Mountain West Animal Hospital

Mountain West Animal Hospital Mountain West Animal Hospital is a full service veterinary facility in Springville, UT. We have been serving our local community for nearly 40 years.

Mountain West Hospital is a full service veterinary facility located in Springville, Utah. We understand the unique relationship you have with your pets. You can trust that your pets will receive the best care possible while at Mountain West Animal Hospital. Our mission is to provide the best possible veterinary care for our patients by maintaining and utilizing state of the art facilities and equ

ipment, and by employing and developing a well-trained competent and caring staff. We are dedicated to providing friendly, compassionate service to our clients in an atmosphere of professionalism, respect and concern. We advocate community and client responsibility in improving the welfare of animals. We seek to be a positive, contributing influence within the community we serve. At Mountain West Animal Hospital, we value life. We are advocates for those who have no voice. We believe that all animals have the right to a life free of pain and suffering. Everything we do is centered on this principle. We strive to provide the care that pets need and deserve.

Theriogenology Thursday: This is a picture of a short beaked echidna. Echidnas are medium-sized, solitary mammals covere...
11/13/2025

Theriogenology Thursday: This is a picture of a short beaked echidna. Echidnas are medium-sized, solitary mammals covered with coarse hair and spines. Superficially, they resemble the anteaters of South America and other spiny mammals such as hedgehogs and porcupines. Echidnas and the platypus are the only egg-laying mammals, known as monotremes.

My Take Tuesday: The Weight of SacrificeEach November, as the air turns crisp and the mountains put on their last displa...
11/11/2025

My Take Tuesday: The Weight of Sacrifice

Each November, as the air turns crisp and the mountains put on their last display of autumn gold, I find myself reflecting on the quiet courage of those who have given more than most of us will ever comprehend. Veteran’s Day isn’t simply a day off work or a time for parades—it’s a deeply personal reminder of gratitude, sacrifice, and the high price of freedom.

A few years ago, I had the honor of walking through Arlington National Cemetery beside one of my dear friends, Seth Waite, a veteran whose quiet dignity spoke volumes. Together we followed the winding paths through rows of white headstones that seemed to stretch endlessly across the rolling green hills. Each one represented a life of service—someone’s child, someone’s love, someone’s friend. The sight of them all, perfectly aligned in solemn silence, filled me with both awe and humility. The marker labeled “OLD IRONSIDES” stands as a steadfast guardian of those who served with him in the Utah National Guard. A few short years ago, Seth completed his own remarkable service, retiring after a career of dedication and distinction.

As we walked, Seth shared moments from his own service—not boastfully, but with the steady perspective of someone who had seen both the weight and worth of duty. I could hear in his voice the deep bond he still carried for those who served beside him, and I could see in his eyes the quiet burden of memories that never fully fade. To walk beside him that day was to glimpse the very soul of sacrifice—not as an abstract idea, but as a living, breathing truth.

There’s something sacred about Arlington. It isn’t just a resting place; it’s a promise. Each headstone tells a story of courage, of love for country and for fellow citizens. As I stood there with Seth, I felt the air grow heavy with reverence. It wasn’t sorrow that pressed on my chest—it was gratitude. A deep, humbling awareness that every freedom I enjoy was secured by people willing to give everything they had, and sometimes everything they were.

As a veterinarian, I’ve dedicated my life to service in a different form—to care, compassion, and the preservation of life. But the men and women like Seth who wear the uniform remind me daily what true service means. It’s a calling that asks for sacrifice without expectation, and strength born not of glory, but of love.

Seth would never call himself a hero. But when I think of that day at Arlington—the rows of white stones, the stillness of the air, and my friend walking beside me in quiet reflection—I know that heroism doesn’t always announce itself. Sometimes, it walks beside you in silence, steady and humble.

This Veteran’s Day, I’m especially grateful—for Seth, for all who have served, and for the reminder that freedom is not inherited, but continually preserved through courage and compassion. May we live our lives in a way that honors their sacrifice—not only in word, but in the way we love, serve, and remember.

