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Tag: pig

  • The camelid conundrum

    Llamas
    Llamas are social animals.

    Despite expecting a purely equine placement, I’ve had a bit of a crash course in camelids over the past two weeks.

    As alpacas and llamas continue to increase in popularity throughout the UK, more and more first opinion vets are having to apply their knowledge from other species to these slightly odd creatures.

    Having had no previous experience with either of them, even just handling and trying to read their behaviour was a bit of a challenge.

    Being social animals who get extremely upset when alone, one in-patient (a llama) was accompanied by two of his friends to minimise stress levels.

    Sadly, said llama didn’t make it, but his acquaintances were able to travel home together, considerably less stressed than a lone llama forced to leave its dead friend behind.

    Drugs done different

    I also accompanied two of the vets to go and castrate eight alpacas, which thankfully went smoother than expected. In addition to learning the procedure itself – which is very similar to castrating a dog, apart from leaving the incision open and only using local anaesthetic – I learned how some drugs must be used differently in these animals. For example, lidocaine has to be mixed with sterile water rather than used straight.

    Luckily, we had plenty of help and most people involved were experienced handlers, which made the whole operation run fairly smoothly, even if everyone did get splattered with blood and alpaca spit.

    I found out the hard way that alpacas have extremely powerful legs and sharp claws, having had one narrowly miss my face but leave a considerable scratch along my neck, and another tear straight through a pair of very hardy waterproof trousers, in addition to leaving me with numerous bruises.

    The point of an alpaca

    Alpacas
    What’s the point of an alpaca?

    Having also been to castrate a llama that day, this sparked a discussion about the purpose of camelids in this country.

    Llamas are sometimes kept as guard animals for flocks of sheep, and alpacas for their wool – but, other than being expensive pets or “field ornaments”, what is the end market for breeders?

    A breeder present for the mass emasculation expressed his support for castration since, as the popularity of these South American natives grows, so does the number of unwanted individuals.

    This discussion on the welfare of unwanted animals reminded me of Princess Anne’s suggestion that a UK horse meat market would decrease the number of unwanted horses.

    Could the same be said for camelids? Would an alpaca meat market in this country help the problem, and would it ever take off anyway? Being a very lean meat, I think there could be a market in a nation of people yearning for a healthy lifestyle.

    Having visited South America in 2013, I’ll admit I was more inclined to try alpaca steak than another of their native dishes – and believe it far more likely to take off in the UK than guinea pig.

  • Why does the ‘P’ word send shivers down a vet’s neck?

    We do get taught about pigs at uni, but they are seen so irregularly in practice that the “P” word sends a shiver of fear down any vet’s neck.
    We do get taught about pigs at uni, but they are seen so irregularly in practice that the “P” word sends a shiver of fear down any vet’s neck.

    Having a pig farm in the family gives me a bit of a distorted view on the world. For example, I’m a complete pork snob and would rather go without then eat crap sausages.

    However, I find it bizarre vets start panicking and fervently flicking through dusty textbooks on the practice shelf before going out on the incredibly infrequent pig call.

    When I think about it, though, it isn’t so bizarre. I can’t remember the last time we had a vet out to the pigs. My step-grandad has been looking after them and developing his own bloodline for 50 years – if there’s anything he doesn’t know about pigs, it’s not worth knowing.

    The UK pig farming industry has been declining over the years to the point where there are very few pig farms around, and those that still exist rarely need a vet because the farmers know what they’re doing.

    We do get taught about pigs at uni, but they are seen so irregularly in practice that the “P” word sends a shiver of fear down any vet’s neck.

    But what about the pet pig? I went on one pig call while on placement at a mixed practice, and finding out we were going to see a Gloucester old spot (one of the breeds we have at home), I was intrigued. As it turned out, the pigs were “rescued” from going to slaughter and the pig we had been called out to was lame, but still weight bearing.

    Piglets
    Pigs: nothing to be afraid of…

    Suspecting a mild break or soft tissue damage after a compromised examination (a quick manipulation before the sow decided she was walking off), the vet gave an anti-inflammatory and advised re-examination a few days later.

    On discussing the case with my step-grandad, he disagreed, and muttered something about mycotic lameness or remnant erysipelas. His advice was to “bang in some penicillin” (farmer’s favourite) or lincomycin.

    However, on the re-examination, the pig had improved and the owner was given oral anti-inflammatories to continue with.

    After relaying this advancement, the pig expert then retracted to: “Well, it could have caught its leg”.

