An old
friend of mine, whom I have known for over 35 years, died recently. He had been a veterinarian in Oakland,
California, but was in Tasmania
with his wife, Andrea, when the twin towers in New York were hit, 9/11. Of course they
could not get back to the USA
and the following weeks were fateful and busy ones. Having fallen in love with Tasmania they decided to
move permanently there. They bought a
house, despite not yet having the necessary visas that would allow them to live
in it , as well as a veterinary practice in Sandy Bay (Hobart).
When they
could finally return to the US,
James sold his practice within a week and their house in two days. They packed up
everything they owned and moved to Australia. With a business visa, they
could apply for permanent residency and later citizenship.
For James veterinary
medicine was never a routine nine-to-five job with time off for weekends and
public holidays. For him being a vet was a way of life, and he was always available
to help a sick or injured animal 24-hours a day.
He was one
of only two vets in Tasmania that specialized in birds, and the only one specializing in reptiles. This was
wonderful for me as I got to see some rare birds that he was caring for, like
the ground parrot.
James also
had an interest in an aspect of veterinary medicine that is not always given
the recognition he believed it deserves, that of grief and bereavement. Very
early on he adopted a holistic approach to treating animals that involved a
greater understanding and appreciation of how animals fit into each family’s
dynamic, and how that dynamic can soon unravel if the family pet becomes sick.
As I used
to say to new vet students, when lecturing at Washington State University, no animal comes into the vet office alone!
James knew
he wanted to be a veterinarian when he was six years-old, and growing up in the
US
as a British evacuee during World War ll. He never deviated from this youthful
decision, but neither did it stop him from also gaining a degree in anthropology,
becoming a professionally trained musician, and pursuing a serious interest in
ceramics, along the way to studying veterinary science.
His affinity with
animals was apparent very early. Whether it was learning to ride horses while
still a toddler, being a magnet for stray dogs while walking with his Scottish
nanny, or during his regular Sunday visits to Regent Park Zoo, it was soon
clear he shared a special relationship with animals. He received his
doctorate from MichiganStateUniversity
in 1958 and after several months working in the state service, he opened his
own veterinary practice in California
where he worked for the next 40 years.James’ childhood
interest in wildlife continued throughout his career, and at the Fern Tree property
where and Andrea lived, he created both a farm, and a wildlife sanctuary that
includes half an acre of land he had donated to the Menzies Research Institute
in Hobart, to assist the research effort into the facial tumor disease that
continues to ravage wild populations of Tasmanian devils.
Several
times in my two weeks with him, I went to the blind to see them. Also was able to see pups whose mother had
been hit by a vehicle. These adorable animals have a bad reputation and are far
from devils.
The farm
had alpacas, Scottish Highland cattle, chickens, geese, turkeys, Indian runner
ducks, two Clydesdale horses, and Wessex saddleback pigs! And it was in the most glorious setting, tropical on one hand but with weather more like our small island of Shaw. James felt that curiosity is one of the most important
traits in a veterinarian.
“I look at
physicians who are only licensed to practice on one species and we get all the
others. Aren’t we lucky?”
And I was lucky to know him!
