efforts but Helen smiled encouragingly as she caught my eye. I did my
best to smile back at her through my bloody mask but I don't suppose it
showed.
I gave it up when the heifer gave a particularly brisk toss which sent
my forceps Rying on to the grass. I did what I should probably have done
at the ~ l ~a beginning - clapped a pad of cotton wool and antiseptic
powder on to the stump and secured it with a figure of eight bandage
round the other horn.
"That's it, then," I said to the farmer as I tried to blink the blood
out of my eyes. "The bleeding's stopped, anyway. I'd advise you to have
her properly dehorned soon or she's going to look a bit odd."
Just then Tristan appeared from among the spectators.
"What's got you out of the beer tent?" I enquired with a touch of
bitterness.
"It's lunch time, old lad," Tristan replied equably. "But we'll have to
get you cleaned up a bit first. I can't be seen with you in that
condition. Hang on, I'll get a bucket of water."
The show luncheon was so excellent that it greatly restored me. Although
it was taken in a marquee the committee men's wives had somehow managed
to conjure up a memorable cold spread. There was fresh salmon and home
fed ham and slices of prime beef with mixed salads and apple pie and the
big brimming jugs of cream you only see at farming functions. One of the
ladies was a noted cheese maker and we finished with some delicious goat
cheese and coffee. The liquid side was catered for too with a bottle of
Magnet Pale Ale and a glass at every place.
I didn't have the pleasure of Tristan's company at lunch because he had
strategically placed himself well down the table between two strict
Methodists so that his intake of Magnet was trebled.
I had hardly emerged into the sunshine when a man touched me on the
shoulder.
"One of the dog show judges wants you to examine a dog. He doesn't like
the look of it."
He led me to where a thin man of about forty with a small dark mustache
was standing by his car. He held a wire-haired fox terrier on a leash
and he met me with an ingratiating smile.
"There's nothing whatever the matter with my dog," he declared, 'but the
chap in there seems very fussy."
I looked down at the terrier. "I see he has some matter in the corner of
his eyes."
The man shook his head vigorously. "Oh no, that's not matter. I've been
using some white powder on him and a bit's got into his eyes, that's
all."
"Hmm, well let's see what his temperature says, shall we?"
The little animal stood uncomplaining as I inserted the thermometer.
When I took the reading my eyebrows went up.
"It's a hundred and four. I'm afraid he's not fit to go into the show."
"Wait a minute." The man thrust out his jaw. "You're talking like that
chap in there. I've come a long way to show this dog and I'm going to
show him."
"I'm sorry but you can't show him with a temperature of a hundred and
four."
"But he's had a car journey. That could put up his temperature."
I shook my head. "Not as high as that it couldn't. Anyway he looks sick
to me. Do you see how he's half closing his eyes as though he's
frightened of the light?
It's possible he could have distemper."
"What? That's rubbish and you know it. He's never been fitter!" The
man's mouth trembled with anger.
I looked down at the little dog. He was crouching on the grass
miserably. Occasionally he shivered, he had a definite photophobia and
there was that creamy blob of pus in the corner of each eye. "Has he
been inoculated against distemper ?"
"Well no, he hasn't, but why do you keep on about it?"
"Because I think he's got it now and for his sake and for the sake of
the other dogs here you ought to take him straight home and see your own
vet."
he glared at me. so you won't let me take him into the show tent?"
"That's right. I'm very sorry, but it's out of the question." I turned
and walked away.
I had gone only a few yards when the loudspeaker boomed again. "Will Mr.
Herriot please go to the measuring stand where the ponies are ready for
him."
I collected my stick and trotted over to a corner of the field where a
group of ponies had assembled; Welsh, Dales, Exmoor, Dartmoor - all
kinds of breeds were represented.
For the uninitiated, horses are measured in hands which consist of four
inches and a graduated stick is used with a cross piece and a spirit
level which rests on the withers, the highest point of the shoulders. I
had done a fair bit of it in individual animals but this was the first
time I had done the job at a show. With my stick at the ready I stood by
the two wide boards which had been placed on the turf to give the
animals a reasonably level standing surface.
A smiling young woman led the first pony, a smart chestnut, on to the
boards.
"Which class?" I asked.
"Thirteen hands."
