Category Archives: The Vet Who Came In from the Cold

Blackbird Lane

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It’s been a quiet week at work. As a veterinary inspector, I am on a rota four times a year for detached duty. During that time, I can be deployed anywhere in the UK where there is a disease outbreak. I was on the rota for next week, so I was half waiting for a call to come in, and I had kept my calendar clear of visits. I wasn’t sure when I would be told, but I was out inspecting a rendering plant on Tuesday with G, who told me that if I hadn’t heard by now, I could probably assume I wasn’t being sent anywhere.

I must say it came as a relief. Normally, I’m all for travelling to different places for work. I love a bit of variety and the current outbreak work seems to be bluetongue inspections and blood testing (last year’s bird flu – higher risk – not so pleasant) but I was exhausted after moving and the house is still in chaos. Triar was also unsettled so, much as he loves visiting Mum and Dad, it seemed better all round to be staying in our new home for a while. It also meant that I could plan my workload over two weeks instead of rushing through it.

The rendering plant visit was fascinating. I dare say most would find it grim. They deal with animal waste products, so stuff like fallen stock (animals that died on farms) and slaughterhouse waste. The products they process are high risk, so they have to heat them to a high temperature, then separate what’s left out. What impressed me, is that even these waste products are put to good use.

They remove as much fat (tallow) as they can and send it to make biofuels. Their fat is used to drive buses. The remaining meat and bone meal is sent to a power station and burned to produce energy, then the ashes become fertilizer. The plant itself has also recently invested in machinery that recirculates the heat, so that it’s twenty five percent more efficient than it used to be, and if the price of tallow drops, they can even run the unit using that, rather than selling it. Given how much of our household waste goes into landfill, it was good to find out that this waste is being put to much better use.

I was feeling a bit down when I came back from Yorkshire last Sunday. I had flung everything into my new house and then had to go away, so I knew I wasn’t coming back to an oasis of tranquility. Donna had suggested celebrating my arrival with gin, but she had a friend round and there was no way I could leave Triar to go and join them. Practical as ever she immediately suggested that she and Debs could come round, bringing the gin with them.

They arrived with gin, tonic and extra large ice cubes, which apparently are better as they don’t melt so fast and dilute the gin too much! Having allowed Debs to pour (in the knowledge that Debs pours with a very generous hand) they didn’t even get as far as sitting down. Seeing I was overwhelmed with everything, they offered to do what Donna had done when I last moved, and unpack my kitchen.

There wasn’t really any room for me (it’s a little house) so I went and cleaned out the sticky, hairy bathroom drawers, which I confess was helped along by being gin fueled. There’s quite a lot still to be done and cleaned, but having the basics in place makes life much more liveable.

My new street does seem rather lovely. There are three rows of cottages in what was once a village outside Dumfries, but which has now been assimilated. My street doesn’t go anywhere and I am almost at the end of it, so there’s not a lot of passing footfall. I’ve said before, that it seems like something out of Harry Potter and that feeling hasn’t gone away. I’ve been taking a Triar out morning and night and every time I seem to meet someone new. There’s Gary next door and Kay along the way, who has a little dog called Hamish, and apparently there’s a lovely old man across the street, who’s 93. He was born here, I was told, and wants everyone to feel welcome, so I hope to meet him soon. Everyone has been incredibly welcoming and it does feel like I’m living in a friendly village, rather than in a town.

And so the best part of my daily routine at the moment, is walking Triar. At the end of our street, you can take a left turn down a lane. It’s bordered with hawthorn and it’s filled with wild flowers and birdsong. It’s not (so far as I know) called Blackbird Lane, but that’s what I’ve called it in my head, because they are everywhere.

They sit atop the hawthorn, regarding me with their bright eyes, seemingly fearless. The males, with their sleek black plumage and cheerful yellow beaks, compete with one another for the best perches. I caught sight of one of the quieter brown females last night with a worm in her mouth, so perhaps she already has young somewhere.

I see house sparrows too, in the hedges and flitting around, but what I find particularly wonderful is the birdsong. A Norwegian friend from the Arctic posted on Facebook this week “the sound of spring” with film of a newly unfrozen stream, emerging from the ice. A wonderful sound indeed after the winter silence, but here in south west Scotland, spring is filled with birdsong.

Just listening to it fills me with joy, but a while back, I downloaded an app, which records the song and tells me what I am hearing. I remembered it a couple of nights ago and it came up with sparrow, blackbird, wren, great tit and blue tit. Last night’s rendition was even better, though it did miss the wood pigeon that was calling in the distance. Finding out which birds are there makes the whole thing even more wonderful.

So there is a lot to do, but also a lot to look forward to. Today, I have to go and buy a stepstool so I can reach the ceilings. The previous owner smoked in the kitchen and the smell still lingers, along with the yellow stained paint. I’ll need to wash it all down before I can paint it. A colleague recommended a joiner to me and he came round yesterday to assess how much work it would be to put in insulation in the roof.

He suggested that, as we would have to pull the walls down to put the insulation in, if I was considering putting in a bathroom or toilet upstairs, it would be better to do the whole thing at once, and check the wiring too, if that was a viable option, so he might come back today with an electrician and later with a plumber. If he can really organize everything for me, that would be a miracle.

