I came home refreshed for a few more years of work. But I never forgot the Norwegian dinner. A strange and funny night where I got in the schtuck without saying anything at all.
EVOLUTION — PA
When I first started practising in the mid-1970s, vets, especially those in rural areas, had to be reasonably competent in all aspects of veterinary practice. A day might have started off with an early morning unexpected calving followed by looking at a dog and a cat or two back at the clinic. These might have been booked in but quite possibly the owner had just arrived with his or her pet on the off-chance that you might be sitting around looking for something to do. It could be an animal with a skin infection, a broken leg, or vomiting and diarrhoea from some gut infection. And in those days some of the nasty contagious diseases, such as distemper, feline enteritis and a little later on the dog disease parvovirus, occurred on a regular basis. Nowadays these conditions are well controlled by vaccination programmes. Some jobs were simple but others, as they still do, although perhaps less often, tested your skills.
The morning might then finish with a dog spay and a cat castration that had been booked, then the broken leg that had come in if there was time. At 2 p.m. a farmer was expecting you at his property, 60 kilometres away, to pregnancy test 200 cows, and on the way home there could be a colt castration at another property. If you hadn’t had time before you left to fix the broken leg then that would be waiting for you back at the clinic. If you were lucky your colleague had returned from his rounds before you and had done that job.
Whatever happened — work was never mundane. There was always the unexpected and you had to be able to switch from being a bovine obstetrician to an epidemiologist sorting out a disease outbreak or growth-rate problem in a mob of hoggets to a small animal radiologist then an anaesthetist and then a surgeon and finally swap between being a cat and a dog specialist and — just to add more variety — perhaps a budgie expert.
With companion animals the diagnoses of any sort of problem was invariably made after a really thorough physical examination and some astute questioning of the owner — although this was not always that helpful! The use of laboratory testing and other ancillary tests, such as radiography, was really only used to confirm or rule out a diagnosis. Routine laboratory testing was not often resorted to as we had no in-house lab and the turnaround time of the Animal Health Laboratory, the nearest being 300 kilometres away at Lincoln, was usually too slow to be really useful. The local hospital, while helpful, did most of the blood analysis but often had difficulty interpreting some of the tests from the different species, and didn’t have many of the tests we required for our patients.
So the work in those earlier days was challenging and it was exciting. We were basically James Herriot-type practitioners. We were generalists and reacted to the situation and dealt with everything the best we could. If there was more than one vet in a practice then as a new graduate you might refer to a more experienced colleague when faced with an unusual situation or when you felt you were out of your depth, but generally you managed on your own. There was little in the way of referrals to other vets because in those days few vets actually specialised in any field. We were jacks of all trades and I was actually quite proud of that fact. While I knew I could handle most situations, I did, after a while, start to appreciate that I was not an expert or really highly competent in any field.
For instance, broken legs in working dogs were common. When I started practising we fixed most of them with plaster casts or by pinning. Pinning involved driving a pin up through one of the broken ends of the bone and out through the head of the bone and the skin at the end of that section, and then lining up the broken ends and pushing the pin back into and down to the end of the other section. It was only effective for some breaks in some bones. Plaster casting was notoriously unrewarding. If the casts got wet they crumbled and collapsed because we only used plaster of Paris. None of that new-fangled lightweight water-resistant synthetic stuff. And if the casts were uncomfortable they would get chewed off. As anyone who has had a limb in a cast knows, these can become uncomfortable and an itch is hard to scratch. Dogs and cats deal with that the only way they know how — by chewing over the itchy area.
So in those early days we became very competent at amputating limbs and there were a lot of three-legged cats and dogs around. It really was the best option for serious breaks when casting or pinning was unlikely to be successful. After all, as someone once said, cats and dogs, especially small dogs, have three legs plus a spare. Having three good legs was a far better option for a cat or dog than three good legs plus a badly mended one that didn’t work too well and gave it pain for the rest of its life.
With time, improved bone fixation techniques became available. While I could never claim to be any good at plating bones or using external fixation techniques, Pete J did a number of courses and studied the different processes and became extremely competent in this field. Three-legged dogs eventually became a bit of a rarity in the area.
In the 1980s the country was buzzing and farming was on a high. Not only farmers but small lifestyle-block holders, many of whom were professionals, wanted to join in the farming boom. Diversify was the message and a number of good sheep and cattle farmers came unstuck by not doing better what they were good at, but rather trying new ventures. We suddenly had to deal with a whole new range of animals, all with their own specific issues: deer, goats, alpacas and llamas, ostriches and emus, fitches and even rabbits and possums.
This was a really exciting period for the profession. The demand for high-quality founder animals was there and we were not going to miss out. We learned artificial insemination and embryo transfer, supplying this service to local and not so local beef, sheep, goat and deer farmers. You can read all about these times in ‘Angora Anguish’ (page 47), ‘Helping the Ram Out’ (page 169) and ‘The Lord God Made Them All’ (page 105).