I tried the stick on him. He was well under.
"Fine, next please."
A few more came through without incident then there was a lull before
the next group came up. The ponies were arriving on the field all the
time in their boxes and being led over to me, some by their young
riders, others by the parents. It looked as though I could be here quite
a long time.
During one of the lulls a little man who had been standing near me spoke
up.
"No trouble yet?" he asked.
"No, everything's in order," I replied.
He nodded expressionlessly and as I took a closer look at him his slight
body, dark, leathery features and high shoulders seemed to give him the
appearance of a little brown gnome. At the same time there was something
undeniably horsy about him.
"You'll 'ave some awkward 'uns," he grunted. "And they allus say the
same thing. They allus tell you the vet at some other show passed their
pony." His swarthy cheeks crinkled in a wry smile.
"Is that so?"
"Aye, you'll see."
Another candidate, led by a beautiful blonde, was led on to the
platform. She gave me the full blast of two big greenish eyes and
flashed a mouthful of sparkling teeth at me.
"Twelve two," she murmured seductively.
I tried the stick on the pony and worked it around, but try as I might I
couldn't get it down to that.
"I'm afraid he's a bit big," I said.
The blonde's smile vanished. "Have you allowed half an inch for his
shoes?"
"I have indeed, but you can see for yourself, he's well over."
"But he passed the vet without any trouble at Hickley." She snapped and
out of the corner of my eye I saw the gnome nodding sagely.
"I can't help that," I said. "I'm afraid you'll have to put him into the
next class.
For a moment two green pebbles from the cold sea bed fixed me with a
frigid glare then the blonde was gone taking her pony with her.
Next, a little bay animal was led on to the stand by a hard faced
; gentleman in a check suit and I must say I was baffled by its behaviour.
Whenever the stick i touched the withers it sank at the knees so that I
couldn't be sure whether I was getting the right reading or not. Finally
I gave up and passed him through.
.
The gnome coughed. "I know that feller."
"You do?"
"Aye, he's pricked that pony's withers with a pin so many times that it
drops down whenever you try to measure 'im."
"Never!"
"Sure as I'm standing here."
I was staggered, but the arrival of another batch took-up my attention
for a few minutes. Some I passed, others I had to banish to another
class and the owners took it in different ways - some philosophically, a
few with obvious annoyance. One or two of the ponies just didn't like
the look of the stick at all and I had to dance around them as they
backed away and reared.
The last pony in this group was a nice grey led by a bouncy man wearing
a great big matey smile.
"How are you, all right?"he enquired courteously. "This 'un's thirteen
two."
The animal went under the stick without trouble but after he had trotted
away the gnome spoke up again.
"I know that feller, too."
"Really ?"
"Not 'elf. Weighs down 'is ponies before they're measured. That grey's
been standing in 'is box for the last hour with a twelve stone sack of
corn on 'is back. Knocks an inch off."
"Good God! Are you sure?"
"Don't worry, I've seen 'im at it."
My mind was beginning to reel just a little. Was the man making it all
up or were there really these malign forces at work behind all this
innocent fun?
"That same feller," continued the gnome. "I've seen 'im bring a pony to
a show and get half an inch knocked off for shoes when it never 'ad no
shoes on."
I wished he'd stop. And just then there was an interruption. It was the
man with the mustache. He sidled up to me and whispered confidentially
in my ear.
"Now I've just been thinking. My dog must have got over his journey by
now and I expect his temperature will be normal. I wonder if you'd just
try him again. I've still got time to show him."
I turned wearily. "Honestly, it'll be a waste of time. I've told you,
he's ill."
"Please! Just as a favour." He had a desperate look and a fanatical
light flickered in his eye.
"All right." I went over to the car with him and produced my
thermometer. The temperature was still a hundred and four.
"Now I wish you'd take this poor little dog home," I said. "He shouldn't
be here."
For a moment I thought the man was going to strike me. "There's nothing
wrong with him!" he hissed, his whole face working with emotion.
"I'm sorry," I said, and went back to the measuring stand.
A boy of about fifteen was waiting for me with his pony. It was supposed
to be in the thirteen two class but was nearly one and a half inches
over.
"Much too big, I'm afraid," I said. "He can't go in that class."
