Dr Jason Clark, principal researcher at the Roslin-based firm, said:
"Chlamydia is a major problem on pig farms in China."
By Jessica Bernstein-Wax
Bay Area News Group
A pair of feral pigs who prowled the streets of Hillsborough after dark, wreaking havoc on manicured lawns and artfully landscaped back yards, apparently have vanished.
And they're not missed.
Residents and police say they have seen neither snout nor tail of the duo since Oct. 4.
"We're just hoping that they're gone and that's the end of it," said John Meyer, who became so aggravated by the animals' almost nightly romps in his yard that he hired Milpitas-based trapper Steve Hebert to take care of the problem.
Since late spring, the Hillsborough Police Department has received numerous complaints of feral pigs from residents of a neighborhood near Cherry Creek, Capt. Mark O'Connor said.
One person reported that a pig approached a family member aggressively and wouldn't retreat, O'Connor said. And the beasts have been so busy rooting and kicking up dirt on the surrounding hillsides that many fear the season's first rain will wash piles of debris into the creek.
"Pigs can be dangerous," O'Connor said. "Our real concern is for the safety of a child or an elderly adult walking down into this area and being injured as the result of a pig."
Since its launch in April, enough vouchers have been redeemed to treat the equivalent of 1.25 million pigs and BPEX has invested some pounds 650,000 in the programme.
Mark Wilson, director of pig industry development, said: "We are beginning to look at the performance data from 1,100 completed voucher claim forms.
"We shall undertake a veterinary survey to assess the nationwide early indications of performance post- PCV2 vaccination for November.
"Then we shall analyse in depth a significant number of units with the best quality of information; this element will take us into the new year.
"At the end of the project each participating producer will receive a spreadsheet of their individual results showing the apparent value of the vaccine to their business."
(c) 2008 The Journal - Newcastle-upon-Tyne. Provided by ProQuest LLC. All rights Reserved.
Spring Meadow Farms owner Stan Dabkowski has yet to hear if his event violates county code. (Baltimore Sun photo by Monica Lopossay / September 27, 2008)
Stan Dabkowski still doesn't know whether his pig mud-wrestling contest last month violated Baltimore County animal-control laws.
But after receiving complaints from animal-rights groups, word of a possible boycott of his business and a threat of violence, the Spring Meadow Farms owner has decided to cancel the remainder of the schedule.
"The week [before the event] we had about six to eight negative comments," the farmer said yesterday. "Afterward we had about 30 to 40, and one guy threatened to do violence to me, my family and my business."
The event in Upperco drew complaints from animal-rights groups People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals and the Humane League of Baltimore, and raised questions about whether it violated a county code that prohibits instigating combat between animals and humans.
Dabkowski said he got the idea from a friend and fellow farmer in Pennsylvania who has generated local interest and revenue from pig mud-wrestling. Dabkowski invested $3,000 in 24 pigs and construction of a 30-foot-diameter ring.
About 200 people turned out for the Sept. 27 event, where several four-member teams took turns trying to catch pigs and place them in a round water trough in less than 90 seconds to compete for a $150 prize.
Dabkowski, who had planned to stage about three more contests, said he was concerned that the county might fine him up to $2,000 - $100 for each of the 20 pigs used in the first event. County officials attended and filmed the first event, and Dabkowski said they told him they would study the film to decide whether citations were warranted.
He canceled an event slated for last Saturday for fear of additional fines. County Health Department spokeswoman Monique Lyle said yesterday that officials had not yet determined whether the event violated code.
Another factor, Dabkowski says, was word that opponents were advocating a boycott of Spring Meadow Farms. Dabkowski's operation includes a produce market, garden center, ice cream shop and a farm zoo.
In a news release, the Humane League took credit for "shutting down" the competition. Aaron Ross, a spokesman for the group, said he attended the September event and sent an e-mail to members urging a boycott of the farm's products. Dabkowski said many members called or e-mailed to voice their objections, and that he was concerned about losing business.
And then there was a threat of violence that came in an e-mail.
"After the threats, my wife started having chest pains," Dabkowksi added. "The [county] taped the event but they still haven't told us whether we've done anything wrong. My wife and I prayed about it, and we've decided to lay it to rest. We're not in position to do battle with the county and take on thousands of dollars worth of fines."
Dabkowski said he had heard rumors of protests at future events. For him, the slew of inflammatory calls and e-mails was enough.
"It started getting ugly. One person said that I belonged in the same jail cell as Michael Vick," he said, referring to the former NFL star imprisoned for sponsoring a dogfighting ring where animals were tortured and killed.
The pig-wrestling competition is history, but Dabkowski said he is planning a pig roast Oct. 18 that's open to the public.
"That's what pigs are for," he said.
Baltimore Sun reporter Jonathan Pitts contributed to this article.
