Vetnuus | Januarie 2024 18 « BACK TO CONTENTS Article JUST ANOTHER FALL By Anonymous Oldish Vet He had a friend of old who called on him from time to time to pick his brain, discuss some or other issue, or simply to “chew the breeze or shoot the fat”. On this occasion, his pal used a modern device for their chat. A smartphone belonging to his son. One that could take a film clip, a short movie. His Nokia 3310 couldn’t do that. The clip showed a cow standing splay-legged, head swaying, glazed-eyed; then it panned onto a typical downer; also a bloating carcass in the background. So far six had died, he said, so what could he dose or inject them with because it began soon after the herd had moved into the hill camp. Plant poisoning was the obvious cause. They spoke about cardiac glycocides and liver-zapping pyrrolizidine alkaloids though not in those words, and Senecio, tulip and that nuisance called slangkop that appeared every ten years or so at those altitudes when all its ducks were in a row. The farmer had already arranged to move them out of the hill camp. The ailing beasts had been dosed with the local vet practice’s universal antidote plus half a cube of Rickett’s blue that his grandfather swore by. He pondered the likely culprits all evening and referred to the excellent reference library Anipedia; reading until well past midnight carefully every single toxic plant in the “book” even those whose localities were supposedly restricted to the far west. One just never knew … His friend said one more cow had died overnight after the herd had crossed the district road, but two that had begun to show symptoms yesterday had recovered. The dead cow had chosen to expire in a large patch of brambles quite close to the old concertina gate. Pity, because the vultures wouldn’t scoff at her. And that was that. But it wasn’t just that. Not for him. He was after all a scientist, and the years as such had inculcated an unquenchable thirst for knowing. He did his morning chores and after the midday bite, he drove way out to the hill camp. It was – as all hill country camps are – big. He chose to first suss out the plateau of the nearest ridge top. That was very similar countryside to where Drimea Altissima had nailed some cattle further south. He searched in vain, reminding himself that perhaps the unfortunate victims had noshed all the evidence before any investigation could start. The obvious locality for the more likely culprits was the vlei, wetland, way down at the foot of his ridge; between his and the next great ridge. He could access the site by contouring around the rim and going down the not-so-steep grassy gulley where the two ridges met – or parted - or he could simply descend straight down the steep hillside at his feet. It was rocky which would provide steps. So down he went. Well, down he went indeed! Having begun descending the valley side he put his weight on a nicely implanted rock which wasn’t nicely implanted. It gave way in an instant and careered down the slope. He crashed down behind it with his left shoulder taking the main impact then his entire body spun; once? twice? again? Down the rocky side of the hill, he rolled too until a firm rock restrained any further descent. He was lying on his back. Still. He noticed dark clouds were moving in from the escarpment. He didn’t move for a minute or two, just letting pain from various parts of his body report where he had taken damage. The left shoulder is the worst. Left temple too. Right thigh. You silly old fool he said to himself and chuckled. “Thank you, dear Lord!” He cautiously got to his feet, assessing any irregularities. The shoulder was certainly nuked. With a capital F. The trip back up the steep slope seemed to take forever, as did his trudge across the wide ridge-top. The quest for the poisonous plants was history. But the recently dead cow was not. He steered the pick-up across the district road and up the bank to an old concertina gate adjacent … And it so happened that on the 6th day after his fall from on high, he wakened in great agony ...
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