And that is My Take.
N. Isaac Bott, DVM

Theriogenology Thursday: In some rodents, a successful pregnancy can come to an abrupt end when an unfamiliar male—one t...
11/06/2025

Theriogenology Thursday: In some rodents, a successful pregnancy can come to an abrupt end when an unfamiliar male—one that didn’t sire the litter—shows up and spends time near the female. This fascinating phenomenon is known as the “Bruce Effect.”

My Take Tuesday: The Smells of Fall There’s a moment each year—usually sometime between the last cutting of hay and the ...
11/04/2025

My Take Tuesday: The Smells of Fall

There’s a moment each year—usually sometime between the last cutting of hay and the first cold snap—when the air in the Utah mountains changes. You can smell it before you see it. The morning breeze drifts down the canyon with a sharpness that wakes something ancient inside you. It’s the smell of fall—a fragrance made of endings, beginnings, and everything bittersweet in between.

Up high in the aspens, the air carries the dry sweetness of fallen leaves breaking down into the earth. Pine needles release a resinous tang as the sun warms the forest floor, mixing with the faint musk of elk and the spice of distant campfire smoke. There’s sagebrush too—sharp, clean, and almost holy—the scent that has baptized generations of Utahns who call the desert and the mountains home.

But it’s the cottonwood trees in late October that always stop me in my tracks. Their golden leaves shimmer like coins in the sunlight, and the air beneath them carries a smell unlike anything else on earth—a blend of damp bark, sweet decay, and the faint tang of river water. It’s a scent that clings to memory, earthy and honest, reminding me of fence lines along muddy creeks, of cattle moving slowly through the cool morning mist, and of childhood afternoons spent raking leaves only to dive into them moments later. When the wind shakes the last few leaves loose, that smell seems to hang in the air—one last breath of autumn before winter settles in.

Sometimes I’ll take a drive up through the Nebo Loop, windows down, heater on full blast, just to breathe it all in. The wind rushes through the cab, swirling with the smell of cold creek water and dust from the tires on red clay roads. It’s a perfume no store could ever bottle—part nostalgia, part wilderness, and entirely Utah.

In the valley, the scent changes again. Wood smoke rises from chimneys, mingling with the sweetness of fermenting apples and the faint smell of rain-soaked fields. Horses still wear the summer dust on their coats, but even they seem to sense the season turning. It’s as if every living thing holds its breath for a moment, standing still in the golden hush before winter takes the stage.

The smells of fall bring memories I never try to chase away—hunting trips with my father, gathering wood with my brothers, crisp mornings feeding livestock before school. Even now, when I catch a whiff of juniper smoke or wet alfalfa, I’m transported back to those quiet moments of youth when the world felt safe, predictable, and full of promise.

Fall smells different here than anywhere else. Maybe it’s the blend of mountain air and desert sage, or maybe it’s the mixture of memory and gratitude it stirs. Either way, I find myself breathing deeper this time of year—trying to hold on to something that can’t be kept, only appreciated.

Because in Utah, fall doesn’t just smell like change.
It smells like home.

And that is My Take.
N. Isaac Bott, DVM

Theriogenology Thursday: Female pilot whales have been observed lactating at remarkable ages—some as old as 51 years. In...
10/30/2025

Theriogenology Thursday: Female pilot whales have been observed lactating at remarkable ages—some as old as 51 years. In one documented case, a female continued lactating for approximately 11 years after her last ovulation and calving. It’s believed that the final calf may continue to nurse until reaching puberty—around 8 years of age for females and 11 years for males.

My Take Tuesday: HalloweenI’ve always thought autumn was nature’s way of reminding us to slow down. The fields grow quie...
10/28/2025

My Take Tuesday: Halloween

I’ve always thought autumn was nature’s way of reminding us to slow down. The fields grow quiet, the evenings draw in, and the air smells faintly of woodsmoke and change. The aspens turn to gold and the cottonwoods stand like torches against the blue sky, their leaves whispering farewell as they drift to the ground. Even the old farm dogs seem to sense it—stretching out in the sun, watching the world grow softer.

There’s peace in this season. A kind of beautiful melancholy that settles in the heart. After all, autumn is the year’s great sigh—its gentle promise that endings can be lovely too.

And then, just as the world has tucked itself in, along comes Halloween—bursting in with its laughter, its costumes, and its sugary chaos.

