Vet in a Spin

by James Herriot

and phosphorus under her skin. By the time I had finished and rubbed

  away the subcutaneous fluid Number Eight' Seven was loo king decidedly

  happier.

  I didn't hurry over cleaning and put ting away my injection outfit and

  re~ soaping my arms because I knew that every minute would bring back

  strength: to my patient.

  The lightning response to intravenous calcium has al ways afforded me

  a: simple pleasure and when I pushed my arm in again the difference

  we.

  remarkable. The previously flaccid uterus gripped at my hand and as

  the cow~ went into a long expulsive effort she turned her head, looked

  back at me and opened her mouth in a muffled bellow. It was not a

  sound of pain but rather as though she was saying,

  "I'm back in business now."

  "All right, my lass," I replied.

  "I'll stay with you till it's all over."

  At other times I might have been a little chary of being overheard

  convPr~ir~ with a cow, but with the clamour of buckets and the nonstop

  radio there was no chance of that happening.

  l i l ~: - - v: blasting of the I knew that I had to guide the calf

  back into the correct position and that would take time, but I had a st

  range sense of one-ness with this animal becaux neither of us seemed to

  be of the slightest importance in the present setting.

  Ai I lay there face down on the concrete which grew harder all the time

  and with the milkers stumbling over my prostrate form I felt very much

  alone. There we.

  just myself and Number Eighty Seven for it.

  Another thing I missed was the sense of occasion. There was a com

  pensati~ in many an arduous calving in the feeling of a little drama

  being enacted; the worried farmer, attentive stocks men, the danger of

  losing the calf or even the mother it was a gripping play and there was

  no doubt the vet was the leadin.;] man. He may even be the villain but

  he was number one. And here I was no' a scrabbling nonentity with

  hardly a mention in the cast. It was the shape things to come.

  And yet . . . and yet . . . the job was still there. I lifted the

  calf's lower jaw a' as the cow gave a heave I eased it over the brim of

  the pelvis. Then I grop for the tiny legs and straightened them as

  another expulsive effort pushed d little creature towards me. He was

  definitely on his way now. ;~ I didn't rush things just lay there and

  let the cow get on with it. My wo.

  moment was when one of the men came to put the milking machine on t

  temperamental animal on my right. As he tried to step up beside her

  she swuq round, cocked her tail and sent a jet of faeces cascading

  across my back.

  The man pushed her back into place, slipped on the teat cups then

  lifted t hose which was Iying ready for swilling down the byre. A

  moment later I f the icy flow of water playing from my shoulders to my

  hips then the applicati of a spare udder cloth as the helpful fellow

  cleaned me off.

  "Thanks very much," I gasped. And I was really grateful. It was thc

  o' attention I had received all morning

  Within half an hour the feet appeared at the vulva followed by a wet m

  whose nostrils twitched reassuringly. But they were big feet this

  would b.

  bull calf and his final entry into the world could be a tight squeeze.

  ~' I got into a sit ting position and gripped a slippery cloven hoof in

  each he Leaning back, feet against the dung channel, I addressed Number

  Eighty SGt again.

  "Come on, old lass. A couple of good shoves and we're there."

  r~: ~.

  she responded with a mighty inflation of the abdomen and the calf

  surged tOwards me as I pulled, giving me a glimpse of a broad forehead

  and a pair of Slightly puzzled eyes. For a moment I thought the ears

  were going to slip through but then the cow relaxed and the head

  disappeared back inside.

  ~Once more, girl!" I pleaded, and this time it seemed that she had

  decided to stop playing around and get the job over with. She gave a

  prolonged strain Which sent head and shoulders through, and as I hauled

  away I had only that momentary panic I al ways feel that the hips might

  jam in the pelvis. But this one didn't stick and came sliding

  beautifully on to my lap.

  puffing slightly, I got to my feet and parted the hind legs. Sure

  enough the little scrotum was there; he was a fine bull calf. I pulled

  some hay from the rack and dried him off and within minutes he was sit

  ting up, sniffing and snorting, king around him with interest.

