Don't Turn Your Back in the Barn (Adventures of a Country Vet)

by Perrin, Dr. Dave

  It was nine by the time I got back to the office. Hurford's cow had responded well and was on her feet within a half hour of receiving the calcium. Herb had invited me in for breakfast, and Ev fed me along with her own troops.

  I found Brian sitting on the floor next to the kennel. I could hear a murmur as he directed an incessant stream of banter at his dog.

  "He was waiting outside the door when I got here," Doris whispered. "He hasn't stopped talking to him the whole time."

  "Hi there, Brian. What do you think this morning?"

  "He knows me, but he sure looks sad."

  "He does, doesn't he? Go over there and call him."

  Brian moved to the end of the kennel. "Boots! Over here, Boots."

  There was just the faintest twitch of the dog's stub. He never turned, never changed his facial expression, but his tail twitched.

  Brian hung around the office for the entire day, leaving the dog's side only when he was obviously underfoot. I checked Boots over shortly before leaving on a farm call. He was stable, but still not looking very perky. It was just before five, and Doris was getting ready to leave for the day.

  "Don't know what to tell you, Brian. We'll just have to wait and see what happens. He's improving, but I have no idea what to expect."

  The boy looked so sad today. I wanted to give him a big hug—to tell him that everything would be all right. That his dog would recover. That his family would be fine. That his life would be a bed of roses....

  I drove to Alice Siding, where Wayne Keirn had lined up a small herd of horses for tube deworming and vaccinating. I was sure every teenage girl in the neighbourhood who had a horse was there, too.

  It was after seven o'clock before I was finished. There were still a couple of hours of daylight left, and I was anxious to get some of that white paint smeared on the outside of the building. I had bought the supplies weeks ago and every time I tripped over the rollers and brushes I was reminded of how much more presentable the clinic would look when it was finished.

  I was still a block away when I noticed him leaning against the front of the building. At first I thought it was old George but, as I got closer, I could see it was Brian.

  "Can I see Boots?" The boy looked lost, as if his entire life was here inside this building.

  "Sure, Brian. Come on in. Do you mind if I do some painting? I was sort of hoping to get started tonight."

  "Can I help? How else can I pay you for all you've done for Boots?" He looked at me sadly. He was struggling to hold back tears. "Mom found out about him—she saw me here when she was going to the bar. She made me tell her. She's really mad at me! She says she's going to come in and make you put him to sleep."

  "You visit Boots. When you're done, come up and give me a hand."

  I had painted a two-foot strip as far down as I could reach by the time Brian joined me. I was thrilled with the brilliant, clean look! What a contrast to that tired old grey.

  Brian took over my roller as I set up another and went down to street level. With extensions on both applicators, we covered the entire height of the building. Working with Brian did wonders to loosen his tongue. I learned that he had an older brother named John. That his mother used to be real nice until she started drinking all the time. That he never knew who his dad was, but that didn't matter.

  He went on about a pigeon that he'd found on the streets of Calgary. He talked lovingly of the bird that would do anything for him. He choked up when he described how Boots had eaten him, but it wasn't the dog's fault because there wasn't any food.

  He talked of how he and John gathered pop bottles. How they knew places in Calgary where they could find food in garbage cans that was almost as good as you could buy. How Creston was nice but hard to figure out; it would take him and John a while to learn the ropes.

  It was after dark when I finally finished cleaning up the rollers and putting everything away. I let Brian out the front door of the clinic and thanked him for his help. He fidgeted, and I knew there was something bothering him. He started to leave, then blurted, "Can my brother, John, come with me tomorrow?"

  "Sure, no problem."

  His face broke into a smile as he ran off down the street. "See you tomorrow!"

  They were both there when Doris opened the clinic door in the morning. "Your buddies are here!" she hollered up the stairs. I had slept in and had just gotten out of the bathtub. I hadn't even checked on Boots yet. What if the dog had died overnight and Brian was the one to find him? I whipped on my clothes and raced downstairs.