When I was a boy, Halloween meant freedom. It was the one night of the year when the grown-ups’ rules loosened their grip. We’d wrap ourselves in bedsheets or smear green paint on our cheeks, grab a flashlight, and set out into the crisp October dark. Every porch light was an invitation, every rustle in the leaves a little thrill of mystery.

I can still see that Ferron, UT night clear as day—the streetlights glowing in the fog, the sound of our sneakers scuffing against the pavement. My friend Jake Bulkley and I were certain we’d mapped out the most efficient candy route in town. We made good time too, our plastic buckets filling fast—until we got home and found Jake’s little sisters lugging in pillowcases so full they could barely lift them.

That was the night we realized we’d crossed the invisible line between childhood and whatever came next. So, naturally, we pivoted. The following Halloween was less about candy and more about a few harmless pranks that still make us laugh whenever our paths cross again.

These days, my Halloweens are spent at Mountain West Animal Hospital, and though I don’t see witches or werewolves, I do meet a fair number of Labradors who’ve eaten enough chocolate to terrify Frankenstein. There’s always a panicked phone call or two about glow sticks, a cat stuck halfway into a pumpkin costume, or a nervous shepherd who can’t make sense of the endless parade of doorbell-ringing goblins.

Halloween, for pets, must seem a strange sort of madness. The air hums with excitement, the smells are new and suspicious, and their humans suddenly start wearing masks and funny hats. I can’t blame them for being a bit uneasy about it all.

So, every year, as the last appointments wind down and dusk starts to settle over the clinic parking lot, I find myself offering the same bit of advice:

1. No candy, ever. Especially chocolate and anything with xylitol—a sweetener that’s harmless to us but can be deadly to pets.
2. Keep ID handy. A collar and microchip can turn a nightmare into a quick reunion if your pet slips out amid the excitement.
3. Watch the flames. A wagging tail and a jack-o’-lantern can be a disastrous combination.
4. Costumes are optional. If your pet doesn’t enjoy dressing up, let them skip it. If they do, ensure it’s comfortable and safe—and always supervise.
5. Skip the glow sticks. They’re not highly toxic, but they taste awful, and pets who bite them can drool and panic.
6. Quiet space, happy pet. Give nervous animals a cozy room away from the commotion.
7. When in doubt, keep them in. A calm evening indoors beats an adventure in the dark every time.

There’s so much to love about this season—the color, the laughter, the simple joy of it all. But our pets rely on us to see the world through their eyes and to protect them from what they don’t understand. With a little care and kindness, Halloween can remain the delightful, memory-making occasion it’s always been—for every member of the family, paws included.

And that is my take.
N. Isaac Bott, DVM

Sunday Stanza: The East End of a Horse in a West Facing PlaceI once sought advice from a veterinarian down the way—Just ...
10/26/2025

Sunday Stanza: The East End of a Horse in a West Facing Place

I once sought advice from a veterinarian down the way—
Just a wide-eyed young student with dreams on display.
I hoped for some wisdom, perhaps a kind nudge,
But the welcome he gave me? A bitter cold grudge.

He said, “Kid, you want to be vet? Ha! What a joke—
Those animals bite, and the people just poke!
They’ll borrow your time with no thought to return,
And when things go south, it’s your fault to burn.”

“They’ll feast on your patience and gnaw at your soul,
Then blame you outright when things don’t stay whole.
They’ll drain every minute, then tear you to shreds,
Expect you to fix what’s nearly already dead.”

His words hit like thunder, sharp, rude, and rough—
A rant full of venom and none of the stuff
That mentors are made of—the guidance, the grace—
He was the east end of a horse in a west-facing place.

I left feeling gutted—but not turned away.
His storm only cleared up the skies of my day.
If this was a warning, it sparked no retreat—
Just fueled up my fire and firmed up my feet.

Because I’ve met the clients who cherish, who care,
Who bring in old dogs and a prayer for a spare.
They trust and they thank, they return and refer—
Their loyalty constant, their kindness a blur.

I’ve worked with the healers who mentor with heart,
Who taught me this science is medicine and art.
Who lifted my hopes and believed in my role,
Who never once tried to diminish my soul.

