The Observer Magazine of 6 August 1967 considered the often difficult lot of the vet (‘How do you cure a python of a pain in the belly?’) Many, wrote Charles Bloomberg, felt it was a Cinderella profession, and unlike American vets they were ‘denied the courtesy title of Doctor’.
When he revealed there were 8,000 vets in the UK at a ratio of one to every 21,000 animals, you wondered at the relentless and varied task at hand. ‘He must be able to cure a camel’s earache, extract a crocodile’s canine tooth, remove a piece of wire from a cow’s stomach, or perform a caesarian section on a cat.’ For starters, which of the cow’s stomachs to begin with?
A lot had changed over the years. ‘When the tractor replaced the farm horse – which was almost the vet’s sole charge for centuries – many feared the profession would disappear.’ Its revival owed much to the drive for home-produced food during the war, the continuing importance of farm animals to Britain’s economy and the postwar pet craze.
The life of a country vet – with the travel and emergencies at all hours and the need to ‘man the phone at all times’ – was contrasted with the city vet, whose patients ‘arrive on leashes, in hold-alls, shopping bags, cages, boxes – and sometimes in chauffeur-driven limousines’, and usually at the appointed time.
As for the poorly python on the cover, though they are often victims of over-indulgence (‘If they eat something too large it may become necessary to operate to remove the food and prevent discomfort)’, she was in fact being coated with benzyl benzoate emulsion to kill the mites under her scales.
Modern-day vets had to be ‘a mixture of baby psychologist, weight-lifter and, sometimes, sprinter,’ concluded Bloomberg. ‘If a stallion or angry sow attacks you, it’s best to get out of the way – quickly.’
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