Category Archives: The Vet Who Came In from the Cold

Fabulous Food and Fat Friday

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The remainder of my weekend in Armagh was very pleasing. Lara and I went to the Titanic Museum in Belfast. It would have been more enjoyable if six coach parties hadn’t been trying to look at the exhibits at the same time as us, but it was still interesting. They had all the witness statements from survivors on a huge wall. I only read a couple, but would be interested to read more. I expect I can find them somewhere online, if ever I have the time and inclination simultaneously!

In the evening, Lara introduced me to her pizza oven. Rather like the rambling, Victorian house, the garden and something I want to call the Mews (a lane round to some ramshackle garages – though those belonging to Lara and Mark have been rebooted, as it were) feel like a pleasant wander through a slightly overgrown past. The neighbours garden is filled with forget-me-nots. The yard where the pizza oven resides is overlooked by vines growing up the ancient wall and an apple tree (I think) festooned with multicoloured Christmas lights.

The blue door in the photo, as you might expect, leads to a room with a drum kit and a jukebox. Up a vertical ladder, in the roof space, is a miniature cinema. What a delightful house to grow up in!

The pizzas were predictably wonderful. Lara and I had bought toppings on our way back from Belfast. I’d suggested blue cheese with walnuts and honey, so with a creamy chunk of Cambazola and a handful of nuts, this one tasted wonderful.

More contentious, though equally delicious was the chocolate pizza Lara put together for dessert. She tells me she had to perfect the technique, which involves partially cooking the base first, then adding Nutella and chocolate, cooking some more, then adding the marshmallows for a final toasting. The result was a wonderful, melting concoction, not too sweet: utterly delicious.

I returned to Airth on Sunday night with a promise that I would return. Lara is arranging a McGonagall night as a kind of Scots Poetry balance to Burns night. I agreed to do a reading, though I will probably want to go with one of the more traditional Silvery Tay poems.

Sunday night was also punctuated by an unexpected call from my new boss, Eduardo. I told him about blogging yesterday afternoon and his response was, “Make me famous!” He’s kind of the opposite if a shrinking violet, so that wasn’t too much of a surprise. He cautioned me about client confidentiality and I assured him that I understood and respect that concept completely. Anyway, back to Sunday night.

He texted me just as I was leaving the airport, asking for a chat about Cumbria. I wanted to drive back with a clear mind, so I drove all the way to the edge of Airth, then pulled into the road to Airth Castle and called him. With hindsight, I think he was hoping I would volunteer to do it myself on Monday, but I missed that nuance and we discussed possibly going together on a different day. Anyway, a few seconds after ringing off, I got a text asking me to go solo. Slightly daunting I thought, but never having been one to shy away from a challenge, I agreed to meet him in the morning at the practice to collect kit and discuss approach, then I would do the call in the afternoon.

So much for all the promised training and expected introductions. First flights are always an adventure. I looked at the chickens, then carried out some post-mortems. It involved a lot of glove changes as I was taking photographs throughout. The liver and kidneys looked very odd, but I didn’t know what that indicated. I have a lot of useful and relevant experience, but once I was finished, I had to send the pictures to my other new boss. He asked me, “Do you understand what you are seeing?” Honesty is always the best policy, so I simply said, “No.”

Apparently my distinctive photos were enough for distance diagnosis. The birds had adenovirus. Back at the office, a treatment regime was assembled and sent out, while I washed my hands on the farm and discussed the fact that I would find out about cleaning regimes (and adenovirus) and would get back to them with the information the next day.

I learned a few things that day, other than about adenovirus. The most obvious one was that medicines are sent out from the clinic at around three thirty in the afternoon, so if I want farmers to get their treatment the same day, I either need to correctly predict what I need and take it with me, or I need to complete my visit before the three thirty deadline.

I must confess that, on the way back up the road, I sighed rather as I passed Gretna and realised that, instead of the thirty minute drive home, there were still two hours of motorway driving ahead of me. I sent Valerie my ETA and drove on.

Speaking to a friend on Tuesday evening, we discussed the fact that, in so many jobs, thorough training is offered along with mentoring and introductions. What actually happens is that something crops up and you are asked to go out because it’s busy and afterwards, there is no reversion to the plan. Once you’re out there, that’s it. This prediction proved correct as when I went in on Wednesday, I was asked to go out to two more cases. I can’t say I have any regrets. At 23 years old, the first time I stepped solo into veterinary work, I didn’t know if I would cope. At 57, it’s difficult to hold me back. I love fieldwork and I learn by doing. I’ll not forget what adenovirus looks like, which is just as well as I saw it again on Wednesday. There’s still a long way to go, but I love the journey. A steep learning curve (and the expansion of the mind that accompanies it) fills me with joy.