So with time the profession in rural areas has evolved from one where each vet had a go at doing everything to one where many individuals provide specialist services. This has been helped by the trend away from one or two vets in each practice, where you tended to be working alone much of the time and had to be able to handle all situations, to multi-vet practices.
We all have different skills and abilities and interests so in multi-vet practices these days any particular animal health issue tends to go to the person best qualified for the job. Many practices now limit themselves almost solely to one species, for example a large animal (LA) practice might provide an equine or a dairy cow service and within that practice individuals might focus all their work on one area such as surgery or reproduction or mastitis control. A better, more complete service is available to the public when there are vets around who concentrate on a narrow field or specialise.
Specialisation is very useful as one ages, especially in the LA field. A lot of the work in this field is physically demanding so there are not too many rural vets in their mid- to late sixties still actively doing routine hands-on LA jobs. Many have had to quit because they have found a lot of the work has become too much for an ageing worn-out body. If they have not developed a reputation for a specialist skill, with possible referral work from other practices, then they will retire, very often away from the area where they might have spent all their working days. Sadly, with them goes a huge amount of local knowledge specific to the area.
Specialisation has become more and more important and probably essential for the sustainability of rural veterinary practices. In the past the sale of animal health products always subsidised income because in many of these rural practices, particularly the more remote ones, the fees charged are insufficient to cover costs. Too much time is taken up driving to jobs and in non-revenue-generating activities in the clinic, as well as discussing issues and giving free advice over the telephone. Now the animal health remedy market is being seriously challenged by trading conglomerates and certain fertiliser companies that are able to pass on these p
roducts at minimum cost to themselves, giving no or at most token animal health advice.
The trend over the years has also been for non-veterinarians to do some of the more lucrative LA work. While these people cannot provide the total service veterinarians can, there are definitely some jobs such as TB testing and pregnancy scanning that they can do. As a result we have seen some jobs, especially the routine and more lucrative ones, slipping to cheaper operators who come into farming areas for a couple of months, take a good deal of the work, and then at the end of the season disappear back to their own farms or other jobs. Some progressive rural practices do now, however, employ LA technicians for this work. This trend will probably continue, as it should, because it then frees up the vet to spend more time doing real veterinary investigative work, sorting out flock and herd performance issues and charging properly for it.
Pete J and I decided to take on different responsibilities and roles in our practice in the late 1980s. It amazed me how quickly I started losing my small animal diagnostic skills and forgot the treatment regimes required for specific conditions when the only small animal work I did was after hours or during the weekends. Various little incidents reminded me that it was time to drop small animal work altogether.
We now have to accept that the romantic days of the generalist veterinarian, the James Herriots of this world, are numbered. ‘Progress’ determines that we become specialists. For the production animal veterinarian that means providing a service to farmers that helps them determine their opportunities, gives their business direction, and is able to measure and demonstrate improvements in farm performance, productivity and profitability. I believe that the very survival of farm vets depends on us continuing to develop our skills and expertise in this area.
For my part I have always had a strong interest in whole flock and herd production and management and over the years became more and more involved in advisory work. Nowadays it is practically all I do.
This farm consultancy and advisory work has allowed me to continue working long after age and wear and tear would have shut me out of LA clinical work and I would probably have retired from the profession. I’m not ready for that yet.
I love the job and the people I work with and the clients I work for.
SEEN YOURS SENIORS — PJ
In the mid-1980s Ally and I had one of those rare pieces of good fortune that come to some people. We inherited some money.
My mother’s sister, our dear Aunt Joan, died suddenly in the street in Wellington, where she was on holiday from her permanent home in Sydney. Joan had married later in life to a widowed man who we saw as rather unfriendly, and pretty damned tight too. He had an adult family, but he and Joan had no children together so when he died the childless Aunt Joan saw our family, her sister’s children, as her closest relatives. She would come to visit each of us from time to time, and had a particular liking for Ally and me. She was a bit boring, but demanded little, and was quite lonely, and we always rather liked her visits. She gave me a connection to the mother I’d lost when I was a twelve-year-old, and Ally was her genuine kind self with the old girl, making her feel wanted.
A month or two after Joan’s death, and to our real surprise, we five nieces and nephews all received a lawyer’s letter, advising that we were the beneficiaries of Joan’s will, and we would shortly be receiving a sum of money which, for those days, and in our perpetual state of ‘making do’ with a growing family, seemed huge.
The result was that Ally and I had our first major overseas trip, and we bought a nice old brick house on three-quarters of an acre in Springlands. It was a significant jump in property for us, and I have been forever grateful to my Aunt Joan for her thoughtfulness.
The house we bought was a very solid single storey, double brick building, with internal brick walls coated with concrete, not just plaster. Hanging pictures was a bit of a mission and involved gearing up with a hammer drill and bits. It was a well-known house, as it had been owned for many years by a loved and respected general practitioner named Brian Bruce. Doctor Bruce was not only a GP, but also served as the local obstetrician and gynaecologist. He had looked after Ally while she was pregnant with Jane, our second child.
