Working as a government vet, there are times when my job brings an intensity to life that I find fascinating, almost addictive at times. I am still dealing with the aftermath of the bird flu investigation. The initial visit – walking round the shed seeing the sick birds was just the start. There followed a tense period of information gathering. Behind the front line workers like me, there are teams working on epidemiology, tracings and licensing. They need to understand the minutiae of the on-farm operations.
So during that period, it’s as if nothing else matters. It’s all-consuming. The rest of life takes such a back seat that any daily struggles and all other work fall into the background. I fall into a seat in front of the TV at the end of my working day and it’s enough.
As the tidal wave of that work begins to slow, the rest of life and the other work tasks trickle back into focus, but at the moment, those (work) tasks are still quite urgent. Principally, I fell back from avian influenza into the slower wave of bovine tuberculosis. As well as dealing with outbreak work, I should also be doing routine work relating to trade and imports and exports. But our work is prioritised and often we are so busy that we are only skimming the top of what needs to be done. That said, I slipped in a Poultry Health Scheme inspection into my calendar on Tuesday, completed the paperwork and sent it off the next day. The deadline was March, but it was painless (actually I enjoy those visits) and now it’s done.
So picking up the reins of my TB cases, one is quite far along. At the start, there’s a lot to be done, contacting the farmer, explaining what will happen. Broadly, no cattle can move on or off the premises, other than to a slaughterhouse (where they will be scrutinized for disease) and even that is done under licence. There follows a period of testing and culling. Most of the tests are skin tests, but we do blood testing too, at the start. Any animals with positive results are culled and those too are inspected for signs of TB infection. Once we have two clear tests in a row and we have paperwork to say the farmer has cleaned and disinfected the area or areas where the sick animals were housed, then we lift the restrictions.
So with the first of my cases, we are past the blood test and the first of the two skin tests just came back clear. It’s not impossible something might show up, but generally from here it’s plain sailing. In my other case, we are just concluding the blood test. It tends to throw up more positive results, so those animals have to be processed, slaughtered and inspected. I guess it may sound barbaric, but compared with the suffering TB can cause if it goes unchecked… well these things have to be weighed against each other. To me, those results look quite good. There weren’t so many positives. It will be interesting to see whether any of the animals have what are called “visible lesions” – the TB bacteria tend to wall areas off in the body, a bit like abscesses. If they find those, they will do further testing. Finding the bacteria is almost the holy grail because that allows us to get a much better idea of where the disease came from because they can test to see what strain it is and which other cases are closely related. It takes ages though to grow the bacteria and sometimes they can’t.
Anyway, I digress! As well as working through this process, I have to write everything up in a monthly report. My information and that of all the other cases goes to Scottish Government for oversight. The whole thing takes up a lot of time. I’ve also been allocated the job of overseeing the cleansing and disinfection work at my bird flu farm. The cull is finished and the shed is almost empty. But as the end of the week came into view, I was just thinking that next week, I have plenty to do, but that I will also be able to fit in a welfare visit that’s part of another ongoing investigation that has currently been sidelined. And then my line manager asked me to take on another TB case. This one’s just starting. What testing will be required remains to be seen because all we have at the moment is a positive result, found on a routine skin test. If they don’t find visible lesions then the regime will be different again, but my initial tasks include a Disease Risk Form – a visit to the farm to look at possible source and spread. Is this beginning to sound familiar? This is what I do!
Anyway, in among the work, I am trying to sort out when I might take holidays and who I might visit. My attention is so distracted that I realized yesterday that I’ve booked a week’s holiday that overlaps with a weekend on duty, so I’m going to have to work out what to do about that. For now though, I intend to rest and enjoy the weekend. Last week, Triar and I climbed a whole load of rough steps to visit the Waterloo Monument above New Abbey. It was quite a grey day, but I took a few photos.
We didn’t make it all the way to the top. The stairs were very dark and Triar said no halfway up. Unsurprising really and a sensible decision! Anyway, thanks as ever for reading. I hope you have a lovely week.
Another weekend is here, and looking back through my photos, most of them are of food! It would be fair to say that, when I’m out walking round a chilly farmyard all day, it is lovely to get back to a hotel, where someone else will cook for me. The picture at the top of the page was a starter – chicken skewers. I followed it up with sweet and sour prawns.
We were staying in the Premier Inn in Ayr, which was very pleasant. I know there are other staff who prefer to go out and find different restaurants to eat in, but for me the benefits of simply walking downstairs and being fed are too tempting to resist. Although the food is obviously mass prepared (it’s fairly consistent from hotel to hotel) I can usually find something I want to eat. I discovered the sweet and sour in Brighton and I would order it again.
I had to laugh at Lesley’s (the animal health officer who had arranged the trip) main course. She had ordered the chicken skewers as a main. I saw it came with flatbread, but hadn’t twigged that there were chips too. What turned up was a plate of chicken skewers (pretty succulent and with that tangy yogurt dip) with a mega flatbread chip butty! Guess it was probably not much more carb overload than mine, with its white rice and sweet sauce, but it looked way less appetizing!
Lesley had booked the rooms and, for the first time ever, I had a Premier room in the Premier Inn. I was impressed to find both a fridge and a coffee machine in the room, though in the end, having tried to coffee machine with the small sachets of cold milk, I reverted to instant decaffeinated with lattes from the restaurant at breakfast. The little bars of chocolate were nice though.
The farm visits went well. We were blood testing the cattle for a TB Gamma test. The traditional test for TB has always been a skin test, where tuberculin (non infectious liquid, derived from the bacteria that cause tuberculosis) is injected into the neck, to see if it causes an immune response . While a positive skin reaction means it’s very likely the cow has tuberculosis, a non-reaction isn’t a good guarantee that she doesn’t have it. With the gamma test, some cows without TB might have a positive result, but it can pick up earlier infections and is more likely to identify animals with TB that the skin test would miss. We use these tests in combination where there is an outbreak, to try to ensure we get as many of the infected animals as possible.
Fortunately for me, we had a great team and I didn’t have to do too much of the testing. It’s a very physical job, either lifting the cow’s tail and taking blood from a vein that runs down the centre, or getting down on your knees and taking it from the neck. I did a lot of blood testing in the early years of my career because brucellosis testing was still routinely done in cattle, every three years. It seems it’s like riding a bike, because I can still do it, which is just as well because I was asked to step in a couple of times on animals where it was difficult to get blood. The relief when I managed was significant. As my main role was in supervising a new animal health officer who was learning, it wouldn’t look good if I couldn’t do it myself.
