Vet in Harness

by James Herriot

astringent powders fighting for them.

  I didn't see them again until the following afternoon. Mr Clark was

  nowhere around so I went over to the railway wagon and opened the half

  door.

  This, to me, is the thing that lies at the very heart of veterinary

  practice; the wondering and worrying about how your patient is

  progressing then the long moment when you open that door and find out. I

  rested my elbows on the timbers and looked inside. The calves were lying

  quite motionless on their sides, in fact I had to look closely to make

  sure they were not dead. I banged the door behind me with deliberate

  force but not a head was raised.

  Walking through the deep straw and looking down at the outstretched

  animals, each in his rough sacking jacket, I swore to myself. It looked

  as though the whole lot was going to perish. Great, great, I thought as

  I kicked among the straw - not just one or two but a hundred per cent

  death rate this time.

  "Well you don't look very 'opeful, young man.' Mr Clark's head and

  shoulders loomed over the half door.

  I dug my hands into my pockets. "No, damn it, I'm not. They've gone down

  really fast, haven't they?'

  "Aye, it's ower wi' them all right. I've just been in t'house ringing

  Mallock.'

  The knacker man's name was like the pealing of a mournful bell.-"But

  they're not dead yet,' I said.

  "No, but it won't be long. Mallock allus gives a bob or two more if he

  can get a beast alive. Makes fresher dog meat, he says.'

  I didn't say anything and I must hav~ '~-' gave a wry smile and r~~

  ~spondent because the farmer g white scour. If you get the ~d you can't

  blame me for a bad job.' t~ave a go at them with this tit's called M and

  B 693, it came in the post this l~gs - they're called the before.

  They're supposed ~which cause scour.' id. "A lot of little blue ~is

  ailment but none of about these sulphonremedies, they're a your calves.'

  the five still bodies. :. seen calves like that, 0 ~ c, ~

  ~~ / ~ ~

  the first time I saw this in action was when ~3

  N,watching me pulling milk from a teat. Witho'& :, s',` "brought an

  unyielding cloven hoof down on t.

  rightly, stocky man ;~ "New, they got me on t'phone at Jenkinson's,

  just down "'road.' He gave me a smile of peculiar sweetness I studied

  Jeff Mallock as I always did with a kind of wonder. He had spent the

  greater part of his forty odd years delving in decomposing carcases,

  slashing nonchalantly with his knife at tuberculous abscesses, wallowing

  in infected blood and filthy uterine exudates yet he remained a model of

  health and fitness. He had the clear eyes and the smooth pink skin of a

  twenty-year-old and the effect was heightened by the untroubled serenity

  of his expression. To the best of my knowledge Jeff never took any

  hygienic precautions such as washing his hands and I have seen him

  enjoying a snack on his premises, seated on a heap of bones and gripping

  a cheese and onion sandwich with greasy fingers.

  He peered over the door at the calves. "Yes, yes, a clear case of

  stagnation of "'lungs. There's a lot of it about right now.'

  Mr Clark looked at me narrowly. "Lungs? You never said owl about lungs,

  young man.' Like all farmers he had complete faith in Jeff's instant

  diagnosis.

  I mumbled something. I had found it useless to argue this point. The

  knacker man's amazing ability to tell at a glance the cause of an

  animal's illness or death was a frequent source of embarrassment to me.

  No examination was necessary - he just knew, and of all his weird

  catalogue of diseases stagnation of t'lungs was the favourite.

  He turned to the farmer. "Well, ah'd better shift 'em now, Willie.

  Reckon they won't last much longer.'

  I bent down and lifted the head of the nearest calf. They were all

  shorthorns, three roans, a red and this one which was pure white. I

  passed my fingers over the hard little skull, feeling the tiny horn buds

  under the rough hair. When I withdrew my hand the head dropped limply on

  to the straw and it seemed to me that there was something of finality

  and resignation in the movement.

  My thoughts were interrupted by the roar of Jeff's engine. He was

  backing his wagon round to the door of the calf house and as the high

  unpainted boards darkened the entrance the atmosphere of gloom deepened.

  These little animals had suffered two traumatic journeys in their short

  lives. This was to be the last, the most fateful and the most sordid.