But priorities are priorities and the most important task of the day, apart from my tours down Blackbird lane, is to go out and buy some gin and tonic in the hope of attracting in a friendly neighbour. Said neighbour may have to bring along some extra large ice cubes as my freezer needs defrosting before I can use it. Currently it is scented with six month old cigarette smoke. Obviously I should have defrosted it before I moved in, but lingering ice odours hadn’t crossed my mind! I’m going on holiday soon, so that will be a good opportunity for defrosting, cleaning and airing.

Anyway, I hope you’ve enjoyed this little trip down Blackbird lane. I am looking forward to seeing what grows there through the summer and also exploring further as the mud dries up. Have a good week all!

Through the Eyes of a Cow

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I have been down to Weybridge agent this week, this time for a cattle handling course. Before going, I was rather cynical. After all, I’ve been a vet and have worked with cattle for a long time, I’d done a course in Norway about the design of facilities in abattoirs, where I learned about behaviours, so I rather thought it might be a lot of repetition. The two colleagues who attended with me were actually farmers, so I think they had the same concern, but it warm in fact, very interesting.

The essence of the course was to teach us about health and safety when it comes to cattle. I haven’t read it yet, but there is a health and safety document (HS32) regarding handling facilities and minimum safety standards when we go to a farm, what we should look for and when to walk away.

There’s a drive in UK farming at the moment and grants available for building safer facilities, we were told. Farmers who provide inadequate, unsafe facilities are paid the same for their products as farmers who don’t, so if we walk away, for valid reasons (backed up by HS32) then there is legal pressure for them to comply. If they don’t, they will find themselves under a movement ban. As someone who probably would have tended to push on through, this in itself was a good message. Take it further and it’s also good for the animals. Escape attempts that go wrong don’t only result in risk to the human beings present, but to the animals as well.

Most of the course was led by Miriam Parker, and if you are interested in what she does, there are videos online. In essence, she designs livestock handling facilities with the animals in mind. If you want an animal to go somewhere, the best way to do that is to design the facility so the animal wants to walk through it. Ideally, you want the handlers to be able to guide them from outside as well, as that is much safer.

I had learned about flight zones before: the area an animal maintains around itself – enter it and the animal tries to move away. I also knew about the balance point – if you stand behind its shoulder, it tends to move forwards, in front, it moves back or turns. But we also looked at the behaviour and signs of discomfort when you are in the flight zone (a potentially risky place to be) and the limitations of cattle sight.

I had always thought that, with their eyes in the sides of the head, that cattle were mostly looking out to the sides. Not so! They have very wide peripheral vision and can perceive movement there, but most of their attention is still focused in front of them. I should have known that really. When they stand looking at you in a field, they do look straight at you, after all. What they do have though, is a great big blind spot in front of them, which means it’s much harder to judge distance when close up, for example. If you wondered what the picture at the top of the page was, it’s my colleague, Lesley, wearing a pair of spectacles that allow you to get an idea of what a cow sees. No wonder, when cows are walking into somewhere that looks strange, they take a lot of time, putting their heads down and to different angles, trying to eye up not only whether it’s safe, but whether they can get through at all.

We also went out to a field, where there were some fairly flighty calves. Our group of about twenty was split into smaller groups, then we were sent out in turn to try various exercises, such as getting them to walk to different places in the field. This proved to be quite difficult as getting them moving slowly in the first place was one thing. Slowing them down if they took off was much more difficult. Miriam explained the importance of moving back to give them space, rather than pushing them on, or standing close to keep them where you want, to the point where they’re stressed and milling. Step back and they are more likely to relax and stand.

I had been disappointed with my performance with various teams for much of the exercise. However the last task of the day was to try to split off two calves, leaving the others in a group. Many years ago, I used to stay up late into the night, watching One Man and his Dog on TV. For those who don’t know, this was a shepherding competition for a shepherd and his sheepdog, where they had to guide the sheep round the field, through various gates and into certain areas, before guiding them into a pen and closing the gate.

One of the exercises they did was to separate out two sheep from the rest of the flock. How many times did I watch as those calm dogs edged towards the group, moving in an out until they saw their chance? A gap would form, where two of the animals started to edge away and the rest weren’t quite ready to follow, and then the dog went in between them, cutting the group cleanly into two. To my enormous pleasure, I found I could do this instinctively, and for the first time that day, our group performed this task smoothly and without a hitch. It was a great end to the session.

Good as the cattle course was, it was also great to spend some extra time getting to know my colleagues better. As well as Lesley, we had Lauren there. Both of them are from farming backgrounds and, like many people from farming stock, they are very down to earth, as well as funny and practical. I’ve always felt that the people I work with are what make the most difference between enjoying work or not and I’m looking forward to working with them more!

I’ll finish with a few photos from my new garden. Though it’s running a bit wild at the moment m there’s plenty of colour and lots to look at. Have a good week, all!

Happy Easter

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This is going to be a brief post. Thursday was spent in the new house getting Wi-Fi and a washing machine installed and with an insulation assessor, measuring up for several hours. On Friday, we did the big move – removal men for the big furniture, then clearing the last of the stuff and cleaning the remaining kitchen cupboards and floors and carpets that hadn’t yet been done. I hadn’t really slept much in the two nights leading up to it as there was so much to juggle and yesterday morning I was so exhausted, I decided to take a break from blogging.

Andrew and I came down to Yorkshire after we were finished on Friday. Anna and Lauren came up from Winchester to join us. Triar cried with excitement when he saw them, which was nice because he’d been very obviously stressed by the signs of another major shift. He’s moved house five times in his life, but hopefully this will be the last.

