Vet in Harness Read online

every step. Then he stopped abruptly and held the offending limb out,

  quivering, behind him .. . good heavens, maybe he was a shiverer, too!

  The farmer kept his eyes on me and seemed oblivious of the interest of

  the passers-by. There were quite a few people in the street, probably

  bound for the early show at the cinema, but for the moment they appeared

  to find Mr Grainger more entertaining.

  "And that's not all,' he cried. "There's summat wrang with his

  watterworks.'

  "Really? How do you mean?'

  "Why 'e can't stale properly. Has a 'ell of a job. Gets himself all

  wraxed up Mr Grainger went into another of his impersonations - that of

  a horse having difficulty in passing urine - and I had to admit it was

  probably his best yet. He planted his stick firmly on the pavement and

  holding the top with both hands he backed away from it till his body was

  parallel with the ground. Then he began to straddle his legs further and

  further apart. The knot of people on the other side of the road had

  increased to a fair-sized crowd and they stared, fascinated, at the

  extraordinary sight. Mr Grainger was indeed the very picture of equine

  suffering and as he hollowed his back and paddled his wide-spaced feet I

  could almost share the desperate battle for release. When he finally

  raised his head and groaned the effect was harrowing.

  When all was finished Mr Grainger did as he always did - gave me a cold

  nod and stumped off without a word. There was no need for him to say,

  "See you next Saturday'. I knew he'd be back.

  Then there was Mr Grimsdale. His attitude towards me was something I

  couldn't quite make out, but I did know that he always had a depressing

  effect on me. He did this by the simple expedient of telling me that I

  didn't look very well.

  I thought back to the visit to his farm yesterday when he had called me

  to a cow with a cut teat. He was a tall cadaverous man with sunken

  cheeks and a mournful expression - he would have made a wonderful

  undertaker - and he looked at me in his own particular way as I got out

  of the car.

  I wondered what it would be today. My own conviction is that you should

  never tell anybody they don't look well, no matter what you think. And

  Mr Grimsdale's little sallies bit especially deeply because he always

  referred to me in agricultural terms as though I were one of his

  bullocks.

  "You've lost a bit o' ground lately, young man,' he would say, directing

  a piercing glance from my face down to my feet and down again. "Aye,

  you're rosin' ground fast - it's plain to see.'

  Or another time it might be, "You've run off a bit, Mr Herriot. There's

  no doubt you've run off.' And his stick would twitch in his hand as if

  he would have liked to give me an exploratory poke.

  But today he didn't say anything until I had finished stitching the teat

  and was washing my hands in a bucket of water. Then as I straightened up

  he adopted his usual stance; throwing up his head and jutting his chin

  he appraised me gloomily.

  "You've failed since ah last saw you, young man. Soon as you walked

  across t'yard this morning ah thought to meself, aye that lad's failed

  over t'last week or two.'

  And as the sharp eyes bored into me from behind the long pointed nose

  his viewpoint was plain. He, at any rate, could contemplate the prospect

  of my early demise with some compassion but without going to pieces.

  I worked up a sickly smile as I always did.

  "Oh, I'm fine, Mr Grimsdale, never felt better.' But the voice had an

  uncertain quaver and I knew by my sinking stomach that his shaft had

  gone home again. And then there was the usual humiliating business when

  I had driven away. I always stopped the car just round the corner where

  a high curve of wall hid me from the farm.

  Staring into the car mirror I put out my tongue, pulled down my eyelids

  to have a look at my mucous membranes and muttered desperately as though

  Mr Grimsdale was still there.

  "I feel fine, really I do .. . fine .. . fine .. .'

  Talking of farmers' attitudes to their vets, I think it is fair to say

  that in Robert Hewison's cheerful household, though Siegfried's prowess

  as an animal doctor was highly regarded, his main claim to fame was as a

  judge of Christmas cake.

