Old Dogs New Tricks

by Peter Anderson

  Rural vets Peter Jerram (aka the sailing vet) and Peter Anderson (aka the flying vet) are back with more laugh-out-loud and entertaining yarns about the animals and owners they’ve come across during more than thirty years in practice together. Join them as they cut straight through the cowshit, sharing the ups and downs of a country vet’s life.

  A must-read for all animal lovers in New Zealand.

  For our wonderful and remarkable children: Caroline, Tom, George, Jane and Pippa. You’ve been a huge part of all this, and we hope the book will give you some insight into what your missing fathers were doing.

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Foreword

  Why Do We Do It? — PJ

  My Reasons — PA

  A True Gentleman — PJ

  Predictably Unpredictable — PA

  At the Bluff — PJ

  Just Do It — PA

  Angora Anguish — PJ

  Hoof to Propeller — PA

  Don’t Bite the Hand — PJ

  A Long Day on D’Urville — PA

  Wacker — PJ

  Drug Shrinkage — PA

  Consummate Professionals — PJ

  The Muller — PJ

  The Lord God Made Them All — PA

  The Bench Class — PJ

  Damage and Dung — PA

  Admiral Jerram — PJ

  To Catch a Thief — PA

  A Hard Man — PJ

  Tooted Pachyderms — PA

  Life or Death — PJ

  Veterinary Voyeurs — PA

  Helping the Ram Out — PJ

  Trucking Lions — PA

  Embarrassment at the Border — PJ

  Far From the Madding Crowd — PA

  Emil — PJ

  Binky Boyle — PJ

  The Telephone Call — PA

  Beastly — PJ

  Trusting Relationships — PA

  Norwegians Would — PJ

  Evolution — PA

  Seen Yours Seniors — PJ

  Wrapping Up — PA

  The Final Curtain — PJ

  Follow Penguin Random House

  Copyright

  FOREWORD

  It is a real pleasure to write this foreword to Pete Anderson and Pete Jerram’s new book Old Dogs New Tricks, and to acknowledge two veterinarians held in high regard by their clients and their peers.

  If you are one of the many who read and enjoyed the original Cock and Bull Stories you will be looking forward with considerable anticipation to this new volume. If you haven’t read the original, don’t worry, read on, and then make sure you go back to the first volume. Like the first book, you will find this one disarmingly and refreshingly honest, with plenty of self-deprecating humour. Expect to be amused, entertained and enlightened.

  However, this is not just a collection of amusing vet stories; it is also about what it takes to set up and develop a veterinary practice in a small rural town. The sheer hard work, the long hours, the pressures, the support from families, the fun, the enjoyment, and the resulting two successful veterinary careers. These careers have seen both Petes become highly regarded by their peers, and at the forefront of their respective specialities of canine reproduction and sheep productivity.

  So what exactly is it that vets do in their everyday work, apart from the obvious James Herriot-style activities of saving lives, dealing with sick animals, repairing broken limbs and mending damaged bodies? The reality involves tasks such as carrying out hundreds of rectal pregnancy examinations on cattle; tasks which inevitably come with entertaining stories, disasters and catastrophes.

  As a country we seem to have been blessed with many agricultural fads, whether they be Angora rabbits, Angora goats, alpacas, ostriches, deer farming, fitch farming or fish farming. In this book you’ll find out what was involved in providing veterinary services to these fledgling industries in these crazy times — and you’ll enjoy the stories around them.

  Veterinarians everywhere talk about the strong relationships they have built up with their clients over many years. Pete A and Pete J are no exception — in fact they epitomise why it is that rural vets have many fond (and not so fond) memories of a good number of their farmer clients. You will discover people of all descriptions: grumpy and cheerful, enlightened and not so, friendly and downright rude, hopeful and hopeless, as well as the pillars and the oddballs of society. You will also discover that the success of both Petes is down to their ability to truly understand their clients: their aspirations, their motivations, and their backgrounds. This over a cup of tea, or a ‘wee dram’, or even over a spell as opening batting partners in a social cricket game.

