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Mei/May 2017
Life plus 17
without parole
Mike Lowry
Mike Lowry has been in veterinary practice for "life plus 17" years. In this column,
he shares his experiences and opinions.
Regulars
I
Life plus 17
"
H
ulle hou die kampe
skoon”. This was the
answer I got from a
khaki-clad farmer with
a wide brimmed hat
at an auction sale of elite Brahman cows
in the Eastern Free State.
We had travelled to the sale as a client
of mine was building a very good herd
and was looking for the best available
cows. The answer was a response to
me asking the farmer why they kept
ostriches in all the camps. I was a
relatively young vet at the time and in
my naiveté my rationale was that they
ate all sorts of things and hence kept
the camps clean.
Many years later I was involved in
the development of a game farm in
the inPamponyoni river valley. We
had introduced ostriches into this
environment and I had done all the
capture of these birds in the Weenen
district of Natal without incidence.
On a peaceful Saturday afternoon, a
few of us decided to take a walk on the
newly-established ranch. One of the
members of the group was middle-
aged, but suffering the effects of
alcoholic poisoning and could not walk
all that well.
We and got about 75 meters from the
gate of a particular paddock when, after
coming over a rise, we were met by a
rather unhappy ostrich male with blood
red legs – full mating condition. I had
a reasonable walking stick and told the
rest of the group to get behind me and,
as I had caught plenty of these birds,
felt that I could keep him at bay by
pushing the stick into his chest, so that
we could back-pedal to the gate and
thus make our escape.
It was not to be - I pushed the stick into
his chest when he was at an appropriate
distance and he decided he would try
a good conversion. Better than any
Joubert kick. It hit me squarely in the
chest and I was “converted” over a
bank. Out cold. I am not sure how long
I was out for, but when I came round
he was standing on my chest, having a
good nip every now and then. He was
the conqueror.
When I regained my sense, I grabbed
him by the neck and, holding his
head well down, I got to my feet and
grabbed him by the wing. My wife, who
was bravely standing nearby, grabbed
the other wing. The rest of the group
had made it back through the gate.
We decided we would frog-march him
back to the gate and then push him
through it and close the gate behind
him. Good theory, but the practical was
far from good.
We got him to the gate; got everybody
on the inside and I pushed him through
as best I could. Before I could close the
gate, he had spun round and kicked me
again. This time it was not down the
bank, but into the barbed wire fence
where I was rapidly attached like a
grasshopper caught by a fiscal shrike.
I was totally hooked. And then the
onslaught started – he gave me a full
work out. Fortunately, I had a heavy
hunting jacket with a very substantial
zip, like those purchased from Holland
& Holland at their shooting school in
Ryslip, London, which absorbed most of
the blows.
After what seemed like a full polo
chukka, but was probably not more than
a minute or two, he walked away a few
paces and did a noble dance, wings
outstretched to make his disposition
very evident.
I detached myself and, bleeding freely
from several severe grazes managed to
get inside the gate.
He had won that round.
Next day we again went for a walk
believing he was in the camp we had
pushed him into. But someone had
opened the gate and left it open. We
cautiously approached the gate and
there he was, once again in attack mode
and with the gate open. He could easily
have got at us and my ataxic friend
would have been in severe trouble.
Our game plan was then decided and
I would act as the decoy and get to a
fence that ran along a river – I would
be on the river side and he inside the
camp. When I had drawn him away
from the gate Judy would run up and
close it. Again, excellent theory.
Off I went and he duly followed very
aggressively – he had won round one
and was happy to have a full go at
round two. Everything went well until
the fence went from five strands to two
stands and then but a single strand
which was certainly not adequate
protection.
I shouted to Judy to run to the gate
believing the distance to be adequately
safe. Not so – he turned around the
minute she started to run and she
would not make it. She went into the
river bed and he stood on the other side
of the fence towering above her but just
out or reach, although he tried to peck
at her. I saw her slowly submerging
into a pool in the river – it would be her
protection.
Plan two was necessary and
this involved a long walk around
the 200-hectare camp. This was
accomplished using the thorn bushes as
cover. The gate was eventually closed
with him on the other side, Judy could
emerge from her cold swim in the pool
and we slowly helped our friend away.
Yes, my khaki-clad friend in the Free
State, they do keep the camps clean
– only wish you had explained a little
better. And Judy was very jealous of
the bird’s beautiful eye-lashes; she had
been close enough to see them in great
detail.