“I’ve come to see your lame cow,” I announced cheerfully.
They looked at each other expressionlessly, then back at me.
“We haven’t no lame cow,” Josh said.
“But…there was a call from you this morning.”
Again the blank look between them.
“Well…there must be some mistake.” I tried a light laugh, which wasn’t reciprocated, and I couldn’t help looking along the line of cows.
Seb raised a hand. “Honest, Mr. Herriot. There’s none of ’em lame. You can examine them if you like.”
“No, no, no, of course not. I…somebody in the practice has got a message wrong. Do you mind if I use your phone?”
Seb led me into the kitchen and as I dialled the surgery it didn’t make me feel any better when I saw him lift his spectacle case from the table and slip it unobtrusively into his pocket. When I got through, I found that I should have gone to the Borthwicks’ farm, only half a mile away. But what was happening? Why did I have to keep making a fool of myself here?
I lifted the ball-point by the side of the phone and wrote the name down so that I could not make any more mistakes, and turned to the two young wives. “I’m terribly sorry, I’m always being such a nuisance to you.” I was about to leave when one of them held out her hand. “Could we have our pen back, Mr. Herriot?”
Hot-faced, I took it from my pocket and fled.
My embarrassment was acute when I was called back to the farm within a few days.
When I arrived, Seb was pointing gloomily at a young heifer lying on the cow-house floor. “She just can’t get up,” he said, “and that hind leg’s stuck out, funny-like.”
I bent over the animal and flicked her ear. “Come on, lass, let’s see you try.”
She replied by struggling briefly, then subsided onto the cobbles, and there was no doubt that her right hind leg was the cause of the trouble. It seemed to be useless.
I ran my hand up the shaggy limb and when I reached the pelvic region diagnosis was easy.
“She’s got a dislocated hip, Seb,” I said. “There’s nothing broken, but the head of the femur is right out of its socket.”
“Are ye sure?” The farmer looked at me doubtfully.
“Absolutely positive. Here, feel this prominence. In fact, you can just about see it sticking up there.”
Seb didn’t bother to take his hands out of his pockets. “Well, ah don’t know. I thought she’d maybe just strained ’erself. Maybe you could give me summat to rub on ’er— that might put her right.”
“No, I assure you. There’s no doubt in my mind.”
“Awright, then, what do we do?”
“Well, we’ll have to try to pull the joint back into place. It’s not easy, but since it has only just happened I’d say there was a good chance of success.”
The farmer sniffed. “Very well, then. On ye go.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, smiling, “but it’s quite a big job and I can’t do it by myself. In fact, you and I can’t do it. We’ll need some help.”
“Help? I haven’t got no ’elp. Josh is right over on the far field.”
“Well, I’m really sorry about that, but you’ll have to get him back. And I hate to say it, but we’ll also need one of your neighbours to lend a hand. And he’d better be a big strong chap, too.”
“Bloody ’ell!” Seb stared at me. “What’s all this for?”
“I know it seems a big fuss to you, but although she’s only a young beast, she’s big and strong and in order to get the joint back in place we have to overcome the muscular resistance. It needs a right good pull, I can tell you. I’ve done a lot of these jobs and I know.”
He nodded. “Ah, well, I’ll go and see if Charlie Lawson can come over. You’ll wait ’ere, then?”
“No, I’ll have to go back to the surgery for the chloroform muzzle.”
“Chloroform! What the ’ell next?”
“I told you about the muscular resistance. We need to put her to sleep to overcome that.”
“Now, look ’ere, Mr. Herriot.” The farmer lifted a portentous forefinger. “Are ye sure we have to go through all this carry-on? Don’t ye think we could just rub summat on? A bit of embrocation, maybe?”
“I’m sorry, Seb, it’s all necessary.”
He turned and strode out of the cow house, muttering, while I hurried across to my car.
On the journey to Darrowby and back, two thoughts were uppermost in my mind. This was one of the tricky jobs in veterinary practice but, when successful, it was spectacular. A hopelessly lame animal would rise and walk away, good as new. And I did feel I badly needed something to resuscitate my reputation on this farm.
