The Travelling Vet

by Jonathan Cranston

  ‘What do you think the problem is?’ Mrs Parker asked.

  ‘He’s got scald,’ I told her. ‘It’s very common, don’t worry. It’s an ulcerative sore between the claws caused by environmental bacteria. Very easy to treat …’

  Back at my box, I drew up some Finadyne, an anti-inflammatory, grabbed the Terramycin spray, and returned to the goat.

  ‘I’ll give him some pain relief as well,’ I said, injecting into his muscle. Bertie didn’t flinch, his head still in the bucket. Goats really are food-obsessed, I thought. I picked up his foot and sprayed between the claws.

  ‘That should do it,’ I said, releasing his foot to the ground and heading back to my box.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Mrs Parker. ‘He’ll be happy finishing off his bucket of hay. You must be a little hot in your outfit,’ she added with a chuckle. I became conscious of the beads of sweat now dripping from my forehead.

  Then Jamie joined in. ‘Did you make Bertie better, Mr Silly Wetsuit Man?’

  ‘I hope so,’ I said, making my way through the gate back into the garden.

  ‘Poor Bertie,’ he sighed.

  ‘He’s your favourite, isn’t he, Jamie?’ said Mrs Parker as we headed back to the house. Then, turning to me, she added, ‘Would you like a cup of tea? I completely understand if you want to just get home, but the offer’s there.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, but … yes, I think I will just head off.’

  ‘I thought you might.’

  As we reached the front of the house, a car pulled into the drive.

  ‘Daddy’s home, Daddy’s home!’ Jamie shouted in excitement, rushing to the driver’s door of the now parked car.

  My heart sank as Mr Parker stepped out of the car and gathered Jamie into his arms.

  ‘Have you been a good boy for Mummy?’ he enquired, but Jamie completely ignored the question.

  ‘Daddy, Daddy, this man is wearing a wetsuit on land, silly man, he came to make Bertie better.’

  Mr Parker, having only half listened to his son, turned to his wife.

  ‘Hi, darling,’ she said. ‘This is Jonathan, the vet. He came to have a look at Bertie.’ Her husband stuck out his hand to shake mine, only then gaining a full appreciation of what Jamie had been saying.

  ‘Oh, I see … You are indeed wearing a wetsuit. Have you been treating seals today or something?’

  ‘It’s a … long story?’ I replied feebly, noticing the exchange of glances between Mr and Mrs Parker. ‘Anyway, I’d best be getting off. Bertie should be fine now, but any further problems, then give me a call.’

  And with that I made a dash for the car, quickly loading my box into the boot, before slumping behind my steering wheel, starting the engine and speeding away, praying that Bertie would not actually need a revisit in the next few days.

  Goats: fast facts

  Capra aegagrus hircus: The domestic goat

  Distribution: Global, following domestication of the wild goat of south-west Asia and eastern Europe.

  Description: The domestic goat is a sub-species of the wild goat, Capra aegagrus, with over 300 distinct breeds.

  Names: The male is called a ‘buck’ or ‘billy’, the female a ‘doe’ or ‘nanny’, and their young a ‘kid’. A group of goats is called a ‘tribe’.

  Life span: About 15–18 years.

  Husbandry: In much of the world they are usually free to wander hills and other grazing areas tended by goatherds, who are frequently children. Elsewhere, they are usually stabled, tethered or contained in small paddocks.

  Diet: Goats are ruminants, like cattle and sheep, but are browsers rather than grazers. They will often chew on anything, but prefer vines, shrubs and weeds to grasses. They are used in Chinese tea plantations, to eat the weeds and fertilize the plants while avoiding the tea leaves themselves because of their bitter taste.

  Gestation: 150 days. The breeding season depends on their global location, the female’s 21-day cycle either commencing when day-length shortens or lasting all year round in equatorial regions.

  Weight: Anything from 20 kg for pygmy breeds to 140 kg for Boers.

