Vet in Harness

by James Herriot

  - "She slept for two days?'

  "She did, ah'm not jokin', nor jestin'. Ah kept going' into "'stable but

  she never altered. Lay there peaceful as you like all t'first day, then

  all "'second, then when I went in on t'third morning she was standin'

  there lookin' at me and ready for some grub.'

  "Amazing!' I got to my feet. "I must have a look at her.'

  I really wanted to see what had become of that mass of inflammation and

  tumefaction under her tail and I approached her carefully, jockeying her

  bit by bit into the bottom corner of the field. There we faced each

  other for a few tense moments as I tried a few feints and she responded

  with nimble side-steps; then as I made my final swoop to catch her

  fleece she eluded me effortlessly and shot past me with a thundering of

  hooves. I gave chase for twenty yards but it was too hot and wellingtons

  aren't the ideal gear for running. In any case I have long held the

  notion that if a vet can't catch his patient there's nothing much to

  worry about.

  And as I walked back up the field a message was tapping in my brain. I

  had discovered something, discovered something by accident. That ewe's

  life had ~ been saved not by medicinal therapy but simply by stopping

  her pain and allowing nature to do its own job of healing. It was a

  lesson I have never: forgotten; that animals confronted with severe

  continuous pain and the terror ~ and shock that goes with it will often

  retreat even into death, and if you can ;] ~ ..] remove that pain

  amazing things can happen. It is difficult to explain rationally but I

  know that it is so.

  By the time I had got back to Mr Kitson the sun was scorching the back

  of my neck and I could feel a trickle of sweat under my shirt. The big

  man was still watching the ewe which had finished its gallop and was

  cropping the grass contentedly.

  "Ah can't get over it,' he murmured, scratching the thin bristle on his

  jaw. "Two whole days and never a move.' He turned to me and his eyes

  widened.

  "Ah'll tell the, young man, you'd just think she'd been drugged!'

  Chapter Twenty-one.

  I found it difficult to get Mr Kitson's ewe out of my mind but I had to

  make the effort because while all the sheep work was going on the rest

  of the practice problems rolled along unabated. One of these concerned

  the Flaxtons' Poodle, Penny.

  Penny's first visit to the surgery was made notable by the

  attractiveness of her mistress. When I stuck my head round the

  waiting-room door and said, "Next please,' Mrs Flaxton's little round

  face with its shining tight cap of blue-black hair seemed to illumine

  the place like a beacon. It is possible that the effect was heightened

  by the fact that she was sitting between fifteen stone Mrs Barmby, who

  had brought her canary to have its claws clipped, and old Mr Spence who

  was nearly ninety and had called round for some flea powder for his cat,

  but there was no doubt she was good to look at.

  And it wasn't just that she was pretty; there was a round-eyed, innocent

  appeal about her and she smiled all the time. Penny, sitting on her

  knee, seemed to be smiling from under the mound of brown curls on her

  forehead.

  In the consulting room I lifted the little dog on to the table. "Well

  now, what's the trouble?'

  "She has a touch of sickness and diarrhoea,' Mrs Flaxton replied. "It

  started yesterday.'

  "I see.' I turned and lifted the thermometer from the trolley. "Has she

  had a change of food?'

  "No, nothing like that.'

  "Is she inclined to eat rubbish when she's out?'

  Mrs Flaxton shook her head. "No, not as a rule. But I suppose even the

  nicest dog will have a nibble at a dead bird or something horrid like

  that now and then.' She laughed and Penny laughed back at her.

  "Well, she has a slightly raised temperature but she seems bright

  enough.' I put my hand round the dog's middle. "Let's have a feel at

  your tummy, Penny.'

  The little animal winced as I gently palpated the abdomen, and there was

  a tenderness throughout the stomach and intestines.

  "She has gastroenteritis,' I said. "But it seems fairly mild and I think

  it should clear up quite soon. I'll give you some medicine for her and

  you'd better keep her on a light diet for a few days.'