On Thursday evening, after a twelve hour day on Wednesday, I was exhausted, but Valerie persuaded me out for a fish and chip supper beside the cherry blossom trees in Dollar. What a magical evening, sitting on a picnic rug, shaded by trees, listening to the calming flow of the water.

Back in the office on Friday, I also told Naomi and Eleanor that I write a blog. They agreed it was fine with them. They’ve made me feel wonderfully welcome, so I’m glad it’s okay. There are a couple more people to ask, but hopefully I can do that next week. Naomi, as well as being a whizz on the topic of stressed hens does Fat Friday in the office. The photo at the top of the page was yesterday’s loaded fries. They were indeed, extremely loaded, as you see! I showed Val the picture and she says I have to order some and bring them back to eat one evening. That will definitely not be any hardship (assuming they do food in the evenings).

Anyway, after all that food, I’m looking forward to a weekend in Settle. Who knows what that will hold. In the meantime, thanks for reading and I hope you have a good week.

A Trip to Armagh

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I’m writing this from a narrow bed in the drawing room of Lara Wilson’s home in Armagh. Around a year ago, Lara invited me over and, so busy are our respective lives, that it’s taken all that time to get round to it, but here I am. From what I’ve seen so far, it’s a fascinating old house, built in more gracious times, back when convenient plumbing was actually having a WC indoors, that actually flushed. The sink is in a more modern looking bathroom next door.

I imagine Lara knows more about the history of the house, including how long she and her family have owned it, but we arrived after midnight, having spent yesterday evening at the AVSPNI dinner in the Europa Hotel in Belfast. Until yesterday, I’d never heard of AVSPNI, but it stands for (having to look this up as I’m writing – hope you appreciate the effort!) Association of Veterinary Surgeons Practising in Northern Ireland.

It was part of a conference that we didn’t attend and Lara hadn’t mentioned it was black tie (apparently with the theme “sparkle”) so Lara and I were slightly underdressed for the occasion, but it didn’t seem to matter. We were there because Lara is standing for a position on the RCVS council (you probably know that one, but it stands for Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons) and wanted to speak to the great and the good in NI, hopefully to gather more votes.

I will say that the Europa Hotel certainly puts on a good bash. The food at these big events can sometimes be less than excellent, but the meal was fabulous and served seamlessly, so all the tables were catered for with admirable efficiency. Obviously I’ll have to share the menu with you!

The starter was Glenarm Smoked Salmon Roulade with dill pickle, tarragon crème fraiche and water cress. I was fortunate enough to have two of these. There was a spare seat beside me and my neighbour, two seats to the right had put her handbag on the seat between us. This apparently fooled the waiting staff into believing someone was sitting there, which happily continued throughout the meal. The roulade was delicious enough that I enjoyed my double portion.

24 Hour Braised Beef followed. We were in Ireland, so I was pleased to see there were two different types of potato on the plate. Can’t beat a good Irish potato! I’m no longer able to eat double my weight in food, so this course was passed round the table, but the meat was so tender that you could cut it with the proverbial spoon.

And to finish there was a dark chocolate torte. Very nice indeed, rich and full of bitter chocolate tones.

All in all it was a good meal. There was a band to follow, who played an eclectic mix of songs. The move from Suspicious Minds to Galway Girl was achieved via Abba and Erasure and Lara ran off to dance, while I danced more lazily in my chair. She did try an introduction circuit for me, but the band was loud enough to make introductions complicated, and she was better able to persuade people to her cause without having to shout who I was in people’s ears. I’m sufficiently self contained these days that I was happy to people watch while doing a tap-footing seated dance in happy comfort.

Travelling here yesterday was quite an experience too. Lara had booked tickets with RyanAir and I had carefully packed my bag with the assumption that its size might be interrogated to within an inch of its life. What I hadn’t thought to check was whether my Norwegian driving licence was adequate photo ID. I was in the office yesterday morning, looking forward to getting a Fat Friday carry out lunch, when it crossed my mind I ought to double check. That was when I discovered that RyanAir only accept passports and national identity cards, even on domestic trips. I was north of the Forth Estuary and my passport was two hours away in Dumfries, so I had to call my brand new boss and ask for permission to leave with immediate effect. Fortunately the traffic gods smiles on me and I arrived at Edinburgh Airport to see Lara getting onto the car park bus.

Security was interesting, not because of any fuss about my bag dimensions, but because Lara was carrying some work equipment that showed up on the X-ray. She often carries the doggy equivalent of those CPR models that are used to teach CPR, but this time, she went one better and had some faje dog skulls that are to be used teaching people how to take good radiographs. Obviously this caused some confusion and she had to unpack her bag. An interesting diversion on what was otherwise a smooth trip through the airport.

