Vet in Harness

by James Herriot

bull in the vain hope that I might frighten him back whence he came; and

  the only thing that kept me there was the knowledge that every inch he

  scrambled out was taking me further from Mr$ Hodgson's glorious supper.

  I stood my ground until the snorting, bellowing creature was two thirds

  over, hanging grotesquely with the top of the door digging deep into his

  abdomen, then with a final plunge he was into the yard and I ran for

  cover. But the bull was not bent on mischief; he took one look at the

  open gate into the field and thundered through it like an express train.

  From behind a stack of milk churns I watched sadly as he curveted

  joyously over the grass, revelling in his new found freedom. Bucking and

  kicking, tail in the air he headed for the far horizon where the wide

  pasture dipped to a beck which wandered along the floor of a shallow

  depression. And as he disappeared over the brow of the hill the last

  hope of my spareribs went with him.

  "It'll tek us an hour to catch that bugger,' grunted Ernest gloomily.

  I looked at my watch. Half past six. The bitter injustice of the whole

  thing overwhelmed me and I set up a wail of lamentation.

  "Yes, dammit, and I've got an appointment in Darrowby at seven o'clock!'

  I stamped over the cobbles for a moment or two then swung round on old

  Ted. "I'll never make it now ... I'll have to ring my wife .. . have you

  got a phone?'

  Ted's drawl was lazier than ever. "Nay, we 'aven't got no phone. Ah

  don't believe in them things.' He fished out a tobacco tin from his

  pocket, unscrewed the lid and produced a battered timepiece which he

  scrutinised without haste. "Any road, there's nowt to stop ye bein' back

  i' Darrowby by seven.'

  "But .. . but .. . that's impossible .. . and I can't keep these people

  waiting .. . I must get to a phone.'

  "Doan't get s'flustered, young man.' The old man's long face creased

  into a soothing smile. "Ah tell ye you won't be late.'

  I waved my arms around. "But he's just said it'll take an hour to catch

  that bull!'

  "Fiddlesticks! Ernest allus talks like that ... miserable Ah'll get bull

  in i' five minutes.'

  "Five minutes! That's ridiculous! I'll .. . I'll drive down the road to

  the nearest phone box while you're catching him.'

  "You'll do nowt of t'sort, lad.' Ted pointed to a stone water trough

  against the wall. "Go and sit thissen down and think of summat else .

  .. ah'll only be five minutes.'

  Wearily I sank on to the rough surface and buried my face in my hands.

  When I looked up the old man was coming out of the byre and in front of

  him ambled a venerable cow. By the number of rings on the long curving

  horns she must have been well into her teens; the gaunt pelvic bones

  stood out like a hatstand and underneath her a pendulous udder almost

  touched the ground.

  "Get out there awd lass,' Ted said and the old cow trotted into the

  field, her udder swinging gently at each step. I watched her until she

  had disappeared over the hill, then turned to see Ted throwing cattle

  cake into a bucket.

  He strolled through the gate and as I gazed uncomprehendingly he began

  to beat the bucket with a stick. At the same time he raised his voice in

  a reedy tenor and called out across the long stretch of green.

  "Cush, cush!' he cried. "Cush, pet, cush!'

  Almost immediately the cow reappeared over the brow and just behind her

  the bull. I looked with wonder as Ted banged on his bucket and the cow

  broke into a stiff gallop with my patient close by her side. When she

  reached the old man she plunged her head in among the cake while the

  bull, though he was as big as she, pushed his nose underneath her and

  seized one of her teats in his great mouth. It was an absurd sight but

  she didn't seem to mind as the big animal, almost on his knees, sucked

  away placidly.

  In fact it was like a soothing potion because when the cow was led

  inside he followed; and he made no complaint as I slipped the ring in

  his nose and fastened it with the screw which mercifully had survived

  inside Herbert's cap.

  "Quarter to seven!' I panted happily as I jumped into the driving seat.

  "I'll get there in time now.' I could see Helen and me standing on the

  Hodgson's step and the door opening and the heavenly scent of the

  spareribs and onions drifting out from the kitchen.

