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All Creatures, One Medicine
At 25, Tufts Veterinary School is redefining
the future
by
Laura Ferguson
photos by
Richard Howard and Andrew Cunningham
Also see the related stories Compassion
Unbound and Exploring Frontiers
Dr. Flo Tseng lifts the limp Canada
goose to the examining table and begins to look for signs
of what she suspects is poisoning. The bird was brought into
the Tufts Wildlife Clinic from the same park where just the
week before a concerned citizen had found ailing ducks; seven
mallards have already died, despite the clinic’s efforts
to revive them.
The goose can barely lift its long neck, and the wings and
legs are flaccid. The bird may have come in contact with an
environmental toxin, perhaps botulism. “Botulism tends
to happen later in the summer, when the pond levels are low
and the decaying plant material reduces oxygen levels in the
water,” says Tseng, assistant director of the Wildlife
Clinic.
“Let’s give her some
IV fluids, and see if we can’t get some
activated
charcoal into her system to start working on whatever toxicity is there,” she
says to the Tufts veterinary students who are on a two-week rotation in
the clinic. “We’ll
give her some antibiotics as well, and watch her; maybe she’ll rally.”
But
within 24 hours, the goose’s condition has worsened, and Tseng makes
the tough decision to euthanize. She will send the goose to the National
Wildlife Health Center, where biologists may be able to isolate and identify
the deadly
toxin.
“Individual animals, that’s usually what people care about,” says
Tseng, as she pauses to review the next case on a whiteboard chart listing
of other patients recently brought to the clinic. Most, in time, will be
wild again:
a Cooper’s hawk with a wing injury, an orphan bunny, a thumb-sized
baby opossum, a bobcat with a dislocated hip.
But Tseng points out, there
is another aspect of her profession that
the general public rarely sees. Veterinarians are also looking for
larger patterns in the
environment. “Anything you see in one animal might well suggest
a wider problem encompassing humans, animals, and the habitat,” she
says. “If
there’s something going on out there that might impact public health,
quite often we’re the first people to see it; we could well be
the first line of defense.”
Each day, unvarnished matters of life and death stamp the work that
goes on at the Tufts Veterinary School. To visit any corner of the
Grafton
campus on any
given day reveals not only a depth of expertise and compassion for
animals, but a range of challenges that often places veterinarians
in complex
and influential
roles, where their compassion extends into a widening circle of influence.
Over the past 25 years, the school has become a magnet for some of
the most sophisticated and high-tech veterinary research in the country.
Veterinarians and researchers
explore issues that intersect disciplines as diverse as reproductive
biology, behavior, infectious disease, nutrition, oncology, and environmental
conservation.
Each year, the Tufts hospitals and clinics bring rigorous inquiry to
the care of thousands of small and large animals, offering the best
in
modern medicine
to pets as well as domestic livestock, exotic animals, and wildlife.
If that breadth means the school defies a neat definition, that’s fine
with Dean Philip C. Kosch. In its teaching, research, and clinical care, Tufts
Veterinary School, he said, is engaged in addressing a spectrum of issues that
relate to animals, humans, and society. It is a commitment to innovation that
has characterized Tufts Veterinary School from its humble beginnings.
“I like to call this a start-up school with an upstart attitude,” said
Kosch,
a self-described “green dean” and an unabashed advocate for elevating
the school’s impact in areas such as conservation, public health, international
programs, animal public policy, and interdisciplinary biomedical research. “Being
bold, flexible, and strategic has led to our reputation; if you want new paths
in veterinary education, you look to Tufts.”
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The school made its first impression when it opened a quarter century
ago in a recently closed mental hospital in North Grafton, Massachusetts,
acquired from
the Commonwealth for the grand sum of $1. The future site of the
new central New England campus was, at best, sprawling: 582 acres
dominated
by abandoned
buildings and surrounded by unkempt fields.
But it was also a considerable triumph. Tufts president Jean Mayer
had fought long and hard for a New England–based veterinary
school. New England students were practically shut out of veterinary
training, he argued, as virtually
all
other U.S. veterinary schools were part of large state universities,
and obligated to admit in-state residents first. The new campus,
he asserted, was a natural extension and augmentation
of Tufts Dental and Medical Schools, with their own established
leadership in health care.
Tufts University, with a Veterinary School (and a School of Nutrition
Science and Policy to soon follow) would create a constellation
of professional expertise
unrivaled anywhere in the country.