  Size and growth: Sexual maturity is reached anywhere between 3 and 15 months, and full size at 2–3 years.

  Body temperature: 38.8–39.4 °C.

  Conservation: The domestic goat is one of the most wildly distributed agricultural animals in the world, due to its multiplicity of uses to humanity. More humans consume goat’s milk globally than cow’s milk; their meat is popular to consume, their manure can be used as a fertilizer, their fibre and hide for clothing or leather products, and they are useful for clearing land of unwanted vegetation and carrying light loads. It is estimated that there are around 924 million domestic goats worldwide, so happily they are not a threatened species, like some others in this book. Why not celebrate the huge benefit this animal has been to humanity by sending a goat to someone in the developing world, by visiting: www.musthavegifts.org/a-goat.html?.

  6

  ELEPHANT

  ‘There is no creature among all the Beasts of the world which hath so great and ample demonstration of the power and wisdom of Almighty God as the Elephant.’

  Edward Topsell

  I was sitting in the driving seat of the Ford Ranger, seat reclined, feet resting on the frame of my open door, watching the interactions of two lilac-breasted rollers in the mimosa trees on the other side of the sandy track, lost in my thoughts. My two sleeping passengers were oblivious to this, as they were to the little duiker that moments before had darted across the track just feet in front of me, disappearing as quickly as it had come. For the moment, it was a waiting game. The two-way radio that lay next to the gearstick had been silent since Ben, Andres and Lyle had left three hours before.

  We were in thick bush at the base of a mountain region just outside the South African town of Hoedspruit. Our objective was to find, dart and radio-collar one of three young bull elephants that had broken out of a game reserve several months previously. They had migrated 40 km from their home and had now settled in this region, hiding in thick bush during the day and then feasting on a local farmer’s mango and orange crops at night. Understandably, the farmer felt that the elephants had outstayed their welcome and was keen to have them removed from the farm before they destroyed his livelihood.

  Over the previous two months various attempts had been made by helicopter, initially to herd them back towards the reserve, and then, when they had migrated too far, to move them away from areas where they would cause destruction, but both had failed. Now they had a taste for oranges and mangos, and seemed to have settled into their daily routine, making this area their new home, and only two options remained: to shoot them, or to relocate them. Fortunately, the farmer was keen on the latter if possible, and the charity, Elephants Alive, had stepped in to organize and fund the operation.

  The logistics of relocating three bull elephants weighing in the region of 3 tonnes each, from a relatively inaccessible mountainous area, were colossal, so it was decided to break the operation down into two components. Fortunately, the elephants were sticking together, running as a small bachelor herd. So Phase One was to dart and collar one of the three elephants so that their movements could be monitored and they could easily be located for Phase Two, which would be the actual relocation. Phase One would also give the time for a proper understanding of what would be required for Phase Two. This was our second attempt at Phase One, the first having ended in failure a few days earlier, when darkness had fallen before we were able to locate the elephants. So today we had set off from Nelspruit at 4.30 a.m., in order to arrive at the farm for 7 a.m., to give us a full day to try to find the group, and collar one.

  These elephants were completely wild, which not only meant that they were easily spooked, but also that they were potentially very dangerous, a danger enhanced by the fact that they were only accessible by foot. For these reasons, the plan was for a skeleton team to go in first to locate and dart one, and then
the rest of the team would drive as close as possible, bringing in the equipment for the procedure, once the elephant was down and the area secure. This skeleton team consisted of Andres, the tracker, who was key to finding the elephants; Ben, who would dart the elephant; and Lyle, the third member of the team, who, armed with a rifle, would act as their bodyguard, in case the worst happened and one of the elephants charged them.