Yesterday, I got a couple of other things done that I’ve been putting off. I’m going to Norway in May, but hadn’t bought tickets home, so I got that done. Now, hopefully Mum will be able to book me a dentist’s appointment when I get back. Apparently all the dentists in Dumfries have massive waiting lists and my back teeth are gradually crumbling, so keeping on top of tooth care is important.

I also finally sorted out my Norwegian tax return. That one has been playing on my mind for weeks and I thought I was going to have to call them, but I found a video about how to add my UK earnings and tax. I’m going to have to fill in a tax return for the next three years. I only found that out after I’d left. Moving internationally is more complex than I could have ever imagined. Going out to Norway, I guess I was lucky, partly as the UK was in the EU, and partly because Charlie went six months before me and the children, so he had already sorted a lot out before I arrived.

Anyway, I only realised how heavily the tax form had been weighing me down after I’d done it. The feeling of relief was unexpected, but for the last two nights, I’ve also slept better and though there is still a lot to sort out, I feel I’m over a big hump. Hopefully it’ll all be downhill from here and life will gradually settle down.

Anyway, I haven’t many photos to offer you, but here’s another from Mum and Dad’s garden yesterday morning, when Triar and I went out to greet the new day. Spring is really here in Yorkshire, which is wonderful when I’m used to having to wait for May or even June.

Happy Easter to you all.

Old Friends, New House

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I bought a new house on Thursday. I say new, but it’s only new to me; it was actually built in the 1800s as part of, what was then, a small village of terraced cottages. I’m not going to list it here, but the address sounds like something out of Harry Potter and to me, the house feels a bit that way too. Parts of it are quite old-fashioned, like this wonderful tiled hallway.

Andrew also arrived on Thursday for an Easter holiday visit and yesterday, he and I began to move the boxes from my spare room here to my little witchy cottage. I also phoned for advice yesterday on having the roof insulated. It has cosy-looking bedrooms, up under the eaves, with sloping ceilings and a lovely view over the countryside, but at the moment, they wouldn’t be cosy at all in winter.

I was pleased to hear I might be eligible for a grant, less so when I looked at the website of acceptable companies that was sent to me. The nearest that do insulation are in Glasgow and I suspect coming all the way to Dumfries might not be high on their list of things they want to do. No acceptable installation company, no grant, apparently. I’ll have to do more research next week, though I had assumed that I was going to have to pay for it myself anyway and had planned for it. I’ll just have to work out how best to achieve that.

Perhaps the best thing about my witchy cottage is that it’s just around the corner from Donna. I couldn’t find how to turn on the water on Thursday and had to take Andrew home as he was exhausted, having just flown back from the US. I left a key with Donna (who apparently is the keeper of many keys) and later that evening received a message that they’d found the stopcock and switched it on. They’d also discovered an old oatcake under the dishwasher, which will save me from the potential months of Triar whining because he can smell food, but can’t reach it. And speaking of Triar, here is his new garden. It has two small holes in the hedge at the bottom, but once those are blocked up, he’s going to have a lot of space to run around.

So Andrew and I are going to be busy over the next few days, moving boxes, and the bigger furniture will be moved next Friday. Hopefully it’ll all go without a hitch and when I return after the Easter weekend, I can move into my new place and hand the keys back on my rental. I will miss looking at sheep from my windows each morning, but I will be closer to work and in my own place, and I am very much looking forward to it.

I was briefly down in Yorkshire last weekend and took a few photos while out walking Triar. Spring is on its way and after so many years of waiting for May before things started to grow, I have been enjoying it enormously.

The best thing about writing this blog is knowing I’m in contact with all the people who read it. I’m honestly grateful to those who read it each week, even though I don’t know who you all are. Occasionally people contact me, like Mary, who sent me the wonderful Norge I Fest book. [Link to post] Mary and I have never met, other than through this blog, but it would be lovely to meet one day.

So I was delighted to be contacted last weekend by a school friend. Many years ago, in primary school, we used to sit beside one another and for a while, he was my best friend. He made me laugh and had a unique perspective on life, so it was lovely to hear from him and to find out that he enjoys reading about what I’m doing now, all these years on.

I must confess, I embarrassed myself slightly. Way back then, his favourite not-quite-swear word was “Muckle Flugga” (for those who don’t know, Muckle Flugga is the most northerly lighthouse in the British Isles) so of course, I had to throw that in there! I was standing cleaning my teeth a couple of hours later, when I remembered that Flugga was spelt with an “a” at the end, and not “er” as I had spelled it. Still, hopefully he can forgive me. Back when he was saying it, there was no internet and it was only years later that I found out I’d been spelling it wrongly in my mind for years!

Anyway, as always, thanks for reading. I do appreciate it and I hope you have a lovely weekend, if you’ve read this far. See you next week!

From Nostalgia to Duty

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My son John and his girlfriend Yoana visited me last weekend. Though it was raining most of the time (in true, southwest Scotland style) John suggested we could go to New Lanark for a visit, so that’s what we did.

New Lanark holds a special place in my heart. For those who don’t know, it is a former 18th century cotton spinning mill village located on the banks of the Falls of Clyde, where social reform became very important. The lives of those who worked in the mill and their families were improved through schools, education, reasonably priced food and medical support. It’s a living village too – there are still tennants living there, and apparently very long waiting lists to get an apartment.