When I returned with the muzzle, Josh and Charlie Lawson were waiting in the yard with Seb. “Now, Mr. Herriot,” “Now then, Mr. Herriot,” they said, but they looked at me sceptically, and I could tell that the other brother had been voicing his doubts.
“It’s good of you gentlemen to rally round,” I said cheerfully. “I hope you’re all feeling strong. It’s a tough job, this.”
Charlie Lawson grinned and rubbed his hands. “Aye, we’ll do our best.”
“Okay, now.” I looked down at the heifer. “We’d better move her nearer the door. You’ll get a stronger pull that way. Then we’ll get the chloroform muzzle on and rope the leg. You’ll haul away while I put pressure on the joint. But first let’s roll her over.”
As the farmers pushed against the animal’s side, I tried to tuck the lame leg underneath her. As she rolled over, there was a loud click, and after a rapid look around her she rose to her feet and walked out through the door.
The four of us watched her as she ambled across the yard and through a gate into the field. She was perfectly sound. Not the slightest trace of lameness.
“Well, I’ve never seen that happen before,” I gasped. “The rolling movement and the pressure on the joint must have clicked it back. Would you believe it!”
The three farmers gave me a level stare. It was clear that they didn’t believe it.
Retreating to my car, I heard Seb confiding to the other two. “Might as well have rubbed summat on it.” And as I drove away past the heifer grazing contentedly on the green hillside, Siegfried’s words at the beginning of our partnership came back to me. “Our profession offers unparalleled opportunities for making a chump of yourself.”
How true that was. How true it would always be. But why, why, why did it have to happen this time at the Hardwicks’?
I couldn’t believe it when I saw the Hardwick name on the book for another visit less than a week afterwards.
“Siegfried,” I said, “I wish you’d go there. There’s a jinx on me at that place.”
He looked at me in surprise. “But it’s one of your favourite spots. And they always ask for you personally.”
“Oh, I know, but I’ve got a feeling of doom at the moment.” I told him about my recent experiences.
“Nonsense, James!” He made a dismissive gesture. “You’re imagining things. These are tiny happenings.” He sat back in his chair and laughed. “Amusing, I grant you, but of no importance. The Hardwicks are a grand family— they won’t have given a thought to such details.”
“I’m not so sure. I know they’re good people, but I’m convinced they think I’ve got a screw loose. A touch of kleptomania for a start.”
He laughed again. “Oh, what rubbish! Off you go. It’s only a sick pig. Nothing can go wrong this time.”
It was possibly my imagination, but I thought the brothers looked a little apprehensive as I got out of the car at the farm. The pig in question was a sow with a family of a dozen piglets squealing around her. She was lying in a dark corner of the fold yard, and the gloom was such that I could hardly see the animal, but I was used to this and had always done a lot of my work by touch and feel.
I climbed into the pen where the sow could only be seen as a dim bulk. I got out my thermometer and groped my way towards her rear end.
“Hasn’t eaten today, you say?”
“Nay, not a thing,” replied Josh. “And she hasn’t moved from that spot. The little pigs look hungry, too—they don’t seem to be gettin’ much milk.”
“Yes… yes… yes…I see…” I was fumbling desperately to find the anus to insert my thermometer, but I just couldn’t locate it. It was as black as pitch down there, but I had found many a pig’s anus in the dark. I couldn’t make it out. I could feel the tail and if I slid my hand down there the thermometer would pop into the anus, but it didn’t and when I found something lower down it was the vagina. The solution burst on me like a great light.
“This pig’s got no backside!” I cried. For a moment it seemed like a triumphant scientific discovery to be shared with the world, and I beamed up at the brothers.
They were looking down at me in tight-lipped silence. Seb spoke with a touch of weariness in his voice. “No what?” I realised suddenly that I was in the wrong place for such discoveries. Stop smiling. Speak soberly. From my crouched position I said, “No backside, no anus. A very rare condition. Quite fascinating. Common enough in little pigs, but I’ve never seen it in an adult animal.”