  There is a limit, however, to what two individual vets can cover of their professional lifetime, and included in this book are a few experiences of other veterinary colleagues: from assisting a police manhunt to burning down a historic building to ‘tooted elephants’.

  This book will be read with interest for its insight into the changing face of veterinary practice in rural New Zealand over four decades. It describes how the profession has developed over these years to support agriculture as it has grown and diversified, and its accompanying successes and failures.

  But at its heart Old Dogs New Tricks is the story of two friends and colleagues who have enjoyed their life as rural vets. The great deal of respect they have for each other, for their colleagues, for their families and for their clients shows through. Pete A and Pete J have both made significant contributions to their local communities and to the veterinary profession. And they’ve had a great deal of fun along the way.

  Roger Marchant

  Past President, New Zealand Veterinary Association

  Waikanae

  Kapiti Coast

  WHY DO WE DO IT? — PJ

  When Pete Anderson and I published our first book Cock and Bull Stories, in 2011, we really had no idea what to expect. Would it be ignored, laughed at, or seen as something worthwhile to country people?

  One potential publisher had told us that our writing style was ‘1970s larrikin’. We nodded: Yes, she had that right. The book turned out to be a reasonable success, particularly with rural people, and those good souls were of course our intended audience. Most farming folk seemed to enjoy the stories, which was very gratifying. And we were lucky enough to be at number seven on the best-selling list for a couple of weeks, so we must have pleased some people. Probably 1970s larrikins.

  There were some unexpected spinoffs. One farmer in the Buller catchment, usually fairly cagey about access to the river, recognised my name when I knocked on the door asking for permission to fish. Not only were we given access, we were offered use of his private farm road to get there — a generous act.

  Another episode was not so gratifying. As a district councillor I was asked to give courtroom evidence as a non-expert witness in a major resource management case.

  The legal counsel for the applicant, a gentleman whose name we won’t bother repeating, decided he would attack my reputation. He produced a copy of Cock and Bull Stories and then proceeded to try to prove to the panel that the title of the book matched my character: that in fact I was, for want of a kinder term, a bullshitter. In a very public arena I was made to feel like the rabbit trapped in the burrow by the weasel. It was a gruelling and unpleasant experience that did nothing to build my admiration for those members of the legal profession who use the ad hominem method of cross-examination.

  Even in 2016, five years after publication, I still get unexpected phone calls or emails from old acquaintances, employers, or total strangers, saying they’ve just discovered the book and have enjoyed it, and that’s nice, and encouraging.

  Soon after we wrote the first book we realised
there were a lot more stories to tell. It’s fair to say that I was more enthusiastic than my dear friend Pete A, but when Alex Hedley, from the newly amalgamated Penguin Random House, visited us, we agreed to meet a deadline and tell those stories.

  Ally was always keen, and as before she is critic and supporter.

  To Diane Thompson, my old friend and workmate for many years — thank you for your fast and accurate typing, and your ability to decipher my very bad writing. I’m sure that is a skill you have learned from your husband, 003.5 (retired).

  And for our rural friends, we hope this book gives you some more insight into our lives as vets, the people we worked and (mostly) made friends with, and the wonderful region we live in.

  I do hope I haven’t offended anyone too badly in these stories. If I have, I apologise now.

  I hope you enjoy Old Dogs New Tricks.

  MY REASONS — PA

  In 2011 Peter Jerram and I wrote and published Cock and Bull Stories, a series of anecdotes about our lives as veterinary partners in the wonderful province of Marlborough. After a few locals had read it some said to me, ‘I’ve enjoyed your book, but why didn’t you write about that time you came out and you were a bit late and everything went wrong and the bull wouldn’t lie down and the horse kicked you? Gosh it was funny — but you weren’t laughing.’ So actually there was a good reason for forgetting some events but many of the stories people reminded me about I have again forgotten, mainly because I never for one minute thought I would be talked into writing a sequel.