  After an hour of trying to pick up a good lead on the elephants’ movements from the night before, we had got the two trucks as close as we could, and then Andres, Ben and Lyle had left on foot. It had been an extraordinary experience to watch Andres work. His vision for things that seemed undetectable to the rest of us was incredible. Water droplets on a sandy track 50 metres from a dam told him that they had drunk from there a few hours previously: walking away from the dam with their trunks down, the water drips out of them in a characteristic fashion. Dry sap from broken branches indicated when the branches were broken. Dung could be aged to the nearest few hours, and then footprints and trunk prints indicated the direction, time and speed of their movement. It was a completely invisible language to me, but for Andres it was as clear and as easy as reading a book.

  It was now 11 a.m.; the team had been gone for three hours. It was impossible to know how long the wait would be; a call could come at any moment, or else not for another five hours. Looking in my rear-view mirror I could see the Elephant Alive team passing the time playing cards. This was not an unfamiliar scenario to them. Anyone with any experience of wildlife work quickly learns how to pass endless hours of waiting. It could infuriate some, but for me there was something magical and wonderful about just being out in the African bush and waiting for that call to action: the job you had come to do, and an experience that would become a treasured memory for the rest of your life.

  The perfect peace and tranquillity was suddenly lost as a whispering voice crackled across the radio. It was Lyle.

  ‘We’ve located them, 100 metres in front of us. Ben and Andres are making an approach to get close enough to dart. I will send through our GPS location. Stand by.’

  ‘Roger that,’ I replied.

  My two passengers were instantly roused and ready to go. I climbed out of the truck to relay the news to the others. From the GPS coordinates we could plan how best to access them and how close we could get in with the vehicles. But there was no guarantee that this would be their final location. The elephants might spook, leading to several more hours of tracking, and even if darted, they could still travel about 2 km in the eight minutes it took for the dart to take effect. We had to be ready to respond instantly.

  A further half an hour passed before we heard anything, but then Lyle came back on the radio.

  ‘They’ve just darted one. He hasn’t fled, but is moving off. Ben and Andres are following him – but come to the location I sent you.’ The relief in his voice was evident. It was difficult to speculate what exactly had happened, but it had obviously been a very tense time.

  I passed on the information, and then jumped behind the driver’s seat. As we set off I pulled over to let Jess, who was driving the Elephants Alive team vehicle, take the lead. They had been patrolling the area for over a month now and had an intimate knowledge of the arterial network of tracks in this thick maze of bush and rocks – though to call them ‘tracks’ was a generous description. They were more like an area in this thick bush where there was slightly less flora and a few more rocks.

  Within moments the truck in front was invisible amid the haze of dust it generated. Jess wasn’t hanging about, and with large boulders partially blocking the route in places, it took all my concentration to navigate these obstacles at speed to stay on her tail.

  Ten minutes later we arrived at the GPS location. Lyle was standing by the side of the road, gun at the ready.

  ‘He’s gone down over there.’ He pointed off into the thick bush to our right. ‘Fortunately, he only travelled about 200 metres after he was darted, so he’s just a few minutes away by foot. The two others seem to have fled, but I’ll escort you just in case they decide to come back for their mate.’ It was a matter-of-fact comment, but the way he left it hanging conjured images in my mind of what that would be like, and I knew it would be utterly terrifying.

  Even the ostensibly simple job of placing a radio collar on an elephant required a fair amount of equipment. For starters, the collar itself was about 6 inches wide, half an inch thick and 10 feet long. Then there was the counterweight, weighing in at about 15 kg, which would be attached to the collar on the underside of the elephant’s neck to stop it slipping when the elephant moved. Not to mention the portable angle grinder, an electric drill, and lengths of metal cable and cable ties that were all essential for making the job as quick and efficient as possible. The danger was extreme – not because the anaesthetic might fail, but because every passing moment that this bull elephant was separated from his fellows increased the risk of their returning to find him.