  When the knacker man came in he stood by the farmer, looking at me as I

  squatted in the straw among the prostrate creatures. They were both

  waiting for me to quit the place, leaving my failure behind me.

  "You know, Mr Clark,' I said, 'even if we could save one of them it

  would help to reduce your loss.'

  The farmer regarded me expressionlessly. "But they're all dyin', lad.

  You said so yourself.'

  "Yes, I did, I know, but the circumstances could be a bit different

  today.'

  "Ah know what it is.' He laughed suddenly. "You've got your heart set on

  havin'a go with them little tablets, haven't you?'

  I didn't answer but looked up at him with a mute appeal.

  He was silent for a few moments then he put a hand on Mallock's

  shoulder. "Jeff, if this young feller is that concerned about ma stock

  I'll 'ave to humour 'im. You're not bothered, are you?'

  "Nay, Willie, nay,' replied Jeff, completely unruffled, "I can pick 'em

  up tomorrow, just as easy.'

  "Right,' I said. "Let's have a look at the instructions.' I fished out

  the pamphlet from the tin and read rapidly, working out the dose for the

  weight of the calves. We'll have to give them a loading dose first. I

  think twelve tablets per calf then six every eight hours after that.'

  "How do you get 'em down their necks?' the farmer asked. "We'll have to

  crush them and shake them up in water. Can we go into the house to do

  that?'

  In the farm kitchen we borrowed Mrs Clark's potato masher and pounded

  the tablets until we had five initial doses measured out. Then we

  returned to the shed and began to administer them to the calves. We had

  to go carefully as the little creatures were so weak they had difficulty

  in swallowing, but the farmer held each head while I trickled the

  medicine into the side of the mouth.

  Jeff enjoyed every minute of it. He showed no desire to leave but

  produced a pipe richly decorated with nameless tissues, leaned on the

  top of the half door and, puffing happily, watched us with tranquil

  eyes. He was quite unperturbed by his wasted journey and when we had

  finished he climbed into his wagon and waved to us cordially.

  "I'll be back to pick 'em up in t'mornin', Willie,' he cried, quite

  without malice I'm sure. "There's no cure for stagnation of "'lungs.'

  I thought of his words next day as I drove back to the farm. He was just

  stating the fact; his supply of dog meat was merely being postponed for

  another twenty-four hours. But at least, I told myself, I had the

  satisfaction of having tried, and since I expected nothin
g I wasn't

  going to be disappointed.

  As I pulled up in the yard Mr Clark walked over and spoke through the

  window. "There's no need for you to get out of the car.' His face was a

  grim mask.

  "Oh,' I said, the sudden lurch in my stomach belying my calm facade.

  "Like that, is it?'

  "Aye, come and look 'ere.' He turned and I followed him over to the

  shed. By the time the door creaked open a slow misery had begun to seep

  into me.

  Unwillingly I gazed into the interior.

  Four of the calves were standing in a row looking up at us with

  interest. Four shaggy, roughjacketed figures, bright-eyed and alert. The

  fifth was resting on the straw, chewing absently at one of the strings

  which held his sack.

  The farmer's weathered face split into a delighted grin. "Well ah told

  you there was no need to get out of your car, didn't I? They don't need

  no vitnery, they're back to normal.'

  I didn't say anything. This was something which my mind, as yet, could

  not comprehend. As I stared unbelievingly the fifth calf rose from the

  straw and stretched luxuriously.

  "He's wraxin', d'you see?' cried Mr Clark. "There's nowt much wrong wi'

  them when they do that.'

  We went inside and I begun to examine the little animals. Temperatures

  were normal, the diarrhoea had dried up, it was uncanny. As if in

  celebration the white calf which had been all but dead yesterday began

  to caper about the shed, kicking up his legs like a mustang.

  "Look at that little bugger!' burst out the farmer. "By gaw I wish I was

  as fit meself!'

  I put the thermometer back in its tube and dropped it into my side

  pocket. "Well, Mr Clark,' I said slowly, "I've never seen anything like

  this. I still feel stunned.'