Taking off at a brisk clip, the school has matured at an astonishing
pace; today, the Grafton campus encompasses a 250-acre working
farm set amidst modern teaching
hospitals and centers for specialized study. Its reputation has
spread as its facilities for teaching and research have grown to
include
Tufts Ambulatory Farm
Clinic in Woodstock, Connecticut, providing practical hands-on
experience in a setting typical of most large animal practices
in New England,
and the Tufts
Veterinary Emergency Treatment Service in Walpole, Massachusetts.
“The Veterinary School is a jewel in the crown of Tufts University,” said
President Lawrence S. Bacow. “It ranks among the best veterinary schools
in the nation and is a key component in Massachusetts’ research infrastructure.
The quality of research, clinical expertise, and teaching excellence at the
Veterinary School is extraordinary. And I have come to realize that people
who devote their
lives to animals are among the most caring, compassionate, and unselfish men
and women that I know.”
Prima, a 31-year-old Standardbred, stands alert in a stall at
the Tufts Hospital for Large Animals. With his ears up and glossy
chestnut
coat,
he looks the picture
of youth; his owner enjoys riding him along the winding trails
near her home. But three years ago she noticed that Prima was
having trouble
on
the hills. He
was huffing and puffing, and had difficulty catching his breath.
What Prima had developed was heaves,
a dysfunction brought on by inflammation and constriction
of the airways and characterized
by labored breathing.
Fortunately for Prima, Tufts is one of the few places in the
country
where horses, both
pleasure animals and high-level athletes, can have their lung
function analyzed, enabling
veterinarians to give more precise and effective treatment.
Prima’s
first appointment at the Issam M. Fares Equine Sports Medicine
Program got him started
immediately on the road to wellness.
Today, Prima is back for
a checkup. Dr. Melissa Mazan, V93, director of the Equine
Sports Medicine Program, is joined by
several fourth-year
students on
their three-week
rotation. With help from Mazan, they analyze the results
of the lung function testing they have just performed.
The news
is good.
Prima’s lungs now function
as well as those of a normal horse—although he will need
to stay on inhaled medications for the rest of his life.
“He looks great,” says Mazan, giving the gelding a reassuring pat.
His age, she adds, is not that remarkable, as pleasure horses given conscientious
care are increasingly living well into their second, and with some luck, even
third
decades, and Prima “has a very dedicated owner. Here’s a good example
where a horse, valuable to his owner as an athletic companion, can profit from
the same diagnostics and therapeutics that you would use for a top racehorse
or international jumper.”
Each day, the professional training
of future veterinarians takes place in countless scenarios
such as Prima’s visit
to the Hospital for Large Animals. Analytical skills, hands-on experience with
the animals, interaction with and sensitivity
to the animal owner, are part of any veterinarian’s solid education.
But from the beginning, Tufts differentiated itself from other veterinary schools
by developing five signature programs of study that encourage students to consider
how their profession intersects with the larger themes of medicine, science,
and society: Ethics and Values in Veterinary Medicine, Wildlife Medicine, Equine
Sports Medicine, Biomedical Technology, and International Veterinary Medicine.
“It was with foresight that early leaders, in particular former dean Frank
Loew, foresaw how veterinarians would lend their talents to solving a whole
array of
social, cultural, and environmental issues,” said Kosch. “He
essentially reinvented the education of veterinary professionals by making
these thematic
programs legitimate areas of scholarly study and research.”
The focus
on Ethics and Values, for instance, is now based at the Center for Animals
and Public Policy, the first of its kind in the country. Founded
in 1983,
the center anticipated the inherent complexity of ethics, values, and public
policy with regard to how animals and humans live together. In addition,
the unique graduate program in Animals and Public Policy is going strong
as it enters
its ninth year.
Among the center’s highlights has been influencing
a subject increasingly in the press: animal hoarding. Dr. Gary Patronek
and colleagues began tracking
hoarding incidents in 1997, and subsequently changed laws and language
nationwide, including establishing a link between the human behavior of
animal hoarding
and mental illness.
“It’s one more piece of evidence that the status of people and animals
is
intimately connected,” said Patronek, “and it demonstrated
how the center has brought the credibility of a university and a broad,
interdisciplinary
focus to bear on a social problem.”
Dr. George Saperstein doesn’t
put much stock in what he calls a “rural
legend” about Tennessee fainting goats. Allegedly this particular
breed was once used to guard sheep because when startled, they have an
unfortunate
tendency to go suddenly rigid and fall over, and thus become a distraction
for preying coyotes. “I don’t buy it,” says Saperstein. “You’d
run out of goats pretty quickly.”