  Mrs Hewison was a baker of great repute and when she started long before

  the festive season to stir up vast quantities of fruit and candied peel

  and butter and all the other things that went into her peerless cakes it

  was a very serious business. Not that there was any question of a

  failure - her cakes varied from excellent to superb but once the long

  process had been completed and the last piece of marzipan and icing

  applied she dearly loved to have the accolade from an expert. And in her

  eyes Siegfried was number one.

  Robert Hewison confided in me once: "The knows, my missus is never

  content till your guvnor's had a taste.'

  I was privileged to be present on one of these occasions. It was a few

  days before Christmas and Siegfried and I had gone together to Robert's

  farm to lift a horse which had got cast in its stall. We did the job

  successfully with the aid of slings and a block and tackle and Robert,

  as always, asked us into the house.

  The farmer's wife, her dark, rather solemn face illumined by friendly

  eyes, ushered us to the two tall wooden chairs by the fireside.

  "Come and get warmed up, gentleman,' she said. "And you'll have a drink

  and a bit o' cake, won't you?'

  "You're very kind, Mrs Hewison,' replied Siegfried. "That would be

  lovely.'

  He sat down, but I went through to the offshoot of the kitchen to wash

  my hands at the sink. The farmer's wife was cutting at a large cake on a

  table nearby. She nudged me and whispered conspiratorially.

  "This isn't me own cake. It's one me sister baked, but I'm not telling

  Mr Farnon that. We'll just see what he says.'

  I stared at her. "But is that quite fair? Hadn't you better tell him?'

  "No, I want to have his true judgement, so I'm not sayin' a word.'

  I went back to the kitchen with some misgiving. It was unlike this lady

  to play jokes, but maybe after years of unqualified approbation she

  wanted to put my colleague's sincerity to the test. Anyway, I hoped

  nothing unfortunate would happen.

  As I took my place by the fire Robert and his three sons; came in and

  sat around in a circle. I was given a piece of cake, too, but nobody

  paid any attention to me; all eyes were on Siegfried.

  "I'd like to know what you think of t'cake this year, Mr Farnon,' our

  hostess said.

  My colleague toasted the family gracefully, sipped at his whisky then

  lifted the plate with its slice of cake. Silence fell upon the company.

  Holding the plate in the palm of his hand he studied the cake carefully

  from various angles before breaking off a fair-sized piece. This he

  massaged gently between thumb and forefinger for a few moments, his eyes

  half closed. Then after sniffing at it a couple of times he put it in

  his mouth.

  I could feel the ten
sion building in the room as he chewed gravely, his

  face quite expressionless. When he had finally swallowed the portion he

  smacked his lips once or twice meditatively then turned his head and

  looked full at Mrs Hewison Amid a deathly hush they gazed into each

  other's eyes for several long seconds but Siegfried still didn't say

  anything. Instead he reached for his glass again and took another drink

  of whisky which he seemed to wash around his mouth before breaking off

  another portion of cake.

  He took a long time over this piece, chewing in a slow motion, his eyes,

  deadly serious, staring sightlessly in front of him. Robert, the boys,

  all of us, leaned a little forward in our chairs, as he finally

  swallowed the last crumb, wiped his lips and sat immobile, apparently

  wrapped in thought. Then as he clearly came to a decision he sat upright

  in his chair, straightened his shoulders and turned resolutely towards

  the lady of the house once more.

  Siegfried was and is a man of the highest principle. Over the years I

  have known him he has always given his opinions truthfully, fearlessly

  and with a total disregard of the consequences; and though this trait

  ruffled the stream of his life on occassion, there were times, as now,

  when it stood him in good stead.

  "Mrs Hewison,' he said, his eyes steady and unwavering. "This is a good

  cake.' He paused. "A very good cake indeed.' He hesitated again and I

  could see the real iron in the man coming out. "But if you will permit

  me, I'm bound to say that it is not up to your usual standard.'

  Mrs Hewison, usually an undemonstrative person, burst into a loud cry of

  delight and Robert and his sons, who were obviously in on the joke,

  roared and clapped their hands.