The boy didn't answer. He put his hand inside his jacket and produced a
sheet of paper. "This is a veterinary certificate to say he's under
thirteen two."
"No good, I'm sorry," I replied. "The stewards have told me not to
accept any certificates I've turned down two others today. Everything
has to go under the stick. It's a pity, but there it is."
His manner changed abruptly. "But you've GOT to accept it!" he shouted
in my face. "There doesn't have to be any measurements.when you have a
certificate."
"You'd better see the stewards. Those are my instructions."
"I'll see my father about this, that's what!" he shouted and led the
animal i, away.
Father was quickly on the scene. Big, fat, prosperous-looking,
confident. He obviously wasn't going to stand any nonsense from me.
"Now look here, I don't know what this is all about but you have no
option in this matter. You have to accept the certificate."
"I don't, I assure you," I answered. "And anyway, it's not as though
your pony was slightly over the mark. He's miles over - nowhere near the
height."
Father flushed dark red. "Well let me tell you he was passed through by
the : vet at ... '
"I know, I know," I said, and I heard the gnome give a short laugh. "But
he's :
not going through here." :;
There was a brief silence then both father and son began to scream at
me. And as they continued to hurl abuse I felt a hand on my arm. It was
the man with the mustache again.
"I'm going to ask you just once more to take my dog's temperature," he
whispered with a ghastly attempt at a smile. "I'm sure he'll be all
right this time. Will you try him again?"
I'd had enough. "No, I bloody well won't!" I barked. "Will you kindly
stop bothering me and take that poor animal home."
It's funny how the most unlikely things motivate certain people. It
didn't seem a life and death matter whether a dog got into a show or not
but it was to the man with the mustache. He started to rave at me.
"You don't know your job, that's the trouble with you! I've come all
this way and you've played a dirty trick on me. I've got a friend who's
a vet, a proper vet, and I'm going to tell him about you, yes I am. I'm
going to tell him about you!"
At the same time the father and son were still in full cry, snarling and
mouthing at me and I became suddenly aware that I was in the centre of a
hostile circle. The blonde was there too, and some of the others whose
ponies I had outed and they were all staring at me belligerently, making
angry gestures.
I felt very much alone because the gnome, who had seemed an ally, was
nowhere to be seen. I was disappointed in the gnome; he was a big talker
but had vanished at the first whiff of danger. As I surveyed the
threatening crowd I moved my measuring stick round in front of me; it
wasn't much of a weapon but it might serve to fend them off if they
rushed me.
And just at that moment, as the unkind words were thick upon the air, I
saw Helen and Richard Edmundson on the fringe of the circle, taking it
all in. I wasn't worried about him but again it struck me as strange
that it should be my destiny always to be looking a bit of a clown when
Helen was around.
Anyway, the measuring was over and I felt in need of sustenance. I
retreated and went to find Tristan.
Chapter Nine.
The atmosphere in the beer tent was just what I needed. The hot weather
had made the place even more popular than usual and it was crowded; many
of the inhabitants had been there since early morning and the air was
thick with earthy witticisms, immoderate laughter, cries of joy; and the
nice thing was that nobody in there cared a damn about the heights of
ponies or the temperatures of dogs.
I had to fight my way through the crush to reach Tristan who was leaning
across the counter in earnest conversation with a comely young barmaid.
The other serving
ladies were middle-aged but his practised eye had
picked this one out; glossy red hair, a puckish face and an inviting
smile. I had been hoping for a soothing chat with him but he was unable
to give me his undivided attention, so after juggling with a glass among
the throng for a few minutes I left.
Out on the field the sun still blazed, the scent of the trampled grass
rose into the warm air, the band was playing a selection from Rose Marie
and peace began to steal into my soul. Maybe I could begin to enjoy the
show now the pinpricks were over; there was only the Family Pets to
judge and I was looking forward to that.
For about an hour I wandered among the pens of mountainous pigs and
haughty sheep; the rows of Shorthorn cows with their classical
wedge-shaped grace, their level udders and dainty feet.
I watched in fascination a contest which was new to me; shirt-sleeved
young men sticking a fork into a straw bale and hurling it high over a
bar with a jerk of their thick brown arms. ~
Old Steve Bramley, a local farmer, was judging the heavy horses and I
Let Sleeping Vets Lie Page 10