A bad ham made it safer to drive in McDowell County.
This month marks the 50th anniversary of the McDowell County Rescue Squad, an organization formed after stunned area residents watched ambulances from neighboring Burke County charge through their streets in response to a Mayday plea from Eugene Cross Elementary School. At 3 p.m. on June 3, 1958, the schools’ students—seized by disabling stomach cramps and retching fits—began collapsing in their straight-backed wooden chairs.
“One little boy got sick,” Mrs. Garland Williams, Eugene Cross’ principal, told the Asheville Citizen the next day, recounting the onset of the epidemic. “Did he throw up at his desk? He surely did.”
Absent a municipal fleet of rescue vehicles, the town of Marion was then entirely dependent on local mortuaries for ambulance services. Funeral homes routinely lent their hearses for patient transport—a pragmatic solution that wrote its own punch line—but there weren’t enough long black cars from Old Fort to Asheville to rush more than 200 sickly children to the hospital.
The crisis quickly hit the airwaves, with deejays calling upon listeners to leave their offices and head to the school. Doctors, lawyers and bankers dutifully converged upon the scene, loading their sedans with as many stricken students as they could carry. The school-auditorium stage was reconfigured as an impromptu triage unit, with glucose bottles strung from floor lamps and students awaiting transport swaddled in blankets.
Dean Wall was standing on South Main Street when the ambulances from Burke County arrived: “I heard those sirens coming,” he remembers. “Because of their quick action, children were saved.”
The squad’s heroics so impressed the town that a group of local Moose Lodge members, including Wall, resolved to form a rescue unit of their own. By the end of the year, 15 men had completed their first-aid training and purchased an aging Navy ambulance, ready for dispatch to car crashes on the recently completed stretch of Interstate 40 that pawed through McDowell County, industrial accidents and medical emergencies.
But that proud achievement was still six months after that scary afternoon in June, when young children lay writhing on the footpaths leading away from Eugene Cross, felled before reaching home. Indeed, so many children required hospitalization that Marion General couldn’t accommodate them all: Patients were roused from their beds to make room for the newly sick.
“If all these boys and girls live, I’m going to pass them all,” Williams vowed.
The students survived. Two days after the incident, only one victim remained in the hospital—the cafeteria supervisor’s husband, D.S. Ayers, a retired mill worker who headed the school’s maintenance department. Ayers, 65, carried sick children to the school’s front door until he fainted from exhaustion. “He just stayed on his job too long,” Williams explained to a Citizen reporter.
As the children’s terrified parents knew, McDowell County got lucky. Food poisoning reached pandemic proportions in the years before processing was well-regulated, refrigeration was reliable and every amateur cook could quote the golden rules of food safety. Newspapers ran breathless accounts of food-borne fatalities on an almost weekly basis, alerting their readers to the hidden dangers of Boston cream pies and egg salad.
What made these reports especially riveting was food poisoning’s propensity to infiltrate the happiest of gatherings. The elements of celebration—warm weather, large groups of people and rich, indulgent foods—formed a tragic troika of ptomaine incubation. Perhaps the dastardliest culprit in mid-century food-poisoning transmission was the custard-filled wedding cake, which took down so many bridal parties that in 1947, Jersey City’s chief health officer was compelled to issue an official warning against displaying wedding cakes in unventilated reception halls.
Skimming these food poisoning stories, it’s hard not to be struck by the apparent frivolity of the American diet. Prison inmates and mental-asylum residents seem to be forever feasting on cream puffs and Italian ices. An éclair scare that swept through lower Manhattan in 1924 began when two Gimbels’ clerks lunched on clam chowder, watermelon and chocolate éclairs, all washed down with tall glasses of milk. Unlike the recent spate of tainted-food cases, which have centered on vegetables chockablock with nutritional value, the deadliest dishes of the 20th century came to the table ready to party.
Few fun foods didn’t wreak violent havoc on stomachs somewhere. In 1934, after eating ice cream, more than 150 Rotarians became critically ill (including the dessert’s manufacturer, who confidently ate a scoop of the frozen treat himself to prove it wasn’t contaminated). Hollandaise sauce, which figured in many New Yorkers’ favorite fancy foods, became such a headache for the city’s health department in 1950 that 20 restaurants were forbidden to prepare it. Pies, cakes and molded salads all turned toxic with frightening frequency.
But no festive food was as reliably troublesome as ham. The most devastating cases of food poisoning—700 teenage girls stricken at the Sunshine Society’s 1958 state convention, 650 lab workers sickened at a company picnic the next year—almost always involved a spoiled ham.
Country ham was the centerpiece of the end-of-the-year luncheon the Eugene Cross students enjoyed before falling ill. “It was sort of a picnic for the school—in the lunchroom, but sort of a party,” Williams said at the time. The menu also included canned green beans, preserves, baked apples and coleslaw, which the State Laboratory’s assistant director first fingered as the transmitter.
