‘Got it, thanks.’ Not only was he focused on his job, he was also aware of what I was doing wrong and coaching me on how to fix it. Everything about this helicopter experience was making me see these guys in a whole new light and to admire a whole new level of skill.
He made another half-circle pass, losing altitude as he did so. The zebras responded for the first time. Two heads came up, one shifting anxiously and another letting out a warning bark.
‘OK, so there’s a stallion on his own off to the right, two younger ones below the watering hole and then two pregnant mares to the left. We’ll go for those two younger ones. Hopefully they’ll be at the back.’
‘I see them.’
‘Good, well load up again. I’ll come round and get them moving.’
Dart loaded, four bars of pressure set, I adjusted my position. I had to get this one. As we crested the treetops, the zebras bolted away from us, converging in single file along their familiar path.
‘She’s at the back.’
‘I’m on her.’
Off went the safety. I followed back from her neck through the scope and pulled the trigger. This time I hit, the pink feather of the dart starkly visible against the black and white stripes. It had impacted more on her back than her rump, but it was still a safe shot. The thrill and relief were instantaneous. The impact caused her to slow, check herself and then break off to the right, leaving the group, but Jacques ignored her and continued to follow behind the others.
‘Well done! Now reload and get ready for the next shot.’ He confirmed the darting with the ground crew and informed them of our pursuit for the second. We were still only 20 feet off the ground as the group disappeared into the thick bush just below us. This time Jacques didn’t pull up, and skimming the brush we immediately saw the lead zebra emerge out the other side onto the rocky opening. ‘She’s second from the back.’
‘Thanks.’ I was reloading before the instruction came, feeling a pure exhilaration.
And now, for the first time that day, the zebras didn’t behave as Jacques had predicted. Instead, the stallion took them off to the left to head for a small opening at the bottom of the rocky enclave that led into a thick wooded area. In hindsight it was probably where they had been hiding when we had started our search thirty minutes before. Jacques adjusted his course. ‘Hang on, don’t shoot yet …’
But it was too late. In my adrenaline-fuelled eagerness, I had already zeroed in on the young mare and pulled the trigger. Changing course, her back dipped as she engaged her hind-quarters to propel her in a new direction, and the dart flew just over her rump.
‘Sorry,’ I mumbled.
‘You can’t get too carried away in this game. You need to keep a cool head.’ For the first time I sensed annoyance in Jacques’s voice. ‘We’ll go back and find that darted one.’ He pulled up and off to the left, turning back towards where we had last seen her. We could see the fully loaded bakkie approaching down the tracks from the feeding ground. I scoured the area looking for the familiar black and white stripes. Jacques spotted her before I did, trotting on the spot under an acacia tree. The drug was already taking effect. Moments later she was down.
The bakkie stopped and everyone disembarked. From 100 feet up, they looked like ants aimlessly wandering through the tall grass. Not being privy to our view, they were clueless as to the zebra’s whereabouts, despite our hovering directly above her. Then suddenly she was spotted and the team descended on her like moths to a flame.
‘How many darts have you got left?’ Jacques asked as he pulled up and away from the now secured zebra.
‘I’m out.’
‘OK, we’ll land and you should probably make up four more.’ The statement was polite, but I could sense his frustration.
‘Thanks.’ I desperately wanted to reply that I’d only need two, but realized it would be my pride speaking so decided not to argue.
Moments later we landed on the feeding ground. As I prepared to remove my headset to disembark, the engine still running and propellers still whirring, I caught Jacques’s voice in the headset.
‘Don’t forget to leave to the front of the helicopter. You want to stay well clear of that back rotor blade.’ I was grateful for the reminder. I knew that, of course, but I was so caught up with the darting that I could easily imagine it slipping my mind – a mistake you would only make the once.
I left the helicopter and dashed back to my truck. With a helicopter whirring away behind me, and the group arriving to unload the first zebra in front of me, it was just as well I had plenty of experience of making up these darts. There were enough other pressures and distractions without struggling to remember all the steps involved. Within about ten minutes I had prepared all four darts with the dosage Cobus had suggested, and was heading back to join Jacques in the helicopter, and then we took off again.