New Lanark

I think I might have visited with my parents, a very long time ago, but my fondest memories are from when John and Anna were young and we went there every year at Christmas time. There’s a ride you go through, where you sit on moving chairs and are taken on a trip back through the darkness of time. At Christmas, it gets set up like a kind of magical grotto and the filmed clips of a child that grew up in New Lanark, are replaced with an elf-like girl called Holly. At least that’s how it was back then, though that is twenty years ago now.

Millworkers’ apartment block.

The site has been undergoing improvement for a long time and it was lovely to visit again. Some things struck me, now that hadn’t really done so before. One was that the classroom, where the millworkers children were taught was a very large, airy room, with a high ceiling and lots of natural light. The contrast between that and the small, low ceilinged apartments, where large families occupied one or two rooms, must have seemed incredible to the children when they began to attend school.

Robert Owen’s house is on the left.

The other was a comment in the film, where the mill workers’ working day was described. They “only” worked ten hours per day, potentially from ten years old, but there were evening classes so that they could be educated if they wanted. I only work eight hour days and am struggling to motivate myself to write in the evenings. It’s incredible to imagine a world where working ten hour days, six days a week, was considered humane, but there it is.

A beautiful roof-garden has been set up on one of the old mills.

Robert Owen, the social reformer, who brought in the improvements for workers in New Lanark, eventually left to set up a new project in America called New Harmony. This project fell apart within a few years. Reading between the lines, a lot of the people they attracted had lofty ideals, but weren’t necessarily hard working.

View from the rooftops.

It’s easy to see with hindsight, but it’s obviously much easier to improve the lives of those who started out with very little and were used to hard labour than it is to form a new community of truly equal people. If Owen had really wanted a socialist paradise, he could have considered whether it was possible to make all those in New Lanark equal. I think then, he might have realised he couldn’t achieve that without reducing his own circumstances to close to those of his workers, and I imagine that was why he set off on an unrealistic vanity project, rather than really setting out to achieve equality.

Back to work and I am unexpectedly working this weekend as the duty vet for Southern Scotland. This means that if there are any reports of suspected notifiable diseases, such as foot and mouth or bird flu reported, I’m the vet who will be sent out. Equally, if there’s an urgent welfare issue that’s so bad it can’t wait, that will be my job to tackle as well. My car is currently loaded up with boxes full of all the kit that I might need, which is quite eye opening as there’s so much of it. I know that in an outbreak situation, I would have to arrange clean and dirty areas in my car and, as I didn’t have much warning, everything has just been thrown in. I’m keeping my fingers crossed for now. Complicated routines take time to organize and I had less than a day to find everything, without anyone local to help me out. Roll on Monday!

The steam engine that drove the mill when the water in the Clyde was low was housed in the building on the right. The ropes that drove the machinery would have been inside the glass bridge. The mill race goes underneath the building on the right,

Tripping

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I finally made it out of bed on Monday, just in time to go back to work. By Tuesday, I was on the road again as I made my way to Edinburgh for a conference, where APHA staff from all over Scotland came together to meet and learn.

When I drove over to Stranraer, I was craving memories and was rather disappointed at the lack of familiarity. Although I grew up in Penicuik, which is not very far from Edinburgh, and that I went to university in Edinburgh, it hadn’t crossed my mind to hope for something similar. It hadn’t crossed my mind that our route wouldn’t take us on the featureless motorway network, but rather through a load of places that were embedded deeply from my childhood.

We passed through West Linton, then Carlops: familiar names and places from long ago. But it was when we reached Nine Mile Burn, where you can turn off to drive to Penicuik, that I had that sudden feeling of nostalgia.

My adult life has been interesting, but I was fortunate enough to have a very happy childhood. One of my sweetest memories is of climbing onto a low hanging tree bough and sitting in dappled sunlight with my friend, Sharon. We had been watching Robin of Sherwood, Sharon had pictures of Michael Praed on her wall and we were at the age when everything still seemed possible. If there was one moment in my life that I could go back and relive, I am fairly sure that would be the one I would choose as it is so unsullied. A young man fractured my mind at university and by the time I was 25 I’d had skin cancer twice and I think that’s why that memory of unsullied innocence is so precious. I’d love to relive it with Sharon, but she also got cancer and she didn’t make it.

Goodness, I hadn’t expected this to take such a sorrowful turn, but those sweet, sweet memories do come with a hefty dose of melancholy. Anyway, the road carried on past Nine Mile Burn and we passed Silverburn, where my parents once considered buying the farmhouse. It was run down then, but now looks very smart. And then the Pentland Hills were on my left and those really were my old stomping ground. I remember some names: Carnethy, Scald Law, East and West Kip. Scald law was the highest hill, but we more often walked up Carnethy, or took the path over between the hills to a wonderful waterfall, though I don’t remember its name.

Pentland Hills – I think this one is Scald Law, but feel free to correct me!

The hotel in Edinburgh was very pleasant, though very much a typical, identikit modern hotel, with no distinguishing features. I’m still at the stage where there’s lots to learn, so there was plenty of new information to pick up. I enjoyed the evening meal, although the milk chocolate cheesecake, which I expected to be a sweet and fluffy concoction was more like a dark chocolate brick of solidity that even I couldn’t finish.


The conference ran from lunchtime on Tuesday to lunchtime on Wednesday, then on Thursday I had to go to Ayr to have a mask-fitting appointment. This was to check whether I can use the FFP3 masks at work safely. This involved having a mask on, which was attached to a tube which monitored the air I was breathing, while performing various manoeuvres. As this involved marching on the spot, while moving my head around in various ways, and then counting out loud, while trying to breathe normally, it was quite a challenge, given that I am still coughing after being ill, but I survived without falling over, and now I am officially allowed to use a mask if I have to check out any sick chickens.