  However, Pete J is a persuasive character, and with Penguin Random House’s encouragement I did finally agree that there was material for a follow-up book. I was also persuaded by a recent incident while on a flight to Auckland. I happened to be sitting at the rear of the plane, and on standing up at the end of the flight I noticed a woman in front of me with a copy of Cock and Bull Stories on her lap. I casually asked her if she was enjoying the book, to which she replied, ‘Yes I am, but I’m really a little bit annoyed. I got the book to read on the beach in Rarotonga but I can’t put it down and will finish it before we even get there.’ She then looked at me and, I suspect in good part due to Ashley Smith’s illustration skills, recognised a likeness. ‘Why — are you …? Did you write this book?’ she asked. I couldn’t deny it, and so for a very brief moment I was a celebrity in the back of the plane. At least for her husband and two children.

  So, yes, people did like Cock and Bull Stories. Many of the tales seemed to resonate with colleagues, and having known they would be our biggest critics it was reassuring that they too on the whole enjoyed the read. These colleagues, many of whom said they had a few stories to tell but admitted that they would never get around to writing a book, have contributed some yarns to this new volume. There are without doubt many more veterinary stories out there that also need to be written down. For most of us, our careers have been full of fascinating and exciting times, full of mishaps that we can now laugh about, full of achievements that we can be proud of, full of wonderful characters that have coloured our lives, and full of a huge range of animals with personalities of their own. All these are reasons why we vets continue doing what we do — and why, when we wake up in the morning, we look forward to the day ahead.

  A TRUE GENTLEMAN — PJ

  Weekends on duty, a major part of the lives of all rural vets, were not something I looked forward to. There was a lot of uncertainty, we never knew what was coming next, and in the first 20 years of our practice, there was no back-up on weekends.

  No staff were rostered to answer the phone; our wives did that, valiantly, and at some cost to our families. And no staff were expected to be available to help in the clinic with emergency surgery. We did it all by ourselves, from administering anaesthetics to cleaning up the often considerable mess afterwards. And all the while the phone might be ringing, farmers or town people concerned about an animal. Weekends could be very stressful.

  The jobs I enjoyed most in those days were the on-farm jobs, so when I received a call one Sunday morning from Alan Elliott, I wasn’t too fazed.

  ‘Hello, old boy. Are you the vet on duty?’

  I was.

  ‘Sorry to bother you, but our house cow is calving and it looks a bit tight. Can you come?’

  Alan Elliott was a bit of a legend in the lower Awatere. A real gentleman of the English variety, he habitually wore a tweed suit and tie around the farm. His accent was very cultured and he lived by decent true Christian principles. Very much old school. I liked him.

  Of course I could come, and minutes later I was off down the road in one of the two little Datsuns which Pete and I had bought when we started our own practice with no cash.

  Brackenfield, the Elliotts’ farm at that time, is just a few kilometres up the Awatere Valley, not far from State Highway One and about 20 kilometres south of Blenheim.

  As I drove over the Weld Pass, separating Blenheim and the Wairau from the Awatere, the morning was fine and clear and the dew shone off the tussock-clad hills in the early spring sunlight. I felt good but, as always with a calving, a nervous anticipation was foremost. What would I find? A bit of lubrication and a firm pull? Perhaps one leg was back, or maybe there was a breech presentation which I could correct. Worst case would be a Caesarean section. We performed many of these on farm, but they took time, and a lot of concentration, and a strong capable farmer or farmer’s wife could be a very helpful assistant.

  As I reached the neat traditional house where the Elliotts lived, I could see the old gentleman waiting anxiously.

  ‘Thank heavens you’re here, she’s getting a bit agitated,’ he said.