  We headed into the bush lugging the boxes of equipment, with Lyle directing us from the rear, gun at the ready, as he carefully and systematically studied every direction for signs of imminent danger. Fortunately none came, and after five minutes of negotiating trees, bushes, a ditch and thick undergrowth, we arrived at the darted elephant. At about twenty-five years of age, he was a sub-adult, but at such close quarters his size was still formidable. Lying on his right side, trunk fully extended, he had gone down perfectly in a small clearing and was sleeping soundly. With every breath came a booming snore that reverberated through his trunk and filled our otherwise silent surroundings. Ben and Andres had already covered his upper eye with his large leafy ear to minimize external stimulation, and placed a carefully constructed twig in the end of his trunk to keep it unobstructed and to ease his breathing.

  Once we had absorbed the initial beauty and majesty of the animal sleeping in front of us, we set about fixing the collar. First, the metal cable was fed under his neck, using cable ties to secure it to the collar itself, which we were then able to pull back through, under his neck. Next, we measured it for size, ensuring the transmitter would sit on the top of his neck, and allowing a gap of two hand-breadths between the collar and his neck so that it wasn’t too tight. The counterweight was then fitted and bolted to the collar, the excess length of the bolts and the collar were removed with the angle grinder, and the job was done. It took no more than ten minutes in total. While Ben, Jess and I had been fixing the collar, the others had been gathering various data on the animal for Elephants Alive’s records and database, our safety all the while guaranteed by Lyle’s careful patrol of the area.

  The equipment was finally gathered up and people started heading back to the trucks. Drawing up the reversal drug into a 2-ml syringe, Ben handed it to me.

  ‘You can wake him up now.’

  ‘OK,’ I replied. I waited till everyone was a safe distance away, then found one of the large ear veins and injected the Naltrexone into it, before heading back in the direction of the truck to join Ben by a tree 100 metres away, from where we could safely monitor the elephant’s recovery. Within a minute he was attempting to lift his head and gain some purchase on the ground with his feet. He had a few failed attempts at lifting his head, rocking himself onto his chest, but within a further minute he had done so and from there he was soon on his feet. Happy that he was alive and well, and with the collar secured, we scurried back to the truck, and rapidly withdrew.

  Once back at the farm, Jess got out her iPad to show us a map of the area, on which could now be seen the route the elephant had taken since waking up and wandering off. The tracking collar was working. Phase One was complete.

  The following Friday we returned to the farm for Phase Two: relocation. The logistics of this operation were truly massive, including two helicopters, three flatbed trailers, a crane, a JCB, the capture team, the veterinary team, the Elephants Alive team, and a television crew. The local highways authorities had also been informed, and a r
oad escort arranged.

  When we arrived at the farm at 6.30 a.m. there was already a fleet of vehicles and a crowd of people milling around. It was such an exciting and rare event that the Elephant Alive volunteers, some veterinary students and friends of those involved in the procedure, had all come along to witness it. There must have been thirty people there already, and that was without the capture team, helicopter pilots and many of the other essential participants.

  We headed over to greet Michelle, the senior member of the Elephants Alive team and key coordinator of the operation. We had met her at the first collaring attempt, but she hadn’t been at the second, successful one because she was attending the funeral of Wayne Derek Lotter, the great wild-life and elephant conservationist who had been tragically murdered two weeks before. Amazingly bravely, his wife and two daughters had decided to participate in this relocation as a way of honouring Wayne’s memory, and Michelle had asked them if they would allow the three elephants to be named after him. It was a wonderful gesture for a man who had worked tirelessly for twenty-seven years and ultimately given his life to protect Africa’s wildlife, and elephants in particular.

  The news was frustrating: the team had been feeding the elephants all week to encourage them into a more accessible area, but the night before they had migrated back into the thick bush in the mountains. They were totally inaccessible by road so we would be completely reliant on the skill of the helicopter pilots to locate them and then drive them out of the mountains to a more approachable area where we could bring in the crane and flatbed trailers to load them. The fear was that because the elephants had already been exposed to helicopters several times they might just ignore them, staying hidden and inaccessible. If that happened the whole operation would have to be abandoned and rearranged at vast extra expense with further coordination headaches. No wonder Michelle looked tense.