The bird flu outbreak is going on and on, though really February is possibly the worst month for it, so it’s not unexpected. I was duty vet yesterday and another two investigations came in. One of them sounded like a certainty, so it looks like our little team will continue to be busy in the coming weeks. I have learned a lot from my involvement last week, not least because I made some errors in case handling and didn’t collect anything like enough evidence for the tracings team. I had to go back and get additional information about exactly where manure had been spread from the farm, when feed had been delivered to each shed, where they got their bedding materials and when and to where had any carcasses been taken away, before the outbreak set in. On a big farm, there are a lot of comings and goings over twenty one days. I did gather the information, but I should have returned the day after I walked round the shed to look at the birds to ask a whole load more questions and to get copies of the paperwork showing all those interactions. Next time, I will have much better oversight. This is how I learn best. As well as being a huge farm, it was only my fourth ever investigation and my first to go positive, and so the steep learning curve goes on.
I had a lovely weekend with Valerie. As well as the hot tub, she introduced me to the addictive TV experience that is Traitors. We binge watched it and it was fascinating to see the damage done in a society when some are enabled and willing to lie and deceive and others (acting innocently) cause havoc and failure through their over-confidence in their skills and beliefs. Others yet, with unseen wisdom and less self-confidence, are ignored. I realise what we see is heavily edited to give a certain slant to things, but seeing the interplay when we know more of the truth than the contestants is very interesting indeed.
Anyway, I shall leave you with my one, single, scenic photo from Ayrshire. Scotland is very beautiful, even in the middle of a sullen, damp winter. Thank you for reading. I hope you have a good week.
This week, I’ve been involved at the ongoing bird flu outbreak at Scotland’s biggest egg producer. Case AIV2026-06 Millennium Farm was confirmed positive for infection on 15th January. As it’s already in the press, I can say that this was not the first in the group of farms in that area, but the investigation and clinical assessment still took me many hours and the last two days have been filled with paperwork. Once disease has been confirmed, more work is triggered, both on farm, where teams prepare for the culling of thousands of birds, while in offices, other teams begin the long process of tracing which commercial vehicles came on and off the farm, delivering feed, collecting eggs and manure. Where did they go. Where might the virus have spread. As you can imagine, our limited staff of vets and animal health officers have been working flat out. The management team must be exhausted too. I was incredibly pleased though, that when I was sent out on Wednesday, one of our most experienced animal health officers was sent out to carry out the sampling process. As I had been in full PPE for four hours by this time, carrying out my clinical investigation on the birds, I was incredibly grateful as he swung into action. All I had to do was number the swabs and hand them to him. By this point, writing clearly and getting the numbers in the right order took all my concentration.
I stayed in a nearby hotel overnight, where they very kindly kept the kitchen open for me for an extra few minutes and produced the meal in the picture at the top of the page, which was slow roast belly pork. I had already downed a pint of cola and a glass of water by the time it arrived. Having eaten it, I did begin to feel almost human again!
I can’t say I slept much. Not in any way the fault of the hotel bed, which was very comfortable, but my mind and body were in that state where I was almost too tired to sleep. Still, I got up for breakfast at 07:30 to join my colleagues, one of whom, I think, was involved in the breakdown from the weekend before, and the other was my lovely, experienced animal health officer from the day before. While I went back up to my hotel room to start completing the forty pages of information I had to provide, he was heading back to the farm to start measuring buildings and assessing how the cull would go ahead. These experienced staff are invaluable and my one sour note in all this is that the civil service have removed progressive pay, so that these hugely experienced staff get paid very little more than someone who is just starting on the job.
Eggs royale for breakfast. Delicious!
I returned to Dumfries on Thursday afternoon and picked up poor Triar, who’d had to watch me rush in, pack a case, and leave the day before. I’m incredibly grateful to Donna (when am I not?) who calmly agreed to take him in and told me just to go and everything would be taken care of. I do have the most wonderful friends.
I had barely expected to get the weekend off. I was on what’s called the detached duty rota this week, which means I can be sent to an outbreak anywhere. My phone is on, my kit is in the car and, if anything else goes down, it’s not impossible I’ll be called on. But for now, I’m at Valerie’s near Stirling. Yesterday evening, I drank mulled wine in her hot tub and today (God willing 😆) we’re going to a Chinese buffet for lunch. Next week’s plan involves blood testing cattle for two days, or at least teaching one of the new animal health officers to do so. Obviously, there’s still a chance I might be redirected, but wherever I’m sent, Triar will be here for a few days, while I’ll be away. One thing about this job, life never stands still.
During the winter months, it was always going to be hard to keep up with my walking intentions. I’ve mentioned before that, with WalkFit’s help, I was doing a regular 7,500 steps a day, with additional monthly challenges on top. I don’t know whether I might have kept it up if WalkFit hadn’t failed me, but with a combination of complete darkness outside of working hours and the onset of icy weather, which makes falling much more likely, I have not been keeping up with my intentions in the past week.
I did start well over the New Year break. Last week, I described my waterfall adventures and I had two lovely walks at the weekend. The first was up a path near Torthorwald which I found when looking for a different path, but went with it anyway. Triar and I ended up tramping 10,000 steps on some lovely tracks and backroads.
Sunday’s walk was a bit more limited, crammed in between church and a birthday celebration Donna held for me in the afternoon. It was another lovely day though, more backroad walking and some possible exploration for the future.
Work continues to be very up and down and that does have a bearing on my walking as well. As I mentioned above, the shortness of the days, combined with a workday where we are supposed to work from eight thirty until five leaves little time for walking in the sun. And some of my tasks, such as duty vet, which I did yesterday, leave me so exhausted and demoralised that there is little energy for anything other than slumping in front of the TV.
There are good days though. I like working on farms and with farmers. There are few places I would rather be than in a cow shed. There’s something about being among cattle that brings me a feeling of serenity. I realise I don’t instil the same feeling in them, but I do try! Sometimes, because of the nature of my cases, I have to spend time away from home and that probably happens most with TB cases. I’m dealing with two outbreaks at present and both are a couple of hours drive from Dumfries. I’ve named this week’s blog after the lunch I have most often when I’m working away from home.
On days when I work away from the office for more than five hours and less than ten, I’m allowed to claim £7 expenses for food and drink. Most cafes in Scotland offer some kind of soup and sandwich combination and as it is warming and cheap, that is the lunch I go for most often. The lunch in the picture was potato soup and a Brie and cranberry toastie and it was as rustic and delicious as it looks. The week after next, I will be spending two days at the same farm I visited this week to train a new animal health officer in blood sampling. I’ll be staying up there with some lovely colleagues, working on farm during the day, staying in a Premier Inn overnight. Those trips are undoubtedly the highlight of my job. I’m just hoping this time that it’s not too cold.