  I looked again at the scarecrow figure with that hat brim drooping over

  the calm eyes. "You did a wonderful job there, Mr Buckle. I wouldn't

  have believed it if I hadn't seen it. It was amazing how that bull

  followed the cow in like that.'

  The old man smiled and I had a sudden surging impression of the wisdom

  in that quiet mind.

  "There's nowt amazint about it, lad, it's most nat'ral thing in "'world.

  That's is mother ~

  Chapter Thirty-two.

  I slowed down and gazed along the farm lane. That was Tristan's car

  parked against the byre and inside, behind that green door, he was

  calving a cow. Because Tristan's student days were over. He was a fully

  fledged veterinary surgeon now and the great world of animal doctoring

  with all its realities stretched ahead.

  Not for long, though, because like many others he was bound for the army

  and would leave soon after myself. But it wouldn't be so bad for Tristan

  because at least he would be doing his own job. When Siegfried and I had

  volunteered for service there had been no need for our profession in the

  army so we had gone into RAF aircrew which was the only branch open to

  our 'reserved occupation'. But when it came to Tristan's turn the

  fighting had escalated in the far east and they were crying out for vets

  to doctor the horses, mules, cattle, camels.

  The timing suggested that the Gods were looking after him as usual. In

  fact I think the Gods love people like Tristan who sway effortlessly

  before the winds of fate and spring back with a smile, looking on life

  always with blithe optimism. Anyway it seemed natural and inevitable

  that whereas Siegfried and I as second class aircraftmen pounded the

  parade ground for weary hours Captain Tristan Farnon sailed off to the

  war in style.

  But in the meantime I was glad of his help. After my departure he would

  run things with the aid of an assistant, then, when he left, the

  practice would be in the hands of two strangers till we returned. It

  seemed strange but everything was impermanent at that time.

  I drew up and looked thoughtfully at the car. This was Mark Dowson's

  place and when I had rung the surgery from out in the country Helen told

  me about this calving. I didn't want to butt in and fuss but I couldn't

  help wondering how Tristan was getting on, because Mr Dowson was a dour,

  taciturn character who wouldn't hesitate to come down on a young man if

  things went wrong.

  Still, I hadn't anything to worry about because since he qualified

  Tristan was doing fine. The farmers had always liked him during his

  sporadic visits as a student but now that he was on the job regularly

  the good reports were coming in thick and fast.


  "I'll tell the, that young feller does work! Doesn't spare 'himself,' or

  "Ah've never seen a lad put his 'eart and soul into his job like this

  'un.' And one man drew me to one side and muttered, "He meks some queer

  noises but he does try. I think he'd kill 'isself afore he'd give up.'

  That last remark made me think. Tristan's forte was certainly not brute

  effort and I had been a bit bewildered at some of the comments till I

  began to remember some of my experiences with him in his student days.

  He had always applied his acute intelligence to any situation in his own

  particular way and the way he reacted to the little accidents of country

  practice led me to believe he was operating a system.

  the first time I saw this in action was when he was standing by the side

  of ;~watching me pulling milk from a teat. Without warning the animal

  swung so~ ~brought an unyielding cloven hoof down on his foot. This is a

  common and fairly agonising experience and before the days of

  steel-tipped wellingtons I have frequently had the skin removed from my

  toes in neat parchment-like rolls. When it happened to me I was inclined

  to hop around and swear a bit and my performance was usually greeted

  with appreciative laughter from the farmers. Tristan, however, handled

  it differently.

  He gasped, leaned with bowed head against the cow's pelvic bone for a

  moment then opened his mouth wide and emitted a long groan. Then, as the

  cowman and I stared at him, he reeled over the cobbles dragging a

  damaged limb uselessly behind him. Arrived at the far wall he collapsed

  against it, face on the stone, still moaning pitifully.

  Thoroughly alarmed, I rushed to his aid. This must be a fracture and

  already my mind was busy with plans to get him to hospital with all

  possible speed. But he revived rapidly and when we left the byre ten

  minutes later he was tripping along with no trace of a limp. And I did

  notice one thing; nobody had laughed at him, he had received only

  sympathy and commiseration.

