FLUSPRING 2013 n UNIVERSITY OF OREGON SCHOOL OF JOURNALISM AND COMMUNICATION

University neighborhoods struggle to balance

demand with livability

OFF-CAMPUS

CLASH

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PHOTOS ALISHA JUCEVIC

HealingHooves

A large animal veterinarian provides care for four-legged friends

Veterinarian Jeff Pelton performs a dentistry

procedure on Tammy Ladd’s horse, Slider.

Pelton sedates the horses during this process so it is

less painful and so that the animals stay calm and still during the procedure.

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eff Pelton has always

enjoyed the company of four

legged animals. Growing up

in Los Angeles, Pelton had

little interaction with large

animals, but after working

with them in veterinary

school at the University

of California, Davis, he

decided to specialize in their care. After working

at a clinic in Sonoma County and two clinics

in Oregon, he decided to open his own large

animal clinic outside of Eugene. His exam room

and office are on the same property as his home,

but the majority of his appointments take place

at the client’s residence.

Pelton works with horses, cows, goats, sheep,

llamas, and alpacas in Lane County, offering

a variety of services including dentistry,

digital radiology, health examinations, and

twenty-four-hour emergency care. During

each appointment, Pelton takes the time to

consider the animal’s emotional state so it feels

comfortable in his hands.

J

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s Shushy, Pelton’s dog, rides along with him on many of his appointments. He regularly brings his other dogs, Maxi and Veto, as well. Shushy usually gets out of the car and explores the area during Pelton’s appointments.

Pelton listens to the sound of Tim Sharr’s horse, Cam. Sharr, right, holds a rebreathing bag up to the horse’s mouth to check for signs of Reactive Airway Disease, an asthma-like condition.

s

Eve Burleson cringes at the sound of the file as Pelton does dentistry work on her horse. Pelton regularly performs “floats” on horses, which is a general dental procedure.

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s Pelton was called to an emergency at Ruby & Amber’s Organic Oasis farm

to assist farm owner Kristine Woolhouse (right) and her assistant Karen Martens

(center) with a birth. The cow’s water broke in the night, causing a late delivery

and the calf ’s death.

Pelton prepares his tools to clean a wound above a horse’s foot.

Because many of his appointments are onsite, he brings sanitation and

cleaning materials to disinfect his tools before, throughout, and after his

appointments.

s

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s Pelton and other local vets take turns working at the Eugene Livestock Auction. They oversee the cattle to check for illness and measure gestation periods of pregnant cattle. Pelton can predict when the calf is due by the size of the embryo.

Cori Bell (right) thanks Pelton for caring for her wounded alpaca. Her dog attacked the alpaca the week before and Pelton sewed the wound shut at the time of the incident. At today’s appointment, he removed the dead skin that had grown over the stitches.

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Pelton leaves the barn at Eve Burleson’s residence. He treated her horse as well as two others that were boarding at Burleson’s facilities.

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By Maygan Beckers

M y teal and silver Nike Shox hit the uneven pavement as I jogged down 18th Avenue on

a brisk, spring morning. I had never been more aware of my surroundings. Pressing through thousands of chatty participants and seemingly suspicious spectators, I take a second look at people talking on their cell phones or carrying backpacks.

On my way to the starting line of the Eugene Marathon, the first national race since the April 15, 2013 Boston bombings that took three lives and injured hundreds, I quickly searched for runner 4445, Shelly Beckers.

My mother, who was competing in her ninth and final marathon at 51, decided to spare her knees and cut back on long-distance running. This was her last chance to run 26.2 miles in Eugene, where her daughter achieved a family dream—earn-ing a college degree.

“You made it,” my mom said, as I met her on the corner of 14th Avenue and Ag-ate Street. With a tight hug, I wished her good luck. Rather than running the entire race, I would meet her at mile 23 to help her cross the finish line. Finally letting go, I watched her step toward the starting line. Knowing the chances were small, part of me still wondered if this would be the last time I would see her unharmed.

I was twelve when I saw the Twin Towers fall on my living room television. However, the Boston tragedy was the first act of global terrorism I had experienced as an adult. I grasped that no matter where I was I might never truly be safe. My loved ones and I would always be vulnerable to chance and to the calculated decisions of others.

My mom, however, wasn’t letting fear control her decisions.

At the commencing line, the assembled runners bowed their heads for a moment of silence to honor the victims of Boston. I

reflected on why I was running. The reason was standing at the start sign, adjusting her running bib, causing the wedding ring my father gave her to glimmer.

Suddenly, I jumped at the delayed crack of the starting gun and moved a half step closer to my dad, who always gave me reassurance. As my mom shrunk from view, images of bloodied runners, terrified specta-tors, and collapsing debris replayed in my mind. Would this be the next city to get hit?

Setting those thoughts aside, my dad and I had breakfast before meeting my mom at mile markers seven and fourteen. I cheered her on and anticipated her requests for deodorant and sunglasses, while my dad fished around in the bag she had prepared.

However, mile marker eighteen didn’t go as planned.

My heart began to race as my dad and I waited. After twenty minutes, she still hadn’t passed.

My escalating panic turned into relief as I saw her bright blue shirt. When I saw she was okay, my body relaxed. She was tired, but safe.

Without thinking, I stepped into the course and began running alongside her—five miles earlier than I’d planned and trained for. Although my mom looked at me with confusion, I wanted to run the

extra miles for her. “It’s 80 percent mental, 20 percent

physical,” I said to her.Though little inclines felt like giant

mountains to her, I encouraged her to stay positive. She leaned heavily on my arm, speed-walking a twelve-minute pace per mile. My left side ached so badly I wanted to stop. Hiding my pain from her, I gently leaned to my left and stretched out an unbearable kink.

Turning the corner on mile twenty, I noticed something that revived me. A pair of black pants had been placed on a tree trunk in the shape of the ribbons runners had received to support Boston victims.

Worry overflowed my aching body as we entered Hayward Field for the last stretch. Would we conquer this race harmed or unscathed? I became alert as my mom painfully giggled at being so close to her goal. Crossing the finish line at 5:56:16, we linked hands, lacing our fingers together and setting our other hands on our hearts.

Once my mom hit the finish line, she grabbed me and held on with a squeeze. Arms wrapped around her, I sensed her emotion—causing tears to form in my own hazel eyes. Knowing that we conquered our fear together will have a special place in my heart forever. n

The Courage To run

Photo by Myray Reames

celebrating twenty years