It seems that half of the UK is currently enveloped in snow, but here in Dumfries, nothing. I find it a bit disappointing after my years in the Arctic. Over there, it was perhaps too much of a good thing, but I miss the brightness it brings and I also have some fabulous spiky boots that aren’t really useful on ice as they need some depth to dig into!
Reading back, I’ve just realized I hadn’t explained how WalkFit let me down. It was always a bit of a poor programme. When I started, it offered a slow, medium or fast option, without any explanation of what those were. As I was fairly unfit at the time, I chose medium on the assumption that it would build up over time at a medium rate, probably to 10,000 steps a day. Instead, it started on 4,300 and built up , but then stopped at 7,500 steps, again without saying that was what it was doing. I waited quite a while before I realised that was it.
But 7,500 steps suited me well. It was relatively easy to stick to. With two “days off” allowed each week, I had been meeting my target steps for six months. And then my three monthly renewal fee came in. At £66 for what was a fairly limited program, it was not cheap, but it was working for me, so I went with it. And then they reset my program. Instead of continuing at 7,500 steps (as it had the first time I renewed) it started me back at 4,300.
I contacted them, of course I did, but the response was insulting. Instead of acknowledging that an error had been made, Nicole told me that the app “sets up daily goals for you based on your personal parameters”. She told me I could change my daily goals, but left it to me to find out that 7,500 was not an option. I could have whole thousands only and the only way to get back to 7,500 (with which I had been very happy) was to work up through the medium program again. Not only that, but it was obvious to me that the whole thing might happen again in three months.
I wrote again, explaining that it was obvious something had gone wrong and the reset should not have occurred. Nicole replied once more, saying “the app occasionally adjusts goals based on recent activity or completion of the personal plan”. As this was a bare faced lie, I decided (quite regretfully) to cancel my account. They did add insult to injury afterwards, by offering me a year’s use at £30 (so much for rewarding loyal customers) but tempting as it was to have the app back again, I wasn’t going to send them any more of my money, whatever the terms.
.
My search for a replacement app has, so far, been unsuccessful. All it was, basically, was a step counter with flashy awards when you managed to reach your totals and some fairly useless fitness programmes that very quickly rose beyond 20 minutes, which exceeded my boredom threshold and couldn’t be readjusted down to a level I was happy with. So if anyone wants to set something up, I’d happily pay for it. I guess the WalkFit false advertising (promised weight loss) wouldn’t be an option for a decent person, but it might just take off anyway, at the right price.
I shall leave you with a picture of Triar in his favourite place. I brought my (financially worthless) squashy leather sofas all the way from Norway because we both like them and this one is in front of a radiator, so double comfort for him lying up on the top. Have a good week all, and thanks for reading.
So I’m in Yorkshire and Christmas day is past. I wasn’t sure I was going to get down here at all. Last week at work was crazy. Shortly after returning from church, a phone call came in from a devastated farmer. He’d gone into his shed and found the birds silent: all either sick or dead. Technically, the case was in the South, so I should have been the one setting out, but by a twist of fate, the farm was closer to the vet covering the North, who offered to go. I am still incredibly grateful. Tuesday saw another case come in. Each involves a tonne of paperwork, even for the phone vet. Tuesday night, a member of the public called at 11 pm. Another twisted neck goose, also handled by a human. If you’re reading this, if you see a sick bird, don’t pick it up. If it’s dead, you can put on thick rubber gloves and double bag it (two dustbin bags, seal well) and put it in the outside bin. If you’re in the UK, you can report it. Details here: https://www.gov.uk/guidance/report-dead-wild-birds
My line manager decided I shouldn’t work at Christmas. I’d worked both days last weekend so by civil service rules, I had to have two days off in a fortnight anyway. I suspect I will be working New Year. Lots of our vets are in other countries for the Christmas break. The three cases so far are in a cluster, so more is a strong possibility. It may already be reality, but my work phone is firmly switched off.
I made some lovely, vegan gravy on Christmas day. Also stuffing and various other things. It seems Helen is now more vegetarian than vegan though, which is a lot easier. Good to know that vegan beer and onion/vegetable gravy can be delicious though. Never know when that might come in handy! Helen is going home today, so it will be just me in the old house. Mum and Dad have moved out and the place is half gutted. When I was thinking yesterday about my last night here, I was reminded of my last night in my lovely house in Norway, which never happened. The removal men arrived a day early and took my bed and that was that. At least this last night won’t be so stressful, even if it is rather sad, after all these years. I have loved this house and am already assuming I will be hosting Christmas in Dumfries next year, all being well.
Anyway, I’m going to go now. My much loved Auntie Margaret is coming over today. She’s Dad’s sister and I have wonderful memories from the 1990s when I was working in Yorkshire and would randomly turn up at their house, to be immediately assimilated into their family, whatever was happening. Helen will be off shortly too. I want to make the most of the time we have.
Have a good week all and thanks for reading. Happy New Year when it comes.
Disclaimer: the pig picture above belongs to a friend and is not part of my case.
Looking back at this post from last year it’s kind of odd to see how little has changed in terms of my workplace, workload and colleagues. The reason I was reading it was because this week, on top of my TB case, the aftermath of Thursday’s report case, big welfare in transport investigation and a couple of routine inspections done or due, the marauding pigs have made a return. It’s been posted on Facebook and the local news, so I guess I can say that these pigs are now causing a significant hazard on the A76. Last year, it appeared the situation was back under control but (as with many other welfare situations) it has spiraled again.
It’s not that surprising. During my three years in Norway, it became obvious that most farmers are doing a great job and that almost all the problems we have to deal with stem from a few people, a few of whom are genuinely bad or ignorant, but most of whom are struggling with life, one way or another. Lots of people have a dream where they run a successful business, keeping animals. The reality is that doing so involves a huge amount of hard graft and a steely mind that can cope when catastrophe hits. Farming is a tough business. To quote James Herriot, ‘I was beginning to learn about the farmers and what I found I liked. They had a toughness and a philosophical attitude which was new to me. Misfortunes which would make the city dweller want to bang his head against a wall were shrugged off with “Aye, well, these things happen.”‘
Anyway, Tuesday was a bit sad as one of the poor pigs was hit by a lorry. The end of the week was filled with meetings and multi-agency planning to find a solution that will last. Otherwise, we’re going to be dealing with ongoing problems for years to come.