  I slipped on my overalls and went to have a look. She was a beautiful little Jersey cow, and I could see immediately that with a head and two front legs partially protruding from her rear end, this shouldn’t be too difficult.

  I pumped some water-based gel lubricant in past the calf and with a little bit of gentle twisting, and alternately pulling on one leg then the other, the calf started to move. There was a moment of hesitation as it reached mid-chest then a whoosh of fluid and I could lower the newborn calf to the ground.

  Mr Elliott was delighted. ‘That’s wonderful, old boy. What shall we do with her now?’

  I cleared the mucus from the calf’s mouth, and made sure it was breathing. I gently pulled on the placenta and it came away easily. Good, sometimes they don’t. For safety I slipped an antibiotic pessary into the now empty uterus. Assisting a calving can introduce a few foreign bacteria and this was standard practice. The cow could look after her calf now.

  Mr Elliott was relieved and very pleased. ‘Come up to the house, old boy, and clean up. We must have a sherry.’

  It was 10 a.m. on a Sunday, I was half an hour from home, long before the days of cell phones. I had no idea what might be waiting for me at home. Guiltily, I said yes, I would come in, but only briefly.

  After a wash up I was ushered into the sitting room. Lovely antique furniture upholstered in Sanderson linen adorned the room, among some nice mahogany pieces. I recall leadlight windows.

  Mr Elliott sat me down, and from the sideboard produced a cut-crystal decanter. Carefully he half filled two crystal glasses with the dark sherry and handed one to me.

  ‘Oloroso you know. Good stuff.’

  I didn’t doubt it.

  ‘You’ve had a bit to do with our stud cattle, old boy.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve calved a few cows, and I had to look at a bull for Alistair the other day,’ I replied. Alistair was Alan’s son, who lived on the property with his family and ran the farming operations now.

  ‘Did you know that Brackenfield so and so came from such and such a family?’ he asked, reeling off a long unfamiliar stud name, and I can’t recall the particular name of the animal.

  ‘No, I wasn’t aware of that, Mr Elliott.’

  ‘Oh yes, and of course he came from a line that you’d know well,’ he said, running off another stud name.

  I conf
ess I know very little about the names of stud beef cattle but for half an hour I nodded wisely, murmuring the occasional, ‘Yes, a wonderful line’ or something similarly inane.

  Mr Elliott was in seventh heaven. I think we’d gone back four or five generations by the time I’d finished my glass.

  ‘Have another, old boy.’ He was enjoying every minute of it.

  ‘No, no, I really should go.’ I was getting worried about Ally and the phone at home.

  ‘Nonsense, I insist.’ And he poured me a second glass as he launched into yet another generation of Angus bulls.

  This time I gulped it down, as quickly as decency would allow at 11 a.m. on a Sunday.

  ‘Thank you very much, Mr Elliott, but I really must be off.’ I’d enjoyed my morning, but duty was calling.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that was marvellous. I don’t often get to talk to someone who knows so much about Angus stud breeding.’

  I had to cough to stifle my laugh. I had hardly got a word in and was really lost in his genealogy of the stud. I thanked him and Mrs Elliott, and drove off down the valley, feeling a warm glow.

  Was it the sherry, or had I helped make an old man happy?

  PREDICTABLY UNPREDICTABLE — PA

  When I think back to all the amusing or embarrassing experiences I have had in my career the bulk of them seem to have occurred in my early days in the business. Other vets I have talked to also say the same thing. Is it because more of these memorable experiences actually happened then, or is it because these events took place during a very impressionable period in our careers?

  Whatever the reason, those early days really were full of new experiences, and because of our inexperience there were far more opportunities for things to go wrong. We just had not been around long enough to appreciate all the consequences of what we were doing. And we had not yet fully realised that the only thing we could predict was the unpredictability of the animal and the outcome of the job ahead. Those early experiences, both good and bad, were often critical for driving the direction we eventually headed in our careers.