“In cases of this sort, we usually suspect the food which requires the most human handling,” Lynn Maddry told the Citizen.
Gerald Little, a sixth-grader, was one of the few students who felt fine hours after the celebratory meal. “I didn’t eat the beans,” he offered.
But McDowell County health officer W.F.E. Loftin immediately focused his investigation on the three baked hams, purchased from a store down the road in Rutherfordton. “In view of the fact that everyone partook of the ham, and since this is the usual offender, this is the agent suspected by local people,” he confidently announced.
Within a week, lab results confirmed Loftin’s suspicions, finding the dreaded staph bacteria in ham samples submitted by the school.
The legacy of the mass poisoning is the McDowell County Rescue Squad, which has steadily professionalized and grown since its members answered calls in a six-cylinder station wagon Wall called “the sick six.” He still remembers the vehicle’s inaugural run in hilly McDowell County: “We had the siren going, we had the red light going, and a boy passed us on a bicycle,” he laughs.
The squad’s inventory now includes a state-of-the-art crash truck, a rescue boat equipped with sonar and underwater cameras, two ambulances, a collection of four-wheelers and a brand new seven-bay garage in which to house all the machinery. “We’ve only had two patients die once we got ‘em in our hands,” says Wall.
Indeed, the squad’s reliability may have inured area residents to the threats posed by just plain living—exactly what Dr. Loftin feared in 1958. “If the world lasts 10 million years, we will certainly have another attack,” Loftin told the Citizen. “Everybody will be careful now for five or six years and then they’ll forget again.”
The McDowell County Search and Rescue Squad will celebrate its 50th anniversary on Sunday, Sept. 14, with a ribbon cutting at its new facility (at 186 State St. in Marion). Call 442-8415 for more information.
| Sep 23, 2008 |
SYDNEY - A PIG the size of a Shetland pony has trapped an Australian woman in her village home, the national broadcaster reported on Tuesday. Ms Caroline Hayes, 63, has tried leave her house in Uki in northern New South Wales to use the outdoor toilet but says the animal has bitten her and shoved her back inside. 'It's a beautiful male pig but he's just so big and so pushy,' she told the Australian Broadcasting Corporation (ABC). Rangers from the local Murwillumbah Council tried to rescue her but could not capture the huge animal. 'The rangers came out to my house yesterday with a dog cage and this pig is that big, it's like trying to put an elephant in a dog cage,' she said. 'They tried for a little while and they couldn't do it. They got him halfway in and he just backed off and went back to my dam, where he was having a lovely time in the water.' Ms Hayes said she and her neighbours began feeding the pig, whom they named Bruce, when it showed up at their homes 10 days ago after its owners could not handle it and let it loose in the rainforest. But it became aggressive, demanding more food and biting her on the leg when she tried to go to the toilet. 'It started getting very pushy, started pushing me around, so I started to get a bit frightened, until the stage that it started knocking on my door at four o'clock in the morning, actually head-butting my door,' she said. 'This morning, I wanted to go to my toilet, which is outside. I opened up the door and the pig pushed me that hard, it pushed me back into my room, where I fell over,' she said. 'I picked up a broom and poked him out with it and he snapped it in half with his mouth.' The rangers were due to try to capture the pig again on Tuesday, ABC said. -- AFP |
ROAST PORK LOIN WITH APPLES AND
CINNAMON
Preparation Time: 10 minutes
Cooking Time: 60 minutes
1 1/2 lbs. Hatfield Simply TenderTM Pork
Roast, any variety
2 apples, cored, peeled, and sliced into wedges
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 teaspoon black pepper, ground
1 teaspoon ginger, ground
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg, ground
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon, ground
1/2 cup dry white table wine
1/4 cup honey
1 tablespoon lemon juice
DIRECTIONS
1. Rub pork loin with olive oil, pepper, HALF of the ginger, nutmeg,
and cinnamon.
2. Combine the other half of those spices with the wine, lemon juice
and honey; stir in the apple wedges.
3. Preheat oven to 350°F.
4. Place pork in shallow baking pan.
5. Roast to an internal temperature of 160°F.,
about 40 minutes.
6. Remove from oven, cover and keep warm; let rest for 10-15 minutes.
Reserve all juices.
7. Heat apple mixture to a boil. Reduce heat to a simmer.
8. Cover and simmer until apples are tender, about 5 minutes.
9. Add any pork juices, simmer a few minutes more.
10. Remove from heat. Slice pork loin; arrange on plates, pour warm
sauce over slices, garnish with apples.
Servings: 6
Hatfield
Eric Haman, 215-368-2500 ext. 8840
ehaman@hqm.com
Copyright Business Wire 2008