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Martha's Vineyard Times is a weekly publication.
May 12 - May 18, 2005 Edition
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Vet Ann Hopkins: a savvy farmer May 12, 2005 By Michelle Gerhard Jasny, VMD Someone asked today “Do you see farm animals?” I paused. “Well, since Ann Hopkins died, not really.” For those that never had the pleasure of knowing her, Ann had a sheep and goat farm on Christiantown Road, as well as cats, dogs, ducks, geese, a burro, and an ever-changing crew of people. An experienced, self-reliant farmer, she only needed my help now and then, but we talked on the telephone regularly. In the early years when I got a message from her, before calling back I would pull out a book or my vet school notes on Ruminant Medicine, brush up on the particular problem, then try to sound knowledgeable when she answered the phone. If Ann didn't know what to do, odds were I wouldn't either. I always got the feeling she was humoring me, mentoring the New Vet without being obvious. Eventually Ann and I had all the same books. I'd spiel off some treatment to try. Ann would take a drag on her cigarette, then exhale kindly in her raspy drawl, “Yes, I just read that section in 'Mary Smith's Goat Medicine,' too.” When clients had husbandry questions about their flocks, or needed milk replacer, or frozen colostrum, I'd tell them to call Ann. If I needed one dose of a sheep medication I didn't keep in stock, I'd call Ann. She might have a canister stashed in the milking room, although sometimes, when I wiped off the dust, the expiration date read 1974, or earlier, in which case, I'd politely decline the medication…and Ann would tuck the canister right back on the shelf. A challenging case Ann would transport lambs that needed care to my office - if her truck was running that day or someone could drive her. It saved the farm call fee (and spared my low-riding car another muffler-destroying trip up her road). One spring it was a black ram lamb that had gotten entangled in wire and broken his leg. In old-school farm medicine, there are three rules. 1.) “If it's down, give it calcium.” Commonly known as milk fever, low blood calcium levels in late pregnancy or after giving birth cause weakness and inability to rise in cows, sheep, and goats. 2.) “If it sticks out, cut it off.” Relax, guys. These rules were made by male veterinarians and farmers. They weren't talking about normal anatomic structures. 3.) “If it's broken, shoot it.” Hard, but realistic economically. So what about this lamb? Broken, for sure, and a boy to boot. Male lambs are usually castrated early, fattened up, then sold for chops. I expected Ann to euthanize him, but she had been toying with raising him for a breeding ram. Ann figured it was worth trying to fix the leg. I wasn't sure how best to accomplish this, and keep within the budget, but together we figured out how to use pliable padded metal to make forms to fit as the lamb grew. The leg seemed to be mending nicely, and after a while, Ann took over the task of changing splints. As spring turned to summer, then to fall, I forgot all about him. The following year I was at the farm taking care of the dogs and cats. When our work was done, we would often sit together at her cluttered kitchen table, over coffee and cigarettes, and ruminate on the state of the farm, the Island, and the country. This particular day, as I was filling out paperwork, Ann got up from the table. “I've got something for you,” she said, going around the corner and shuffling through who-knows-what in the other room. “Here,” she said, reappearing and shoving a wooly brown bundle into my lap, “…one of your patients.” I unrolled a sheepskin rug. “One of my patients?” I repeated quizzically. “The ram lamb with the broken leg,” she replied tersely. It took me a minute, then I remembered. “I thought he was healing fine,” I protested. Ann shrugged. “His leg did okay, but I wasn't sure it would be strong enough for him to be a good breeding ram. Besides with all the handling, he just got too tame, too friendly.” Then, with a twinkle, she added, “I thought you should have the rug.” Poking a little fun at the middle-class suburban Jewish girl who was trying to pass as a Yankee farm vet. Whatever. I took the rug home. All creatures need vets Ann understood that I didn't work with sheep and goats every day, and that limited my ability to always know what to do right away, but she respected my willingness to read and learn and I respected how much she knew. We worked together as a team. In much of the United States these days, veterinarians practice exclusively either large animal medicine (horses, cows, etc.) or small animal medicine (dogs and cats.) In fact the degree of specialization is even greater than that, with many practices limited to horses, or birds, or cats, for example. Gone are the days when one individual could provide optimum care for every species. Not because veterinarians are getting stupid, but because the body of knowledge has gotten so immense, the standard of care so high. The Island is unusual in that we need both large and small animal veterinarians; we need care for unusual pets, from hedgehogs to cockatoos, yet our year-round population is too small to support resident veterinary specialists. Our clients are well educated and affluent, desiring state-of-the art, round-the-clock care, but too few in number to support an emergency clinic, and the ferry schedule limits access to specialists. We are lucky to have so many veterinarians here who are willing to take on the challenges of treating multiple species of animals. (I, for one, unequivocally gave up all equine work 15 years ago.) If your veterinarian has to look up the antibiotic dose for a hamster, doesn't immediately diagnose your horse's problem, or doesn't know how to handle your four-foot iguana or your feisty macaw, stop and appreciate the fact that we are general practitioners, who in other circumstances might simply refuse to treat an unfamiliar species. As Islanders, we do our best to provide basic care for all animals to the best of our abilities under conditions that few veterinarians currently face. So don't dis your regular vet for being… well…a regular vet. Ann never did. |
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