It’s been a good week at work. I still haven’t mentioned blogging to my new colleagues, so I won’t say too much, but I am impressed so far with their knowledge and professionalism. I’m also picking up useful tips on how to detect flickering lights that might upset chickens (use the slow -mo on your phone apparently) and I know which technician to refer the farmers to if they’re not sure how to get rid of rats or if their hens won’t take their medicine!

And now, I have to go. Somewhere, outside in the multi-storey hallway, a voice announced that breakfast will be at nine, so I’d better get dressed.

Hope you’ve enjoyed this whistle stop tour of my Northern Irish adventure, which is only just beginning. Thanks for reading and I hope you have a good week!

Winding Up

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It has been a bit sad, sorting out everything so I can leave with everything in order. Because I haven’t been given any new cases, most of what I’ve been doing is making sure all my cases are completely up to date, before I hand them over. The welfare investigation report is done, though I think it will now go in with someone else’s name on it. The cleansing and disinfection at the bird flu premises hasn’t really got under way yet. The completed paperwork is filed, so nothing more to do there. That leaves my three TB outbreak cases.

Amazingly, the earliest of those cases, which I’ve been working with since summer last year, completed its second, clear, short interval skin test on Friday. Cleansing and disinfection there has already been completed and certified, so as long as the test is completed on the computer system (SAM)by Monday, my last act will be to lift the restrictions so that cattle can move on and off the farm again. That’s always a very satisfying moment. The other two are waiting for their final short interval tests.

There has to be 60 days between skin tests, so cases where TB is confirmed usually take at least six months to get to that point. For both of those two farms, I spent a day there doing a Disease Report Form (or DRF) which is a deep dive into the way the farm runs, to assess where TB might have come from and the risks of spread. On one of them, I joined the Animal Health Officers at the Gamma test, so spent several days on the farm. Over the months, dealing with queries and finding solutions, I have built up a relationship with that farmer.

I haven’t yet told him I’m going. That will happen on Monday, but I’ve set up the test and pre-written a Veterinary Risk Assessment so he can move his young stock outside in spring. The monthly report is completed, as is the completion report on SAM. I’m hoping there will be a smooth run to restrictions being lifted there too. I haven’t been told who I’m handing my cases on to, which is a shame as I’d have liked more time to introduce whoever is replacing me, but it is what it is and I’ve done what I can.

I was on “ready to go” duty from the weekend until Thursday morning, so everything had to stay in my car. I cleared out all my gear yesterday. I’ve emptied my cupboard and my desk. Some of the paperwork will have to be kept because there may be court cases to come, or queries made. But Monday is my last day and a lunch has been arranged. Sadly, some of my best friends can’t come as they are busy, but I’m not moving away, so fully intend to keep in touch.

Next week, I hope to meet another ex-APHA vet for lunch and next Saturday, a group of APHA vets and I are meeting for another escape room experience, so still lots to look forward to, as well as all that is to come with my new job. It’s also spring and the birds have started their courting songs in Blackbird Lane. The variety of daffodils is very pleasing. I’m sure, when I was young, they were almost all identical.

Anyway, I shall leave you with a few pictures of those. Thank you for reading and have a good week.


Different

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I’m not going to miss duty vet. It’s no coincidence that I applied to the poultry practice shortly after receiving the 2026 rota and putting all the dates in my diary. Entries in spring were relatively far apart, but the summer months were going to be intense. The thought of it set my teeth on edge.

And then bird flu hit and all my work days were filled with notifiable disease work. Real vet work: the kind I signed up for all those years ago. I’ve massively enjoyed the last few months at work and for a good while, I didn’t follow up on my application. I was meant to meet one of the partners on 14th January – the day I was sent to West Linton to investigate the latest outbreak. I sent a message to say I couldn’t and received one in return, which I skim read. Then in a whirl of printing forms, rearranging evening engagements and finding care for Triar, I headed off.

In truth, I was so busy and engaged, I probably wouldn’t have checked back in at all, if it hadn’t been for Liz, my sports massage therapist. I started going to Liz last year, to ease shoulder tension, which was one of my better life choices. Before she begins, she catches up with how things are going. She asked about my application and it was only then I actually looked back to review what my contact had written. To my surprise, his message didn’t say we could arrange a different time for an interview. It said he wanted to inform me about the job, and terms and conditions to see if it would help with my final decision. I told Liz I would reply later. She said, in essence, “Why wait? Do it now!” I sent a message there and then.

I met him in a cafe in mid-February. We got on well, but I still wasn’t sure. The job itself might be better, but weighing up the differences between public sector and private practice is difficult. I was working out how to say I was going to turn the position down when the more senior partner in the practice messaged to ask if we could chat. He asked me, in essence, how they could make this job the perfect fit for me. What would I enjoy? What problems could I foresee? I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that before.