    Either way, the pig has improved.

    Even though pigs are rare in practice, I think it’s important not to be scared of something you don’t know much about (the same also applies to exotic pets) and to always know the books are there for back up. Failing that, in my case, my step-grandad is a phone call away – even if the second opinion is to be taken with a pinch of salt.

  • Clinical EMS 101

    Dunce
    Vet school doesn’t prepare you for making a complete idiot out of yourself.

    At vet school, you learn some basic clinical skills and are taught how to conduct a general clinical examination to prepare you for EMS placements in veterinary surgeries. What they don’t prepare you for is making a complete idiot out of yourself.

    Before my first clinical placement I told the vets I would be working with that I had only just finished second year and had no pharmacological knowledge as of yet, non-existent surgical experience and very little understanding of small animal medicine in general.

    Luckily, all the vets in the practice were very good at judging the level of my understanding and seemed to find the right balance between patience and pushing me for answers.

    Things seemed to be going OK. I’d successfully taken blood samples and started to make sense of abdominal palpation. However, applying clinical skills taught at vet school isn’t necessarily straightforward – cadavers have a distinct lack of weapons in the form of claws and teeth, but I was coping with that reasonably well and taking note of the vets’ advice on particular techniques.

    This was until a few days in, when I found myself working with the head vet…

    In the same morning, I managed to spray penicillin all over my face while trying to administer an injection, incorrectly insert an endotracheal tube despite being 99% sure it was OK, and cover myself in guinea-pig blood while clipping nails, leaving me to wear the stained tabard for the rest of the day.

    To add insult to injury, I later misread the scales and recited the incorrect weight without thinking (it didn’t occur to me that there’s no way a fully grown border collie could weigh 10kg).

    Isolated, these incidents might not seem like the end of the world, but when they all happen in the same day in front of the head vet and when one of the clients involved is your neighbour, you do feel like shouting “I am a vet student – honest”, despite feeling like a complete moron.

    This was, however, followed by days of mini-triumph, such as inserting an IV catheter correctly for the first time or scaling and polishing a dog’s teeth myself.

    The important thing to remember is that you are inexperienced, and you just have to accept there will be days when nothing seems to go your way, get past them and carry on with your head held high – even if it is covered in yellow spots of penicillin.

  • Should I be a vegetarian?

    Meat is Murder
    Like the design? Buy the t-shirt

    Vegetarianism can be quite the controversial topic, with many people choosing not to eat meat or particular types of meat for varying reasons – be that moral, financial or simply down to taste and preference.

    But how should I stand on the matter, from the point of view of a vet student?

    While on EMS, I’ve been met with differing opinions. At my lambing placement, the farmer’s mother just could not understand why anyone would be vegetarian and believed that we especially – as future vets – should not even entertain the idea. In stark contrast, the farmer and his family at my dairy placement were quite surprised when I told them that I eat all types of meat, and claimed that every previous vet student they’d had was vegetarian.

    These views may simply arise from generation differences, with older generations still firmly sticking to the “you get what you’re given” attitude. But is it more than that? Are we, as vet students, expected to have an opinion one way or the other?

    Vet in abattoir
    ©iStockphoto.com/alle12

    Vets contribute massively to the meat industry; they need to be present in abattoirs, and the aim of farm vets is to keep the industry going. On a day-to-day basis the farm vet is likely to undertake routine tasks (TB testing, pregnancy diagnosis or the occasional caesarian or surgical correction of a displaced abomasum), but if you look at the bigger picture, these all contribute to helping the meat and dairy industries run smoothly. The farm vet also plays a vital role in advising on improving production and maintaining high welfare standards in order to produce the optimum quality and quantities of meat.

    So, if a farm vet spends their life oiling the cogs in the meat industry, surely it’s entirely counter productive to be vegetarian?

    Of course, there is the moral argument against using animals for meat. But, as ambassadors for animal welfare, should vets sit on this side of the fence?

    There is the opinion that any type of farming instigates cruelty and unnatural methods of some degree, and that, as vets, we should not stand for this. Dedicated to ensuring good welfare of all species, we, of all people, cannot turn a blind eye because we are faced with the reality of what goes on behind the scenes of the meat industry.

    But we are not vets yet. And how much of the “student” in us dictates our diet, whether we like it or not? The hard truth is that meat is expensive to the average student, and a lot of us subconsciously undertake the decision to eat very little meat purely due to finances.

    Is this how vets should be expected to think?