A lot of what we do involves fighting against the system. These welfare issues are typical – we have to make sure we give people the chance to rectify problems themselves, when the reality is they are only in that place because they aren’t coping. There’s little we can offer in terms of support and neither advice nor penalties really help. After almost two years though, I have a reasonable grasp on many of the tasks I’m handling and what I can actually do. I have a network of contacts, both local and national, who can be relied on to get things done, which makes all the difference.
In other good news, after waiting since May for a non-appearing plumber, I contacted a different plumber from my street, who came the same evening and started work the next day. I now have a functioning shower and toilet upstairs and the rusty and unusable shower over the bath downstairs has now been replaced. So now, after more than a year without a shower, I have two. Still plastering and decorating to go, but it feels like the end is now in sight for my room-in-roof insulation project.
On Thursday, we had the first frost of the year. Less spectacular than the Arctic frosts that could go on for weeks, building huge ice-crystals, frost here still adds a new layer of beauty to the small things. I do love proper winter weather.
I’m tired after a busy couple of weeks at work, but there’s not much I need to do this weekend. I have a shoebox from the church that I need to fill with Christmas gifts for (I think) refugees somewhere, so I shall take a wander to the shops this morning to get that filled. I may stop for a coffee and a slice of gingerbread cake at the garden centre. Other than that, it looks a bit stormy outside, so I intend to spend some time in front of the TV. It’s almost time to start my Harry Potter Christmas marathon, so that might be on the agenda. In the meantime, I will leave you with some photographs I took last weekend, over towards Wigtown. It’s a beautiful part of the country. Thanks for reading and hope you have a great week.
This week has felt very long. Monday was spent catching up on work from last week. Tuesday, I was out on a welfare visit. I haven’t done so many of those lately as our regional vet team are so overstretched that my line-manager is withholding all but the most urgent work. I enjoyed it. It was a well-run dairy farm (the picture at the top of the page is unrelated) which I always find reassuring. We get a few awful welfare visits, but most of the time I find dedicated farmers who concentrate on welfare as part of their routine work. The reality is that animals that are treated well are more productive, which I’m sure has a bearing, but generally they care about the animals they look after.
Wednesday there was a monthly team meeting, and the first in a series of mandatory meetings for the vet team. As I said above, our regional team is struggling. This is straightforwardly as a result of understaffing. We should have a team of ten vets and right now, we have the equivalent of five fully functional vets. Wages for a Senior Veterinary Inspector are not high in comparison with other vet jobs and South West Scotland is the busiest region. Sometimes people come into our team, train for a while, feel the weight and then leave. They go to other jobs, or to different areas, where there is less work. Anyway, at the meeting, a colleague led by saying she wasn’t even able now to work through her emails as they come in. This rang a bell with me. I look through mine and pin the ones I have to deal with at the top of the page. There used to be around five there at any time. Now they’re off the page.
They don’t really have any solutions and I don’t blame my line manager. He is doing all he can to protect us, but only dealing with the most urgent work means that the work we are doing is often heavy or very much time-constrained. If there are horses arriving in the airport, we can’t say, “I’ll handle that tomorrow.” We have to handle the TB cases because if we don’t, there will be more.
The only reason I had the nice welfare visit was because my line manager was away. Those standing in for him seem unable to bear the weight he does, so while he’s away, the welfare visits get distributed and we get pushed to take on other work. We did an Emotional Intelligence training day a while back, where they set us tasks and pushed us to complete them faster. Some of them involved throwing things to each other. The people running it seemed quite impressed that none of the team criticized anyone who slowed us down, by fumbling a catch or throwing badly. I commented, in a wry voice, that we were so used to missing our targets that nobody was going to be uptight about not getting the fastest time in a throwing game. Everyone laughed, but the reality is that working constantly under pressure means that we do understand what is important and we do have quite a forgiving core team.
On Thursday, I thought that I might finally finish and send off my witness statement from the Farm of Doom case, which I last visited back in April. I haven’t been responsible for all the delays on that one. My Local Authority colleague took an age to come back to me with the photographs for numbering, so I couldn’t finish my statement without them. I thought I was more or less done, then sent my work to one of the ex-police Enforcement Officers, who told me I had to be explicit in stating that I took each photo and what it shows. As there are a lot of photos, I was only about halfway through this task and Thursday lunch time was approaching when my line manager rang.
I answered, feeling quite sanguine as I generally do when I finally get the time to complete overdue paperwork. He said, “Sarah, can you start to prepare for a report case please?” The bottom fell out of my day. Thursday afternoon and Friday, when I had planned to get through All the Things, including the almost finished paperwork from Tuesday’s welfare, updating my TB case and writing a long-postponed talk I’m supposed to be giving on deer were immediately thrown out of the window. A report case would take up the whole of the next two days. “What kind of report case?” I asked. “AI,” he replied. Avian Influenza. Mentally, I cast aside my planned quiet days and started to prepare for the onslaught.
When I go on holiday, and especially when flying, there’s a bit of a tense period before setting off. Making sure I have everything I’ll need creates a bit of tension. Obviously, I can buy new underwear, but if I forget my passport or my phone, with its electronic ticket information, and maybe the phone charger, then life would become more complicated. I usually relax once I’m through airport security. Beyond that gate, anything that goes wrong will be dealt with.
It’s a bit similar for me with a report case. Before I set off, I need to make sure I have everything in my car that I might require for my disease investigation. All the right paperwork, all the right kit. Throw on top of there the knowledge that I might not make it home that night, so I have to make sure Triar’s needs are covered too, and you get the picture. Having been “officially informed” that I am the attending vet, I have half an hour before I’m meant to be on my way. The reality is that we usually get this pre-warning and the official time is so vague that I have trouble filling in the form the next day. There’s no chance of getting out of the door in half an hour.
Anyway, that prep time, as with the airport planning, is always the worst bit for me. Once I’m in the car and on my way, my mind settles and I am committed. There’s no point in worrying about my other cases or whether I’ve forgotten anything. The next few hours, I have one task only, which is to assess whether there is notifiable disease on the farm or not. This time, I was driving out west. I hadn’t had lunch, so I stopped in a roadside shop for a filled roll. While I was stopped, I saw a message from Donna, saying she would take Triar out (and possibly in overnight). Another weight off my mind.