I am probably beginning to sound like I never make decisions by myself, but having discussed the pros and cons with Donna the night before, she had suggested that maybe a few days at Inchcolm would resolve my doubts one way or another. So I suggested to E that I would book some time off and spend a couple of days with them, seeing what they do.

Those two days were honestly great. They genuinely were listening to my concerns. One of them was the age of my car. The more senior partner called yesterday, in the middle of a nightmare day of duty vet, to tell me they’re getting a pool car I can use sometimes. Not sure how it will work, but even before I’ve arrived, he’s finding ways to make my life easier.

But yesterday was a good reminder of why duty vet is so tough. I know what I am doing a lot better now, so juggling the questions and problems that come in isn’t quite so difficult. The biggest challenge is when the cases come in so fast that there isn’t time to deal with them. You resolve one and find two more waiting. Each situation is a unique puzzle, needing research and consideration. By yesterday afternoon, my brain was frazzled. And then I called an estate owner to tell him that we’d had a report of sheep scab on his farm.

The procedures and laws around sheep scab are inflexible. If we receive a credible report, we are obliged to put the animals under a movement ban until the owner shows the sheep have been treated or their vet has certified the animals as clear of parasites. This leaves farmers at risk of malicious reporting. I check records to see the history, such as frequent reports or recorded objections from farmers of over-reporting, but there was nothing on this account to suggest anything of the sort.

I’m usually good at handling people, but this time it didn’t work. I was roundly shouted at when I explained I couldn’t say who had made the report. Even if I’d wanted to, I couldn’t as the report was anonymous. I was abused for the system being bad. The system is awful, but I was only the messenger. It was after three on a long day, with two more cases waiting for me and it was just too much.

I made myself a coffee and pulled myself together and carried on, but it was a stark reminder of how awful duty vet is. I got home from work late and wished I could have a glass of wine, or that there was someone there to hug, but I was on call. I’m on call all weekend, which is fine. I can cope with whatever is thrown at me. I’ve said before that one of my aims is to help farmers through incredibly stressful events. I’m good at it. But being shouted at when there is no need, for something that’s not my fault, leaves me drained and empty. I won’t miss duty vet.

I’m going to leave you with a few pictures of my garden. The camellia has too many buds to count. I’m happy with the pots beside the door, though what comes next is a good question. I’m working on the flower bed that was overrun with ground elder. I’ve dug out masses of roots and planted competing geraniums, compost and seeds, but there’s still lots more to dig out and I’m not sure whether me or the ground elder will win this year. It will probably outmanoeuvre me, as a novice gardener. The good thing is that, even if I mess it up, there’s always next year!

Thank you for reading. I hope you have a good week.

Moving On

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Last week on my two day holiday, I spent my time in Dunfermline, as I mentioned last week. What I didn’t say was that I was visiting a vet practice to see if I wanted to work there. The practice works with poultry, which is an area that has interested me for a while. I prefer production animal medicine over treating pets and, much as I love cows, I don’t think I’m up to calving them at three in the morning any more.

I must say, I immediately felt at home there, with the people and the set up. It felt friendly, busy enough to be interesting, but not manic, and they had a Nespresso-type coffee machine and two kinds of milk. The last point may sound a bit of an odd thing to focus on, but from past experience, the best practice I ever worked in had a coffee percolator which was permanently in action. The boss there cared enough about sitting down with a good cup of coffee that he went a step further than most places to make sure everyone benefited.

Handing my notice in was sad though. I’ve been very happy working for APHA in recent months. Ironic as it has been so busy that it has been almost impossible to keep up, but I’ve been working almost exclusively on TB and bird flu, which I enjoy a lot more than imports and by-products, or even welfare. Not really surprising as working with sick animals was what I trained for, all those years ago. I will also miss the team I’ve been working with and my line manager and vet advisor, who have both gone the extra mile to look after me. I’ve also already booked lunch with Scott, one of the Local Authority inspectors I worked with often. Having carefully built up all these relationships, now I am about to let them all go. I guess the ones worth having will continue and erstwhile colleagues may become long-term friends.

Things are moving on in the house too. After over a year of living in a building site, the end looks to be near. My first approach to a carpet shop resulted in a quotation for carpets (two bedrooms and stairs) of £6,500. I said I would go back and look at other carpets, but instead, I am trying another shop. Someone will come round to measure up on Monday and I’m hoping for a price that doesn’t involve going deeply into debt. The young man giving me the high quotation didn’t seem to have any idea that the price was ridiculous. Nor did he make any alternative suggestions or offer any help. Perhaps he thought I was ridiculous because I wanted to order in a carpet I’d found online, rather than in their store, but he certainly isn’t a natural salesman and he lost me as a customer.