  He wasn't the only interested party. His mother, craning round in her

  neck chain, gazed fascinatedly at the new arrival before releasing a

  deafening bellow.

  I seized the front feet again and pulled the calf up to the front of

  the stall where the cow after a brief examination began to lick him

  from head to tail. Then as I watched, entranced, she suddenly rose to

  her feet so that she could reach some of the little creature's more

  inaccessible corners.

  I smiled to myself. So that was that. She had got over the milk fever

  and had a nice live calf, too. All was well with Number Eighty

  Seven.

  ~vIr Black burn came up and stood by my side and I realised that the

  noise in ~-the byre had subsided. The milking was finished.

  The farmer took off his white hat and wiped away the sweat from his

  brow.

  "By yaw, that was a rush. We were shorthanded this morn in' and I was

  sure we were goin' to miss that milk feller. He's a terror won't wait

  a minute, and I've had to chase after 'im in a tractor with the churns

  afore now' As he finished speaking a hen leaped with a squawk from the

  rack, Mr . IBlack burn reached forward and lifted a warm new-laid egg

  out of the hay.

  He inspected it for a moment then turned to me.

  "Have you 'ad your breakfast ?"

  ~- "No, of course not."

  .tWell tell your missus to put this in the fry in' pan," he said,

  handing me the ~"Oh, thank you very much, Mr Black burn, I'll enjoy

  that."

  |He nodded and continued to stand there, gazing at the cow and calf.

  Dairy . If arming is one of the hardest ways of ma king a living and

  this pre-dawn turmoil was an every day occurrence in his life. But I

  knew he was pleased with my efforts because he faced me suddenly and

  his weathered features broke into a delighted grin. Without warning he

  gave me a friendly thump on the chest.

  "Good old Jim!" he said, and walked away.

  I dressed, got into the car and placed my egg with the utmost care on

  the dash, then I eased myself gingerly on to the seat, because that

  hosing had sent a pint or two of dirty water down into my underpants

  and sit ting down was ~ntensely uncomfortable.

  As I drove away the darkness was thinning into the grey beginning of a

  new day and around me the white bulk of the fells began to lift from

  the half light - massive, smooth and inexpressibly cold.

  I looked at the egg rocking gently on the dash, and smiled to myself. I

  could still see Mr Black burn's sudden grin, still f
eel his punch on

  the chest, and my main sensation was of reassurance.

  Systems may be changing, but cows and calves and Yorkshire farmers were

  JUst the same.

  Chapter Twelve On my wage of seven and threepence a day, out of which

  was deduct maintenance for wife and child, I was unable to indulge in

  high living even i~ , I had wanted to, but one evening in Windsor I

  decided to allow myself t luxury of one glass of beer, and as I pushed

  open the pub doorway the fir.

  thing I saw was a man sit ting at the corner of the bar with a small

  dog undid his chair. :i Little things like that could lift me

  effortlessly back to my old life, and I coul.

  almost hear George Wilks, the auctioneer, in the Drovers' Arms at

  Darrowb,r,5 "I reckon that's the best pub terrier I've ever seen." He

  bent down from the bar counter and patted Theo's shaggy head as it

  protruded from beneath hit master' s stool. .

  It struck me that 'pub terrier' wasn't a bad description. Theo was

  small an.

  mainly white, though there were odd streaks of black on his flanks, and

  the muzzle had a bushy outgrowth of hair which made him undeniably

  attracti~ but still more mysterious. ?

  I warmed to a Scottish colleague recently who, when pressed by a lady

  client .

  to diagnose her dog's breed and lineage replied finally,

  "Madam, I think it woul~ .

  be best just to call him a wee broon dug." j1 By the same token Theo

  could be safely be described as a wee white dug, b~ in Yorkshire the

  expression 'pub terrier' would be more easily understood. -~v} His

  master, Paul Cotter ell, looked down from his high perch. ;) "What's

  he saying about you, old chap?" he murmured languidly, and at the

  sound of his voice the little animal leaped, eager and wagging, from

  his retreat;.,.