“Oh, aye,” said Josh. “And if she ’asn’t got no backside, where does all that muck come from? I ’ave to shovel a hell of a lot out of ’ere every morning.”
My eagerness flared again. “The faeces are coming through the vagina! That’s what happens in this condition.”
“And she’s been doin’ that for all them years?”
“Yes, really she has. Look, bring me a torch and I’ll show you.”
The brothers exchanged another look. “It’s awright, we believe you.” It was very obvious that they didn’t.
I launched into further explanation, but I realised I was beginning to gabble and I desisted. In any case, on resting my hand on the sow’s belly I could feel her udder, inflamed and lumpy.
“Anyway, I don’t need to take her temperature, she’s got mastitis. Her udder’s very hot and swollen. I’ll give her a shot of antibiotic and I’m sure she’ll be okay.” I was trying to be brisk and business-like, but I wasn’t impressing anybody.
Josh spoke again. “So you don’t ’ave to take the temperature?”
“That’s right, there’s no need.”
“Of course, there’s no need,” he said, and they both nodded. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Herriot. It doesn’t matter.”
I felt my toes curling. They were trying to humour me. That was the worst part.
Mechanically, I gave the sow her antibiotic injection, hurried through my hand-washing and declined a cup of tea.
As I drove away, Seb and Josh, side by side on the cobbles of the yard, raised their hands gravely in farewell and I saw the young women watching from the kitchen window. I could read their thoughts.
Poor old Herriot. Not a bad chap, really. It was so sad to see him losing his mind like this.
Chapter 28
AS I PASSED MY stethoscope over the old dog’s ribs I wondered how much longer he could last.
“Don’s heart isn’t any better,” I said to old Mr. Chandler, who sat hunched in the armchair by the kitchen fire.
I was doing my best to avoid being gloomy. The heart was definitely worse, in fact I couldn’t remember when I had listened to such a heart. It wasn’t just the ordinary murmur of valvular incompetence, it was a swishing, squirting cacophony, filling me with amazement that the life-giving blood could possibly be driven round the organs of the old dog’s body.
Don was fourteen, a shaggy collie cross, and with the heart weakness there was the inevitable chronic bronchitis adding its own bubblings and gurglings to the symphony within the chest.
“Aye, maybe so.” Mr. Chandler leaned forward in his chair. “But he’s not so bad in other ways. Eats right well, ’e does.”
I nodded. “Oh yes, he’s happy enough, there’s no doubt about that.” I patted the old dog’s head as he lay on the fireside rug and the tail thumped vigorously as though to prove my words. “He’s not in any pain and still enjoying life.”
“If only it wasn’t for that danged cough.” His master grunted. “He’s allus got it and it was worse than ever today. That’s why I called ye out.”
“Ah, well, he’ll never get rid of that now, but I can help him when it gets really bad. I’ll give him a shot now and leave some tablets for him.”
After the injection I counted out a supply of the faithful oxytets.
“Thank ye, Mr. Herriot.” The old man took the packet and placed it on the mantelpiece. “And really, what do you think his chances are?”
“It’s very difficult to say, Mr. Chandler.” I hesitated. “I’ve seen dogs with bad hearts go on for years, but then— you never know. Anything could happen any time.”
“Aye…aye… I understand. I’ll hope for the best. But it’s a bit depressin’ when you’re an awd widower like me.” He scratched his head and smiled ruefully. “I’ve ’ad a rotten night. The television’s good company but even that’s not workin’.” He pointed to the blank screen in the corner of the room. “It started goin’ funny at tea-time. I’ve twiddled all the flippin’ knobs, but it’s no good. Do you know anythin’ about these things?”
“Afraid not, Mr. Chandler, I’ve only just bought a set myself.” Television was a new wonder in the early fifties and an impenetrable miracle to a non-mechanical mind like mine. However, I went over and switched on the set. I began to play with the various dials and knobs, pushing in wires, flicking switches off and on.
I heard a sudden cry from the old man. “Hey, it’s back! The picture’s back again!”
I stared unbelievingly at the screen. Sure enough, there was a posse thundering over the Texan plain. Somehow, I had done the trick.