Much as I love travelling (especially those identikit hotels) and consider it a definite perk of my job, I am rather looking forward to next week, when the most distant visit I have booked in is to Castle Douglas.

I’ve probably gone a bit quiet about my house buying. Compared to an international move, it’s very low key, but I’m now at the stage when all the papers have to be signed, I have to show where the money for my deposit is coming from, and I have to arrange to shift my accounts with all my providers from one house to the other, while leaving an overlap as I don’t want to move everything on one single day. I’m quite excited about buying a house, but it doesn’t quite seem real yet, even though the intended date of exchange is less than two weeks away.

You know, I write these blogs mostly to keep in touch with people, but I sometimes think they will end up being a bit like a diary. Maybe one day in the future, I’ll look back and all the memories will come flooding back. My mind feels odd at the moment. Part of me is chugging onwards, being quite competent, learning lots of stuff, but it’s overlaid with a feeling of there being too much going on. It’s not perturbing me too much, but I do have a sense that there is chaos rushing all around me, while I just wander through it, waiting for everything to settle. I write this weekly and I can’t tell whether any of that feeling is coming across, or whether what I write is as scattergun as it sometimes feels. This week, I volunteered to work as a vet at the Royal Highland Show, and I can’t yet tell if that will turn out to be a marvellous opportunity or a daunting responsibility. Maybe both! Still, you know me. I tend to grab what comes my way and worry about the consequences later.

Anyway, as usual, thanks to anyone who made it this far. I hope you have a good week, and I will leave you with a couple of pictures of Biggar, where we went on school trips to the street museum. I was intrigued by the tiny scarlet door in the first building. I presume the road and pavement have been built up over the years, but anyone using that door would really have to watch their head! See you next week.

Iconic

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I haven’t got so much to write about this week as I’ve spent the second half of it in bed. I haven’t taken many photos either, though I did find a gorgeous little church in Weybridge, and couldn’t resist taking a few pictures.

I started the week by travelling to Addlestone on the train. I was booked in to an APHA “Corporate Induction” which sounded very grand and, to me, rather odd as I tend to think of “Corporate” as referring to companies, but it seems it has a secondary meaning invoking the whole of a group.

Travelling by train is something I generally enjoy. I realise that’s probably because I don’t have to do it often. I’m sure if I commuted every day and especially in London, I’d probably hate it, but as it is, it’s a novelty for me. I’d also booked a hotel that had dinner included as well as breakfast and was within easy walking distance of the railway station and which would also let me walk to the induction the next day, which I found pleasing. Having to collect receipts for taxis and meals is a bit of a faff and I have a bad tendency to lose them if I’m moving around a lot.

As part of my journey, I had to take the underground from Kings Cross to Vauxhall. I felt unexpectedly wam with nostalgia as I descended on the escalator and walked through the passageways with their odd draughts and colourful posters. We had a lovely holiday a few years back, where we stayed near Primrose Hill. That in turn, had brought back memories of reading One Hundred and One Dalmatians and The Starlight Barking as a child, as Pongo and Perdita walked there in the evenings and barked messages to their distant network of dogs from the top of the hill. Kings Cross, of course is also the place where Harry Potter took the train to Hogwarts. Children’s literature has always been something of an escape for me.

The induction day was enjoyable enough, not necessarily because of the talks, but because it was good to meet new people. Security at the Weybridge centre was tight, and I found myself in the queue with a couple of lovely young women, one of whom is starting out as an animal health officer, the other (M) being an import inspector for plants. I spent some time in discussion with M about where she’d been working before.

She was in the police force for two years and had left because the environment was so misogynistic. I found that very sad, though not unsurprising, given the information that’s periodically revealed by whistleblowers and things I hear from those with relatives in the force. Still, I hope she finds a better way forward where she is now. Though it looks like there are still more men than women at the top of APHA, it’s obvious that it isn’t impossible to rise up through the ranks. I have regularly found myself wishing I had discovered its equivalent when I was much younger.

As I was walking to the induction, I found this gorgeous little church (All Saint’s in New Haw) so I took some pictures.

Having discovered that Addlestone was only an hour’s drive from Winchester, I invited Anna and Lauren over for dinner. My original intention was to eat at the hotel where I had booked dinner, but Monday night’s offering had been so poor, we opted for somewhere a bit better and ate across the road in a Chinese. I had realised during the day that I was coming down with something, but we mostly kept our distance and so far, they seem to be okay.

But on Wednesday morning I woke up feeling pretty rough. It was bad enough that I waited in bed until eight so that I could go buy paracetamol to eat with breakfast. Later, I added in ibuprofen. I was meant to stay with Mum and Dad on the way back, but decided instead to collect Triar and come straight home. I’ve mostly been in bed since, though I think I may be well enough to get up and go shopping today. Otherwise I will be living off bread, marmalade and sausages for the rest of the weekend. Poor Triar has been very patient. I’ve booked us into the Freedom Field again tomorrow afternoon so he can get a really good run while I stand around. I hope it’s sunny.

Anyway I’ll leave you there and hope to be feeling better soon. I was meant to be on duty vet this weekend, but fortunately K found cover for me without me even asking, which was lovely as I was expecting to have to work from bed. Apparently I’m not the only one who went to Stranraer well and came back infected. I hope you all have a good week.