The reader may wonder where this story is going, and to what veterinary point, but there is a connection. Mike and Sue Cambridge were farmers in the Waihopai Valley, a hard part of Marlborough’s farming country. They became clients of Anderson & Jerram and on several occasions I visited the farm to pregnancy test their cows, or vaccinate the dogs, perhaps to treat a lame bull. Mike was industrious and clever, while Sue has a delightful sense of humour. Like most of the women of that era, she had been a patient of Dr Bruce, who may well have delivered some of her children, but I’m guessing.
What I do know is that Sue had a favourite story about Dr Bruce. He was a regular churchgoer, a solid member of the Anglican community in the days and of a generation when churches were often full for the Sunday service. Sue always maintained that when Dr Bruce returned to his seat after receiving communion, he would nod in recognition to the many women who were, or had been, his patients. His head would bob up and down for the length of the aisle, and Sue reckoned he was silently saying ‘Seen yours, seen yours, seen yours …’ as he graciously acknowledged his patients. It was a funny story that tickled most people’s sense of humour. When I heard it from another friend I was highly amused.
Only a day or so after hearing the story and still chuckling, I got myself in a bit of trouble over it. It was autumn and I returned home one evening from a game of after-work squash to find a message: Would I please ring Mike Cambridge to arrange a visit to pregnancy test the cows. After dinner I rang the Cambridges’ number. Sue answered the phone, and cheekily, even stupidly, and on the spur of the moment, I mimicked the slow voice of Dr Bruce.
‘Hello, Sue here.’
‘Oh, hello Sue, it’s Brian Bruce here, and I’ve seen yours,’ I said in a slow deep voice.
There was a stunned silence on the other end of the phone, then in a querulous voice, ‘Yes, Dr Bruce, you saw me today. Is there something wrong?’
I was completely bemuddled, and instantly gave in. I confessed it was me, ringing for Mike. Sue was not unfriendly but didn’t sound too amused as she passed me over to her husband. Embarrassed at my cheek, I organised the visit with Mike and said goodbye rapidly.
A day or two later I recounted all of the story to a mutual friend, Puddy Sheild.
‘Oh my God, Pete,’ she said. ‘Sue had just found out that day that she had an unexpected pregnancy.’ Sue was at an age when she’d thought that was a thing of the past, and it was some years after her previous children had been born. Talk about putting your foot in it.
Sue was very understanding, and we laughed about it afterwards, but I was always just a bit more careful with my telephone calls after that.
Smart bastards don’t always get it right.
WRAPPING UP — PA
I am now definitely in the twilight of my career. Looking back I hope I might have inspired one or two young people to train and become veterinarians. It is also quite possible that I have put some off the idea of becoming a vet, and that is not necessarily a bad thing. Throughout my time in practice I have heard young people tell me they are going to be a vet or want to be a vet because they ‘love animals’. Well, most people enjoy looking at or being with or working with animals but unfortunately ‘loving’ them as it happens is not really enough.
A number of those who want to be a vet when they grow up get to the point where they arrange to spend a day in a veterinary clinic to find out about the job, but the sights and smells and general hustle and bustle of surgery as well as the actual treatment animals have to receive is too much and they quickly lose enthusiasm for their dream job. Others might persist with their aim until hormones kick in and social interests alter their direction in life. Or perhaps they are put off by the realisation that training to be a vet takes at least five years of total commitment and
hard work at university before they can even start to work. And while they are building up a sizeable student loan their mates are out having a great time as well as earning a living.
But for those young budding veterinarians who enthusiastically pursue their dream, knowing what is ahead of them in the way of hard graft, stress and some deprivations, it will all be worth it. The rewards possible after achieving the veterinary science degree would be matched by few other qualifications. The opportunities it creates are only limited by the imagination. Few other qualifications can give you such a real purpose for living and working.
I have enjoyed immensely my life as a veterinarian, especially as my role has changed from a generalist to a sheep and beef farm advisor. Here our role is more to ensure stock are fed enough of the right stuff at the right time in an environment in which they can happily survive and grow and breed as well as possible. It’s more about prevention and welfare and whole herd and flock performance. My work in this area of the profession has been for me more rewarding than if I had worked as a companion animal vet where the emphasis tends to be a little similar to the medical profession — to fix things when they go wrong.
I am helped significantly here by being a StockCARE advisor. StockCARE is a programme to help sheep and beef farmers really find out what is going on in their businesses. It uses comprehensive systems to measure the important drivers of the farm business. The information collected through accurate measuring and recording is used to identify factors that are limiting flock and herd performance. We help the farmer identify opportunities and the most appropriate solutions to improve their business. This programme was developed by one of the most astute practical production animal vets in the country — Chris Mulvaney. I have had the privilege of working alongside him and a handful of other leading sheep and beef vets for the last 15 years.
Old Dogs New Tricks Page 18