  "He knows me, Dave!"

  Both boys were crowded around the open kennel door. Brian beamed as the dog licked precariously at his fingers.

  "I'm John." The tall, thin boy sprang to his feet and offered me his hand. "Thanks for helping Boots." His hair was blond too, but darker than his brother's, and curly—long and curly. I could see similarities—like the big blue eyes—but never would have guessed them to be brothers.

  John's smile slowly faded and he looked self-conscious. "You don't mind my coming, do you? I don't have anything to do at home."

  "Don't mind your coming at all, John. Have you guys eaten yet this morning?"

  Without a moment's hesitation, John replied, "Yeah, we ate already!" Brian gave him an odd look, then returned to fussing with Boots. Before I left for a herd health appointment, I got the boys started painting. They were a fantastic pair; they worked well together and bantered constantly back and forth. They may well have been brothers, but they were good friends first.

  I was pleasantly surprised to see the first coat on the front of the building when I returned. John was busy scraping away the loose paint on the side.

  "Good job, you guys! You ready for something to eat?"

  Brian's eyes lit up, and he was about to respond when John interrupted. "We're not hungry—we ate lots this morning."

  I noticed the look of disappointment on Brian's face. The boy was hungry, and his brother's denial could do nothing to change the fact. "Come on, let's make lunch."

  I had visited the Co-op on Saturday for a shopping spree, and my refrigerator was uncharacteristically loaded with goodies. I fixed salami and lettuce sandwiches and plunked them on a plate in the centre of the table.

  "Dig in, fellas!"

  That was the last time I ever had to prod them to eat. From that day forward, it got increasingly more difficult to keep food in the fridge. Boots gained ground on a daily basis and, by week's end, it was obvious that his recovery was going to be complete. Brian's mother had never bothered to come in; I could see no reason not to continue with treatment.

  I had run out of paint, and the boys were taking a few days off from the drudgery. I was on my way to pregnancy test a few cows in Lister. Still in town limits, I drove up 16th Avenue. By the Crestonian Apartments, a roaring fire had been built on the sidewalk, and two boys stood facing it. I thought it was strange but continued by until one of the boys turned sideways. It was John!

  Backing up, I pulled into the drive and stomped over to the pair. "What in the world do you think you're doing? You're in town—you can't light a fire in the middle of a sidewalk."

  I kicked the fire apart, sending everything from dried hedge clippings to broom handles flying onto the lawn. A badly singed, unopened tin can rolled down the sidewalk.

  "Do you guys realize what you were doing? When that can got hot enough, it would have exploded all over you!"

  Both boys cowered, and I immediately wished I had been more tactful. John shrugged. "Sorry, we were just trying to cook some beans."

  "What do you mean, cook some beans? You can't have an open fire in town like this. Where do you live? Why don't you cook in the house?"

  "We live here. That's our suite over there—number one." John pointed sheepishly to the open door at the end of the walk. I entered the dark apartment and fumbled for the light switch.

  "There's no electricity. That's why we're cooking on a fire."

  I looked at them in bewilder
ment. "Are you serious? You guys aren't stringing me along about living here?"

  "We sleep right there." John pointed to the sleeping bags that lay crumpled in the corner.

  "Where's your mom?"

  "The bar's open. Mom and Andy left an hour ago."

  I wandered around the apartment in disbelief. The bedroom was a clutter of open suitcases and clothing scattered everywhere. My God, what an existence. I hated to see anyone live like this, never

  mind my Brian and John!

  "Does this guy with your mom work? Can he do anything?"

  "Andy always talks about being a carpenter," John offered. "But he hasn't done anything like that since we've known him. He can't even read a map. We ended up in Revelstoke on our way here."

  I cringed. My mind was going a mile a minute trying to think of some way out for the boys. Maybe if I could get this guy a job, he could put them all on their feet. Maybe all the guy needed was a break. If he was really a carpenter, he could do well in Creston.