The picture at the top of the page is of newborn lambs I saw when out on a visit this week. I’d been out examining some cattle for signs of bluetongue, while an AHO learned to blood sample. Those blood sampling training visits are probably the thing I will miss most. Getting to drive around beautiful areas of farming country has always been one of the major benefits of veterinary work. My new patch as a poultry vet is likely to be mostly in Cumbria, so hopefully there will be new photo opportunities! The area round Dumfries is beautiful, but gently rolling, which requires more photographic skills than I possess.

Anyway, that’s all for this week. I hope you will continue to join me in my new adventure, which will begin after Easter. Thank you for reading and I hope you have a good week.

Cake and Cattle

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It feels like a long time since last weekend. Monday was a typically busy day with queries flying at my head from farmers who aren’t allowed to move their cattle as they are under movement restrictions. I was also chasing up information for a report about welfare in transport issues and (probably predictably) my oversight over bird-flu cleansing and disinfection needed rapid attention in the afternoon. It would have been easier if I hadn’t taken holiday on Tuesday and Wednesday, but I wanted to get my desk clear before leaving and I did.

I spent Tuesday and Wednesday in Dunfermline. More about that next week, but I was lucky enough to stay with Valerie in Airth, from where it was only a half hour drive. We had planned to cook stuffed mushrooms when I was there at the weekend and we did that, using garlic and herb cream cheese with a crumb, cheese and onion topping. Cauliflower and leek purée made a wonderful accompaniment, with a slice of fried belly pork on the side. Delicious!

Thursday, I played catch-up and prepared for Friday’s Bluetongue tracing visit. They have found the virus in animals in Northern Ireland, so now we are testing cattle that might have been in contact several months ago. It was a gorgeous sunny day and, for the first time, I was out with my colleague Lisa as she trained a recently joined up Animal Health Officer to blood sample cattle. I had to do a clinical examination of them, while another vet from a local practice did a TB test. Happily they all looked fit and well. The farmer was lambing, so had to leave before I could present him with all the questions I need answers to to complete the predictable ream of paperwork, but I shall go back there on Monday and finish up.

By the time we were done, I was very thirsty, so I decided to stop on the way back for a coffee from the garden centre where my card gets me free drinks. They have a selection of delicious looking cakes there and I hadn’t had any lunch. This time, my eye was caught by the cake at the top of the page.
Described as an apple and carrot cake, with lemon icing and pistachio, I really thought I couldn’t go wrong. Moist carrot and apple cake, I thought, which would be tempered by delicious tart lemon to cut through any heaviness. Maybe the pistachio was a step too far, but such a delicious combination could surely not be spoiled, I thought.

I could not have been more wrong. My first advice would be never to buy the last slice of any cake. I’ve never experienced dry carrot cake, but somehow this one was dry enough to stick in the throat. The lemon icing and lemon curd, rather than being tangy, was cloyingly sweet. I genuinely took my first mouthful and thought I should leave the remainder, but if course, my finish-what’s-on-your-plate training kicked in. Reader, I ate the lot.

The last mouthful had something chewy in it, that I initially assumed was a thin slice of candied lemon. It took several minutes of chewing and a lot of hard swallowing, before I realized it was a slice of pretty much dried out apple, which still had the peel on. Driving on afterwards, I suffered some regrets at having wasted part of my precious calorie intake on something so grim, but the deed was done and … well I got over it. What else was there to do?

Spring is arriving properly in my garden. My camellia has so many buds on it that they are almost as prevalent as the leaves. The daffodils and crocuses are still glorious and I feel a warm glow when I look at them as I planted them in the autumn and this is my first real act of gardening. Today I have been out to try to buy some hardy geraniums which I hope will manage to compete with the overwhelming ground elder invasion in one of the flowerbeds.

And now I’m back in Yorkshire for more house-move shuffling. One day we will get there, but for now, I will leave you with a typical scene from the gently rolling part of Dumfries and Galloway where I live. Have a lovely week all and thank you for reading.

A Near Miss

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On Friday and yesterday morning, I finally got round to examining something that happened a few weeks back. It occurred when I was driving out to the big bird-flu report case, which is why it was put to the back of my mind for so long. I’ve driven past the site of the near miss a couple of times, and thought maybe I should stop and take a closer look and on Friday afternoon, on the way to Valerie’s (spending the weekend in Airth) I finally got round to it.

I must admit, having looked on Google Satellite and Street View, I almost wish I hadn’t. At the time, my senses were so heightened by the report case that I simply carried on with my day. With hindsight, yesterday morning, I felt a bit shaky. I almost don’t want to post about it, for fear of worrying my mum (sorry Mum!) but this is the first time in a long time where I think I came close to death and I kind of want to record that.