Testing for Tuberculosis

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I was tempted to call this week’s entry TB, or not TB but that feels wrong. Although I have enjoyed this week, the subject is serious and there are sad overtones. I suppose the animals that go to slaughter following our test would have ended up there anyway eventually, but their lives will be cut short and it is a loss for the farmer, though he will receive some financial compensation for the cattle which are culled. It can’t be easy, knowing there is disease in your herd.

Though the aim to wipe out TB is laudable, for each farmer affected it can be a major headache. When we find TB on a farm, all cattle movements on and off that farm are limited. Restrictions are put in place and the only place those animals can go, is direct to the slaughterhouse. This means that if there are more animals on the farm than grass for them to eat, the farmer can’t send the excess stock to market. He either has to buy in food for them, or send them to be killed, even if they are animals that would be more valuable sold live. A young breeding cow has more value than the price of its meat, for example.

So it’s a difficult juggling act for the farmer. Throw in there the fact that our tests aren’t perfect, the disease is unpredictable and eliminating it can be difficult and you have the perfect combination for resentment of the people coming on the farm to do the testing and represent the government who put all these rules in place. We were very lucky this week that the farm owners were philosophical. It’s time consuming for the farmer as well. We tested close to four hundred animals this week. It took the best part of four days and even then, there are some retests that need to be done. Then in a couple of months, the whole thing will need to be repeated. On and on until the tests come back clear.

I met up with the team on Sunday night in the hotel where I would be sleeping for the best part of a week. I had met S the vet before. She took me out on some welfare visits a couple of weeks back, but there were two animal health officers coming too to carry out the blood testing and keep the paperwork in order. There was also another TB team, who would be skin testing at another farm in the area, so we were quite a big group. Though the food and conversation were good, we all retired early, ready for the hard work that was coming the next day.

It was interesting to me to go out testing. Thirty years ago, I used to carry out TB skin tests in the area, though in those days, there was no known TB in the area and all the tests were routine herd tests where we didn’t expect to find anything. The farm where we tested this week has already had TB confirmed. Culled animals had been found to have TB lesions present and culture results – where they attempt to grow bacteria in a lab from a possibly infected source – had shown that bovine TB to be present.

As far as I could see, the skin test hasn’t changed much at all. Two patches of skin on the neck are clipped (so you can see where you injected) and two types of tuberculin are injected: avian and bovine. Tuberculin contains purified proteins from the tuberculosis bacteria and in the UK, two types are used.

Because other harmless bacteria can be present in the environment, avian tuberculin is also injected, to try to rule out animals which have developed an immune reaction to those harmless bacteria, but still capture those that are infected with the harmful cattle strain. What this means, in terms of the test, is that if the animal produces an immune response, a lump develops at the injection site. If the lump at the bottom (bovine tuberculin) is bigger than the lump at the top (avian tuberculin) then the animal is classified as a “reactor”. That animal must then be slaughtered and checked for disease.

What was new to me though, was doing blood testing for TB in addition to the skin test. The blood tests are relatively new, very expensive, and there is a limited capacity for doing them in the UK. The animal health officer – SW – who arranged the test, had to call the lab in advance and book in our samples. The blood in the tubes also has to be kept within a certain temperature range and as it is winter, that meant that as soon as the sample was taken, it had to be placed in an insulated box with a heat pad. At the end of the day, a courier came, who would drive the samples directly to the lab.

Though it was a dull day on Monday, the test started well. SW was taking bloods and was wonderfully efficient at it. The arrangement with the needles was a bit different from what I remember in the old days. We used to use a test tube, a needle and a small, plastic needle holder. In between blood tests, you would unscrew the needle from the holder and replace it with a new one, so the holder was reused. Now, presumably due to the number of needle stick injuries that caused, a new needle holder is used for each animal. In addition, you don’t put the protective cap back on the needle. Instead there’s a green plastic flap that you flip into place to cover the needle. Doubtless it saves a lot of sore thumbs, but there is an immense amount of plastic waste.

This is K, the other animal health officer, taking a sample from the cow’s tail.

I had forgotten how messy blood testing cattle is. It was a beef farm, so the animals are always a lot wilder than dairy cattle. The animals are run up a race (a narrow fenced passage) and into a crush, where their neck is trapped so that they can’t move forward or back. That doesn’t stop them fighting it though, and as they scrabble about, the air fills with flying dungbombs. Of course, when you’re taking a sample from the tail, you’re also directly in the splat zone. I did a few samples and was briefly proud of how clean everything was… and then a cow sent the traditional jet of liquid shit directly at me and I spent the rest of the day with half my jacket and one trouser leg well and truly coated.

SW and K made a wonderful team. I was worried at the start that I would be a complete spare part, but they quickly involved me. Despite all the flying faeces, and the potentially serious nature of our visit, it was wonderful being back out on a farm, in the thick of the action, doing the job that I trained for all those years ago.

We had bought packed lunches in the shop in the morning. As we walked back to the cars, I was reminiscing with S the vet about the old days. When you spent the day on a farm testing, it was normal when you broke for lunch, to find a wonderful three course meal waiting for you in the farmhouse, courtesy of the farmer’s wife. Though it was already starting to be more common for farmer’s wives to work, it was still a regular part of that life back then, but I had been told it was uncommon now.