  What was I doing? This was absolutely none of my business. I had stewed over this all day and had finally made up my mind. The door of the Creston Hotel shut behind me. I looked around, then slowly wandered towards the bar. It was mid-afternoon and the tavern room was almost empty.

  A drunk sat talking to himself in the corner. Half a dozen guys in work clothes, whom I recognized as loggers, surrounded a table by the door. A young man with a cue in his hand hooted as his friend missed a shot.

  It didn't take a genius to spot Mrs. Gallagher. She sat alone in the far corner with her back to the wall. She was dressed in tight black slacks and a loose yellow blouse. Her eyes half closed, she was mumbling to herself. Her head was tipped forward, and the blonde wig that perched on her head was twisted to cover part of her face. Jet black strands of hair stuck out from beneath it. Why couldn't middle-aged women accept a few grey hairs?

  I took a step towards the table, still wondering what I was going to do. The door of the lavatory swung open and out walked the man I was seeking. He was short and squat, probably in his early sixties. He strode unsteadily down the hallway, skirted a few chairs, and sat down next to the woman. His clothing was disheveled, his blackstreaked grey hair greasy and ungroomed.

  "Are you Andy?"

  "That's me. What can I do for you?"

  "I'm the vet from across the street. Brian and John told me you do carpentry work. Would you like a job?"

  My gut instinct told me that this was not a smart move. Everything about Andy turned me off—his general appearance, his body language, his poky way of moving. He would be the last person I'd ever hire if I were looking for production, but I had to try for the sake of the boys. Surely a few bucks in Andy's pocket would filter down to a better situation for the family.

  On his first day of work, I rushed in from the parking lot, anxious to see how much progress had been made in my absence. The door was open and I stepped over the threshold. The lights were off; the air was thick with fumes!

  "Holy smoke!"

  "Holy smoke, indeed!"

  I could see Doris's silhouette through the smog.

  "What in the world's going on here?"

  "That idiot you hired rented a chain saw to cut the hole through the wall. He came looking for a pencil. When I went into the back room to do up the instruments, he was scratching lines on the wallpaper...A few minutes later, he started that saw—scared the daylights out of me!"

  "I bet it did!"

  "I got out here just before the lights went out. He must have hit a wire because there were sparks flying everywhere!"

  "Where did the old fool get to?"

  "He said he was going to Creston Hardware to get a flashlight so he could see to finish the job."

  "Great!" I closed my eyes and took a deep breath of the acrid air. This was more than I'd bargained for. I had my doubts about his skills as a carpenter, but this was ridiculous. The man was devoid of common sense!

  "Where in the world did you come up with this guy? He came in here this morning asking me if we had a hammer. What kind of carpenter doesn't even have a hammer? He went down to the hardware store to get one and, a few minutes after that, Morley called to ask if he was working for you. He wanted to charge a bunch of tools and supplies to your account."

  "What did you tell him?"

  "I didn't know what to say. I figured you could always take it out of his wages if you hadn't agreed to it."

  "Great!"

  "I tried to call Gordon after the lights went out, but the phone wasn't working either. I was waiting for the loser to get back before I ran down to Veitch's office. Should I call BC Tel as well?"

  Oh man, I could just hear Gordon now. He had his buddy, Elden Schultz, all lined up to help me with the renovations. I was never going to hear the end of this! Look what my save-the-world mentality had gotten me into.

  "Maybe I should go down and ask him if he can have a look at this mess."

  "You haven't got time. Just before Andy started cutting, I got a call from Alfred Wiens. He has a cow he wants you to look at. She calved five days ago and hasn't been doing well."

  "Is that all he said about her?"

  "He said she wasn't eating her grain and that she was losing weight. She gave him less than a gallon of milk this morning."

  I quickly headed for the car. I didn't want to be around when Andy came back, and I damn sure didn't want to be here when Gordon arrived. Was he going to chew on me for this one! Why was he always right?

  I dawdled along Highway 21 south. My clothes were impregnated with chain saw fumes, and I opened the window to get some fresh air. It was warm, and the rush of the air against my skin felt good.

