against it.

Andrew Tsai Photography

Andrew Tsai - Western

Volume 51: Issue 2 2nd Place Overall Winner & Photography Winner

From the artist:

"The goal was to throw the rock near the toad, make it jump, and shoot a photo while it was  in mid-air. The rock bounced off the ground (carrying a yellow pebble with it on the left) and rolled over the toad. He didn't move."

Moment of Zen 

From the artist:

"Beef cattle are pretty wary of humans. I had to stand still by the water for a good ten minutes before they approached for a drink." 

Water Cooler Gossip

From the artist:

"I wanted to make a smartphone wallpaper and very luckily it rained that night (this is in California). I collected some rain on my umbrella and dragged the droplets to make a paw print, which took a while. Didn't get any studying done that night. Again."

 Wet Paws

Straight Outta Grafton

Our first place overall winner: Maxbetter Vizelberg from Tufts!!!

Volume 51: Issue 2 Creative Corner