Conservation: Snow leopards have no natural predators, but like so many creatures around the world, humanity is their biggest threat. The IUCN has classified them as ‘vulnerable’, with estimates ranging from 4,500 to 8,745 adults left in the wild. Poachers kill them for their thick fur or bones, which are used in traditional Asian medicines; global warming is reducing their habitat; and the overgrazing of domestic animals has led to a reduction in their natural prey, and therefore an increased contact and conflict with humans, who kill them to defend their livelihood. Unlike other big cats, however, snow leopards have never been known to attack humans and can be easily chased away. For more information on how you can help protect this magical creature, visit www.snowleopard.org.
5
GOAT
‘The lust of the goat is the bounty of God.’
William Blake
Martin headed into the practice with a spring in his step. The surfboard on the roof of his car was reason enough to explain it.
‘Morning Martin,’ I said. ‘Catch any good waves?’ It was 8.30 a.m. and I had only just arrived myself.
‘It’s always so great. No better way to start the day. You got the bug yet?’
‘I need to get a wetsuit and a board first,’ I mumbled. Being a surfing nut was obviously one of the most important prerequisites to joining a vet practice so close to Woolacombe Beach in North Devon. So to confess I hadn’t even ventured in after six weeks at the practice was almost criminal.
‘You need to head to Second Skin in Braunton! Andy will sort you out with a suit and a second-hand board and then you’ll be away. Trust me, you’ll love it. Make sure you get a 5/3mm suit, then you can venture out in December without freezing.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, making a mental note to do just that. It wasn’t that I had been avoiding surfing – far from it. It was just that, with all the changes I had undergone since graduating, moving down to Devon and starting my career as a veterinary surgeon, I simply hadn’t got round to exploring any new hobbies, but I was still keen to do so. Next time I was in Braunton I would get my wetsuit.
With that we both headed into the practice to see what the day had in store. Looking through the diary, I saw I had a couple of lame cows to see, a cow with mastitis, and then, as luck would have it I had a visit, booked for midday, to see Mr Giles at Home Farm to castrate a dozen of his bullocks. Home Farm was just outside Braunton, so if all went to plan and no emergencies came in I could grab my lunch and take a look at some wetsuits.
And sure enough, at a quarter to two on that Thursday afternoon I found myself heading back to my car with a brand-new 5/3mm Second Skin wetsuit and with Andy on the look-out for a second-hand Bic 7ft9 Mini Mal surfboard – a good beginners’ board, apparently. Clearly, I would soon be just another North Devon vet driving around with my surfboard on the car roof ready for a pre- or post-work dip.
As I sat in the car enjoying my lunch, I resolved to try out my new purchase at the weekend, and maybe even book a surfing lesson. I wasn’t on call and didn’t have any plans for Saturday. The holiday season was over, so what better way to pass the day? My phone rang, breaking my train of thought. It was Jackie, the practice’s farm and equine receptionist.
‘Jonny, you done all your castrations? Can you go to Mr Watts at Upper Hill Farm in Umberleigh? He’s got a calving that he’s struggling with.’
‘Sure, I’m just in Braunton now … Where is Umberleigh?’ Six weeks in, and I was still getting to know my way around. I had naïvely purchased a sat nav before I moved down, only to discover that farms located on either side of a valley could both have the same postcode; it might be a good device for London, but it wasn’t much use in rural Devon. Fortunately, Jackie knew every postbox, streetlight, pub and phone box in a 30-mile radius and could direct me with pinpoint accuracy.
‘South of Barnstaple, head out on the A377 through Bishop’s Tawton, and just keep going on that road until you reach Umberleigh, turn left over the bridge at the Rising Sun …’ I was furiously writing down her directions on a crumpled scrap of paper I found in the passenger footwell. ‘. . . and the farm is 100 metres down that road on the right.’
‘Great, thanks.’
‘It should take you about half an hour, depending on traffic. I’ll let Mr Watts know you’re on your way. It’s marked on the map so it should be quite easy to find … Oh, and he said the cow’s down in the field and he can’t get her in.’
‘I’m on my way.’
‘Thanks Jonny. Martin or Neil will be around if you think it’s a caesarean.’ And with that she hung up.
I pulled out my Ordnance Survey map from the driver’s door pocket, opening it over the steering wheel, then folded it down to centre on Umberleigh, before spreading it on the passenger seat and setting off.
Forty minutes later I pulled into the farmyard, having exhausted myself on the journey trying to play through every possible permutation of what I might find with the calving and how I would handle it. Every day of the last six weeks had felt like a cross between The Crystal Maze and Mastermind. Book knowledge and some basic practical skills had got me through finals, but I was now having to rapidly expand the repertoire of my practical skills and problem-solving capabilities to bring theory into practice. It’s that transition that makes the first-year post qualification far more stressful than anything at university. Having good supportive bosses and colleagues was the key and in that regard I had been very lucky.
Mr Watts greeted me in that characteristic Devonian smile I was becoming accustomed too.
‘Good afternoon, young man. I don’t believe we’ve met, but Jackie says you’re all right!’
‘Nice to meet you, Mr Watts. You’ve got calving trouble I believe?’
‘It’s Arthur, call me Arthur – I can’t be doing with any of this formal talk, I’m just a man of the fields … Yes, indeed, she’s a fourth-calver, never given me trouble before, but she’s gone down in the fields … Tail is up and she’s pushing, but nothing is happening. I tried to have a feel and, well, it’s pretty tight, I can barely get my hand in, I’ve no idea what’s going on. So I thought this is one for the professionals.’
‘How long has she been calving for?’ I asked.
‘Oh, about two or three hours, I would think. I noticed her down this morning. Probably a spot of milk fever, I thought, so I gave her a bottle of calcium under the skin about eleven. She wasn’t calving then. When I checked her again at one she was still down, but straining – that’s when I had a feel and then called you. I mean, she might not even be calving, but she is due … It’s an odd one for sure, got me flummoxed.’
‘Well, let’s go and have a look.’
He cast a disparaging glance at my Ford Focus estate. ‘Don’t think your car will make it in the field, so best grab what you need and come with me.’ One day I’ll get a Defender, I thought, as I tried to collect every possible item I might conceivably require.
‘You planning on camping?’ he asked as I loaded my two boxes of equipment onto the back of his Land Rover.
‘Is that all right?’ I bantered back. ‘Have you got a calving jack?’
‘Yeah, it’s in the field next to her.’
‘Great. Then we’re set.’
We set off through the farmyard and down an old cobbled track with a high broom and gorse hedgerow on either side. The farm collie rushed out from one of the buildings and started in pursuit behind us, and Arthur slowed down.
‘Come on then, Fly,’ he cried, looking in his wing mirror. ‘They never like to be left out.’