‘If I can flush them out of here,’ I heard him saying in my headphones, ‘they’ll head up the rocky embankment and onto the upper plain … You should have a nice shot on the female and then we’ll get the male from the other group. OK?’
‘Sure,’ I replied. I felt I knew what I was doing this time. If Jacques was right and they headed up the rocky path, it would be a straight-on shot, with no direction change. I would definitely get this one. I felt a surge of excited determination.
Jacques flew deliberately low over the bottom woodland border, turning sharply and banking over the perimeter fence, where we hovered for a moment almost vertical to the ground, a manoeuvre designed to corral the zebras back towards the upper trees near where they had entered.
‘Load up. I’ll fly low over this area sounding the siren. That should flush them out, so you need to be ready for the shot.’
‘Will do.’ I didn’t need telling twice, and within seconds the dart gun was loaded. At the same time Jacques dropped the helicopter, bringing it in horizontally and low over the trees. The movement gave me the same sensation as a roller-coaster ride, throwing me into my seat. I had to brace myself against the doorframe as my right foot slipped on the skid, but I quickly regained my position, leaning fully out of the helicopter ready for Jacques’s instruction. Meanwhile, as we flew over the trees towards the rocky bank, he intermittently sounded the siren, a combination that would have unsettled even the calmest of animals, and sure enough, the group of zebras burst out of hiding 30 feet in front of us.
‘She’s second from the front,’ Jacques said, having instantly assessed and identified them. ‘Remember – the same as before. Follow down her back and shoot, I’ll come in as they start climbing.’
‘Got it.’
Once again, Jacques’s prediction proved correct. Ignoring the path to the watering hole they had used earlier, they headed straight for the rocky path and started to climb. I drew the gun into my shoulder, found her head through the scope and followed down her back, aiming left of her spine, tracking past her ribs, and then pulled the trigger. The dart impacted exactly where I had aimed. It was a high shot, maybe a foot in front of her rump, but it hit muscle to the side of the vertebrae and I’d have preferred that than aiming for the rump and missing. I silently congratulated myself; I finally felt I was getting the hang of this.
Don’t get too cocky, boyo, I told myself. Two out of five is still pretty poor shooting. Jacques was immediately on the radio to Cobus, reporting the successful darting. At the same time he pulled up, banking off to the right to encourage the zebras running behind to stick with the front two and continue up onto the flat plain above. Circling behind them, we hovered at a distance to allow them to regroup and settle. Off to our right the bakkie was on the move. Minutes later, the zebra started trotting on the spot as the drug took effect, and her bizarre and unusual behaviour sent the other three zebras fleeing, leaving her on her own. This time the ground crew had spotted her easily and slowly started making their way towards her, ready to get to her as soon as she went down. That was our signal. We left in search of the other group and the last zebra.
This
time they were easy to spot; they had not moved far since we left them earlier, having obviously decided that, with the helicopter gone, it was safe to continue grazing on the plain. Our return, however, had sent them running and we found them as they headed back over the brow in the direction of the fields where I had taken my first shot.
‘I’ll take them back through the thick bush. They’ll either head up towards the hiding spot where we first found them or break right and head down towards the fields. Either way they’ll be in single file when they come out the other side so that’ll be your shot. Load up.’
Now familiar with the routine, I found I had loaded the dart before I had consciously registered what I was doing, my mind playing through the scenario that was about to unfold. I coached myself through my approach, desperate for another successful shot.
Into the thick brush they went, and with Jacques in pursuit they didn’t hang about, emerging out the other side about thirty seconds later. They opted to carry on seeking shelter back where our pursuit had started.
‘It looks like he’s second from the back. Are you ready? You’ve got about 100 metres before they head left, and then they’ll start heading into the trees again.’
