Veterinarian finds a varied life on the Peninsula

Press, 19 April 1986, Page 19

Veterinarian finds a varied life on the Peninsula

By

DEBORAH McPHERSON

A soft wet furry mass bounded toward me in the rain as I struggled out of the car with bag and notebook and headed for the refuge of the Little River Vet Club, where the only veterinarian in Banks Peninsula lives.

Sophie, the welcoming 12golden retriever belonging to Chris McFarlane, was to be one of only two patients he would see that day. I was supposed to spend the whole day with a vet whose round extends east from Gebbies Pass throughout the rest of the Peninsula. But my ideas of adventures equal to those of characters from a James Herriott novel were dampened by torrential rain and a farmers rally in Christchurch to protest the economic situation which drained the Peninsula of potential customers.

Yet I did manage to fulfil a childhood dream of becoming a vet’s assistant when I helped Chris McFarlane neuter a cat. (Actually I only held the cat steady in its doped state). Poor Tiger lost more than he bargained for when he came in to get a fishhook removed from his mouth.

Chris McFarlane, a tall, quiet, unhurried man, assured me his working days were not always so uneventful. "There are days when the phone starts ringing at 7 a.m. and does not stop until after midnight.” Chris, aged 32, his wife Gilly, aged 33, and their two children, Ben, four, and Sally; two and a r

half, have lived in Little River since he took over the practice from his brother, Rob, four years ago.

Now both enjoy living on the Peninsula and believe it is an ideal environment for their children to grow up in. The McFarlanes’ back yard is not overrun with animals, but Ben and Sally share the house with two cats, as well as the adorable golden retriever, Sophie. There is also a nominal pet sheep called Tiggety 800 (after the noise a train makes).

Previously Chris had been at a veterinary clinic in Hastings. He and Gilly work as a team. Indeed Gilly seems the driving force behind the daily running of the business. An attractive, energetic, and resourceful woman, Gilly in addition to keeping the accounts on the new computer and answering calls, also has the challenging task of controlling two pre-school children. "Sometimes it’s difficult if Chris is away, when I may have to bath the kids and answer the phone at the same time,” she says, with a rueful smile.

Chris McFarlane's Banks Peninsula round theoretically includes Governors Bay, Purau Bay, and Diamond Harbour, but he rarely gets calls to attend pets in those bays. He says most of the residents take their pets to Christchurch.

The exception was on one occasion when Chris had to drive all the way to Diamond Harbour to attend to a lady’s ailing elderly pet sheep. Once a week, he visits his clinic in Akaroa where he treats the residents’ pets and performs minor surgery.

The beginning of the McFarlanes’ shift to the Peninsula was marred by a tragedy which resulted in the death of Ben’s twin brother, Sam, through a cot death. Even now, Gilly says, she cannot help feeling that “the South Island killed my son.”

If it had not been for the sympathetic and practical support from the community, the couple would probably have "packed up and left then and there,” says Gilly. Getting used to the solitude and isolation of living in the country was no problem for a couple who had both grown up on farms. Gilly spent her childhood in the Wairarapa. Chris grew up on a farm in Temuka. Hastings is the biggest city Chris has lived in and that was “too big,” he maintains. “Chris,” says Gilly, “exhibits all the traits of a typical Peninsula man who gets claustrophobic as soon as he hits Halswell.” Gilly, however, enjoys a shopping spree or an outing to Queen Elizabeth II Park. Most people who live in the country away from j easily acces-

sible night life tend to make their own entertainment, says Gilly. Sports groups in the community are well patronised. Both play tennis and basketball. Chris also enjoys rugby and cricket.

Most of the 220 members of the Vet Club, which employs Chris, are either dairy or sheep farmers. The members pay a subscription which entitles them to cheaper rates. The Peninsula practice also relies heavily on drug sales. The clinic is well stocked, but Chris says that security is not a problem because none of the drugs sold would be of any use to drug users or “home-bake” manufacturers.

Gilly and Chris have discovered the Peninsula folk to be as full of fun and ingenuity as those characters in a James Herriot novel, although Chris insists his clients are more intelligent. They certainly are more ingenious as one incident revealed.

Chris recalls being called out at midnight on a snow-driven winter’s night to attend a horse with a damaged leg at a farm at the Akaroa Heads, one of the furtherest farms on his round. The horse, which had badly damaged its leg after falling through a cattle stop, was discovered by its owners on their return from a night out. To stop the horse from bleeding to death, the couple had the presence of mind to whip the nappies off their 18-month-old baby, who was also with them, and apply them as a bandage to

the horse’s leg. The job is physically as well as mentally demanding. Being a country vet means being able to do a variety of work, from neutering cats to testing cows for pregnancy and helping out at calving time, as well as testing deer for tuberculosis. The .velvet season in November and December is another busy time. There are three deer farms on the Peninsula, which have taken advantage of an increasing market for exports of velvet to Korea and China.

One disease that is prevalent among goats on the Peninsula, rams in particular, is brucellosis. (This, I was informed, was the equivalent of rams’ A.1.D.5.). Apart from this unfortunate ailment, which can cause abortions in the females and sterility and general debilitation in the male, the cattle and sheep on the Peninsula are generally quite healthy, says Chris.

Good communications are essential on the job because of the distances involved. Messages are relayed to Chris from Gilly on the car radio transmitter or by telephone. The rough nature of some of the roads have necessitated a call-up for a tow truck “more than once,” says Gilly. In spite of the long hours and tiring drives over rough windy Peninsula roads, Chris McFarlane enjoys being his own boss. “It has its pitfalls, especially when you are in the firing line, but I enjoy it here.”