As Canada rushes to curb bird flu, B.C. farmers decry cull order for 400 ostriches
At a secluded ranch in southeast B.C., 400 ostriches have just two more days to live. By Saturday, in order to comply with a kill order from the Canadian Food Inspection Agency, they must be destroyed.
Just after Christmas, avian flu, known as H5N1, was detected among the flock. The cull will likely spell the end of the Kootenay ostrich farm where they were raised, the largest in the country. It’s another signal of the existential stakes for Canada’s ranchers and farmers, as the highly contagious virus continues metastasizing and leapfrogging into new species.
So far, foxes, sea lions, penguins, cats and cows rank among dozens of animals that have died in mass numbers from H5N1, which has spread to every continent except Australia, and both poles. Science last month published a study showing that a “single mutation” of the virus could produce a strain capable of infecting humans and kickstarting another pandemic.
As of January, the response from government agencies has been measured. B.C. has been the hardest hit, and the province’s Centre for Disease Control is advising people to avoid handling sick or dead animals. Dr. Bonnie Henry, B.C.’s provincial health officer, urged people to get the flu shot.
The burden, costly, often agonizing, is being shouldered by the country’s farmers, and the animals they care for. Millions of chickens, ducks and turkeys have been culled on CFIA orders.
The reality that life as she’s known it for the last 39 years is over has not yet sunk in, Karen Espersen says. She owns the remote Inonoaklin Valley ranch with business partner Dave Bilinski. Last Saturday, as the cull neared, she went about her work as she always has.
Karen Espersen, co-owner of Universal Ostrich Farms. Just after Christmas, a virulent strain of avian flu, known as H5N1, was detected among her flock.
When her birds began calling to the dawn, she threw on giant, secondhand coveralls labelled “Gord,” and tossed bright green bales of alfalfa into the back of a battered Dodge pick-up, shovelling fresh grains into plastic feed buckets. “Come, come pretty birds,” she called with a smile, as they galloped her way. When she’s lucky, the work, steady as a metronome, lets her briefly forget the looming execution.
“Oh, you’re doing so much better, honey,” she told one of her birds. “He was really down and out last week.”
Another, Annabelle, who has a slightly crooked beak and gentle peck, followed Ms. Esperson like a shadow.
The cull order landed on Dec. 31. She’d noticed signs of illness in a few birds on Christmas morning, and called the vet. But the holiday left him slow to arrive. Before he got there, a neighbour alerted the CFIA that the ostriches were showing signs of avian flu. On Dec. 30, agency workers in white hazmat suits visited the farm, testing two dead animals.
The cull order will spell the end for the Kootenay ostrich farm, the largest in the country. For co-owners Karen Espersen and Dave Bilinski, who have owned the remote ranch since 1999, reality hasn’t sunk in yet.
Aside from the devastating nature of the cull order, it is also ironic.
The ranch used to produce eggs, meats and a line of creams. But a pandemic-forced pivot led Ms. Espersen and Mr. Bilinski to launch a bioscience start-up with scientists in Japan and the U.S. They provide egg yolks to Yasuhiro Tsukamoto, the president of Kyoto Prefectural University and a professor of veterinary medicine, which he uses to study the ostrich’s ability to fight avian flu, among other diseases.
In all, 69 of their birds – some 10 per cent of the herd – have died from H5N1 since Dec. 26. But the sick have recovered, and Ms. Espersen believes the rest have acquired herd immunity. Their last death was Jan. 19.
On. Jan. 10, the CFIA denied the farm’s application for an exemption path. It exists for select flocks that demonstrate “significant genetic value” to the poultry industry. Since ostriches aren’t chickens, Ms. Espersen doesn’t believe her birds ever stood a chance.
“We do not take these decisions lightly and consider the best science in our decisions,” the CFIA wrote to her in an e-mail. The decision is “not subject to appeal.” That part was underlined for emphasis.
On Thursday, a lawyer acting on behalf of Ms. Espersen and Mr. Bilinski filed a motion with the B.C. Supreme Court asking for the cull to be halted or delayed. The emergency hearing is scheduled for Friday in Vancouver.
Migrating waterfowl are H5N1’s top spreaders, and B.C., which sits along the Pacific Flyway – a major north-south migratory route – has the country’s highest number of infected farms, at 50. There are eight outbreaks in Ontario, two in Alberta, and one each in Manitoba and Saskatchewan.
The carnage in B.C. has been devastating. Almost nine million birds have died or been killed since H5N1 began circulating in the province in 2022.
A visitors notice and box of cleaning supplies sits by the entrance of Karen Espersen’s home in Edgewood.
But the virus itself isn’t the concern, explains Dr. Scott Weese, a veterinary infectious disease professor at the University of Guelph. “It’s what this virus could become.” Influenzas are promiscuous pathogens. The more they circulate, the more they mutate, and the more likely a pandemic becomes.
So far, the number of human infections remains low, but when it strikes children and young adults they can become dangerously ill, says Fiona Brinkman, a professor of genomics and bioinformatics at Simon Fraser University who tracks the evolution of avian flu viruses.