So, to that poor fellow who tried to dissuade—
I wish him peace from the bed that he made.
Sure, some days are brutal, the nights sometimes long,
But the love that I get? Well, that keeps me strong.

For this work is a calling, a life I hold dear—
One filled with bright faces and tails wagging near.
And when students come knocking, I won’t be a gate—
I’ll open the door and say, “Isn’t this great?”

It’s not just the science, the tools, or the skill—
It’s the heart that you bring, the drive and the will.
And when you believe, the world will too—
That’s the gift of a mentor, pure and true.

I admire the guides who inspire and teach,
Who hand down the torch and help others reach.
For that is the legacy I’ll proudly defend—
A circle of kindness that never will end.

DocBott

Theriogenology Thursday: African Crested Porcupines (Hystrix cristata) generally breed once per year and have a gestatio...
10/23/2025

Theriogenology Thursday: African Crested Porcupines (Hystrix cristata) generally breed once per year and have a gestation of 112 days. They give birth to 1-2 babies. These neonates are called porcupettes. The babies are fully functioning when born with both ears and eyes open.
Pictured is Dr. Bott with some African Crested Porcupines at the Grand Canyon Deer Farm in Williams, AZ.

My Take Tuesday: Lessons from a LambIn the spring of 1988, the C–D (C bar D) 4-H Club met often in preparation for the S...
10/21/2025

My Take Tuesday: Lessons from a Lamb

In the spring of 1988, the C–D (C bar D) 4-H Club met often in preparation for the Southeastern Utah Junior Livestock Show in Ferron, Utah. Our advisor, Diane Bott, poured her heart into helping every member get ready for the big event. Each meeting began with the familiar cadence of the 4-H pledge—a ritual that still echoes in my mind today:

“I pledge my head to clearer thinking,
My heart to greater loyalty,
My hands to larger service,
And my health to better living,
For my club, my community, my country, and my world.”

People often ask: What’s the real benefit of 4-H?

The answer depends on who you ask. Many will say it builds character, instills discipline, teaches responsibility, and connects youth with agriculture. All of that is true—but I believe the greatest gift of 4-H runs even deeper.

For me, one of the most meaningful parts of the 4-H experience is the confidence it builds in young people who learn to care for something entirely dependent on them. I remember one young 4-H’er who was hesitant to even step into the pen with the lamb he planned to show that year. The year before, he’d been knocked down by a big ram while helping his dad feed the sheep, and the memory left him scared. But that lamb needed him—it couldn’t eat, drink, or have a clean pen without his help. So, little by little, he faced his fear. He learned to trust, to try again, and to take pride in what he could do.

I still catch a glimpse of that boy every time I look in the mirror.

I’ll never forget how attached I became to my own first lamb. I was only seven years old, and when the sale day came, I cried as I hugged that lamb goodbye. It was my first taste of how love and loss can coexist—and how responsibility can shape the heart.

Caring for animals brings out something special in us. Whether it’s a lamb, a piglet, a calf, a puppy, or a kitten, children learn what it means to have a living creature rely on them. It teaches empathy, respect for life, commitment, and consistency. It builds self-confidence and a quiet kind of joy that lasts long after the chores are done.

I’m deeply grateful for my time as a 4-H’er.

The photo here is of me with my first lamb at the Ferron stock show in 1988.

The smile on my face then is just as wide as the one I have now, remembering that day.

And that’s my take.
N. Isaac Bott, DVM

Sunday Stanza: The Zancudo SerenadeI once served a mission down Chepén, Peru, way,Where the rice fields shimmered in hea...
10/19/2025

Sunday Stanza: The Zancudo Serenade

I once served a mission down Chepén, Peru, way,
Where the rice fields shimmered in heat all day.
“La Perla del Norte,” they proudly proclaim—
A valley of heat, hard work, and good name.

Founded by curacas and carved through the dust,
With Moche blood deep in its very crust.
They built from the river, from sweat and from grace,
A town with a backbone and sun on its face.

But for all its charm, and the love that I feel,
One thing down there still bites at my heel…
The zancudos—those devils in flight—
Would swarm at the dusk and feast through the night.

