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Some of the veterinary surgeons are what Artemus Ward would call “Amoosin little cusses.” [read more about the 19th Century humorist Artemus Ward] One well known in Middletown was recently called out to Scotchtown to prescribe for a horse with a slight attack of colic. After many trials and struggles with the snow drifts on the way to that elevated hamlet, (the rarefied air undoubtedly exerting a facetious influence on his brain) he succeeded in arriving at his destination and looking over and examining the prostrate beast diagnosed the case as one of broken leg. After informing the astonished owner that the best thing to do was to kill the horse, he took his departure for Middletown. The next day the horse was up, standing firmly on all four legs, and the best informed laymen in the place could not then, nor can they since, find where the bone is broken, nor does the horse show any symptoms of lameness but it apparently as sound as ever. The same V. S. perpetrated another bit of amusement some time before at the same hamlet. This time a cow was sick and the doctor after a careful examination, said she would be alright in a short time, collecting $5 as an admission fee to the comedy, and departed. The cow was dead before fifteen minutes had elapsed.
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