Saperstein is nonetheless impressed by the goats for the unusual genetic
misfiring that gave them their name. Leaning over a stall door in a campus
barn, he introduces
three diminutive members of this rare and endangered breed: Spot, Dip,
and Rita.
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Sure enough, as Saperstein enters
the stall, Spot becomes skittish and her rear legs seize
up. “That’s the rigidity in the hindquarters
I was telling you about,” he says, pointing out the prominent leg
muscles that characterize this breed. “We don’t know exactly
why it happens, but it has to do with the fact that all members of the
breed possess the congenital myotonia
gene, a gene which is also associated with heavy muscle development.
The stiffness mistaken for ‘fainting’ lasts only a short
time and we believe it may be related to Thomsen’s disease in people.” It’s
hard to imagine, but Dip, Spot, and Rita may be genetic links to what
Saperstein calls a future “Jurassic Park” for domestic
livestock. “These
breeds are rare because they have not been ‘improved’ by
animal breeders. Therefore, their genetics are largely unchanged and
they possess
the same pool
of genes their ancestors had centuries ago. They are genetic gifts
to us from the past and it is our responsibility to safeguard those
genes
should they
ever be needed in the future.”
Saperstein, chair of the Department
of Environmental and Population Health, in collaboration with Dr.
Eric Overström, associate professor of biomedical
sciences, is co-directing an interdisciplinary project that’s
likely to have paramount importance in building a stable supply of
food and fiber domestic
animals. Working with a variety of endangered breeds of domestic
sheep, goats, and cattle, they and two other faculty members are
working on
the first privately
funded program of its kind: creating a “library” of genetic
material by freezing and storing the animals’ semen, embryos,
and cells.
By preserving these older “heritage breeds,” they
expect to have a wide impact on public health in future scenarios.
Mad cow disease, foot-and-mouth
disease, anthrax, and many other livestock scourges can decimate
a herd rather quickly, causing economic devastation and in some cases
a public health crisis.
Threats of “agroterrorism,” the intentional use of livestock
disease in bioterrorism, underscores the importance of protecting
genetic variability
of livestock since disease-resistant genes may be hidden within discarded
breeds.
“If a modern commercial breed of livestock were to be decimated, by forces
natural or man-made, that breed would be lost forever, taking with
it valuable genetic
characteristics,” says Saperstein. “Rebuilding the genetic
base of commercial livestock is but one example of the value of preserving
endangered
breeds.” These goats,” he says, “may be considered ‘freaks’ by
some, but we need them as animal models for genetic research, possibly
to be used for gene therapy in animals some day. You never know what
answers may
lie in their gene pool; maybe the treatment for muscular dystrophy.
Someday they
may be little treasures from the past.”
The genetic “library” offers
a glimpse into one way that Tufts veterinarians intersect with public
health. The scientists are, among other things, well positioned
to call attention to naturally occurring or intentionally introduced
zoonotic infectious diseases—diseases that can be transmitted
to humans by animals. These conditions represent three-fourths of
the world’s emerging infectious
diseases, including West Nile virus, SARS, and monkeypox.
Ten years ago, Tufts became the first
veterinary school to grant a dual degree in public health.
Veterinary students can supplement their training with courses
from Tufts Medical School and obtain both a veterinary degree
and a master’s of public health (DVM/MPH) in just four
years. Since Tufts started the program, the seriousness of
public health preparedness has been on everyone’s mind,
the legacy of 9/11, anthrax attacks, and global outbreaks
of infectious diseases. Other veterinary schools are now following
Tufts’ lead by establishing similar programs.
Progress has also been made in the
signature program in international veterinary medicine. The
first of its kind in the nation, it has gone on to apply veterinary
medical principles to wildlife conservation, as well as developing
programs to support sustainable agriculture in the context
of local cultures and traditions.
Dr. Christine Jost, V96, F03, assistant
professor of international veterinary medicine, brings
her veterinary and
Fletcher School
degrees to projects
whose success depends on interdisciplinary training and outlooks.
In Burkina Faso,
for example, a collaboration between the Veterinary School
and the School of Engineering, funded by the National Oceanic
and
Atmospheric Administration
(NOAA),
is exploring how climate forecasting can enhance the use of
precious agricultural resources. In Nepal, a program supported
by the
United States Agency for
International Development (USAID) looks at improving livestock
services
and animal health-care
delivery at the community level by researching diseases and
other issues associated with livestock food production.