I’m writing all this as if I’m an old hand, but in reality, this was only my third real report case. It was the second bird flu report case in our region this week. The other farm would still be under restrictions because, after testing, the final all-clear for bird flu takes about a week to come through, but initial results suggested that one was negative. My farm, the one I was heading for, was a laying unit, producing eggs. There were, in total, 180,000 birds on three sites. 80 birds had died overnight in one of the sheds. My job was to go in, take a detailed history, examine both live and dead birds, and then decide whether we need to test for bird flu.
If you’re wondering about now, “well why don’t they just go and test them and see?” the answer is because notifiable diseases are only notifiable because they present a risk. The risk might be economic, for example it might mean animals can’t be sold to other countries because of trade agreements. Scotland is fighting to keep its Bluetongue status as “Free of Disease” because that means more international markets are open to them. Most though, have an animal welfare or human risk aspect. If foot and mouth spreads out of control, as it did in 2001, there is a massive animal welfare issue, as well as a huge economic cost to farming and to the UK. Bird flu presents a risk to human health, as well as a significant welfare impact on the infected birds. Both spread like norovirus through a scout camp, so as soon as there is suspicion of disease, the farm is locked down. The first thing I do, on arrival at the farm, is to serve official papers, confirming the verbal restrictions they were told when they called us.
And when I say locked down, I mean just that. Bird flu spreads easily, so it’s not only birds and animals that can’t move off. People aren’t allowed on or off. Vehicles too. Any movement, from that moment, until the restrictions are lifted, has to be made under a licence. If I can’t rule out disease and we go for testing, this farm is going to be locked down for a week. If I decide this isn’t bird flu, they can open up again this evening. This is an egg producing farm, with 180,000 birds, each laying an egg daily. Eggs can carry bird flu. A week’s worth of eggs… well you get the picture.
I need to be calm when I arrive on the farm. If this day is stressful for me, then think about what the farmer is going through. His or her animals and a chunk of his or her livelihood are on the line. They need me to guide them through this so I want them to have confidence. I bless my years in general practice out of hours and in the emergency clinic. I’ve been dealing with other people’s disasters since I was 23. (As an aside, I love the company of old vets for exactly that reason. Many new vets never do out of hours. It’s not good for the profession.)
My Animal Health Officer (AHO) who will take the samples today, if we sample, is F. She’s even newer than me. My first bird-flu case was hers too, but that time we had an experienced AHO with us. This time, it’s just us. She’s holding up well and was out of her car before me. Deep breath. Grab all the paperwork. I open the car door, climb out, and greet the farmer as if I’ve done this a thousand times before and it’s all routine. Explain who I am: what we’re going to do. There will be a lot of paperwork. Hundreds of questions. Better they know what we’re in for, because they are about to be grilled on all their daily routines, their biosecurity arrangements, who has been on and off the farm in the last 21 days, what has gone to plan, what has happened that was different.
We go into the house. The first thing I do is plug in my phone. I used it to guide me here and later, I have to document everything with photographs. The first time I did this, a few months back, I plugged in my phone, but forgot the switch on the socket. Nobody’s perfect! This time I throw the switch. Then we get down to it, at the kitchen table. I ask them questions. They answer, in detail and at high speed. I’m writing it all down. There is no chance all the information will go into my head and stay there. Several times, I have to ask them to repeat, because they are three facts ahead and I’m still noting down fact 1.
I have to guide the conversation, but it’s difficult. It’s already three in the afternoon and I am mindful of the remaining daylight. We don’t want to be sampling in darkness. I need to drill into the core history. What did they notice first? When? How might disease have been introduced? Where are the weak points in their defences? Are there other possible causes? I’m also vaguely aware that tomorrow, I will be filling in a form which is going to ask me for details which may not be relevant here. I try to balance the depth, get enough information, disregard the unimportant.
Finally, I feel I have enough information. I stand up and go to my phone. Calling my veterinary advisor is the next step. I have to refer the history I’ve gathered to check it’s enough. Because the interview had hopped about a bit, it was difficult to find the information. I have three of four A4 pages, densely written. She asks a few more questions and I have her on speaker, so the farmer answers. It’s time to go and look at the birds.
There are eleven sheds in total, but the dead birds were mostly from shed X. A second shed (Y) has had reduced egg production for a couple of weeks. These two sheds are linked. With plenty of time, I might visit several sheds. If bird flu is confirmed, we will need GPS coordinates for all eleven. I suggest visiting one of the healthy sheds first, then egg-drop Y, then dead birds X. Time is so short though, that after a couple of minutes of discussion, we cut it down to sheds Y, then X which are at Site C. Taking the possibly infected shed last is good practice. I don’t want to infect any sheds that are still clean, though if it is bird flu, every single bird will be dead within the week.
I have a ton of gear to take to the shed and we’re driving down. Two layers of disposable overalls, two layers of gloves. Foot coverings for going into the shed. Breathing hood and filters. Post mortem kit. Sharp safe. Phone, inside a plastic bag. I forget my thermometer. Nobody’s perfect!
I take a photo of the door of Site C and a GPS reading, which I screenshot. If the case goes live, this reading will define the 3km Protection Zone and the 10km Surveillance Zone.
Their biosecurity is reassuring. They ask me to change footwear as I go in, but I decline. All these layers of kit are there to protect me from infection and if I take my wellies off and put their footwear on, I’m compromising that. I disinfect my clean wellies and put on the boot protectors, hoping for the best. Worst case scenario, they don’t have bird flu and I take it in. Oh well.
To get to shed Y, we pass the end of shed X. They have shared air space. There’s a pile of dead birds outside shed X and I cast a glance at them as we walk by, but nothing leaps out. I look in at shed Y through the wire mesh. There are no dead birds visible in the shed. It’s a high rise layer unit with birds on perches right up to the roof. Seeing me in all my get-up all the birds on the floor skedaddle for the high-rise perches or away to the other end of the pen. They look healthy enough.
I don’t go in. It’s time to walk through shed X.
I go in on my own. The birds get alarmed if two people go in together, the farm manager tells me. I think this weird creature with the noisy hood on her head will alarm them anyway, but I don’t say anything. The birds in this shed are as flighty as those in shed Y. It doesn’t matter a fig that I forgot my thermometer. There is not a chance we will be catching any of these birds. I can only see them as they run and climb, and then at a distance, but the view is reassuring. None are lame. No lethargic clumps of sick looking birds. Their tails are up, their feathers smooth. Eyes bright. They stare at me in distant disapproval, but none of them are sneezing.