  "Beats hen-racin', doesn't it,' the farmer said, wide-eyed, then he

  turned towards the gate as a wagon appeared from the lane. It was the

  familiar doom-burdened vehicle of Jeff Mallock.

  The knacker man showed no emotion as he looked into the shed. In fact it

  was difficult to imagine anything disturbing those pink cheeks and

  placid eyes, but I fancied the puffs of blue smoke from his pipe came a

  little faster as he took in the scene. The pipe itself showed some fresh

  deposits on its bowl some fragments of liver, I fancied, since

  yesterday.

  When he had looked his fill he turned and strolled towards his wagon. On

  the way he gazed expansively around him and then at the dark clouds

  piling in the western sky.

  "Ah think it'll turn to rain afore t'day's out, Willie,' he murmured.

  I didn't know it at the time but I had witnessed the beginning of the

  revolution. It was my first glimpse of the tremendous therapeutic

  breakthrough which was to sweep the old remedies into oblivion. The long

  rows of ornate glass bottles with their carved stoppers and Latin

  inscriptions would not stand on the dispensary shelves much longer and

  their names, dearly familiar for many generations - Sweet Spirits of

  Nitre, Sal ammoniac, Tincture of Camphor would be lost and vanish for

  ever.

  This was the beginning and just around the corner a new wonder was

  waiting - Penicillin and the other antibiotics. At last we had something

  to work with at last we could use drugs which we knew were going to do

  something.

  All over the country, probably all over the world at that time, vets

  were having these first spectacular results, going through the same

  experience as myself; some with cows, some with dogs and cats, others

  with valuable racehorses, sheep, pigs in all kinds of environments.

  But for me it happened in that old converted railway wagon among the

  jumble of rusting junk on Willie Clark's farm.

  Of course it didn't last - not the miraculous part of it anyway. What I

  had seen at Willie Clark's was the impact of something new on an

  entirely unsophisticated bacterial population, but it didn't go on like

  that. In time the organisms developed a certain amount of resistance and

  new and stronger sulphonamides and antibiotics had to be produced. And

  so the battle has continued. We have good results now but no miracles,

  and I feel I was lucky to be one of the generation which was in at the

  beginning when the wonderful things did happen.

  Those five calves never looked behind them and the memory of them gives

  me a warm glow even now. Willie, of course, was overjoyed and even Jeff

  Mallock gave the occasion his particular accolade. As he drove away he

  called back at us:

  "Them little blue tablets must have good stuff in 'em. They're just

  things I've ever seen could cure stagnation of "'lungs.'

  Chapter Thirty-four.

  There was one marvelous thing about the set-up in Darrowby. I had the

  inestimable advantage of being a large animal practitioner with a

  passion for dogs and cats. So that although I spent most of my time in

  the wide outdoors of Yorkshire there was always the captivating

  background of the household pets to make a contrast.

  I treated some of them every day and it made an extra interest in my

  life interest of a different kind, based on sentiment instead of

  commerce and because of the way things were it was something I could

  linger over and enjoy. I suppose with a very intensive small animal

  practice it would be easy to regard the thing as a huge sausage machine,

  an endless procession of hairy forms to prod with hypodermic needles.

  But in Darrowby we got to know them all as individual entities.

  Driving through the town I was able to identify my ex-patients without

  difficulty; Rover Johnson, recovered from his ear canker, coming out of

  the ironmongers with his mistress, Patch Walker, whose broken leg had

  healed beautifully, balanced happily on the back of his owner's coal

  wagon, or Spot Briggs who was a bit of a rake anyway and would soon be

  tearing himself again on barbed wire, ambling all alone across the

  market place cobbles in search of adventure. I got quite a kick out of

  recalling their ailments and mulling over their characteristics. Because

  they all had their own personalities and they were manifested in

  different ways.

  One of these was their personal reaction to me and my treatment. Most

  dogs and cats appeared to bear me not the slightest ill will despite the

  fact that I usually had to do something disagreeable to them.

  But there were exceptions and one of these was Magnus, the Miniature

  Dachshund from the Drovers' Arms.

  He was in my mind now as I leaned across the bar counter.

  "A pint of Smiths, please, Danny,' I whispered.