Tufts veterinary
students
are paired with Nepalese
veterinary students to develop public health intervention programs.
“The point is that the human-animal relationship is really critical to
individual
and community survival,” says Jost. “The role of
the veterinarian is to be a problem-solving thinker. In these
communities that are so dependent
on animals, it’s essential to consider that relationship
when we talk about community development.”
The baby snapping turtle is no bigger than a deck of cards,
so try as he might to sink his neck into the dark safety
of his
shell he
cannot escape
the tweezers
hovering over his tiny lower jaw. “Your neck is only
so long!” says
Dr. Tara Rittle, an intern at the Tufts Wildlife Clinic.
She gently places a drop of epoxy where a small piece of
wire has stabilized a fracture. Tufts student
Heather Blake, V04, observes that the feisty turtle has gained
weight; his injury hasn’t interfered with a healthy
appetite for aquatic turtle sticks. But veterinarians won’t
release him back to the wild until his jaw is as good as
new.
Animal patients come in all shapes
and sizes at the Wildlife
Clinic, with a vigilant obligation to help creatures hurt,
abandoned, or “abducted”—such
as the baby robin brought in by a well-meaning citizen. The
bird would have been better off if left alone.
Teaching future veterinarians about
how they can do their part to preserve the precious ecological
balance is an obligation central to the school’s mission.
The clinic was the only comprehensive facility of its kind
in the country when it opened in 1983, and it still is. Tufts
is also the only veterinary school in the country that requires
its fourth-year students to do a core rotation in a wildlife
clinic.
“There is a tremendous learning
opportunity here for students who want to explore the wide
opportunities for working with animals, whether in the wild,
in zoos, or with nonprofits concerned about the environment,”
says Dr. Flo Tseng, assistant professor and assistant director
of the Wildlife Clinic. “But it’s also a way for
students to realize that most of what they see here comes
in because of what people have done to them. They see firsthand
our philosophy of giving injured animals a second chance.
When certain animals have been released back into the wild,
there has been follow-up that shows the animals do live and
continue to propagate. That’s enormously rewarding.”
In
1997, the natural synergy between the Wildlife Clinic and
the International Program led to an exciting new initiative.
Taking
the concept of a
new multidisciplinary field that would focus on the health
relationships that occur at the interface
of humans, animals, and ecosystems, Tufts established the
Center
for Conservation Medicine.
Tufts veterinarians are now conducting the first comprehensive
study of patterns of morbidity and mortality in seabirds
along the New
England and
Atlantic
Canada coastline. This information is generated in part
by citizen scientists conducting
surveys of beached birds. Their findings will be combined
with information on other variables such as oil spills
and infectious
disease incidence
to help scientists
determine trends in marine ecosystem health.
“If there is one area in which we need to position ourselves to be a leader
in
the future, I would have to say it is the environment,” says
Kosch. “Humans
are degrading the environment at an unprecedented rate.
I can’t think of
a bigger societal challenge to which veterinarians can
contribute then reconciling both conservation of natural
resources, including sustainable wildlife populations
and the world’s biodiversity, and sustainable agricultural
development with needed productivity growth in food,
fiber, and forest products.
“This challenge—locally, regionally, nationally, and globally—will
eventually become of paramount importance to us all,
not just because we risk the loss of biodiversity and pristine ecosystems, but
also
because
our own
health and that of our families will be at risk. Veterinarians
understand instinctively that we share the planet with fellow species.
We are holistic in our thinking.
We see an obligation that every graduate should be aware
of these environmental issues.”
Kosch remains confident about the
future of the school. The institution has not only established
a solid identity and
reputation,
but it has shown how
it can
partner with other schools within the university. With
eight schools, most of which have natural affinities to the veterinary
school—the Friedman School
of Nutrition Science and Policy, the School of Engineering,
the Fletcher School, for instance—the university,
he predicts, will find that interdisciplinary solutions
will flourish in an atmosphere strongly
encouraged by President Lawrence
S. Bacow.
“Tufts has a collaborative
view toward problem solving,” Kosch says. “While
we’re comparatively smaller than other universities,
when we get together, things happen. The working relationships
in
a relatively intimate, small university
can be quite remarkably productive.”
He is encouraged
as well by the passion that students bring with them.