My mind is fizzing as I walk. Surely, with bird flu, there would be sick birds? Probably dead birds too. These are some of the healthiest birds I’ve ever seen. They can certainly run!
I walk the length of the shed. It’s a well-managed unit. Nice dry litter. Plenty of space. The birds can usually go outside, but today they too are locked down. I walk back, through the pens, taking a few pictures with my plastic-wrapped phone. It’s time to post-mortem some birds. I haven’t seen anything in the shed to suggest there is bird flu, but I still can’t definitively rule it out. We’ve had 80 dead birds overnight and I need to be sure.
I take a look again at the pile of dead birds. With bird flu, I might see swollen heads, deep blue wattles, maybe haemorrhages in the legs or diarrhoea round the cloaca. I don’t see any of those things. I select two birds and photo them. It’s not very bright here, so I ask the farm manager if he has a light. He fetches his head torch. I don’t want to move the birds from where they are. It will have to do.
Kneeling on the floor, I start the post-mortem. It’s a month and a half since I did my last bird PM and that was in a brightly lit lab, on a comfortable bench. Now I’m kneeling on the concrete floor, my head encased in a hood that limits my view, in semi-darkness. This PM is make or break time. I check the head, then open up the throat to look at the trachea. There’s no mucus there, no haemorrage. It’s perfectly normal and when I reach the crop at the base of the neck, it is filled with food. Whatever happened to this bird, it was eating until the moment it died. I open up the body cavity, looking for inflammation, haemorrhage or necrosis, but the only thing that looks abnormal is the liver. Normally, the liver is reddish brown throughout, but this one has brown patches. Some of patches have clear cut edges. They’re not abscesses. I worked in a chicken slaughterhouse for three years, but I’ve never seen a liver like this.
The next bird is the same. I open it up. A second mottled liver. Maybe a little fluid build up where the air-sacs would be. Maybe metabolic, I think. Very strange, but just as in the sheds, there is nothing screaming bird-flu at me. I take a few photos of my findings. It’s good to have evidence. Packing up, I edge back to my feet. It’s not so easy these days, but I make it and we leave the shed again.
Once outside, clutching my now-contaminated kit, I decide to go back up to the main holding before phoning VENDU. The Veterinary Exotic Notifiable Disease Unit give us directions what samples to take, but it’s my decision whether we need to take any at all. If I decide not to, they will challenge me to try to assess my decision, but the final choice is mine. I’ve stripped off most of my kit. If they challenge me for information I don’t have, I’ll have to go again. I decide to call my veterinary advisor before VENDU. I don’t think this is bird flu. It had not really crossed my mind, as I drove here, that I wouldn’t be testing, but with all the information I’ve gathered, I’m conflicted. For me, testing is the safe option, but it’s hammering in my head. I DON’T THINK THIS IS BIRD FLU!
I call my advisor and tell her. She asks about the livers and I describe them. She will discuss with her advisor, she says, while I call VENDU. I drop two liver photos into the chat and leave them to it. I briefly chat with the farmer. He drops it into the conversation that he has no insurance that would cover a week of lockdown. I can’t let that influence my decision either. I have to be sure.
The VENDU vet is busy, but when she calls back, it’s someone I know. This makes it easier to have that discussion, but even then, as I tell her I don’t think it’s bird flu, she wants me to be certain. I am as certain as I can be. The only thing that’s holding me back is that it’s a huge decision. If I say no testing, this farm will open up overnight. Halted eggs on lorries will be on the move again. If there are hundreds more deaths overnight, and it then goes positive, the whole thing will restart tomorrow and I will have messed up massively.
I’m almost sure. I REALLY DON’T THINK THIS IS BIRD FLU! If I lock down the farm, their own vet can’t come on and take samples for a week, even if early tests are negative. Whatever caused the egg drop and the deaths, they’ll have to live with it undiagnosed.
I can’t let that affect my decision either. I tell the VENDU vet that I am almost decided, but I want to call my advisor again. My advisor and her advisor have seen the photos. “Good pictures,” is written in the chat. I call her back and tell her I want to negate. I explain my reasoning again. “We’ve chatted,” she says, “and if you want to negate, we will back your decision fully. Even if it kicks off again, we are happy to defend your decision.”
I take a deep breath. “I don’t think this is bird flu,” I say, “I don’t want to sample.”
The farmers’ relief was palpable. They made a couple of phone calls and thanked me profusely and all the while, I hope I’ve made the right decision. I drive home and pick up Triar and in all honesty, I was high as a kite. Adrenaline has been my drug of choice for a long time and, perhaps bizarrely, I love this stuff. Still, the worry was there that it could all kick off. I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep. My phone rang when I was out walking Triar in the morning. “11 birds have died in sheds X and Y overnight,” they said. 11 out of the thousands of birds. A lot less than yesterday’s 80. I didn’t quite punch the air, but it was a good start to my Friday morning.
I’m writing this on Saturday morning. Despite negating the case, I still had to process all the paperwork and, with a few distractions, it took me all day yesterday. My advisor told me to drop the not-quite completed form into the case folder, “just in case it kicks off over the weekend,” she said. I don’t think it will, and anyway my workphone is switched on. I’m pretty sure if anything kicks off, it’s me the farmer will call first.
Monday will all be paperwork. This case created a new pile to add to that I already had. Even then, if something else comes in, I might have to drop the paperwork and run again.
And after all that, I found out that I left my phone charger on the farm and will have to go and collect it. Nobody’s perfect!
I had a wonderful weekend in Central Scotland. The forecast rain warning had moved south by Saturday morning, so rather than huddling indoors, Valerie and I went shopping. I have been looking at my hedges for some time, knowing I have to trim them, but in recent weeks (since bird nesting was definitely past) they have been so wet that the idea of tackling them with a plugged-in electrical hedge trimmer seemed risky. Having finally got myself a garden waste bin, I wanted to fill it, before the service stops for winter, so with that in mind, I bought a battery powered trimmer. I had been hoping for a long-handled version (tall hedges, shortish human being) but didn’t find any, so I opted for a normal one and thought I’d figure out the height issue later.
Valerie was looking for a garden box to store cushions, so we were in a number of garden centres. The end result was that, as well as the hedge trimmer, I came home with multiple packs of bulbs and a trowel as well. A dog bowl for Triar was next on my non-existent shopping list. A lovely friend from church has offered to take Triar and my current method (sprinkling food across the floor) probably isn’t very civilized. So now he has a new bowl.
