Even as the sun rises into midmorning, it's chilly in the barn. There's a layer of straw on the floor and a rank animal odor in the air. Overhead, a few heating lamps combine with some thin blue window light to provide enough dim illumination to see by. A woman enters. Faded green coveralls over blue jeans, rubber boots; she unravels an electrical cord and plugs a "dehorner"—not unlike a hair straightener—into an outlet on the wall. In the cramped barn, waiting for the iron to get hot and listening to a few goats pant and a handful of chickens cluck, it's still—peaceful.
It won't be for long.
The figure is Dr. Melanie Parker, a large animal veterinarian working across the eastern edge of Lake Ontario in Jefferson, Lewis and Oswego counties. While she does occasionally see cats and dogs, Parker spends most of her days seeing larger patients: mainly cows, horses, sheep and goats. The morning's task is fairly routine and incredibly important, to "disbud"— or remove the horns from—a fresh litter of baby goats. Left unchecked, the horns grow like knives and become dangerous to the animals' caretakers and the goats themselves.
Besides the size of the patients, Dr. Parker says the main difference between large and small animal medicine is the relationship she has with local farmers—some who she has known her entire career 36-year career.
"Your clients start out as clients, but over time they become friends and family," Parker says.
Another difference between the two sides of animal medicine is the type of care. While small animal vets typically work in clinics and see acute cases, like injury or illness, large animal vets travel between farms and often manage large herds of cattle. This makes their work critical to America's food infrastructure, especially New York's large dairy industry.
Still the practice faces an inflection point as large areas of the state go underserved.
"There's definitely a shortage at the moment, particularly in rural areas," says the Executive Director of the New York State Veterinary Medical Society, Tim Atkinson.
Atkinson elaborates that a shortage in vet numbers might make it increasingly more difficult for farmers to get help when they need it. Even without any emergency calls, Dr. Parker estimates that she drives between 500 and 700 miles a week.
"There's probably 5,000 [total]vets working in the state," says Atkinson, "A few hundred at most in large animal."
Recently, New York State has attempted to solve this problem. In April of this year, Assembly Bill A7945 was introduced to the New York State Senate by 173rd District Representative Donna Lupardo. The bill offers partial student loan repayment to veterinarians who commit to working in "rural" districts of the state.
Atkinson is cautiously optimistic about the legislation.
"It's not going to solve the problem, but it's a step in the right direction," he says.
Dr. Parker, too, recognizes the need for more vets. She's 62 years old and says that when she does decide to retire there will be a "need" for a new veterinarian to absorb some of her clients.
She doesn't know who that would be.
"My plan is when I can't climb over a gate anymore, I'll retire. I'll say that with a wink and a laugh," Parker says.
Back inside the barn with the goats, the vague smell of animals has been replaced with that of sharp odor of burnt hair. The goats kick and scream as Parker applies her hot iron. They quiet quickly afterward, however, and soon the stillness is disturbed only by Dr. Parker's gentle crooning.
"Aw Mommy, Mommy. It's okay Mommy, you're okay" Dr. Parker whispers to each baby.
Gently, she returns them to their mothers where they once again begin nursing. Her work done, Dr. Parker loads back into her van and drives off to her next call.