  Theo spent a considerable part of his life between the four metal legs

  of the~ stool, as did his master on the seat. And it often seemed to

  me to be a waste ~ .* time for both of them. I often took my own dog,

  Sam, into pubs and he wou~ s squat beneath my seat, but whereas it was

  an occasional thing with me mayi4~.~.S5 once or twice a week with Paul

  Cotter ell it was an unvarying ritual. Eve~ night from eight o'clock

  onwards he could be found sit ting there at the end al: the bar of the

  Drovers' Arms, pint glass in front of him. little curly niDe drooDi

  over his chin.

  For a young man like him he was a bachelor in his late thirties and t

  person of education and intelligence, it seemed a sterile existence.

  He turned to me as I approached the counter.

  "Hello, Jim, let me get you a~ drink." ~ ~ "That's very kind of you,

  Paul," I replied.

  "I'll have a pint." {~!~ ; "Splendid." He turned to the barmaid with

  easy courtesy.

  "Could I trout.

  you, Moyra?" ~.

  We sipped our beer and we chatted. This time it was about the music

  fest~ i at Braw ton and then we got on to music in general. As with

  any other topj~ had discussed with him he seemed to know a lot about

  it.

  "So you're not all that keen on Bach?" he enquired lazily.

  "No, not really. Some of it, yes, but on the whole I like some thine a

  bit more emotional El gar, Beethoven, Mozart. Even Tchaikovsky I

  suppose you highbrows look down your noses at him?"

  He shrugged, puffed his little pipe and regarded me with a half smile,

  one eyebrow raised. He often looked like that and it made me feel he

  ought to wear a monocle. But he didn't enthuse about Bach, though it

  seemed he was his favourite composer. He never enthused about

  anything, and he listened with that funny look on his face while I

  rhapsodised about the El gar violin concerto.

  Paul Cotter ell was from the south of England, but the locals had long

  since forgiven him for that because he was likeable, amusing, and al

  ways ready to buy anybody a drink from his corner in the Drovers'. To

  me, he had a charm which was very English; casual, effortless. He

  never got excited, he was al ways polite and utterly self-contained.

  "While you're here, Jim," he said.

  "I wonder if you'd have a look at Theo's foot ?"

  "Of course." It is one of a vet's occupational hazards that wherever

  he goes socially it is taken for granted that there is nothing he would

  rather do than dole out advice or listen to symptoms.

  "Let's have him up."

  "Here, boy, come on." Paul patted his knee and the little dog jumped

  up and sat there, eyes sparkling with pleasure. And I thought as I al

  ways did that Theo should be in pictures. He was the perfect film dog

  with that extraordinarily fuzzy laugh-face. People paid good money to

  see dogs just like him in cinemas all over the world.

  1t All right, Theo," I said, scooping him from his master's knee.

  "Where's the 1f trouble?"

  Paul indicated the right fore foot with the stem of his pipe.

  "It's that one.

  He's been going a bit lame off and on for the last few days."

  "I see." I rolled the little animal on his back and then laughed.

  "Oh, he's only got a broken claw. There's a little big hanging off

  here. He must have caught it on a stone. Hang on a minute." I delved

  in my pocket for the scissors which 'al ways dwelt there. A quick snip

  and the job was done.

  "Is that all?" asked Paul.

  "Yes, that's it."

  One eyebrow went up mockingly as he looked at Theo.

  "So that's what you were ma king all the fuss about, eh? Silly old

  trout." He snapped his fingers.

  "Back you go."

  The little dog obediently leaped to the carpet and disappeared into his

  sanctuary beneath the stool. And at that moment I had a fiash of

  intuition about A,Paul about his charm which I had often admired and

  envied. He didn't really care. He was fond of his dog, of course. He

  took him everywhere with him exercised him regularly by the river, but

  there was none of the anxiety, the almost desperate concern which I had

  so often seen in the eyes of my clients when I dealt with even the most

  trivial of their ailments. They cared too much - as I have al ways

  done with my own animals.

  And of course he was right. It was an easier and more comfortable way

  to live. Caring made you vulnerable while Paul cruised along,

  impregnable. That attractive casualness, the nonchalant good manners,

  the imperturbability they all had their roots in the fact that nothing

  touched him very deeply.