    While I respect other people’s decisions to become vegetarian, I could never do it. Since we have a pig farm in the family, meat eating has always been a way of life, not a choice – not that I genuinely think I’d be forced to eat meat if I didn’t want to, but vegetarianism is just “not done” in our family (and I always get packed off to uni with enough home-produce to last me the semester).

    As for seeing “behind the scenes” of the meat industry, I have very strong opinions on farming, and the reasoning behind methods and techniques that may be deemed as “cruel” to the outsider. These views stem from my farming background, and the ignorance of non-farming folk often frustrates me.

    While vets have a much deeper insight into the meat industry than the general public, I’m not convinced that this has a particular effect on our choice in being vegetarian or not – and I don’t think being a vet student changes your opinion in one direction or the other.

    However, I do believe that if someone genuinely had very strong objections towards the meat industry, they would find a veterinary course very difficult to handle morally. Even if you’re set on purely becoming a small animal vet, we all get immersed in the meat industry to some extent.

  • Three little pigs

    One little piggy’s in a farrowing crate, one little piggy gets his tail docked and one little piggy is left alone.

    Three Little Pigs
    Illustration by L. Leslie Brooke, from The Golden Goose Book, Frederick Warne & Co, Ltd (1905). Image taken from Project Gutenberg eText

    I know I’ve already mentioned pigs, but something came up again this week that seriously rattled me. Using an online programme, an example came up in which a sow had given birth to her litter in a pen, not a farrowing crate. One of the piglets was injured and later died because she’d laid on it. The conditions were described as “cramped” and it was insinuated that the death had occurred due to the lack of space.

    While the conditions were not the point of the example (it focused more on the attitude of the stockman), I couldn’t help but feel displeased at the way in which the information was portrayed.

    Coming from a pig farming background, I know from experience that it is better to put sows in farrowing crates for the sake of the piglets, saving them from being squashed. The farrowing crate would, in fact, give the sow less room than the pen used in the example.

    The principle facts in the programme were wrong, regardless of whether it would be considered “cruel” by some to confine sows in this way – the reason for the piglet’s injury was too much space, not too little.

    In another example used in the same programme, it was, again, insinuated that tail docking piglets is cruel.

    What I would consider cruel would be to let pigs die of spinal abscesses arising from excessive tail biting, which would be the result of not tail docking them. Would you argue that vaccination is cruel? No, because a small, short term burst of pain is better than contracting a disease that would later prove fatal. Same principle.

    Practices such as tail docking or the use of farrowing crates do not come about without reason. Farmers do not inflict mindless cruelty on their animals – it’s not in their interest to do so. These methods are used because they are the most efficient way of managing worse problems. This should be made more evident to vet students who have little experience of farming.

    So which little pig is the odd one out?

  • Welfare inside out

    A sow nursing her piglets in a farrowing crate.
    A sow nursing her piglets in a farrowing crate.

    As vet students, welfare is always being rammed down our throats – and rightly so (even after only two weeks of first year). As future veterinary professionals it will be part of our job to ensure the welfare of the animals entrusted to our care.

    Deciding what is “the right thing” to do can often be tricky, as there is never a straight black and white answer. Knowing whether an animal’s welfare is at risk is often down to individual opinion and, therefore, relies on experience.

    There is a famous quotation: “A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.”

    I believe this applies to evaluating welfare. Often, from the outside, without understanding the reasons behind particular procedures or practices, it’s easy to think from a first impression that something is cruel or unnecessary. But, in reality, there is usually a good reason for these practices, particularly in the production industry.

    In one welfare lecture, we were made to believe that keeping sows in farrowing crates was cruel. The sow has little room to lie down, she can’t turn round and may bite the bars of the crate in frustration, resulting in mouth sores. But what about the piglets she is about to farrow? It is their welfare that is protected by keeping her in the crate. The crate prevents her rolling on them, allowing them to suckle without the danger of getting squashed. What good is giving a sow more room if it results in half a litter of dead piglets?

    A humane twitch: a useful aid for difficult horses, especially when clipping around horse's head and performing other 'frightening' tasks.
    A humane twitch: a useful aid for difficult horses, especially when clipping around horse’s head and performing other ‘frightening’ tasks.

    On the same note, coming from a pig farming background, I have seen pigs kept in pens of about five, instead of staying in the open pen, opting themselves to lie in the feeding crates if they’ve been left open (not at feeding time). Confining a pig to a small space may seem cruel from the outside, but is it really, when the pigs will lie in feeding crates out of choice, probably to keep cool and avoid fighting with the others in the pen?