  Siegfried looked around in some surprise at the sudden tumult which went

  on and on as though somebody had scored a goal in the cup final. He was

  obviously puzzled and of course there was no way he could know that his

  previous exalted position in the household was now utterly impregnable.

  Chapter Thirteen.

  I was back at Granville Bennett's again. Back in the tiled operating

  theatre with the great lamp pouring its harsh light over my colleague's

  bowed head, over the animal nurses, the rows of instruments, the little

  animal stretched on the table.

  Until late this afternoon I had no idea that another visit to Hartington

  was in store for me; not until the doorbell rang as I was finishing a

  cup of tea and I went along the passage and opened the door and saw

  Colonel Bosworth on the step. He was holding a wicker cat basket.

  "Can I trouble you for a moment, Mr Herriot?' he said.

  His voice sounded different and I looked up at him questioningly. Most

  people had to look up at Colonel Bosworth with his lean six feet three

  inches and his tough soldier's face which matched the DSO and MC which

  he had brought out of the war. I saw quite a lot of him, not only when

  he came to the surgery but out in the country where he spent most of his

  time hacking along the quiet roads around Darrowby on a big hunter with

  two Cairn terriers trotting behind. I liked him. He was a formidable man

  but he was unfailingly courteous and there was a gentleness in him which

  showed in his attitude to his animals.

  "No trouble,' I replied. "Please come inside.'

  In the waiting room he held out the basket. His eyes were strained and

  there was shock and hurt in his face.

  "It's little Maudie,'he said.

  "Maudie .. . your black cat?' When I had been to his house the little

  creature had usually been in evidence, rubbing down the colonel's

  ankles, jumping on his knee competing assiduously with the terriers for

  his attention.

  "What's the matter, is she ill?'

  "No .. . no .. .' He swallowed and spoke carefully. "She's had an

  accident, I'm afraid.'

  "What kind of accident?'

  "A car struck her. She never goes out into the road in front of the

  house but for some reason she did this afternoon.'

  "I see.' I took the basket from him. "Did the wheel go over her?'

  "No, I don't think it can have done that because she ran back into the

  house afterwards.'

  "Oh well,' I said. "That sounds hopeful. It probably isn't anything very

  much.'

  The colonel paused for a moment. "Mr Herriot, I wish you were right but

  it's .. . rather frightful. It's her face you see. Must have been a

  glancing blow but I .. . really don't see how she can live.'

  "Oh .. . as bad as that .. . I'm sorry. Anyway come through with me and

  I'll have a look.'

  He shook his head. "No, I'll stay here if you don't mind. And there's

  just one thing.' He laid his hand briefly on the basket. "If you think,

  as I do, that it's hopeless, please put her to sleep immediately. She

  must not suffer any more.'

  I stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment then hurried along the

  passage to the operating room. I put the basket on the table, slid the

  wooden rod from its loops and opened the lid. I could see the sleek

  little black form crouched in the depths and as I stretched my hand out

  gingerly towards it the head rose slowly and turned towards me with a

  long, open-mouthed wail of agony.

  And it wasn't just an open mouth. The whole lower jaw was dangling

  uselessly, the mandible shattered and splintered, and as another

  chilling cry issued from the basket I had a horrific glimpse of jagged

  ends of bone gleaming from the froth of blood and saliva.

  I closed the basket quickly and leaned on the lid.

  "Christ!' I gasped. "Oh Christ!'

  I closed my eyes but couldn't dispel the memory of the grotesque face,

  the terrible sound of pain and worst of all the eyes filled with the

  terrified bewilderment which makes animal suffering so unbearable.

  With trembling haste I reached behind me to the trolley for the bottle

  of Nembutal. This was the one thing vets could do, at any rate; cut

  short this agony with merciful speed. I pulled 5 c.c.'s into the

  syringe; more than enough - she'd drift into sleep and never wake up

  again. Opening the basket I reached down and underneath the cat and

  slipped the needle through the abdominal skin; an intraperitoneal

  injection would have to do. But as I depressed the plunger it was as

  though a calmer and less involved person was tapping me on the shoulder

  and saying, "Just a minute, Herriot, take it easy. Why don't you think

  about this for a bit?'