  This sort of thing happened on other places. He sustained a few mild

  kicks, he was crushed between cows, he met with many of the discomforts

  which are part of our life and he reacted in the same histrionic way.

  And how it paid off! To a man, the farmers exhibited the deepest concern

  when he went into his act and there was something more; it actually

  improved his image. I was pleased about that because impressing

  Yorkshire farmers isn't the easiest task and if Tristan's method worked

  it was all right with me.

  But I smiled to myself as I sat outside the farm. I couldn't see Mr

  Dowson being affected by any sign of suffering. I had had my knocks

  there in the past and he obviously hadn't cared a damn.

  On an impulse I drove down the lane and walked into the byre. Tristan

  stripped off and soaped, was just inserting an arm into a large red cow

  while the farmer, pipe in hand, was holding the tail. My colleague

  greeted me with a pleasant smile but Mr Dowson just nodded curtly.

  "What have you got, Triss?' I asked.

  "Both legs back,' he replied. "And they're a long way in. Look at the

  length of her pelvis.'

  I knew what he meant. It wasn't a difficult presentation but it could be

  uncomfortable in these long cows. I leaned back against the wall; I

  might as well see how he fared.

  He braced himself and reached as far forward as he could, and just then

  the cow's flanks bulged as she strained hard against him. This is never

  very nice; the powerful contractions of the uterus squeeze the arm

  relentlessly between calf and pelvis and you have to grit your teeth

  till it passes off.

  Tristan, however, went a little further.

  "Ooh! Aah! Ouch!' he cried. Then as the animal still kept up the

  pressure he went into a gasping groan. When she finally relaxed he stood

  there quite motionless for a few seconds, his head hanging down as

  though the experience had drained him of all his strength.

  The farmer drew on his pipe and regarded him impassively. Throughout the

  years I had known Mr Dowson I had never seen any particular emotion

  portrayed in those hard eyes and craggy features. In fact it had always

  seemed to me that I could have dropped down dead in front of him and he

  wouldn't even blink.

  My colleague continued his struggle and the cow, entering into the

  spirit of the game, fought back with a will. Some animals will stand

  quietly and submit to all kinds of internal interference but this was a

  strainer; every movement of the arm within her was answered by a violent

  expulsive effort. I had been through it a hundred times and I could

  almost feel the grinding pressure on the wrist, the helpless numbing of

  the fingers.

  Tristan showed what he thought about it all by a series of heartrending

  sounds. His repertoire was truly astounding and he ranged from long

  harrowing moans through shrill squeals to an almost tearful whimpering.

  At first Mr Dowson appeared oblivious to the whole business, puffing

  smoke, glancing occasionally through the byre door, scratching at the

  bristle on his chin. But as the minutes passed his eyes were dragged

  more and more to the suffering creature before him until his whole

  attention was riveted on the young man.

  And in truth he was worth watching because Tristan added to his vocal

  performance an extraordinary display of facial contortions. He sucked in

  his cheeks, rolled his eyes, twisted his lips, did everything in fact

  but wiggle his ears. And there was no doubt he was getting through to Mr

  Dowson. As the noises and grimaces became more extravagant the farmer

  showed signs of growing uneasiness; he darted anxious glances at my

  colleague and occasionally his pipe trembled violently. Like me, he

  clearly thought some dreadful climax was at hand.

  As if trying to bring matters to a head the cow started to build up to a

  supreme effort. She straddled her legs wide, grunted deeply and went

  into a prolonged heave. As her back arched Tristan opened his mouth wide

  in a soundless protest then little panting cries began to escape him.

  This, I thought, was his most effective ploy yet; a long drawn "Aah .. .

  aah .. . aah .. .' creeping gradually up the scale and building

  increasing tension in his audience. My toes were curling with

  apprehension when, with superb timing, he released a sudden piercing

  scream.

  That was when Mr Dowson cracked. His pipe had almost wobbled from his

  mouth but now he stuffed it into his pocket and rushed to Tristan's

  side.

  "Ista all right, young man?'he enquired hoarsely.