  Yes, I'll do that. Thank you very much.' Mrs Flaxton's smile deepened as

  she patted her dog's head. She was about twenty-three and she and her

  young husband had only recently come to Darrowby. He was a

  representative of one of the big agricultural firms which supplied meal

  and cattle cake to the farms and I saw him occasionally on my rounds.

  Like his wife, and indeed his dog, he gave off an ambience of eager

  friendliness.

  I sent Mrs Flaxton off with a bottle of bismuth, kaolin and chlorodyne

  mixture which was one of our cherished treatments. The little dog

  trotted down the surgery steps, tail wagging, and I really didn't expect

  any more trouble.

  Three days later, however, Penny was in the surgery again. She was still

  vomiting and the diarrhoea had not taken up in the least.

  I got the dog on the table again and carried out a further examination

  but there was nothing significant to see. She had now had five days of

  this weakening condition but though she had lost a bit of her perkiness

  she still looked remarkably bright. The Toy Poodle is small but tough

  and very game and this one wasn't going to let anything get her down

  easily.

  But I still didn't like it. She couldn't go on like this. I decided to

  alter the treatment to a mixture of carbon and astringents which had

  served me well in the past.

  "This stuff looks a bit messy,' I said, as I gave Mrs Flaxton a powder

  box full of the black granules. "But I have had good results with it.

  She's still eating, isn't she, so I should mix it in her food.'

  "Oh thank you.' She gave me one of her marvelous smiles as she put the

  box in her bag and I walked along the passage with her to the door. She

  had left her pram at the foot of the steps and I knew before I looked

  under the hood what kind of baby I would find. Sure enough the chubby

  face on the pillow gazed at me with round friendly eyes and then split

  into a delighted grin.

  They were the kind of people I liked to see but as they moved off down

  the street I hoped for Penny's sake that I wouldn't be seeing them for a

  long time. However, it was not to be. A couple of days later they were

  back and this time the Poodle was showing signs of strain. As I examined

  her she stood motionless and dead-eyed with only the occasional twitch

  of her tail as I stroked her head and spoke to her.

  "I'm afraid she's just the same, Mr Herriot,' her mistress said. "She's

  not eating much now and whatever she does goes straight through her. And

  she has a terrific thirst - always at her water bowl and then she brings

  it back.'

  I nodded. "I know. This inflammation inside her gives her a raging

  desire for water and of course the more she drinks the more she vomits.

  And this i
s terribly weakening.'

  Again I changed the treatment. In fact over the next few days I ran

  through just about the entire range of available drugs. I look back with

  a wry smile at the things I gave that little dog, powdered epicacuanha

  and opium, sodium salicylate and tincture of camphor, even way-out

  exotics like decoction of haematoxylin and infusion of caryophyllum

  which thank heavens have been long forgotten. I might have done a bit of

  good if I had had access to a gut-active antibiotic like neomycin but as

  it was I got nowhere.

  I was visiting Penny daily as she was unfit to bring to the surgery. I

  had her on a diet of arrowroot and boiled milk but that, like my medical

  treatment, achieved nothing. And all the time the little dog was

  slipping away.

  The climax came about three o'clock one morning. As I lifted the bedside

  phone Mr Flaxton's voice, with a tremor in it, came over the line.

  "I'm terribly sorry to get you out of your bed at this hour, Mr Herriot,

  but I wish you'd come round to see Penny.'

  "Why, is she worse?'

  "Yes, and she's .. . well .. . she's suffering now, I'm afraid. You saw

  her this afternoon didn't you? Well since then she's been drinking and

  vomiting and this diarrhoea running away from her all the time till

  she's about at the far end. She's just lying in her basket crying. I'm

  sure she's in great pain.'

  "Right, I'll be there in a few minutes.'

  "Oh thank you.' He paused for a moment. "And Mr Herriot .. . you'll come

  prepared to put her down won't you?'

  My spirits, never very high at that time in the morning, plummeted to

  the depths. "As bad as that, is it?'

  "Well honestly we can't bear to see her. My wife is so upset .. . I

  don't think she can stand any more.'