‘All set.’ I was already in position and as Jacques identified my target I zeroed in on it through the scope. They were moving at a pace, but Jacques was matching them. This area was actually so open and free of trees that he was able to bring the helicopter lower than before, coming in so close behind the last zebra that I had an almost horizontal shot lined up. If I aimed along the animal’s back, the angle was so acute the dart might bounce off, so I focused instead on the top of the back leg. I watched a couple of strides to confirm this was a consistent target and squeezed the trigger.
Time had felt suspended, but as the helicopter suddenly pulled up, and the zebra broke left, I realized I had taken the shot at the very last possible moment. But it didn’t matter: the dart’s pink feather was clearly visible in the middle of the zebra’s hamstring.
‘Good job! I think you’re starting to get the hang of it.’
With my job done, and Jacques’s praise ringing in my ears, the pressure was off. I could relax and fully soak up the experience. I felt the same elation I had after my first successful breach calving or first bitch spay as a new graduate, the glorious euphoria of knowing that I had faced down my apprehensions and come out the other side a better vet for it.
Zebras: fast facts
Equus quagga: The plains zebra
Distribution: East Africa, from south of Ethiopia down into Botswana and eastern South Africa. It is the most widespread of the 3 zebra species, and the commonest to find in game reserves and zoos. There are 6 sub-species.
Names: A male is called a ‘stallion’, a female is a ‘mare’, and the young a ‘foal’. A group of zebras is called a ‘dazzle’ or ‘zeal’.
Life span: 25–30 years.
Habitat: Treeless grasslands and savannah woodlands.
Diet: Zebras are herbivorous grazers, primarily eating a variety of grasses, but also known to eat shrubs, herbs, twigs, leaves and bark.
Gestation: 360–396 days, usually producing a single foal.
Weight: About 30 kg at birth, reaching an adult weight of 175–385 kg.
Growth: A newborn foal will stand within hours of being born, and starts to eat grass at 1 week, but is not fully weaned until 7–11 months. Young stallions will leave the herd to form a bachelor group when their mother has her next foal, but young mares will stay with the herd. Both sexes reach sexual maturity by about 20 months, but stallions won’t be strong enough to breed until about 5 years. They will be fully grown at about 4 years, but only 50 per cent of foals will reach adulthood because of predation, disease or starvation.
Body temperature: 37.6–38.6 °C.
Interesting fact: Embryological evidence suggests that zebras are black with white stripes, rather than, as was previously thought, white with black stripes. A number of hypotheses have been proposed to explain these markings, whether as camouflage, a visual cue for identifying each other, to deter flies or to help keep them cool. There is evidence to support all of these hypotheses, but the idea that the stripes help to confuse predators by making it more difficult to pick out one particular target in a mass of flickering stripes seems persuasive.
Conservation: The plains zebra global population is about 750,000, and as a result the IUCN classifies them as ‘near threatened’. Their uniquely attractive skin is the primary reason zebras have been excessively hunted, and habitat loss has also been a contributing factor in population declines. The plains zebra is fortunate in having benefited from numerous of its ranges becoming protected and as such its population remains stable and currently faces no major threat to its population. Sadly, the largest of the three zebra species, the Grévy’s zebra, found in Kenya and Ethiopia, is less fortunate: its population has suffered a 75 per cent decline since 1970 due to habitat loss, with an estimated 2,500 Grévy’s zebra left in the wild, which is why the IUCN classify them as ‘endangered’. See: www.awf.org/wildlife-conservation/grevys-zebra.
19
SUGAR GLIDER
‘An animal’s eyes have the power to speak a great language.’
Martin Buber, I And Thou.
As a veterinary surgeon there are many surgical procedures we have to perform as part of our job, ranging from removing foreign objects from over-curious dogs to repairing broken bones or removing tumours. Without question, however, the one we perform more frequently than any other, and on more species than any other, is castration.