  I drove through the Indian Mission on my way towards the American border. Fields of barley spread out below, the crops already fading from green to yellow. Further south, a dredging crew tore at the marshy bottom lands, leaving mounds of silt and cattails in their wake. Ducks Unlimited was expanding the wetlands in a continuing effort to keep the skies filled with waterfowl.

  I reached the Rykerts border crossing, turned east past a tiny lake, then ascended the bench lands of Huscroft and Lister. Alfred and Hilda Wiens were a German couple who had been in the area for only a few years. Although their farm was antiquated and the facilities left much to be desired, they were good with their cows. I had often thought that if I had to come back to this existence as a cow, I could do worse than to have Hilda and Al looking after me.

  I wasn't disappointed when their cow turned out to have a twisted stomach—it gave me a good excuse to be away. As I proceeded with surgery, I kept thinking about what was likely going on at the office. I was glad I wasn't there when Gord found that I had hired some fool drunk with a chain saw. He wasn't a very tolerant man when it came to incompetence.

  Damn it anyway, how was I to know that Andy was going to be that inept? He could have turned out to be the find of the year. He said that he had done carpentry work all his life.

  Any sensible man would have tromped right down to the hardware store and canned the old guy on the spot. If he was stupid enough to get himself into this fix, what would he do next? Gordon was going to kill me and, if he didn't, Doris would.

  It was quiet as I walked up the street towards the office. I half expected to be welcomed by the roar of a chain saw. I slowly turned the knob and swung the door inward. The lights were on. I walked to the back room and deposited the surgery box on the counter. I could detect only the slightest trace of chain saw smoke, and I could see into Anthony's side of the building.

  I ventured into the new territory. Doris was scrubbing the walls in the back room. "Where's Andy?"

  "He went for lunch about half an hour ago."

  "I see he finally got a hole through the wall."

  "He'd still be at it if Gordon hadn't come along. Gord got here just as he was going to start up the chain saw again. He raised holy hell, then went home for his sabre saw. The old fool just stood there

  and watched as Gordo
n did the cutting."

  I shuddered. I was never going to hear the end of that one.

  "It took Gord a while to get the power back on. He said you owe him a bottle of scotch. He told me to make sure you bought Glenfiddich—not to let you buy any of the cheap stuff."

  How I tolerated Andy past the first day, I'll never know. I kept thinking it would be good for the boys. He was pathetically slow at best, and his shift at the bar often took precedence over working at the office. I tolerated his interruptions; he seemed to start sawing or pounding the moment I asked a client a question. What really upset me was the way the clients looked at him. I'm sure they were wondering what rock he had crawled from under.

  The passageway was finally framed in, and the benches for the waiting room were constructed. My hired hand was struggling to build a frame in the window for a huge glass fish tank that Dave Rayfield was building for me. Three times I watched him cut the same board. After each attempt, he tried it in place to see if it would fit. The first two times, it was too long. This time, it was a quarter of an inch short! Leaving an equal gap at each end, he pounded the board in place.

  Applying a moulding to the inside edge really had Andy stumped. He stared at the corner for several minutes, then wandered to the back to cut the strip. He was about to saw, when he hesitated and returned to the window. Holding his thumb at arm's length, he used his other thumb and forefinger as a marker, then retreated to the back room to transfer this measurement to the moulding. Scratching away with a pencil, he poised to cut then hesitated again. He closed his eyes as if staring at a blueprint that had been stamped on the back of his eyelids, then retreated one more time to the front. Again, he moved his thumb back and forth as if measuring to the exact millimetre.

  I couldn't take it one second longer. "I'm going to check on the boys, Doris!" I climbed the ladder to the roof. The boys had worked every day for a week, and the change that a couple of coats of latex made to the building was truly remarkable.

  I laughed loudly when I saw the condition of my painters. John turned with a start. His face was smeared with paint that plastered down strands of his long curly hair. His arms and bare stomach were white. "How in the world did you get that big streak down your back?"