Following requests from Tufts students
in the
late 1980s,
Tufts became
the first school
in the country to cease euthanizing healthy animals
for teaching purposes.
Kosch also notes how Tufts students
achieve after graduation. A case in point: Tufts School
of Veterinary Medicine
routinely does
very
well on
the national
match of internships and residencies. This year the
school had 40 matches, far more than any other school. “Our
students increasingly seek coveted advanced clinical
training slots, and it’s a pleasure to know that
they’re
considered among the best in the country,” Kosch
says.
Success is also measured by the admissions
process. The school now receives nearly 800 applications
for
only
80 openings—a ratio of ten to one. Each entering
class is predictably highly motivated, says Kosch,
given that tuition is one of the highest in the country. “When
they come to Tufts they come because they have found
something particularly satisfying—it’s
not just to earn a D.V.M.”
Still, Kosch admits
to a constant worry about the bottom line. Like most
health science campuses, veterinary
schools are expensive
operations.
And as a private
veterinary school, Tufts has a daunting balance sheet.
Of the 27 accredited veterinary schools in the United
States, all
of them
are large, land-grant
state universities—except
for Tufts and the University of Pennsylvania. On
average, state schools receive appropriations of
$17 million;
subsidies for the University of Pennsylvania total
$35.5 million. Tufts’ total state subsidy is
currently $3 million—down
from more than $5 million two years ago.
Given the
state’s struggle with budget shortfalls,
the Massachusetts legislature has been hard-pressed
for
higher education funds in general. Kosch says that
Tufts is grateful for the public support it does
receive. “The governor
and legislators recognize the value of what the
school contributes to public health and economic
development
in the Commonwealth,” he
says.
Crucial support from private funders
takes many forms. Over the years, the care provided by
veterinarians
and staff at
the Foster
Hospital
for Small
Animals,
for instance, has prompted grateful owners to
memorialize furred family members like Panda, a golden
retriever,
in whose memory
an outpatient
exam room was
donated, and Buddy, a cat fondly remembered on
a
plaque outside the Ultrasound Suite.
Dr. Henry Foster,
V83, H92, and his wife, Lois, provided pivotal early support
for the Henry and Lois Foster
Hospital for Small
Animals, built
in 1985.
When the facility opened, it accommodated 12,000
patients a year; but now closer to
24,000 animals are treated here annually. Recently,
Foster provided a leadership gift to spur a $3.25
million hospital
renovation and
expansion; the work
includes the expansion of the intensive care unit
and emergency room and a ward specifically
for cats, funded with a gift from veterinary overseer
Agnes Varis, H03.
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Foster’s advocacy has deep
roots. He graduated from the Massachusetts-based
Middlesex Veterinary School of Medicine, New
England’s
second attempt at a university-based veterinary
school (the first, started by Harvard in 1883,
shut down in 1900). Middlesex closed in 1947,
and Foster became a close disciple of Tufts president
Jean Mayer as they went about
convincing skeptics that the
Tufts professional school would meet a growing
demand for veterinary education in New England.
As he’s watched the school
transform, he’s
also observed the unchanging emotional bond that brings
animals and people together, an inner love he sees
burning bright in “starry-eyed young
people,” who
continue to want to assume hefty tuition debts
for the privilege of being a veterinarian.
“There are certain people who have an inexplicable and profound love for
animals,” said
Foster, who received an “honorary” Tufts
veterinary degree in 1983. ‘”They
take each animal’s case to heart. I’ve
been at the hospital when they have to talk to
pet owners about the dilemma of a terminal illness,
and
they talk to owners like it was their child at
a human hospital. At Commencement each year I deliver
the ‘Veterinary Oath’ and every time,
at this precise moment of truth, it’s thrilling
to see these graduates go out into the world with
joy and happiness and pride in their
profession.”
And in the end, that oath describes
what Tufts veterinarians strive to achieve each
day, to bring
their “knowledge and
skills for the benefit of society through the
protection of animal health, the relief of animal
suffering,
and
conservation of livestock resources, the promotion
of public health, and the advancement of medical
knowledge.”
Student Seth Ganz, V05, summed
it up best as he paused between surgeries. “What’s
great about Tufts is that you have a really amazing
group of experts doing research constantly who
can apply and reapply what they learn here in
the hospital; it’s
a unique driving force,” he said. “It
has built Tufts’ reputation
because they’re always trying new things.
They seem to be the first to ask: where is the
horizon?”
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