Next on the list of things I didn’t really need was a scented candle advent calendar. Given that I have booked a holiday in the Arctic Wastes of Sørreisa for the first week of December. I may end up with a scented candle glut on my return, but it was only £5.99, which seemed a small price to pay. Finally, we went to a café, where I had a latte and Val had a spectacular hot chocolate, I found a Christmas present for a friend, so I bought that too. For someone who didn’t intend to buy anything, it was a great morning!
The café (and gift shop) were on a farm set against the backdrop of the Ochil Hills. The picture at the top of the page was the view from the car park. This is the view from the covered terrace where we sat.
The food sounded great too, but we’d had a massive breakfast, so we didn’t indulge. There are far too many cafés I’d really like to try in Scotland, and not enough time! Perhaps I should have pursued a life as a restaurant critic, but at 16, James Herriot’s lifestyle called me more. The fact that those days were already past, even as I set out to train, wasn’t something I had the life experience to understand.
Since I’ve come back, I have started to tidy up the garden. Different people have inspired me to try, the most obvious being Sue, whose garden I visited a few weeks back, and whose love of gardening shines through so clearly. Another, unexpectedly, is Scott with whom I do a lot of welfare work. As well as fun discussions about food, he has told me now a couple of times that he loves cutting the lawn as he enjoys the smell of freshly cut grass so much. I had always viewed it as rather boring labour, but now my lawn is (mostly) cut, I’ve realised that the answer is probably to do it often, because then it really will only take a few minutes. It’s hard labour this year because I procrastinated over doing it. Next year, I hope to make different choices. That said, I’m about to plant a load of crocuses and daffodils there, so there will be hard decisions to make about those patches!
My job is going well and that’s something I didn’t think I would ever be able to say. My line manager has acknowledged our team is in crisis, due to understaffing and has started to withhold work that he feels would be too much. I’ve no idea whether he will successfully campaign for enough staff. In the end, I think it’s pay that is the real stumbling block, alongside our district having the most animals and most of the (non-existent in Scotland) TB breakdowns. People tend to join to our team, then head off to somewhere there’s less work as soon as the opportunity arises. I’m so glad someone is fighting for us. Sickness over the summer was like watching dominoes fall.
The big case I’m handling is fascinating. I’m looking at animals that should not have been transported for reasons of health and welfare and I am liaising with useful people all over that I didn’t know existed. I have dug through ancient files and scrolled through reports and investigations and became so engrossed in it this week that when my manager tossed me a TB case on Thursday afternoon, it simply caused my mind to go blank. For a moment, TB case management was shoved so far back inside my head that I struggled to retrieve it. But retrieving it was essential, because my job is to keep the farmer informed about what he or she has to do, and manage the system so that the awful disruption of being locked down is bearable. By Friday morning, I was ready to go. Changing direction when something new crops up is part of my job and something I have to manage.
Autumn has really set in now. Unsurprising as we are at the end of September. I don’t know where the year has gone. This week has seen a return to blue skies and I have been enjoying Blackbird Lane with its changing colours and ever-shifting hedgerows. Yesterday morning was particularly wonderful. The sun, low in the sky, lit up the dew drops bedecking thousands of spider webs. Normally invisible, they stood out against the leafy backdrop. There are berries everywhere too and the sun shone on those too, so bright and cheerful. Hope you enjoy the pictures I took, even though they don’t do it justice. You’ll have to imagine the gentle warmth of the sun, the chill air on my cheeks and the earthy scent of autumn, that hung in the air with the birdsong.
After all the frenetic activities, work has been a bit slower this week, though no less interesting. I’ve spent time reading up on, and around the new case I’ve been given, which will be very different from anything I’ve done before as I am working in a group of ex-police enforcement and intelligence workers. I’m the one with the veterinary knowledge to their investigative powers. Unfortunately, I can’t really write about it though as people might recognize themselves, or others. I’m sure there’s a novel in there though, if only I ever find the time to write it.
Last weekend, I had a fabulous time visiting Sue at her home and then visiting the gardens at Dumfries House together. Dumfries house is, counterintuitively, in Ayrshire and not Dumfries and Galloway. Sue volunteered there, in the garden, a while back and pointed out a few huge bushes she had planted. Gardening has obviously been a lifelong passion. She wants to help me get my garden in shape. I have let it run wild this summer and finally started cutting the lawn this week. Unfortunately I didn’t get it all done in one go and the rain came after two exhausting sessions, so now I have one half yellow-brown lawn, one half hay field. I will get there…
As you can see Sue’s garden is gorgeous!
I went to the GP earlier this week. I’ve been having headaches, pain when I moved my eyes and sensitivity to light, which has been going on for a few weeks now. It’s been particularly inconvenient as I have been affected when working in front of a screen as well as when driving, especially when it’s bright. The GP couldn’t help, so he directed me to my optician, who has been very helpful in the past when I had some flashing lights in my left eye. I saw her on Friday afternoon and it seems that I have dry eyes, which apparently can cause all those problems. I now have eye drops and a glasses shaped beanbag to heat up in the microwave and use on my eyes for ten minutes twice a day. This should help the oil in the glands along my eyelids to soften and get things going again. I’m mostly just glad it’s not FND related. Hopefully things are starting to get better already, though I’m about to go to Guildford for a week, so will be in a microwave-free zone.
The Guildford trip is for a chicken health and welfare course, so I’m hoping to come back with loads of new knowledge. I feel very honoured to have been selected to attend, so will be making the most of it. Triar will be getting spoiled at Mum and Dad’s. I will miss him, but at least he will be well looked after.
Firstly, a disclaimer. The sheep in the photo at the top of the page are random Norwegian sheep and are in no way related to any invest
Last week’s blog was a week late because I received a phone call as I was writing it. Two weeks ago, I was on call for the weekend and hoping to rest. Most on-call weekends are a matter of keeping your phone near you, maybe dealing with a request by a private vet for a case number so they can go out to test a cow that’s dropped dead to check it wasn’t anthrax or a similar request for itchy sheep that might have scab.
This time, to my surprise, I found my line-manager on the phone. “How would you feel about another report case?” he asked. Well how I felt was broadly irrelevant. I was the ready-to-go vet, so unless I was seriously unwell, it was my task to be handled, whatever it was. “Another AI?” I ventured.
”Um… no.” He paused. “We’ve been sent photos of lesions from some sheep’s tongues. They’re trying to decide whether to treat it as a bluetongue enquiry, or foot and mouth. This isn’t your official call, just a prewarning so you can start to prepare.”
