Andrew Peacock - Creatures of the Rock: A Veterinarians Adventures in Newfoundland

Copyright 2014 Andrew Peacock

All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system without the prior written consent of the publisheror in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, license from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agencyis an infringement of the copyright law.

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Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Peacock, Andrew (Veterinarian), author Creatures of the rock : a veterinarians adventures in Newfoundland / Andrew Peacock.

ISBN 978-0-385-68259-6

eBook ISBN 978-0-385-68260-2

1. Peacock, Andrew (Veterinarian). 2. VeterinariansNewfoundland and LabradorBiography. 3. Newfoundland and LabradorBiography.

I. Title.

SF 613. P 43 A 3 2014 636.089092 C 2014-903159-9

C 2014-903160-2

Text images: (i) Darren Whittingham /)

Andrey Churakov | ) Tatiana Oleshkevich |

Dreamstime.com. Endpaper images: Andrey Churakov |

Dreamstime.com and Tatiana Oleshkevich | Dreamstime.com.

Cover images: (boots) Simon Belcher/Getty Images; (chick) Alptraum |

Dreamstime.com; (stethoscope) Janks | Dreamstime.com

Published in Canada by Doubleday Canada, a division of Random House of Canada Limited, a Penguin Random House Company

www.randomhouse.ca

v3.1

for Ingrid

We can judge the heart of a man by his treatment of animals.

IMMANUEL KANT

Contents

Everything written in this book actually happened. Or if not, then something very much like it.

The stories range over much of my career but have a focus on the early years of settling in. Some of the accounts are conflations of real events. In some cases I have relocated a story: a calving may be accurately described but set in a different place in my practice. The names of most of my clients have been changed. My family; my secretary, Sharon; our two Australian shepherds, Pogo and Mats; and a few other characters in the book are very real people and dogs.

I love the language, idioms and accents of Newfoundland and have tried my best to capture them. This explains the occasional run-on sentence (not all Newfoundlanders speak slowly enough to allow for periods, or even sometimes commas). Inconsistencies in manner of speech reflect the variety of sub-dialects throughout my practice.

The content of the dialogue is of course somewhat approximate. It would be impossible to recreate word-for-word discussions from many years ago.

Beyond these details, its all true.

THE FREEZING RAIN SMASHED into the windshield in horizontal blasts. With every bend in the highway, the truck and I argued whether we should be on the road or in the ditch. Surely no lame horse was worth this treacherous trip.

The weather was bad enough that I had assumed there would be no calls that day. It would be a slow morning filled with paperwork in the office. One quick phone call put an end to that prospect. The language was English, I was pretty sure, but it took great concentration to discern that a horse belonging to a Mr. Green of Greens Harbour was some terrible crippled, and right nish. I asked three times for directions, but my ear for the language of Newfoundland was not yet developed and I suspected Mr. Green had neglected to put in his teeth for our discussion. I would have to ask the way to Mr. Greens place when I got to Greens Harbour.

I had been in Newfoundland for less than two months, but I knew enough of the geography to find my way to most of the towns in my practice. Greens Harbour was on the other side of the peninsula where I lived and normally less than an hour away. Carefully creeping along the slick roads, I had little time to admire the sparkling ice jackets the freezing rain had left on the trees. This time it took nearly two hours to arrive in the village.

My first stop was at a small convenience store. The place was somehow simultaneously spotless and cluttered. The shelves were packed with every imaginable type of canned food. A homemade doll and an enormous round of bologna vied for space on the counter. Nowhere was there a speck of dirt. A short woman with white hair tied up in a loose bun sat knitting a sock behind the counter.

Wonderful storm out there sir.

I loved the way Newfoundlanders used language. Wonderful didnt mean the same thing here as it did back in mainland Canada. Here the word was used more the way it was originally intended. Wonderful was something that filled you with wonder.

Can you tell me where Mr. Green lives?

My son, were all Green around here.

It took some time, but I eventually found out where Mr. Green with the crippled horse lived. It turned out that his name was Elihu and he lived next door to the shop. The woman behind the counter was his wife.

I left the truck where it was parked and carefully walked over the ice to the unpainted shed. Inside, the familiar warm heat from sheltered animals was a welcome relief from the freezing rain. There were three men and a horse in the barn. The horse was the only one without a cigarette going.

You must be the vet.

I am. Glad to meet you, Mr. Green.

Good morning to you sir.

This must be your horse with the bad leg.

No sir.

The abruptness of this unexpected reply left me a little taken aback. So you have another horse somewhere that I should be looking at?

No sir.

Sorry, I dont understand. Youre Mr. Green, and this is your horse, right?

Ah were havin you on Doc. Im Mr. Green but shes not my harse. Im Calvin Green. This heres Elihu and shes his harse.

He pointed with his cigarette at a man back from the small crowd sitting on an overturned plastic salt-meat container. Everything made sense now and everyone had had a chance to have a little fun at my expense.

I went over to Elihu and asked him what the trouble was.

Queens been terrible crippled since sometime last week.

Lets have a look at her.

Queen was a beautiful jet-black Newfoundland pony. I stepped into her stall and ran my hand along the side of her neck. Her skin was warm and comforting to the touch, and she turned calmly to watch me. After introducing myself by rubbing her eyelid and speaking quietly, I reached down and picked up her front left foot.

Right away I could see that her problem had been caused by overzealous trimming of her hooves. All such cutting should be done from the bottom. Cutting from the top or sides exposes sensitive parts to trauma and pain. Queens hooves had been hacked at from the sides.

Do you trim Queens feet yourself, Elihu?

Yep.

Can you tell me exactly how you do it?

Well, shes as quiet as an old dog, so shes not much trouble. I puts her foot up on a block of wood and cuts around the edge of her foot with an axe.

I tried to hide my cringe. You know, Elihu, when you trim a horses feet you should do it from the bottom. Here, let me show you with a hoof knife.