So then, back to the 14th January, early afternoon. The day is overcast, the roads are wet and dirty and I’m driving up the A701, a few miles north of Dumfries. The road is winding. Bends and dips. I’m in the kind of zen state which only a report case induces. I’m filled with adrenaline and channeling it into a kind of intense focus. I guess the closest comparable state, if you’ve ever experienced it, is when you are actually in an accident and everything slows down and suddenly there’s this amazing clarity as your brain sees every single detail, as if in slow motion. It’s not quite as intense as that, but that is the nearest analogy.

There’s a taxi in front of me, a little white boxy car. We go over the brow of a hill and he suddenly signals, brakes hard and comes to a halt to turn right. There are cars coming. The road surface is greasy and slowing harder than I expect, but I safely come to a standstill behind him. My mind processes the fact that it was hard to stop and I glance in the side mirror and it dawns on me that we just came over the brow of a hill. I check the rear view mirror and the back windscreen is filthy and I reach out a hand to the wiper button.
As the wiper flicks, my eye catches movement to my left. A red car, still at speed, on the grass verge beside me. I watch as he comes to a halt. Fortunately, the verge is flat, the car doesn’t flip and he manages to stop, just before he comes to a farm track, beyond which is a telegraph poll.

The car in front of me finally turns right and I can move. I draw forward a few feet and look into the car. There’s a young man in the driving seat and others in the car. Teenagers out for a run. They look okay, but I signal at the young man to check if he is okay. He signals back that he’s fine and (feeling relieved I don’t have to stop and help) I drive on.

So that’s it. No big deal and everything is fine. I carried on, did my job. I spent four hours in my PPE, made the diagnosis, the case is still going and life went on. But if that young man’s reflexes hadn’t been so fast, I don’t think I’d still be here.

I stopped last night and took a couple of photographs. As I topped the brow and saw the place, I wanted to stop, but there was a car behind me and there was no time to stop, so I passed the place, stopped in a layby and returned.

What I hadn’t realised is how offset this “crossroads” is. If you look closely at the picture above, you can see tyre tracks in the grass. They stop at the daffodils. The right turn is on the left of the photo and this is looking back at the brow of the hill we all came over.

I looked it up on street view this morning, then transferred over to satellite and this is what I saw. The two green stripes are where I believe the taxi and I were waiting. The red stripe is where the red car stopped. Life is fragile, is it not?

And yet here I am. The young man in the car had amazing reflexes. If you look at the tyre tracks and where he came off the road, he must have been super fast and had amazing control of his vehicle. I wonder whether, like all three of my children, he grew up playing racing games that accurately mimic that experience.

There isn’t any deeply meaningful addendum to this post. After all, nothing did happen and I’m still here. I spent yesterday eating good food and the afternoon watching TV. Today I will go to Valerie’s religious service and praise God and then I will go home with Triar. Tomorrow I will go back to work and deal with my cases and help the people I can help and try to be the best I can. There seems to be increasing unrest in the world, but my small corner of it is the only place where I can have any real influence.

I hope that, whatever is happening in your own life, that you can find peace. You never know what is around the next corner and we can’t control everything. Thank you for reading and take care.

A Wandering Week

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Some weeks, this blog almost writes itself, but I can tell this isn’t going to be one of them. Very little has happened and the most exciting picture I have for the top of the page is of the lemon curd tart I bought in Costa at Southwaite Services as I drove home from Yorkshire last Sunday. It was, at least, a nice tart. The pastry had a pleasant crispiness, the lemon flavour was tangy and it was well complemented by the milky coffee. I would recommend it, if you are in the mood and can’t find a local cafe that serves your needs.

At work, my week was broken up by meetings, appointments and duty vet. On Monday there was our monthly team meeting. In the past, this was often in Ayr, but Ayr office has been unusable for some time now, so everyone comes to us in Dumfries. The afternoon was enlivened by a spontaneous Yoga session, where Lesley showed Tommy a few moves.

Wednesday, I went to Hamilton for a face fitting. The FFP3 masks we use when dealing with a lot of dust or low levels of viruses have to fit well or they simply don’t work, so they attach the mask to a tube that measures breathing, then put us through a series of contortions as we simulate walking, to check that whatever we do, the mask doesn’t leak. It’s quite good exercise and I was quite glad I passed first time. If you don’t, the mask has to be adjusted and you have to go through the whole rigmarole again.