Once the official call comes in, you are expected to be on the road within 30 minutes. In theory, everything should be in your car and you should be able to get in and go. In reality, there are things you might need for sampling that have to stay in the fridge in the lab at work. The buffer solution used for foot and mouth sampling is one of these, so I was glad for the heads up.
I admit, I did feel slightly breathless. Those living in the UK who are old enough to remember 2001 will recall the horrors unleashed on the country as whole farms and regions were forced to cull their livestock and burn them in the fields on horrific pyres of death. The recent, sporadic outbreaks in Europe mean we are on high alert. That the photographs sent in had the high heidyins in a nine am meeting discussing whether they dared risking treating it as “only” blue tongue felt quite significant.
I dressed and went into the office and started to gather paperwork. In theory, I should have paperwork for every eventually in my car, but having the appropriate papers to hand for setting up restrictions is useful. To my mild consternation, I found the main printer wasn’t working. Thanking my lucky stars that I wasn’t a newbie and knew how to work the secondary printer in the lab, I printed out what I thought I’d need.
I also threw a load of blood sampling equipment into my car. Better to have too many tubes than to create the necessity for someone else to come out and onto a farm with possible foot and mouth because you weren’t well enough prepared.
It was quite a long drive out to the farm. As I neared the farm, I slowed down to cast an eye over animals in the nearby fields. None were drooling or looking sick. A good start.
It had been confirmed that I was to treat it, for now, as bluetongue, but that foot and mouth was still there as a possibility. To explain the difference in requirements, because bluetongue is spread by midges, tramping on and off the farm with dirty boots and tyres isn’t so much of a worry. Not that I do that, but if I did, it’s not a disaster.
The restrictions served on the farmer are different too. Bluetongue restrictions only stop animals coming and going. Foot and mouth suspicions, like avian influenza suspicions, mean that every person and vehicle going on and off the farm has to have an individual license and any and all incursions are strictly limited to absolute necessities.
I arrived at the farm , put on paper suit and gloves and served the restrictions. It’s always the first thing to be done and having signed the form, I read out all the clauses that explained in full what was required. Next was history taking.
This is not like taking a history for a normal vet case, where you mostly want to know what has happened to the animal. For a notifiable disease investigation, by the time you are finished, you should have details of every movement on and off the farm within the last twenty one days. You have to assess whether there are any high risk factors. Are there rights of way and picnic sites where people might have fed the animals? Has anyone from the farm recently been on holiday to a different country? Are there stagnant ponds in the vicinity that might encourage midges? The factors, like everything else, vary with the disease suspected.
Having taken a careful history of the animals and the risk factors, I donned more layers of PPE and prepared to look at the animals. I knew, both by being told and by observation, that there were fields nearby that held another farmer’s cattle. I decided to walk up to look at them first. If it was something highly infectious, they might be showing signs too. Again the picture was reassuring. They were young stock from a dairy farm and could not have looked more healthy. They were eating as we approached, then lifted their heads to look at us. Not a nose lesion among them. Nolameness, no drooling. Bright eyes and shiny coats.
I was already, mentally, beginning to think foot and mouth was less likely. Obviously there were still the sheep to look at, but clinical signs in sheep can be subtle, cattle less so. These animals had been in relatively close contact, so by the time the mature mouth lesions were spotted in the sheep (with the caveat that it might have been caught early) I would expect to have seen some spread.
There were two groups of sheep – adults and lambs. The lesions in the photographs, nasty red eroded areas on the tongues, had both been from lambs. We therefore looked at the adult sheep first, partly to prevent any possible cross-infection, but also because a complete absence of problems there would go further towards ruling out foot and mouth. No reason why young sheep would be more severely affected than the old in a disease where neither group would have immunity.
What struck me again was that I was looking at a broadly healthy group of animals. There were 43 ewes and as I scanned their mouths, feet and udders (where possible) I saw nothing. Only bright, uncrusted eyes and alert ears. There were two that the farmer had noted had been getting thin for a while. We selected them out and I examined them more closely. Not a lesion in sight. Normal breathing, normal temperature. One was a bit dirty on her backside, but nothing to suggest foot and mouth or bluetongue.
We moved onto the lambs. This time, I decided we should examine all of them. There were thirty two in the group and the farmer caught each one and held them while their mouths and feet were inspected. In the end, there were four with tongue lesions, four with lesions around their lips and one with a sore area above its foot. None of the lambs with lesions was running a fever. I was strongly beginning to think that what we were dealing with was a severe case of orf – a pox virus that affects sheep and can infect humans who come in contact. It would be unusual to have tongue lesions, but not impossible.
Having taken history and examined the animals, it was time to decide where we were going to go with this. At one extreme, if I thought foot and mouth was still in the picture as a possibility, we would have to issue new restrictions as well as taking samples. I might well have to stay on the farm until it was ruled in or out. I’m still a bit sketchy on the details, though I had arranged for Triar to be looked after, just in case.
If I thought everything was ruled out, I would leave the farm with no tests done and hope I’d got it right. To do that, I’d need to be very certain. My gut feeling was that this was orf, based on the fact that it was only affecting the lambs. Orf is common and spreads in flocks to the new crop of animals born each year. Older animals can carry it, but usually have enough immunity that there are no clinical signs.
So on the grounds that only the lambs were affected and the adult ewes and neighbouring cattle were perfectly healthy, along with the fact that all the lesions were quite mature and I would have expected to see more early stage lesions (we have lectures about aging foot and mouth lesions) I felt confident enough to rule out foot and mouth (phew!). But could I rule out bluetongue too? I decided I couldn’t . After all, midges might well have selectively bitten the lambs with their thinner wool pelt. And orf might exist alongside bluetongue. The lip lesions could be orf and the tongue lesions something else.
And so, armed with my evidence, I called VENDU (the veterinary exotic notifiable disease unit) to tell them what samples I wanted to take. I have never been asked so many times and in so many different ways if I was sure, 100% certain, absolutely confident that I could rule out vesicular diseases like foot and mouth. At the start of the conversation I was using words like probably, but by the end, I was telling the, firmly that no, it was not foot and mouth.
So we tested the nine lambs for bluetongue: the four with mouth lesions, the four with lip lesions and the one with the foot. To cut a long story short, the test was negative, but most of Sunday was still spent on paperwork. I strongly suspect all the lesions were caused by orf: an unusual and interesting case all round and a good learning experience for me.
Lots of text so far and not many pictures, so I shall rectify that. Last weekend, I went to Drumlanrig Castle and met Sue (who used to locum with APHA) for a walk and for lunch. The gardens were beautiful.
A Vet’s Life 