Of course, with four of us there, it would also be a big ask, but to my delight, we were invited into the farmhouse, where there was delicious, warming farmhouse soup, sausages, cheese and rolls and pancakes with butter and jam. Given what we were there to do, it was fantastically generous and it added to that feeling of deja vu I had all week.

We spent all day on Monday and Tuesday, injecting the skin test and taking blood samples, then on Thursday and Friday, S went out to read the skin test and I accompanied her, partly to do the writing (making sure you record the numbers and make sure the right animals are identified is crucial) and partly to see what the skin reactions are like and how they should be read. Though I’d seen a few avian reactions years ago, I never found any reactors and I was half hoping we wouldn’t find any.

But that hope only got as far as the third cow. Unfortunately, she had a lump where the bovine tuberculin had been injected, but no reaction at the avian injection site, which meant that she was a reactor. It was quite a chilling feeling for me, partly because the cow would have to be slaughtered and partly because I now knew that here was an animal with an infection that could be passed to humans. We’re not allowed out on farms to test without having had a BCG vaccine, but it was an unexpectedly sobering thought.

Things went relatively well from there, though there was one other reactor, and that was last years calf from the infected cow. Interestingly, the blood tests came back on Friday, and though it had picked up TB in the calf, the cow tested as negative. It will be interesting to see what is found when the two of them are culled. Though it’s not nice to see a young, recently weaned beast being sent off, it was some consolation that the cow would have company. Cattle tend to be stressed when they are isolated from the herd, and the farmer is required to isolate reactors as soon as possible.

There were also some more positives from the blood test, so they will be sent off too. Then, as I said back at the start, the herd will need to be tested again, and maybe several more times, but hopefully it will eventually be cleared. Officially Scotland is TB free, but in southwest Scotland, where animals are regularly brought in from Ireland, it’s always going to be a problem until they find a better solution. And as this is part of my patch, it looks as though we will be working on it for some time yet.

And for those of you that have made it this far, here are some gratuitous food photos from the Craignelder Hotel, where we stayed.

A Sky Full of Kites

Scotland, The Vet Who Came In from the Cold, Vet, , , , ,

I stayed in Scotland last weekend and Triar and I had a couple of good days. He and I went for a walk in a forest on Saturday. He was off lead and though I was a little nervous as he rushed off, splashing through ditches and disappearing into the undergrowth, he kept coming back and was eventually so tired that he returned to walk at my side, at which point I put him back on the lead. There were laws in Norway and going off lead was banned at certain times of year, so this is mostly new to both of us, but hopefully will become normal. He came home with manky paws and a coat full of twigs. I’ve spent the past week picking tiny bits of wood from the carpets, but it was worth it to see his cheery face.

On Sunday, I hired a dog field at Kirkgunzeon and that was also great fun. I invited Donna and her two dogs and thought they didn’t interact too much, they didn’t fight and all of them were tired out after running around for forty five minutes. I also got to practice Triar’s whistle recall, which is still excellent, thank goodness.

Treacle and Rubens
Tabletop Triar

My brain has been a bit frazzled at work this week. One of the most disconcerting things in my new job is having to jump from case to case, sometimes at the drop of a hat. Part of the reason it’s tough at the moment is that so many things are new to me. I can be just starting to be feeling things are under control, when suddenly something unexpected wangs into my e-mail that needs an urgent response and (this is the problem) I don’t know how to handle it.

I know from experience that this will get better. It’s a long time ago now, but I can remember as a brand new vet that every night on call felt this way. Anything could fly at me and I was more or less on my own to deal with it. Yes, I could usually call on someone, but you you can’t do that for every case. After a while, it became normal and I could deal with anything without that panicky feeling that I might mess something up.

Outside of that, my new life continues to be interesting and rewarding. On Monday, C took me out on a visit to the Red Kite Centre at Ballymack Farm. We weren’t there to see the kites, rather the way their food was prepared and stored, but we stopped to watch the kites anyway. It was probably amongst the best lunchtime breaks I’ve ever had!

The delightful owner is in her eighties, but still goes out every day to feed the birds. There were a few birds circling in the sky overhead but we watched her go out and scatter their food and then suddenly the entire sky was filled with soaring wings. Their cries sounded melancholy on the wind as they waited, then in a flurry, they swooped in, diving to grab the raw meat, rising again into the air and then circling again. It was a stunning display and though I tried to take some photos, my phone camera couldn’t really do it justice. I envied the man who had a huge zoom lens on his camera. His family were waiting impatiently for him, but I fully understood as he stood outside in the blustery wind taking picture after picture, hoping for that perfect shot.

I’ve done a couple of other visits this week and raw pet food has been a feature of all of them. It comes under the classification Animal By Products or ABP and the agency I work for does quite a lot of work trying to ensure it is produced and stored safely. Other features included work on my first potential TB case and a complaint about two dead cows. One thing I can say is that every day is different! Thank goodness I have wonderful colleagues who seem very willing to support me through it all.

I’m in Yorkshire this weekend, dropping Triar off as next week I will be in Stranraer again, learning more about TB case handling out on a farm. Have a good week all!

Lunch at the kite feeding station – they do a mean carrot cake!

Tuberculosis

Blog, Scotland, The Vet Who Came In from the Cold, Vet, , , , , , , ,

The rain is hurling itself against the window as I write this, having returned home after half a week in Stranraer. The wind there was relentless and felt like it was filled with icicles. Not quite the balmy, maritime climate I might have hoped for. Despite the chilly wind and the sleet that fell, the fields were still green and many animals are still outside. So different from the months of snow and ice in the far north. I finally found the time to take a few photos when I was out and about, which I’ll share in between the streams of reminiscence!