  I stopped after injecting 1 c.c. That would be enough to anaesthetise

  Maudie. In a few minutes she would feel nothing. Then I closed the lid

  and began to walk about the room. I had repaired a lot of cats' broken

  jaws in my time; they seemed to be prone to this trouble and I had

  gained much satisfaction from wiring up symphyseal fractures and

  watching their uneventful healing. But this was different.

  After five minutes I opened the basket and lifted the little cat, sound

  asleep and as limp as a rag doll, on to the table.

  I swabbed out the mouth and explored with careful fingers, trying to

  piece the grisly jigsaw together. The sym
physis had separated right

  enough and that could be fastened together with wire, but how about

  those mandibular rami, smashed clean through on both sides - in fact

  there were two fractures on the left. And some of the teeth had been

  knocked out and others slackened; there was nothing to get hold of.

  Could they be held together by metal plates screwed into the bone? Maybe

  .. . and was there a man with the skill and equipment to do such a job

  .. .? I thought I just might know one.

  I went over the sleeping animal carefully; there wasn't a thing amiss

  except that pathetic drooping jaw. Meditatively I stroked the smooth,

  shining fur. She was only a young cat with years of life in front of her

  and as I stood there the decision came to me with a surge of relief and

  I trotted back along the passage to ask the colonel if I could take

  Maudie through to Granville Bennett.

  It had started to snow heavily when I set out and I was glad it was

  downhill all the way to Hartington; many of the roads higher up the Dale

  would soon be impassable on a night like this.

  In the Veterinary Hospital I watched the big man drilling, screwing,

  stitching. It wasn't the sort of job which could be hurried but it was

  remarkable how quickly those stubby fingers could work. Even so, we had

  been in the theatre for nearly an hour and Granville's complete

  absorption showed in the long silences broken only by the tinkling of

  instruments, occasional barking commands and now and then a sudden flare

  of exasperation. And it wasn't only the nurses who suffered; I had

  scrubbed up and had been pressed into service and when I failed to hold

  the jaw exactly as my colleague desired he exploded in my face.

  "Not that bloody way, Jim! .. . What the hell are you playing at? ..

  . No, no, ... ... .no, no, no! Oh God Almighty!'

  But at last all was finished and Granville threw off his cap and turned

  away from the table with that air of finality which had made me envy him

  the first time. He was sweating. In his office he washed his hands,

  towelled his brow, and pulled on an elegant grey jacket from the pocket

  of which he produced a pipe. It was a different pipe from last time; I

  learned in time that all Granville's pipes were not only beautiful but

  big and this one had a bowl like a fair-sized coffee cup. He rubbed it

  gently along the side of his nose, gave it a polish with the yellow

  cloth he always seemed to carry and held it lovingly against the light.

  "Straight grain, Jim. Superb, isn't it?'

  He contentedly scooped tobacco from his vast pouch, ignited it and

  puffed a cloud of delectable smoke at me before taking me by the arm.

  "Come on, laddie. I'll show you round while they're clearing up in

  there.'

  We did a tour of the hospital, taking in the waiting and consulting

  rooms, X-ray room, dispensary and, of course, the office with its

  impressive card index system with case histories of all patients, but

  the bit I enjoyed most was walking along the row of heated cubicles

  where an assortment of animals were recovering from their operations.

  Granville stabbed his pipe at them as we went along. "Spay, enterotomy,

  aural haematoma, entropion.' Then he bent suddenly, put a finger through

  the wire front and adopted a wheedling tone. "Come now, George, come on

  little fellow, don't be frightened, it's only Uncle Granville.'

  A small West Highland with a leg in a cast hobbled to the front and my

  colleague tickled his nose through the wire.

  "That's George Wills-Fentham,' he said in explanation. "Old Lady

  Willsfentham's pride and joy. Nasty compound fracture but he's doing

  very nicely. He's a bit shy is George but a nice little chap when you