    Another example of a misunderstood practice is twitching a horse. Twitches may be made of rope or metal, and can look horrific when being used, since they are twisted tightly around the horse’s muzzle.

    An outsider would not understand that the twitch is designed to pinpoint a pressure point that induces release of endorphins. Consequently, this calms the horse and is a very useful technique when the horse is being difficult to handle during clipping or other veterinary procedures, and avoids the use of sedatives.

    Assessment of welfare is very much based on individual opinion. Personally, I have had little experience with dairy farming so might at first think that some procedures are cruel when I set out on EMS in the summer. But it’s important to remember to stand back and understand the reasoning behind the actions of those who handle the animals every day before prejudging an establishment based on what you see or think you are seeing to begin with.

  • In the beginning…

    In the beginning…

    I think it’s fair to say I have a less than conventional pre-veterinary school story. In early 2011, after years of working hard at school, gathering experience at different animal establishments and doing regular work experience at a nearby practice, I finally received an offer for veterinary school.

    Student blogger Jordan Sinclair.

    All I had to do was get the right grades in my final A-Level exams that summer. Or so I thought. In March, a horse I’d been exercising had other ideas.

    One moment I was mounting in a car park at a showjumping competition; the next thing I knew, I was waking up in hospital 10 days later.

    Involuntary gap year

    Despite 12 broken ribs, a punctured lung, a collapsed lung, a broken clavicle and nerve damage, I was still determined to go to the University of Glasgow that year. After a month, I came out of hospital and soon realised I couldn’t fight the sleepy side effects of the morphine long enough to pick up a book, let alone try to catch up with the schoolwork I’d missed.

    Glasgow were fantastic – I remember mum being on the phone trying to explain the situation, while I tried to gauge the response from half the conversation. They would not only allow me to defer, but told her I needed to, in order to guarantee full physical fitness for the start of the course.

    So what did I do with my involuntary gap year? I spent quite a lot of it recovering. The Air Ambulance Service saved my life by operating at the scene of the accident, and since it is a charity, I started volunteering and fund-raising for it.

    When I was well enough, I rode again. Over Christmas, I visited family in Australia and, while I wasn’t allowed to scuba dive due to the previously collapsed lung, nothing was stopping me snorkelling on the Great Barrier Reef. I then returned to school to finish my A-Levels.

    The long journey begins

    Finally, after seeing my friends go through it the previous year, results day came. And so began the mad rush to kit up for veterinary school; books, wellies, overalls and goodness knows what else were gathered up and rammed into the car. Unfortunately, my horse wouldn’t fit in the boot, and I heard cats weren’t permitted in halls. So, petless and not knowing what to expect, I started the long journey north.

    I thought A-levels were hard; veterinary school is a whole new ball game. You know it’s not going to be easy when even working out your timetable is almost impossible. It was equally daunting to see the proportions of internationals and postgraduates who all seemed to know everything compared to us Brits, who were fresh(ish) out of school.

    One moment I was at a showjumping competition, the next I was waking up in hospital.

    Anatomy was like learning a new language, with hundreds of obscure words being thrown at you in one lecture; in a whole sentence, the only recognisable words could be “the” or “and”.

    Dissections took some getting used to, when you’ve only ever observed surgery and never actually made contact with a cadaver before. However, after a couple of weeks you can actually visualise where everything is and things start to slot into place.

    A whole new world

    For those not from farming backgrounds (I’m not sure what I consider myself – my horses were kept on a pig farm), husbandry was a whole new world. We all have varying degrees of experience in some area of farming or animal care, otherwise we wouldn’t be here, but trying to learn a lifetimes worth of experience in keeping sheep from someone in six hours seemed crazy. Now, it’s easy to see the importance of preclinical EMS – you can’t learn everything from a book. Though it is good to take a break from bookwork and head out to the uni farm for handling sessions every so often.

    After my riding accident, I was given a CD with all of my radiographs and CT scan pictures on. Although the idea of having my own x-rays was novel, aside from seeing the obvious snap in the collar bone, they meant very little. After being shown an example of a radiograph showing the collapsed lung in a dog in the first couple of weeks at Glasgow, I went back to my stashed away x-rays. To my delight, I could see things more clearly, although did find it odd being able to understand how smashed up my insides had been. So far, the CT pictures still remain a mystery though.

    I’m not sure if the beginning of vet school is what I expected or not. In some respects, it seems very real now, with professionalism being drummed into us from the outset. And in others, it’s hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel from here.