“Eee, that’s champion, Mr. Herriot!” The old man’s face was transfigured. “That’s really cheered me up.”
I felt an unaccustomed flush of triumph. “Well, I’m glad I was able to help.” But I didn’t feel so cheerful as I looked at the dog stretched out on the rug.
“You’ll let me know if he gets any worse,” I said, and as I left the cottage I had a nasty feeling that I’d soon be hearing bad news from Mr. Chandler. It would be the end of something, because I had become attached to old Don, one of my good-natured patients, a friendly tail-wagger I had treated for years.
I didn’t have long to wait. It was seven o’clock in the evening, three days later, when the phone rang.
“It’s Chandler ’ere, Mr. Herriot.”
The voice was strained and anxious, and I steeled myself for what was coming next.
“I don’t want to bother ye, Mr. Herriot, but I wonder if ye’d slip out to my place?”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Chandler, I’ll come straight away. I can hear how distressed you are.”
“Aye, it’s a terrible thing but I know you can fix it.”
I remembered the sounds that had come through my stethoscope, and felt I had to be honest. “Mr. Chandler, fourteen years is a long time. The old valves do wear out, you know.”
“Fourteen? Dang thing’s nobbut two!”
“Two?” Was the old man going soft? “Don? Two?”
“Don? Ah didn’t say Don. T’awd dog’s fine since the tablets. It’s that flippin’ TV, gone off again. Do ye think ye could come and put it right for me?”
Chapter 29
FARMER WHITEHEAD RUBBED HIS chin doubtfully.
“I don’t really know what to make of this feller,” he said. “He doesn’t seem like a farm man, in fact he says he used to be a schoolteacher, but you can tell he knows something about stock-keeping. Anyway, I’m givin’ him a trial. It’s a heck of a business finding men who’ll work up here in this isolated spot, and I can’t be too choosy. Let me know what you think about him.”
I nodded. “Right, I will. Married man, is he?”
“Not half!” The farmer laughed. “Seven kids, too.”
“Seven! That’s quite a family.”
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br /> “Aye, it is. And I suppose it’s one reason why I took him on. He seemed desperate for a place to live and we’ve got a good big cottage here. I felt a bit sorry for the chap.” He paused and looked thoughtfully across the yard. “As I said, he’s out of the ordinary.”
I was walking away when he called after me. “By the way, his name’s Basil Courtenay. That’s a bit different, too, isn’t it?”
In the cow house, I studied Basil with interest. Somewhere in the mid-thirties, I thought. Very slim, dark, almost Spanish looking. He greeted me with a wide grin. “Now then, vitnery, it’s nobbut cold today. It ’ud freeze your lugs off out in them fields.”
“You’re right,” I replied. “It’s really nippy.” I scrutinised him afresh. He didn’t sound like a schoolteacher. But there was a jaunty cheerfulness about him, a friendliness in the dark eyes. I liked him.
The cow was lame in the off hind foot, and as I bent down and put a finger between the cleats, she aimed a warning kick at me.
“Just hold her head, will you please,” I said.
Basil inclined his head graciously, gave a slight bow and moved into the stall. But he didn’t grab a horn and put his fingers in the nose as was usual. He wound his arms round the neck and hugged the head tightly to his chest. I had never seen it done that way, but it seemed to have the desired effect and the cow stood quietly as I lifted the foot.
By tapping the sole with the handle of my hoof knife I found a tender area.
“There’s a little abscess in there,” I said. “I’ll have to pare it out. It would be best to pull her leg up over that beam to do it. Can you fetch me a piece of rope, please?”
Again the little inclination of the head, the bow, and he went down the byre with long, graceful steps. When he returned he proffered the rope graciously, bending from the hips rather like a high-class tailor displaying his wares.
I tied it round the foot, threw the other end over the beam, and with Basil pulling cheerfully I began to pare the sole.
“I hear you’ve done a bit of teaching,” I said, as I scraped away at the hard tissue.
“Oh, aye, I ’ave. Ah’ve done a good bit o’ that in me time, ah can tell ye.”
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