  "I see.' I hung up the phone and threw the bedclothes back with a

  violence which brought Helen wide awake. Being disturbed in the small

  hours was one of the crosses a vet's wife has to bear, but normally I

  crept out as quietly as I could. This time, however, I stamped about the

  bedroom, dragging on my clothes and muttering to myself; and though she

  must have wondered what this latest crisis meant she wisely watched me

  in silence until I turned out the light and left.

  I had not far to go. The Flaxtons lived in one of the new bungalows on

  the Brawton Road less than a mile away. The young couple, in their

  dressing gowns, led me into the kitchen and before I reached the dog

  basket in the corner I could hear Penny's whimperings. She was not lying

  comfortably curled up, but on her chest, head forward, obviously acutely

  distressed. I put my hands under her and lifted her and she was almost

  weightless. A Toy Poodle in its prime is fairly insubstantial but after

  her long illness Penny was like a bedraggled little piece of

  thistledown, her curly brown coat wet and soiled by vomit and diarrhoea.

  Mrs Flaxton's smile for once was absent. I could see she was keeping

  back the tears as she spoke.

  "It really would be the kindest thing .. .'

  "Yes .. . yes .. .' I replaced the tiny animal in her basket and

  crouched over her, chin in hand. "Yes, I suppose you're right.'

  But still I didn't move but stayed, squatting there, staring down in

  disbelief at the evidence of my failure. This dog was only two years old

  - a lifetime of running and jumping and barking in front of her; all she

  was suffering from was gastroenteritis and now I was going to extinguish

  the final spark in her. It was a bitter thought that this would be just

  about the only positive thing I had done right from the start.

  A weariness swept over me that was not just due to the fact that I had

  been snatched from sleep. I got to my feet with the slow stiff movements

  of an old man and was about to turn away when I noticed something about

  the little animal. She was on her chest again, head extended, mouth

  open, tongue lolling as she panted. There was something there I had seen

  before somewhere .. . that posture .. . and the exhaustion, pain and

  shock .. . it slid almost imperceptibly into my sleepy brain that she

  looked exactly like Mr Kitson's ewe in its dark corner A different

  species, yes, but all the other things were there.

  "Mrs Flaxton,' I said, "I want to put Penny to sleep. Not the way you

  think, but to anaesthetise her. Maybe if she has a rest from this

  nonstop drinking and vomiting and straining it will give nature a

  chance.'

  The young couple looked at me doubtfully for a few moments then it was

  the husband who spoke.

  "Don't you think she has been through enough, Mr Herriot?'

  "She has, yes she has.' I ran a hand through my rumpled uncombed hair.

  "But this won't cause her any more distress. She won't know a thing

  about it.'

  When they still hesitated I went on. "I would very much like to try it -

  it's just an idea I've got.'

  They looked at each other, then Mrs Flaxton nodded. "All right, go

  ahead, but this will be the last, won't it?'

  Out into the night air to my car for the same bottle of nembutal and a

  very small dose for the little creature. I went back to my bed with the

  same feeling I had had about the ewe; come what may there would be no

  more suffering.

  Next morning Penny was still stretched peacefully on her side and when,

  about four o'clock in the afternoon, she showed signs of awakening I

  repeated the injection.

  Like the ewe she slept for forty-eight hours and when she finally did

  stagger to her feet she did not head immediately for her water bowl as

  she had done for so many days. Instead she made her feeble way outside

  and had a walk round the garden.

  From then on, recovery, as they say in the case histories, was

  uneventful. Or as I would rather write it, she wonderfully and

  miraculously just got better and never ailed another thing throughout

  her long life.

  Helen and I used to play tennis on the grass courts near the Darrowby

  cricket ground. So did the Flaxtons and they always brought Penny along

  with them. I used to look through the wire at her romping with other

  dogs and later with the Flaxtons' fast growing young son and I

  marvelled.

  I do not wish to give the impression that I advocate wholesale

  anaesthesia for all animal ailments but I do know that sedation has a

  definite place. Nowadays we have a sophisticated range of sedatives and

  tranquillisers to choose from and when I come up against an acute case

  of gastroenteritis in dogs I use one of them as an adjunct to the normal

  treatment; because it puts a brake on the deadly exhausting cycle and

  blots out the pain and fear which go with it.