Over the years I have had to castrate so many animals, of so many species, that it could count as my area of expertize. Hamsters, guinea pigs, rabbits, cats, dogs, sheep, pigs, alpacas, cows, horses and donkeys would just be scratching the surface. Although the end goal of the surgery is the same, the methodology varies depending on the specific anatomy of the species. Failure to acknowledge these differences, and the specific technique required for each, could result in a life-threatening bleed or herniation. So even in a routine surgery, if the species is unusual then its anatomical idiosyncrasies must be understood. Usually these are easy enough to find from an anatomy textbook, but occasionally a curveball comes along and if the relevant information cannot be found, then the best option is to take an overcautious approach.
Each of the pratice’s vets had at least one operating day a week, and mine was Wednesday. Scanning the schedule that morning, the procedures seemed fairly routine: two cat spays, a dog castration, a lump removal and a dental. Nothing too troubling … until, that is, my eyes fell on the last two items on the list: two sugar gliders to castrate. What was a sugar glider again? Until two days previously I hadn’t even known they existed.
My Monday evening consulting list had been steady and uneventful until my 6 p.m. appointment: a Miss Toyah, with her pet skunk Sally. Sally had evidently felt that her meal of leftover Sunday roast chicken and vegetables had not been a sufficient feast, so had opportunistically gorged on two bowls of cat’s dinner belonging to Socrates and Shakespeare. The result had been spectacularly horrific. In a catalogue of repulsions, Miss Toyah’s morning had started with an unpleasant aroma greeting her nostrils; unsure of the source, she followed the wafting odour out of her bedroom and down the stairs, whereupon she stepped in a puddle of Sally’s diarrhoea, which spurted up her ankle and squelched between her toes. Attempting not to retch at the intense stench, and to blank the reality of what she had just done, she hopped into the utility room to clean it off, only to find herself standing in a pool of liquid brown skunk ordure, which had also splattered around the bottom of most of the cupboards. The clean-up operation had taken an hour, making her late for work. Sally had been confined to a crate for the day and Miss Toyah had booked a vet appointment for her after work in the hope that a rapid corrective solution could be found.
The consultation progressed normally; Sally was fine in all regards except for her uncontrollable diarrhoea. I
advised a temporary dietary adjustment and probiotics that should quickly solve her problem and assumed that concluded the consultation.
‘Jon, before I go, can I just ask you about something else?’ Miss Toyah asked as I went to get the door for her and Sally.
‘Of course.’
‘I have two male sugar gliders, they’re brothers. I’ve had them about four months and they’ve been fine together. But recently they’ve started fighting quite a lot, so I think I need to get them castrated. Do you think that would help, and is that something you’d be happy to do?’
‘If they’re young males then they’re probably just reaching sexual maturity, in which case castrating them does usually help, yes,’ I replied confidently. ‘But it’ll take several weeks before the hormone levels are reduced so it won’t be an instant cure. In terms of castrating them, I’m sure you can appreciate that we don’t see many sugar gliders, but I’ll read up on their specifics and I’m very happy to do the surgeries.’
‘Oh, that would be great. I know that self-mutilation is a big problem with them post surgery, so good pain relief and feeding them on recovery really helps … but I don’t want to tell you your job.’
‘No problem. I’ll look into all those things, and if you want them done sooner rather than later I could always do them this Wednesday?’
Miss Toyah gratefully agreed, and after showing her out I quickly googled ‘sugar glider’ on the office computer. Kind of a cross between a chinchilla and a hamster. Who knew?
I spent my Tuesday evening researching and finding out everything I could about the sugar glider and what I needed to know in order to successfully operate on these two on Wednesday. Self-traumatization was indeed a big issue, as Miss Toyah had said; Buprenorphine was the recommended painkiller of choice; oh, and the male sugar glider had a bifurcated penis. Not that this would have much bearing on my surgery, but it’s always good to learn an interesting fact! Armed with all this newly acquired, if moderate, level of knowledge of Petaurus breviceps, I felt prepared enough for the procedures that lay ahead.
The Travelling Vet Page 27