  The barman grinned. "Coming up, Mr Herriot.' He pulled at the lever and

  the beer hissed gently into the glass and as he passed it over the froth

  stood high and firm on the surface.

  "That ale looks really fit tonight,' I breathed almost inaudibly.

  "Fit? It's beautiful!' Danny looked fondly at the brimming glass. "In

  fact it's a shame to sell it.'

  I laughed, but pianissimo. "Well it's nice of you to spare me a drop.' I

  took a deep pull and turned to old Mr Fairburn who was as always sit
ting

  at the far corner of the bar with his own fancy flower-painted glass in

  his hand.

  "It's been a grand day, Mr Fairburn,' I murmured sotto voce.

  The old man put his hand to his ear. "What's that you say?'

  "Nice warm day it's been.' My voice was like a soft breeze sighing over

  the marshes.

  I felt a violent dig at my back. "What the heck's the matter with you,

  Jim? Have you got laryngitis?'

  I turned and saw the tall bald-headed figure of Dr Allinson, my medical

  adviser and friend. "Hello, Harry,' I cried. "Nice~ to see you.' Then I

  put my hand to my mouth.

  But it was too late. A furious yapping issued from the manager's office.

  It was loud and penetrating and it went on and on.

  "Damn, I forgot,' I said wearily. "There goes Magnus again.' ! "Magnus?

  What are you talking about?' "Well, it's a long story.' I took another

  sip at my beer as the din continued from t, ffice. It really shattered

  the peace of the comfortable bar and I could sp-lars fidgeting and

  looking out into the hallway. t little dog ever forget? It seemed a long

  time now since Mr aew young manager at the Drovers, had brought Magnus

  in to had looked a little apprehensive. ~ ~; watch him, Mr Herriot.'

  towel ~' ~9 ~ >;~, He's very vicious.' doom-bu~r~t>' -~O 'c little form,

  a mere brown dot on the table. He would The knacke;; ~ at around six

  pounds. And I couldn't help laughing. was difficult to im" ~ enough,

  surely.' but I fancied the puffs~,. 3
  "I took him to the . ~

  .

  t . 1 . ~

  :~:

  :~: ~ ": l .~

  :i!:

  ~P i

  V ~` Lr! llcl/Ti~3

  J~l vet in Bradford where I used to manage the White Swan and he sank

  his teeth into the poor chap's finger.'

  "He did?'

  "He certainly did! Right down to the bone! By God I've never heard such

  language but I couldn't blame the man. There was blood all over the

  place. I had to help him to put a bandage on.'

  "Mm, I see.' It was nice to be told before you had been bitten and not

  after. "And what was he trying to do to the dog? Must have been

  something pretty mayor.'

  "It wasn't you know. All I wanted was his nails clipping.'

  "Is that all? And why have you brought him today?'

  "Same thing.'

  "Well honestly, Mr Beckwith,' I said, "I think we can manage to cut his

  nails without bloodshed. If he'd been a Bull Mastiff or an Alsatian we

  might have had a problem, but I think that you and I between us can

  control a Miniature Dachshund.'

  The manager shook his head. "Don't bring me into it. I'm sorry, but I'd

  rather not hold him, if you don't mind.'

  "Why not?'

  "Well, he'd never forgive me. He's a funny little dog.'

  I rubbed my chin. "But if he's as difficult as you say and you can't

  hold him, what do you expect me to do?'

  "I don't know, really ... maybe you could sort of dope him .. . knock

  him out?'

  "You mean a general anaesthetic? To cut his claws .. .?'

  "It'll be the only way, I'm afraid.' Mr Beckwith stared gloomily at the

  tiny animal. "You don't know him.'

  It was difficult to believe but it seemed pretty obvious that this

  canine morsel was the boss in the Beckwith home. In my experience many

  dogs had occupied this position but none as small as this one.

  Anyway, I had no more time to waste on this nonsense.

  "Look,' I said, "I'll put a tape muzzle on his nose and I'll have this

  job done in a couple of minutes.' I reached behind me for the nail

  clippers and laid them on the table, then I unrolled a length of bandage

  and tied it in a loop.