  And over the years, whenever I saw Penny running around, barking,

  bright-eyed, full of the devil, I felt a renewed welling of thankfulness

  for the cure which I discovered in a dark corner of a stable by

  accident.

  Chapter Twenty-two.

  The name was on the garden gate - Lilac Cottage. I pulled out my list of

  visits and checked the entry again. "Cook, Lilac Cottage, Marston Hall.

  Bitch o
verdue for whelping.' This was the place all right, standing in

  the grounds of the Hall, a nineteenth-century mansion house whose

  rounded turrets reared above the fringe of pine trees less than half a

  mile away.

  The door was opened by a heavy featured dark woman of about sixty who

  regarded me unsmilingly.

  "Good morning, Mrs Cook,' I said. "I've come to see your bitch.'

  She still didn't smile. "Oh, very well. You'd better come in.'

  She led me into the small living room and as a little Yorkshire Terrier

  jumped down from an armchair her manner changed.

  "Come here, Cindy my darling',' she cooed. "This gentleman's come to

  make you better.' She bent down and stroked the little animal, her face

  radiant with affection.

  I sat down in another armchair. "Well what's the trouble, Mrs Cook?'

  "Oh, I'm worried to death.' She clasped her hands anxiously. "She should

  have had her pups yesterday and there's nothing happenin'. Ah couldn't

  sleep all night - I'd die if anything happened to this dog.'

  I looked at the terrier, tail wagging, gazing up, bright-eyed under her

  mistress' caress. "She doesn't seem distressed at all. Has she shown any

  signs of labour?'

  "What d'you mean?'

  Well, has she been panting or uneasy in any way? Is there any

  discharge?'

  "No, nothing like that.'

  I beckoned to Cindy and spoke to her and she came timidly across the

  lino till I was able to lift her on to my lap. I palpated the distended

  abdomen; there was a lot of pups in there but everything appeared

  normal. I took her temperature - normal again.

  "Bring me some warm water and soap, Mrs Cook, will you please?' I said.

  The terrier was so small that I had to use my little finger, soaped and

  disinfected, to examine her, and as I felt carefully forward the walls

  of the vagina were dry and clinging and the cervix, when I reached it,

  tightly closed.

  I washed and dried my hands. "This little bitch isn't anywhere near

  whelping, Mrs Cook. Are you sure you haven't got your dates wrong?'

  "No, I 'aven't, it was sixty-three days yesterday.' She paused in

  thought for a moment. "Now ah'd better tell you this, young man. Cindy's

  had pups before and she did self and same thing - wouldn't get on with

  t'job. That was two years ago when I was livin' over in Listondale. I

  got Mr Broomfield the vet to her and he just gave her an injection. It

  was wonderful - she had the pups half an hour after it.'

  I smiled. "Yes, that would be pituitrin. She must have been actually

  whelping when Mr Broomfield saw her.'

  "Well whatever it was, young man, I wish you'd give her some now. Ah

  can't stand all this suspense.'

  "I'm sorry.' I lifted Cindy from my lap and stood up. "I can't do that.

  It would be very harmful at this stage.'

  She stared at me and it struck me that that dark face could look very

  forbidding. "So you're not going'to do anything at all?'

  "Well .. .' There are times when it is a soothing procedure to give a

  client something to do even if it is unnecessary. "Yes, I've got some

  tablets in the car. They'll help to keep the little dog fit until she

  whelps.'

  "But I'd far rather have that injection. It was just a little prick.

  Didn't take Mr Broomfield more than a second to do.'

  "I assure you, Mrs Cook, it can't be done at the moment. I'll get the

  tablets from the car.'

  Her mouth tightened. I could see she was grievously disappointed in me.

  "Oh well if you won't you won't, so you'd better get them things.' She

  paused: "And me name isn't Cook!'

  "It isn't?'

  "No it isn't, young man.' She didn't seem disposed to offer further

  information so I left in some bewilderment.

  Out in the road, a few yards from my car, a farm man was trying to start