june 2009
Let me introduce veterinarian Dr Gerrit Scheepers. He features regularly in this book. He and I go back a long way. It must be around a quarter of a century or so and not only is he one of the finest wildlife vets I have ever worked with, but he is also a close friend and fishing buddy. In the latter context, I have noticed he has a remarkably wide arm span when describing his achievements, whilst in his areas of specialisation, his modesty is legend.
When my wife Meagan and I moved down to the Lowveld from Botswana, we were obliged by veterinary law to vaccinate any dogs being brought into South Africa. This was particularly important, as we were arriving to take up a post in the Timbavati Private Nature Reserve. Even Meagan’s utterly beloved and remarkably diminutive lapdog Squealer, who was no bigger than a lion’s furball but had an infinite capacity for unconditional love, would need to be jabbed. My best buddy, Shilo, spent his life with me in the bush, so it was critical that apart from the routine jabs, he be vaccinated against rabies. This horrible disease raises its ugly head from time to time in this area, and any dog which may come into contact with wild animals is at high risk.
I contacted the nearest vet we could find and it happened to be Gerrit, in Phalaborwa. He had recently qualified and had established a small clinic in partnership with another veterinarian, Dr Sampie Ras. After some small talk, we chatted a little about relevant matters and, well, then maybe more than a little about the common interest we discovered, namely fishing. It turned out that Gerrit spent as much time as possible in his rubber duck in pursuit of big fish, preferably beyond the breakers off the Mozambique coast near Vilanculos.
In between exaggerations of how big the fish were that he’d caught on his last trip (using that remarkable fisherman’s arm span of his) and while avoiding poking our eyes out with his brandished syringe, he attended to the dogs with the necessary vaccinations and soon, we were on our way back to the reserve.
Squealer was in the dog box, as he had tried to bite Gerrit. In this little mutt’s case, this meant muzzling, a far from easy job. The back end was remarkably similar to the front end, unless the tail was wagging, which it most certainly wasn’t at that time. The other longitudinal identification was teeth, which we waited to emerge from somewhere deep within the tangle of fur and which we used to locate the head and the target for the muzzle. It’s strange; while we related to Gerrit from our very first meeting, Squealer never did.
Meagan and I became so absorbed in our work at Timbavati that time just flew by unnoticed. Almost two years elapsed since our dogs were vaccinated and their jabs were now overdue. I phoned Phalaborwa Animal Clinic to make an appointment, hoping but not expecting that Gerrit was still there. We hadn’t heard from him for a couple of years, so I was a little surprised when he answered the phone. When we had met initially, he struck me as a dynamic and ambitious veterinarian, someone who may have found small town life inhibiting, and I didn’t expect him to still be in Phalaborwa. I cordially asked how he was, and before I could get the subject onto things piscatorial, his answer gave things an entirely different and unexpected perspective.
‘I’m fine now,’ he said. ‘I’m in remission, there’s no sign of any more cancer.’
‘I had no idea,’ I truthfully mumbled in reply.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Now tell me, how is Shilo?’
So, there we had a man, 25 years old, who had just been through two years of hell with cancer, but he didn’t want to know how I was, he wanted to know about my dog, and remembered him by name. That knocked my socks off. If anyone had any idea then how much Shilo meant to me, it was Gerrit. If anyone can understand now what an impression that made on me then, they’d understand why there remains a very special bond between him and me. This is the same Gerrit who will feature in my tales of a porcupine-quilled lion, a buffaloes’ gentleman’s club, snare removal from elephant and zebra and so many unsung songs of this magic land.
Gerrit, I salute you.