That could sniff out a gr**go a mile through sweat,
And feast on your ankles ‘til nothing was left.
I’d swat and I’d swing, I’d stomp, and I’d slap—
But they’d sneak through the net like a planned sneak attack.

We’d teach in the dusk ‘neath banana tree shade,
Reading scriptures while doing the mosquito parade.
They’d hum like a choir—wings tuned in G—
While I itched like a dog with a case of the fleas.

I wore socks to bed at night, DEET on my face,
Long sleeves in a desert where no breeze gave grace.
They’d hum by the dozens outside of each door,
As if guarding the place or calling for war.

No breeze through the canebrake, no peace in my bed,
Just a net full of holes and welts on my head.
I’d preach through the buzzing; I’d pray through the itch—
In pants made for Sunday, those bites made me twitch.

I love Chepén, its culture, its people, and its past,
Its mango-sweet mornings and memories that last.
I often think of that town, and I’d go back still—
To the hill of the cross and the sugarcane mill.

The sunsets, the people, the heavenly view—
Even the bugs… well, maybe just a few.
I must confess, with just with one small footnote:
Next time I’ll wear mosquito repellent…by the boat.

Theriogenology Thursday: Did you know that over 40 species of lizards reproduce through parthenogenesis—a process of nat...
10/16/2025

Theriogenology Thursday: Did you know that over 40 species of lizards reproduce through parthenogenesis—a process of natural cloning? These remarkable reptiles don’t need males at all; every individual is female. Talk about true independence in the animal kingdom!

My Take Tuesday: Veterinary Technician Appreciation WeekBeing in the veterinary industry is hard work. Each day brings i...
10/14/2025

My Take Tuesday: Veterinary Technician Appreciation Week

Being in the veterinary industry is hard work. Each day brings its share of ups and downs, happiness and heartbreak, and moments where life and death hang in the balance. By the end of the day, we’re often exhausted—physically and emotionally drained.

Since our patients can’t speak for themselves, much of our work involves communicating with their human families. In many ways, we treat the owners as much as we treat the pets. Doing this well requires a rare blend of empathy, patience, and professionalism.

Behind every good veterinarian stands a team of dedicated, compassionate individuals committed to helping people help their pets. I’m fortunate to be surrounded by an exceptional team of veterinary technicians here at Mountain West Animal Hospital.

If you’ve ever faced a pet emergency, you know how meaningful it is to have a knowledgeable and caring technician by your side. Veterinary technicians are the unsung heroes of the veterinary world. Without these devoted professionals, our hospital would be a sea of chaos. They do it all—greeting clients, answering phones, restraining animals, drawing blood, assisting in surgery, cleaning cages, and comforting both pets and people alike.

I couldn’t make it through a single day without my team. They bring the skill, heart, and steady hands that make our clinic what it is.

What most people don’t see are the emotional costs of this profession. They don’t see the quiet tears after we’ve said goodbye to a patient we’ve cared for during many years. They don’t see the long hours, the late-night emergencies, or the emotional whiplash of losing one patient and saving another within minutes. They don’t see the neglected pets we try to rehabilitate—or the physical toll this work takes: the bites, scratches, sore muscles, and aching backs.

They don’t see the blood, vomit, and messes that get cleaned up without hesitation, or the moments of triumph when a dying pet turns a corner and walks out our doors, tail wagging, ready to live more good years.
There are heroes among us who never stand in the spotlight, never hear applause, and rarely receive the recognition they deserve.

Pictured here are some of my heroes. They are my right hand and my left. They work in a high-stress environment, put in long hours, and face risks every day—all because they care. They care deeply for our clients and their four-legged family members.

This week is National Veterinary Technician Appreciation Week. Please join me in thanking these amazing women for the extraordinary work they do at Mountain West Animal Hospital.

They are, quite simply, incredible.

And that’s my take.
N. Isaac Bott, DVM

Address

410 S 450 W
Springville, UT
84663

Opening Hours

Monday 8am - 12pm
1pm - 5pm
Tuesday 8am - 12pm
1pm - 5pm
Wednesday 8am - 12pm
1pm - 5pm
Thursday 8am - 12pm
1pm - 5pm
Friday 8am - 12pm
1pm - 5pm
Saturday 9am - 1pm

Telephone

+18014899676

Website

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