  My colleague, his face a mask of anguish did not reply.

  The farmer tried again. "Wil~ -' ~ cup o' tea?' For a moment Tristan,

  eyes closed, he nodded dumbly. Mr D^-vre and within minutes returned 'ce

  my head to dispel the feeling e hard-bitten farmer feeding the ~ ~ ~ ~

  c:~ head in a horny hand. Tristan s ~ ~c~ ~, -~ ~ ~;cious with pain but

  submitting j: ~, cr ~ ~ ~ ~j 0~ -calf's legs and as he tdopped doing .~

  ~ ~$ ~ ~ ~ ~ '. `-~other long gulp of tea. After student bu t; ti ~OS2,


  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ leg and the calf itself soon in thick and e -o ~i ~ ,- ~ ~od ~

  ~ `;

  Chapter Thirty-three.

  r Tristan collapsed on his rds a pile of hay, prepared "Get in 'ere and

  wisp this to "'house, lad, and have xed disbelievingly as my the aid of

  several stiff nt like this and a wave th adopting Tristan's ~ .

  It was strange, but somehow the labels on the calves' backs made them

  look even more pathetic, the auction mart labels stuck roughly with

  paste on the hairy rumps, stressing the little creatures' role as

  helpless merchandise.

  As I lifted one sodden tail and inserted the thermometer a thin whitish

  diarrhoea trickled from the rectum and streamed down the thighs and

  hocks.

  "It's the old story, I'm afraid Mr Clark,' I said.

  The farmer shrugged and dug his thumbs under his braces. In the blue

  overalls and peaked porter's cap he always wore he didn't look much like

  a farmer and for that matter this place did not greatly resemble a farm;

  the calves were in a converted railway wagon and all around lay a weird

  conglomeration of rusting agricultural implements, pieces of derelict

  cars, broken chairs. "Aye, it's a beggar isn't it? I wish I didn't have

  to buy calves in markets but you can't always find 'em on t'farms when

  you want them. This lot looked all right when I got them two days

  since.'

  "I'm sure they did.' I looked at the five calves, arch-backed,

  trembling, miserable. "But they've had a tough time and it's showing

  now. Taken from their mothers at a week old, carted for miles in a

  draughty wagon, standing for most of the day at the mart then the final

  journey here on a cold afternoon. They didn't have a chance.'

  "Well ah gave them a good bellyful of milk as soon as they came. They

  looked a bit starved and ah thought it would warm them up.'

  "Yes, you'd think it would, Mr Clark, but really their stomachs weren't

  in a fit state to accept rich food like that when they were cold and

  tired. Next time if I were you I'd just give them a drink of warm water

  with maybe a little glucose and make them comfortable till next day.'

  "White scour' they called it. It killed countless thousands of calves

  every year and the name always sent a chill through me because the

  mortality rate was depressingly high.

  I gave each of them a shot of E cold antiserum. Most authorities said it

  did no good and I was inclined to agree with them. Then I rummaged in my

  car boot and produced a packet of our astringent powders of chalk, opium

  and catechu.

  "Here, give them one of these three times a day, Mr Clark,' I said. I

  tried to sound cheerful but I'm sure my tone lacked conviction.

  Whiskered veterinary surgeons in top hats and tail coats had been

  prescribing chalk, opium and catechu a hundred years ago and though it

  might have been helpful in mild diarrhoea it was almost useless against

  the lethal bacterial enteritis of white scour. It was a waste of time

  just trying to dry up the diarrhoea; what was wanted was a drug which

  would knock out the vicious bugs which caused it, but there wasn't such

  a thing around.

  However there was one thing which we vets of those days used to do which

  is sometimes neglected since the arrival of the modern drugs; we

  attended to the comfort and nursing of the animals. The farmer and I

  wrapped each calf in a big sack which went right round its body and was

  fastened with binder twine round the ribs, in front of the brisket and

  under the tail. Then I fussed round the shed, plugging up draught holes,

  putting up a screen of straw bales between the calves and the door.

  Before I left I took a last look at them; there was no doubt they were

  warm and sheltered now. They would need every bit of help with only my