Looking after creatures great and small
Conversations with him would range freely over a huge variety of topics — politics, physics, morality, and the theory of relativity. You had to keep on your toes during these sessions though, because Norman was inclined to fire a leading question at you with little or no warning. And if your answer left something to be desired, Norman could be relied on to put you right.
It’s the kind of conversation I most enjoy, when ideas and opinions flow thick and fast, and often result in quantum leaps into unknown and fascinating territory.
During these brisk encounters, there was one thing that you could always count on. That a visit to this astute conversationalist, and skilled practitioner of veterinary medicine, would be a memorable and productive experience.
Norman was probably in his 70s when I first met him. I’d taken one of our retrievers in for shots, and as I pulled up outside the small caravan which served as a surgery-cum-office, I saw a handsome pig sat in the passenger seat of the battered Ford I parked next to.
The pig was staring regally out of the window with a world-weary air, while its owner held a doe-eyed greyhound by the collar, as Norman attended to the dog’s nails. I learned later that people came from as far away as Northern Ireland to see Norman. His expertise with racing dogs was legendary.
My retriever was practically hyperventilating at the proximity of his first pig. The pig was less impressed and looked down his snout at this hairy upstart.
It was much more interesting than sitting in conventional veterinary premises, but then everything about visiting Norman was more interesting.
For instance, the time I took a kitten in to him to be neutered. In those days, I was still vaguely expecting white coats, muzak, hushed voices, anaesthetic and so on.
But it was not to be. Norman handed me a disreputable-looking sweater of indeterminate colour, and told me to hold onto it, as he inserted the startled kitten into one of its sleeves, leaving its small posterior exposed. The kitten was completely immobilised. Seconds later, the job was done, neatly, efficiently and with no repercussions. And before he knew what had happened to him, the bewildered kitten was on his way home.
I knew several people who were more inclined to consult Norman for advice on their various ailments than they were to go to their own doctor. When Norman passed away, he was in his 80s, still practising, though he’d reluctantly given up on house calls. He was — and still is — much missed.
I thought of Norman only the other day, when I realised that Daisy the St Bernard’s ear infection wasn’t getting any better. Norman would, no doubt, have had some fascinating history to impart on the history of the St Bernard.
Ear problems are something Daisy has been prone to since she came to live with us. Floppy-eared dogs often have ear issues and Daisy’s ears are, as one friend succinctly pointed out, larger and floppier than most — about the size and shape of an average-sized evening bag. Today, we have another, sympathetic and accomplished vet who Daisy calmly allowed to use electric clippers on her extensive inner ear hair, flinching only occasionally.
I’ve never had much to do with vets in towns, but over the years, I have had good reason to acquire a healthy respect and admiration for the rural vet. What did we ever do without them? As long as people and animals have lived and worked together, there have been those who specialised in animal care. Early blacksmiths, who spent much time working with and observing horses, were often consulted for advice about a sick equine.
This tradition of specialised animal care is a venerable one. Humankind’s dependence on animals often made them priceless and vital to survival, particularly when nomadic peoples became settled and agriculture was increasingly practiced. Oxen, mules, sheep all increased in number, and were sources of food who also worked alongside their human companions.
But humans being what they are, it can’t have been too long before the domesticated dog and other companion animals found their way into people’s affections, and their welfare became a consideration too.
There is evidence of animal doctoring in Indian art as long ago as 4000 BC, but it wasn’t until those well-organised Romans took matters in hand that these skilled animal doctors became known as “veterinarius”.
And it was a Roman who wrote the first book devoted to animal medicine in 500 BC. That was it until 1598, when the next tome was produced.
In the meantime, herbal cures and techniques that had been acquired by those who cared for animals from years of practice were passed on by word of mouth, often in the same families.
It wasn’t until 1761 that the first college for veterinarians was founded in France, in order to combat the deadly cattle plague of rinderpest that was wreaking havoc across the globe.
Last year was designated World Veterinary Year, and the inaugural ceremony of UCD’S School of Veterinary Medicine also took place, an event celebrated by the presence of guest speaker and Nobel Prize winner Professor Peter Doherty.
Ireland’s first veterinary school was established at Townsend Street in 1800 as a joint effort of the Royal Dublin Society and Parliament. Their objectives were modest enough — “to have sheds etc for diseased cattle, wherein methods of cure might be tried”. The college gave lectures on constitution, nourishment, diseases and treatment of horses, cattle and other livestock. It lasted until 1807, when it became a victim of government budgetary cuts. A new college was incorporated by royal charter in 1900, and the faculty of veterinary medicine at UCD was established in 1946, followed by a school of veterinary medicine at Trinity College in 1964. In 1977, the two schools were merged.
Small animal practice was a late but significant arrival.
UCD is the only university offering a degree course in veterinary medicine in Ireland, and a great majority of veterinary graduates working in Ireland today are graduates of that faculty, including my old friend Norman Good, who had some fascinating tales to tell of his days as a student there.
UCD also provides a three-year course of instruction for the diploma in veterinary nursing, with the first graduates in June 2004. As small animal practices have grown, veterinary nurses have become increasingly important practitioners.
Over the last few harsh winters, animal welfare has become an increasing concern because horses have been abandoned to starve in fields, un-neutered cats were left to breed extensively and become feral, and hundreds of dogs were dumped and abandoned.
There’s little that a vet can do about this shocking state of affairs, apart from treating abandoned and abused animals, which many of them do at greatly reduced rates.
I can’t imagine that the recent outrageous almost 100% hike in dog licences is going to do much to relieve this situation. I’m very much afraid that it will lead to more dogs being abandoned by unscrupulous people who are unwilling to pay this increase, and who do not want to run the risk of being fined for keeping an unlicensed dog. And there’s not a lot that a vet, however well meaning, can do about that.
Back at our vet’s office, the staff was amazed at the amount of hair in Daisy’s ears. It filled a good-sized dustpan. I wasn’t surprised though. Daisy is, without doubt, the hairiest animal I have ever known. Soft, beautifully coloured hair, it’s true — but there’s so much of it that if she’s not brushed every day, it gathers like tumbleweed in corners of the room, and makes my house look like an abandoned building.
Just lately, I’ve taken to brushing Daisy in various locations in the woods, leaving offerings of this super-soft tan and white hair behind, on the principle that better nest lining would be hard to find for the birds.
Norman Good would, I am sure, have had plenty to say about Daisy, her massive girth and stately progress through life. He had a deep fondness for all dogs, but made no secret of the fact that he preferred those dogs that were quick and light on their feet — greyhounds, Jack Russells and the like. He once told me that my chilled-out golden retrievers were “a bit on the lethargic side.”
But I’m pretty sure that he would have been charmed by Daisy’s solemn and affectionate nature, as most people are. The fact that she has a tendency to drool might have been a different matter.