  And despite my snap diagnosis of his character I still envied him. I

  have al ways been blown around too easily by my emotions; it must be

  lovely to be like Paul. And the more I thought about it the more I

  realised how every thing fitted tn. He had never cared enough to get

  married. Even Bach, with his mathematical music, was part of the

  pattern.

  "I think that major operation deserves another pint, Jim." He smiled

  his lop-sided smile.

  "Unless you demand a hic her fee?"

  r !

  l Vet in a St~in I laughed. I would al ways like him.
We are all

  different and we have to a~ as we are made, but as I started my second

  glass I thought again of his carefr~ life. He had a good job in the

  government offices in Braw ton, no domesti.

  responsibilities, and every night he sat on that same stool drinking

  beer with hba dog underneath. He hadn't a worry in the world.

  Anyway, he was part of the Darrow by scene, part of something I liked,

  a~ since I have al ways hated change it was in a sense reassuring to

  know that n~ matter what night you went into the Drovers' you would

  find Paul Cotter ell i~ the corner and Theo's shaggy muzzle peeping

  from below. .4 I felt like that one night when I dropped in near

  closing time.

  "D'you think he's got worms?" The question was typically off-hand.

  "I don't know, Paul. Why do you ask?"

  He drew on his pipe.

  "Oh I just thought he looked a bit thin lately. Come ~ The little dog,

  perched on his master's knee, looked as chirpy as ever a when I reached

  over and lifted him he licked my hand. But his ribs did f rather

  prominent.

  "Mmm, yes," I said.

  "Maybe he has lost a bit of weight. Have you noticed h passing any

  worms?"

  "I haven't, actually."

  "Not even little bits whitish segments sticking round his rear?" ..

  "No, Jim." He shook his head and smiled.

  "But I haven't looked all that closer old boy."

  "Okay," I said.

  "Let's worm him, just in case. I'll bring in some tabl tomorrow night.

  You'll be here. . .?"

  The eyebrow went up.

  "I think that's highly probable." Y' Theo duly got his worm tablets

  and after that there was a space of seve weeks when I was too busy to

  visit the Drovers'. When I finally did get in it a Saturday night and

  the Athletic Club dance was in full spate. A rhythmic b' drifted from

  the ballroom, the little bar was packed, and the domino play' were

  under pressure, squashed into a corner by the crush of dinner jackets a

  backless dresses.

  In the noise and heat I struggled towards the bar, thinking that the

  place ~ unrecognisable. But there was one feature unchanged Paul

  Cotter ell on, stool at the far end of the counter. ~ I squeezed in

  next to him and saw he was wearing his usual tweed jach "Not dancing,

  Paul?" :.

  He half closed his eyes, shook his head slowly and smiled at me over

  his b.

  little pipe.

  "Not for me, old boy," he murmured.

  "Too much like work."

  I glanced down and saw that something else hadn't changed. Theo was

  the too, keeping his nose well clear of the milling feet. I ordered

  two beers and tried to converse, but it was difficult to shout above

  the babel. Arms kept poki between us towards the counter, red faces

  pushed into ours and shouted greet in Most of the time we just looked

  around us.

  Then Paul leaned close and spoke into my ear.

  "I gave Theo those pills he's still get ting thinner."

  "Really?" I shouted back.

  "That's unusual."

  "Yes . . . perhaps you'd have a look at him?"

  I nodded, he snapped his fingers and the little dog was on his knee in:

  instant I reached and lifted him onto mine and I noticed immediatelY

  that~ was lighter in my hands.

  2You're right," I said.

  "He's still losing weight."

  lialancing the dog in my lap, I pulled down an eyel~d and saw the ~.

  conjunctiva was pale.

  Vet in a Spin I shouted again.

  "He's anaemic." I felt my way back over his face and behind the angle

  of the jaw I found that the post pharyngeal lymph glands were greatly

  enlarged. This was st range. Could he have some form of mouth or

  throat jnfection? I looked helplessly around me, wishing fervently