Even though veterinarian Robert Earl Barros once skillfully helped with the delivery of a calf on a farm near Little Rock, he didn't want anyone to know he had done it.

It was a snowy December morning in 1979, recalled Barros' friend, veterinarian Conley Byrd Jr. of Redfield.

"It was cold, we were in a rickety, old barn, and there were mosquitoes actually flying around," Byrd said. "We delivered that calf, and Robert said, 'Don't you ever tell anybody I just delivered a calf.' He preferred working with the smaller animals inside. He didn't want anyone to know he could do a good job with other animals."

Barros, a Little Rock veterinarian and former U.S. Department of Agriculture veterinarian inspector, died Monday at Baptist Health Medical Center in Little Rock. A cause of death was unavailable. Barros, 70, had long suffered from osteoporosis and heart issues.

Born in Detroit on Sept. 24, 1943, Barros grew up in Lindsay, Okla. He attended Central State College in Edmond, Okla., and later earned his doctorate of veterinarian medicine from Oklahoma State University.

While Barros was a student, money was often tight, Byrd said. In the summers, Barros worked at the Green Giant canning plant in northern Wisconsin.

He also helped his professors with research, Byrd said.

"He was broke like most students were," he said. "They'd do work on rabbits, and Robert would cook the carcasses afterward so they'd have something to eat. Some of the research was radiological. He'd figure out the half-life on the radioactivity, and when it died off, they'd eat it."

After earning his degree, Barros moved to Little Rock where he practiced veterinary medicine at Bellevue Animal Clinic and helped open the Asher Animal Clinic. He closed the practice in 1991 and later joined the Agriculture Department as a veterinary inspector at Odom's Tennessee Pride plant in Little Rock.

He married the former Margaret House on May 23, 1981, beginning the journey his wife called the "great ride."

The two were best friends.

"He was the most interesting man I ever knew," she said. "He could laugh at life. We got every wringing thing out of life we could."

Margaret said his love of animals was evident in his practice -- though he did prefer the smaller animals.

"It wasn't just cows," she said, referring to his assistance delivering that winter calf. "I was a horse person. He finally told me that he figured out the big animals could hurt you worse. The funny thing, though, was he had a scar on his lip from a tiny chihuahua dog that bit him."

Byrd said he often called Barros for help on cases and just to talk. The two were friends for more than three decades.

"We've all been bitten by animals," Byrd said. "Robert once told me that he didn't like animals who weren't totally honest with him. The honest animals would growl before biting you. He said, 'The dishonest animals will smile at you and then bite you.'"

Barros was meticulous in his work, often staying late at a clinic to study and work with ailing animals.

He and Margaret were once called away from an Arkansas Razorbacks football game to tend to a choking Pekingese dog.

He took an X-ray of the animal but saw no obstruction, Margaret said. "He said, 'I'm going to have to go in and see,'" she said. "He found a Kentucky Fried Chicken bone in that dog's throat that didn't show up on the X-ray. He saved that little dog's life."

State Desk on 07/02/2014