Yesterday, I was duty vet. It was quiet for most of the morning, then in the afternoon, one of my routine cases threw up a big piece of work at almost exactly the same time that a complicated new TB case came in. Much of the time, I’d say I work efficiently, but when that sort of load falls on me, I can manage so much and then it all seems to come to a standstill. At that point, I need clear instructions and the checklist I was using for dealing with the TB case had loads of extraneous instructions because the case handling had been started at an abattoir in England. Trying to work out which steps I had to carry out and which had already been done was more complicated than I needed it to be. Still, in the end I got there and did a couple of extra tasks that will ease the farmer’s progress through the process, which is something I always work hard to achieve.

On the housing front, the decorator has finally finished the bedrooms and hallway. My long, long building project is close to being complete. I got the hall painted white and it looks glaring right now, but I am starting to have ideas about where to hang paintings and what to do to break up the blank walls. The glorious new varnished wood in the bedrooms has given me a hankering to replace the dark, orangey brown wood in the hallway though. The joiner inspected my kitchen and bathroom doors and said he could come back and change them, so perhaps he could do some work in the hall too. However, the next steps are carpeting and getting the light fittings put in. After that, I can decide what to do next!

So that’s really it for this week. I’m on call, so the weekend ahead may be quiet, restful and boring, or if a case comes in, it may be the exact opposite. Only time will tell. But for now, thanks for reading, and I hope you have a good week.

Places and Things

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Last Monday, I spent a day at my parents’ old place, sorting out rooms so as to be ready to put the house on the market. It wasn’t my childhood home. I only lived there briefly when I came back from Norway, but it has always felt very much a haven. As I looked through the things that are left there (Mum and Dad are now in their new house) it was easy to see how so much gets collected over a lifetime.
There are things in that house that my children made. On the windowsill in the bedroom I’m sleeping in, there’s the sheep Christmas tree topper that John and I made a few years back.

I shall probably bring it home with me. It’s a precious memory. The clock on the shelf is an old fashioned wind-up clock that chimes. It’s not going at the moment, but it holds much older memories of Christmas. I can remember the feelings of anticipation as I lay in the bunk bed at my Grandparents’ house. From outside came the sound of trains passing and downstairs in the sitting room the chimes of the clock marked the passing of the hours until Father Christmas would arrive.

There were things I’d never seen before that triggered all kinds of feelings. I found a small black box and opened the lid to find a set of tiny brass weights, neatly slotted into holes. Other small squares of what looked like foil were actually even smaller weights, going down to tiny portions of a gramme. Inside the lid, in ink from a fountain pen was the address of the house with the bunk beds and the train. The weights were used by Dad when he set out as a chemist more than half a lifetime ago. They’re now in my car as he gave me permission to take them.

Rather more melancholy was an old leather wallet which I opened to find a small bundle of Euros. They’d obviously been tucked away for the next foreign holiday: a time that never came after Covid and now won’t be taking place at all. I guess this kind of tidying usually happens after ones parents are dead, so I’m lucky really to be doing it now, while they’re still here.

Work seemed a little more manageable. No new cases this week but the ones I have still took up all the available time. Staff at the two levels above me (line managers and Vet Advisors, then Vet Leads) are also bogged down with the ongoing bird flu outbreak. I wasn’t the only one who had to cancel their trip to the first ever UK TB conference. I think, in the end, only two APHA veterinary staff managed to attend. It was somewhat ironic then that the very top man – Head of Field Services (and not a vet) – sent out a happy message to say he’d attended part of it and found it very inspiring. Apparently we’re doing a great job in Scotland. Just a pity that almost none of us heard it in person.

Still, my cases are moving along. We won’t eradicate it though, until rules are put in place stopping farmers from importing cheap cows from infected areas. At the moment, those who do are not discouraged in any way. If those cheap cattle go down with TB, they are valued at Scottish values and the government compensates at that level. Similarly, if they bring it in, with high risk purchases, their own cattle are similarly compensated for. If there was some kind of penalty for not taking reasonable precautions for keeping it out, the whole package would be a lot less tempting and the poor old neighbouring farmers, who work hard to keep it out, wouldn’t find themselves having to put in all kinds of additional protections.

Alongside that, I am beginning the process of overseeing the cleansing and disinfection (C&D) of the poultry farm where I diagnosed bird flu back in January. The birds are all gone and APHA has carried out preliminary C&D. The farm has to do the rest and I’m to oversee that they do it properly. It’s not going to be easy as the buildings are both large and complex. In a few months time, when they put in what are called sentinel birds (a percentage of the flock, that are regularly tested before full restocking can occur) I will feel pretty bad if more birds go down. Now I’ve been with APHA I’m beginning to see that there are a lot of my past actions and investigations that could come back to haunt me! This one is just faster than the rest!

I’d hoped for a bit more snow this morning, but there’s barely a covering. Photo below. Anyway, enough for now. I must go and do a bit more sorting! Thank you for reading and I hope you have a good week.

