VN May 2017

Regulars I Life plus 17

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.

" 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 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. this involved a long walk around the 200-hectare camp. This was

48 Mei/May 2017