Concerns were amplified with recent news that a 13-year-old girl from B.C. – Canada’s first human case of avian flu – almost died after developing the illness in November, and was put on life support because of organ failure.
“This would devastate people in their 20s and 30s – a whole different ballgame from COVID-19, which tended to hit people in their 80s and 90s, says Dr. Brinkman.
Ms. Espersen argues that her birds are not a public-safety risk. The farm sits at the end of a dead-end road in a sparsely populated valley, home to “a few dozen hippies.”
Karen Espersen keeps a close eye on her ostriches during feeding time. Ms. Espersen first noticed signs of illness in a few birds on Christmas morning, and after testing was conducted on two dead animals, the cull order was handed down six days later.
They are hundreds of kilometres from the nearest poultry farm or city. And the birds are not a flight risk: Ostriches famously can’t fly.
During the summer breeding season, hormones turn the roosters’ beaks red. But the mild winter has confused some of the males, whose bills are already crimson. Mr. Bilinski believes B.C.’s unusually warm winter is also to blame for the farm’s H5N1 outbreak.
This winter, for the first time, their pond didn’t freeze over; in November, hundreds of migrating ducks began landing in the water to rest. Within weeks, the birds started getting sick. The duck’s waste is mostly diarrhea, he’s noticed, a sure sign of the flu.
During feeds, Ms. Espersen touches the birds’ backsides, anxiously searching for signs of another infection. The birds burble and dance and wave their tails as she approaches.
“I can tell right away if they’ve caught it – they’re burning hot.” There are other telltale signs: fluorescent green poop, runny beaks, rheumy eyes. Sick birds are treated with a five-day round of antibiotics and anti-inflammatories. She paints their bums blue when they recover.
For co-owner Dave Bilinski, who turns 74 this year, the Universal Ostrich Farms business is his retirement plan.
Some scientists believe that culling may be too blunt a tool in this case. Avian flu is already widespread in Canada, notes Dr. Weese, the Guelph expert on infectious diseases. “We’re not eradicating H5N1 by culling these ostriches – it’s already all over the place. And we’re probably not going to drop the broader risk very much – there’s already so much out there.”
Exterminating the heard, including the 400 birds that are showing no signs of flu, will bring emotional and financial devastation.
“Poultry farmers can restock in three months,” says Ms. Espersen. “Our birds will live 75 years. They know us. We understand them. We’re part of the pecking order. It took us years to get there.”
The new business with Dr. Tsukamoto was also their retirement plan. This summer, she and Mr. Bilinski were slated to collect their first paycheque from it.
Mr. Bilinski will turn 74 this year, Ms. Espersen is 61. “For us, There’s no starting over,” she adds.
Since the cull order landed, Ms. Espersen has barely slept. At night, she often climbs out of bed and gets down on her knees. “Lord, please stop this,” she whispers, over and over. “Help them fight this. Let them recover.”
Their CFIA case officer has said they will hire a contractor to kill the ostriches if she and Mr. Bilinski can’t, or won’t, do it.
The conversation came up on the range last Saturday. “Dave, if it comes to it, we can’t let anyone else do it,” Ms. Espersen said, through tears.
Mr. Bilinski looked away, his blue eyes wet. He picked up, then put down, a feed bag. His shoulders hunched.
Eventually, he started talking options: “There’s no way to gas them. We can’t shoot them – they’d take down a fence. We’d have ostriches all over the valley.”
“We have to inject them,” he finally said, sighing.
“But if we put one down, the others will notice,” said Ms. Espersen. “They’re not stupid.”
She stared off. “I can’t imagine looking a healthy animal in the eye, then killing it,” she said. “I just can’t.”
Karen Espersen gets emotional when speaking about potentially having to cull her ostriches. In all, 69 of their birds have died from H5N1 since Dec. 26. But the sick have recovered, and Ms. Espersen believes rest have acquired herd immunity.
Just before sunset, Ms. Espersen returned to her wooden farmhouse to care for her husband, Erik, 63, with whom she shares three adult children. A stroke two years ago left him paralyzed. She fed him, trimmed his nails, told him about her day.
“The mouth still works,” she chuckled wryly after he called for her a fifth time.
At this point, the squirrel who lives off their back deck began screeching for a peanut. Ms. Espersen jumped up to feed him. Once back inside, she fed her two chore dogs and her 24-year-old puss, Missy Cat, then finally sat down.
“Karen, you have to think about this realistically,” Mr. Bilinski said. He and his wife Lorraine live in a neighbouring farmhouse, but the families often eat together. Tonight, it’s meat pies, cabbage rolls, and coffee – comfort food, care of Lorraine. The former logger got into the ostrich business in 1991 with their son, Mike. But just after they brought their first herd home from Zimbabwe, Mike – just 22 at the time – died in a car crash.
They are gentle with one another and share a tendency to finish the other’s sentences. More than anything, Mr. Bilinski seems to want to prepare Ms. Espersen for what may lie ahead.
“Karen – you have to be able to walk away,” he told her.
“I know,” she said, twisting a tea towel round her fingers, staring at the counter.