Cancelled

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I was meant to be going to York this week for a conference on TB. I suppose I’m not surprised, but my trip was cancelled yesterday afternoon as they need me to cover duty vet from Tuesday evening to Thursday morning. I knew others had already cancelled, and really it was going to be hard to fit in my TB cases (and ongoing work round the bird flu outbreak) around it, but I am disappointed. It would have been a good chance to meet with the UK APHA team who are trying to eradicate the disease from the UK and to better understand the fuller picture.

I do have a day of flexi booked for Monday and at least that is being honoured. I’m paying a flying visit to see mum and dad, so that can still go ahead. They are still in the throes of moving house, so help is needed.

On the home front, the decorator finally arrived on Monday and has been doing a sterling job on the woodwork bedrooms upstairs and the hallway. I asked him to paint the hall white. It’s an old house and rather dark, so this seemed like a good plan, but it struck me when looking at it that I’m used to Scandinavian white walls with wooden skirtings, that break the whole thing up. It’s not quite finished, but I’m now looking at what I can hang on the walls and how many plants I need to bring in to break up the blank look. I don’t really have the spare mental capacity or indeed the finances to tackle it all at once, but I’ve been living in a building site for more than a year now. I can wait a bit longer.

I was out yesterday at two farms. One has a TB outbreak, the other has been put under restrictions because some stock from the first farm are being overwintered there. When a farm has an animal that reacts to a TB test (or where TB typical lesions are found at the slaughterhouse) that farm is automatically placed under a movement restriction. This isn’t as cataclysmic as the bans for bird flu (which mean everyone and everything coming on and off the farm needs a licence) but it does mean cattle can’t be moved on or off.

Straightforward enough, you’d think, but I’ve been amazed since returning to the UK, to find out how intricate the UK farming industry is. Perhaps I just wasn’t seeing some of the detail, but mostly in Norway it seemed that cattle were born on a farm, grew up there, gave birth and milked and/or raised their young (some of which were sent to the abattoir when big enough) then died. People sometimes sold animals and of course, they were moved from winter housing to summer grazing, but mostly I wasn’t aware of too much moving around.

Here in the UK, many beef cattle are born on one farm then go to the market and are sold as “stores”. They stay on that farm for a while, then go back to the market and are sold as “finishers”, before finally being sent for slaughter. In addition to that, lots of farms send a few of their cattle to overwinter on someone else’s farm. I guess this maximises the number of animals. If you have plenty of grazing, but not quite enough housing, and someone else has sheds they’re not using, it makes sense in a way, but from a notifiable disease perspective, all these moves are a nightmare.

So then, back to my second farm that is under restrictions because there are animals there from the breakdown farm. There are animals from three farms on that premises. They are there for the winter, but there isn’t grazing space in the summer and now they are under restrictions where they can’t be moved off until we are as sure as we can be that none of them have TB.

Not talking about the specific farm, but in general, there are various possible groups. Some might be finishers, so they can still go to the slaughterhouse (under licence) when they are big enough. Others might be dairy heifers. They are overwintered on farms where there is no dairy or facilities. If they are in calf and calving is imminent, they may need to be moved to somewhere they can calve and then be milked.

As you can imagine, this all becomes very complicated. Occasionally we can move animals on welfare grounds, but all such moves have to be justified, with an assessment of how much it will increase the risk of spreading disease and how much it might cost the government if a healthy animal is moved to an infected premises and picks up the disease. I must admit, I often look at this whole web of movements and wish it didn’t happen.

Anyway, after looking at this particular situation, I now need to apply for general licences for the two sets of finishers that are present, then I need to call the third farmer, who I haven’t yet spoken to (the land owner should have informed him of the restrictions, but I can’t control what third parties do) and ask what animals he has there and whether they are fine there for the foreseeable future, or whether being there longer than expected might create a welfare problem.

So as you can probably see, finding a single animal that has reacted to a TB test can cause a cascade of work. And that’s before we start to look at testing neighbouring animals that might have said hello over a wall, or where animals might have come from and been sold to. In one of my other cases, they have finally identified the strain of the bacteria. Now I have to look at other farms where they’ve had related strains to see if I can find any links. It’s fascinating work, but there’s quite a lot of it and a finite amount of time in which to do it. So really, it’s probably just as well I’m not going to York, but it’s still a bit sad I can’t go.

Last week, Triar and I walked up Knockendock, which is a smaller hill attached to Criffel, which we walked up last summer. It was a bit misty on top, but Triar posed very prettily beside the cairn, as you can see in the picture at the top of the page. There was a great view from nearly the top and I survived walking through a high-level peat bog without unexpectedly sitting down or falling on my face, which was undoubtedly a result!

For me, seeing Triar trotting happily ahead of me is one of the best views possible. But that’s all for now. Thanks for reading and have a lovely week.