It was strange being back. A lot has changed in the last thirty years, although one thing that hasn’t changed much is the little lodge house I lived in back then. It now has oil central heating, where once the only warmth came from a coal fire, and the wheelie bins are out front, rather than tucked away at the back door, but other than that, it still looks much as it did when I lived there. I swore, after those eighteen months that I would never again accept a house without central heating.

The practice I worked in is long gone. The younger of my bosses sold it to the neighbouring practice (now Academy Vets) years ago. I went into Academy Vets as I had to chat to them about a case. I thought I didn’t know any of the staff, but I discovered that one of the senior vets had seen practice with me when he was a student, which illustrates how long ago it all was. My older boss is still around, apparently. Hopefully I can visit him, next time I’m over.

Simpson’s the bakers is still there on the main shopping street. I remember Anne, the kindest receptionist ever, asking if I wanted anything from Simpson’s at lunch time on an almost daily basis. I bought a sandwich: coronation chicken on white bread and they must still be using the same recipe as they used, all those years ago. It was as delicious as I remembered, though it now comes in plastic, where once it was in a white paper bag. The cakes haven’t changed either: very traditionally Scottish, all intensely sweet, no fresh cream and some very garish icing.

I was quite surprised (and rather saddened) by how unfamiliar a lot of it seemed, though I did keep tripping over memories over the course of a few days. I thought the Morrisons supermarket was new, but when I went in, it dawned on me that it was the precious supermarket that was built when I was there. It was Safeway when it arrived in town and was a wonderful addition. Before that, there was only a dim and narrow W.M. Low’s that I would walk around, looking for something for dinner, finding no inspiration. Morrison’s was closer to the centre than I remember and I don’t recall using a roundabout to get into it, but maybe I’ve just forgotten. A colleague who grew up in Stranraer reminded me that the old cattle market was knocked down to build it, and I do recall that as well, but only in the vaguest of ways.

Mostly I drove around, thinking how unfamiliar it all seemed, though when I drove away from Academy Vets (where we used to take dogs for x-rays as my practice didn’t have one) I knew exactly how to get to Lewis Street, where McTaggart and Williamson used to be, and for a few moments, I felt as if time had shifted.

Though my time in Stranraer wasn’t particularly happy, it is where I met Charlie. He took a job in my practice, having spent time as a student doing extramural studies around the corner in Academy Street. We were married twenty three years and have three wonderful children together, so it was a significant time in my life.


Anyway, enough reminiscing and back to the present. This week I have been learning about tuberculosis. It’s important that I do as I will be taking over several TB outbreak cases in just over a month’s time, when my Stranraer colleague goes on maternity leave. Although I’m learning a lot at high speed, I am now reaching the stage when I can see just how much I don’t know.

There’s an online course I need to take, as well as having time for the cases to be handed over. I am finding out where to look up case handling and I’ve an offer of help with the tracing and epidemiology, but I am still going to need a lot of guidance. Each case is different, depending on whether there were signs of TB found when an animal went to slaughter, or whether it was picked up during a skin test, and beyond that how exactly the case progresses, once a positive skin test occurs. There are a multitude of pathways, depending on those factors. I did the skin testing thirty years back, but there were no positive skin tests back then, so the rest is new to me.

Now in addition to skin tests, they can take blood tests and are beginning to understand some of the genetics. Tracing where it came from (and where it might have spread to) is now becoming more clear. You can sometimes tell where a strain might have come from, because it is genetically similar to a separate case. When I was testing, thirty years ago, there was no TB in the area. The aim is to return to that situation, but I think that will take a very long time, if it’s possible at all. Only time will tell.

Yesterday, R and I visited a farm where the investigation is just beginning. One of their cows had a small reaction to the injection during a routine skin test. When tested again, sixty days later, she reacted more. Now she will sadly be taken to slaughter, where they will check her for visible signs of TB and also do a PCR check, where they look for TB DNA. After that, whatever the result, the whole herd will have to be checked again. Until they get the all-clear, with no reactors, they cannot sell any of their animals, or move them off the farm, other than for slaughter. It’s a huge blow to any farmer to find out some of his cows will have to be culled and that there is disease in the herd that can spread to humans. I hope, for their sake, that the tests all come back clear.

I had left my car in a car park in the middle of nowhere while R took me to the farm, and on my return, I was quite surprised to see a van parked beside it. R headed off and to my surprise, the driver of the van came over to chat to me. He was wizened as if he had spent a lot of years battling the weather, but he seemed cheery as he told me he was a mole exterminator! He is seventy five, he said, and still tending to over seventy farms, though in his heyday, he cleared a hundred and twenty. I confess that it had never crossed my mind that the job of mole exterminator existed, but he seemed very upbeat about it and was obviously very efficient. It did cross my mind that perhaps I should consider a new career, but he said he thinks he has someone lined up to take over his patch when he finally gets too old.

Anyway, I’ll leave you with some food pictures. I ate every night in the North West Castle Hotel and would highly recommend it!

Sea bass with creamed potatoes, prawn and chive butter and seasonal vegetables
Breast of chicken with mash, haggis and peppercorn sauce

… and the piece de resistance…

Strawberry cheesecake

Delicious! See you next week.