IT possibly occurred to vet David Denny, as he clung semi-conscious to the back of a pony that had just smashed his knee with a reflex kick, he could have an easier time treating sick gerbils.

Quite what he called the animal is best left to the imagination, but he carries the legacy of the blow to this day with a dodgy joint and an arthritic hip.

Expressing sympathy, which I instantly gathered was misplaced, I asked how long he was in hospital.

"Hospital?" he boomed.

"I didn't go to bloody hospital. The trouble with hospitals starts as soon as they get you through the door."

Listening to David and some of his farm vet colleagues, it is quite understandable why many young entrants into the veterinary profession these days prefer the relatively gentle, warm, surgery based routine of a small animal practice to standing in pouring rain at four in the morning struggling to rotate a calf caught in a uterine torsion.

Dogs and cats might bite and scratch, but they rarely put the fear of God in you through sheer size.

"I remember one afternoon I was called to treat a large Friesian bull with a foot injury," said Jo Hammett.

"Before I arrived, the farmer had tethered the animal in a bull pen and he leaned on the side and watched as I went in to treat it.

"The plan was to sedate the bull, but his skin was so thick I couldn't get the needle right in first time. But it went in far enough for him to feel it and suddenly he let out a huge bellow and swung round.

"You'd never guess how high a five month pregnant woman can jump. I was out of that pen faster than Linford Christie. Fortunately, I didn't lose the baby."

Last week, a report by a group of MPs warned the Government the shortage of vets with farm animal experience could leave Britain unable to cope with a major outbreak of disease, such as a recurrence of the foot and mouth crises.

Long hours, physically demanding workloads and declining incomes have driven vets from country practices to the dependable timetables and reliable fees of small animal and pet practices.

According to the report by the environment, food and rural affairs select committee, of about 3,000 practices with 10,000 vets, only 960 carry out farm work.

It recommends that to create sufficient cover for a major disease epidemic and to enable "surveillance strategies" to be carried out effectively, the Government should be actively encouraging student vets to enter large animal practices.

"The number of farm vets has been on a downward spiral for a long time," said David.

"A lot of youngsters these days would rather sit in a warm surgery with all the equipment on hand, than struggle with a cow by the light of a torch.

"You can't blame them. But for me, it's a way of life and has been for more than 40 years."

Realistically he was born to the job, because "on my mother's side all the men were vets".

After qualifying in 1962, he worked for a while for John Hiles in The Butts, Worcester, before setting up on his own at Hallow in 1965.

Since 1969, his practice has been in Henwick Road, Worcester, and although it does have a small animal side, David spends 70 per cent of his time dealing with large animals.

He's one of the few genuine farm vets left around here.

His battered red Volvo comes bouncing up the track, a travelling surgery of medical supplies and equipment. Suitable examples of which emerge after a rummage around in the boot, occasionally accompanied by epithets if the patient has got on the wrong side of him.

His bedside manner is notoriously lacking in subtlety, but if you can weather that, the diagnosis which follows is concise and to the point.

As Jo Hammett, who used to be one of his assistant vets, put it: "Mr Denney is one of those annoying people who is invariably right."

In the four decades of his veterinary experience, one of the big advances has been the introduction of anaesthetic drugs which can now be used to sedate a recalcitrant animal long enough for a vet to carry out treatment. Very handy if you are faced with a stroppy horse, cow or pig that could crush you without thinking, let alone if they mean it.

"These drugs only been around for about eight years," said David, "but sometimes I really wonder how we managed before. You just used to have to get stuck in. It was two gates and a bit of string."

Meaning the animal was immobilised between two gates tied together. At least that was the theory.

"Mind you, there were more people on the farms back then who knew what they were doing. In the old days you might have half a dozen experienced farmhands. Now you go to a place and perhaps it's just the farmer and his wife."

Fortunately, there are still young vets prepared to carry the farm torch.

Jo is one of them.

She comes from a medical background - her father was a surgeon at Queen Elizabeth Hospital, Birmingham, and her mother was a nurse. So a career along those lines was likely.

The path veered towards veterinary when the family left Birmingham and moved to Bromsgrove in 1974. There Jo became involved with the farming community and qualified from Liverpool University in 1983.

Now she is in partnership with Rebecca Green as Stocks Veterinary Centre, which has just opened a new branch at Lower Wick, Worcester, on the site of the former Bennetts Dairies.

Rebecca spent time with the late and legendary horse vet Les Harries at Upton-upon-Severn and although, like Denny's, they do run a small animal side, both partners are more than happy around the farms.

"The farming community is really great to work with," said Jo, "although when I started I had to get used to the old fashioned looks. You had the feeling some farmers thought a girl had been sent to do a man's job. So there was a case of having to prove yourself."

Like the day she was using the "plank technique" to untwist a cow's uterus. This involves laying a plank across the cow's stomach and the vet balancing on it, while a couple of helpers roll the cow on its back around the plank.

Except this time it went wrong and the plank suddenly sprang free, flinging Jo 25ft through the air across the cattle shed.

"I had to get up, brush myself off, ignore the cuts and bruises, limp back and say, 'Oh well, let's have another go then'."

Which she did, successfully.

Thank Heavens all vets haven't abandoned the farm animals.