Vet in a Spin Page 7

  "Yes."

  "Well, will you tell me please?"

  "It's myxoedema."

  "Myx . . . ?"

  "Wait a minute," I said.

  "I'll just make absolutely sure." I reached for my stethoscope and put

  it on the dog's chest. And the bradycardia was there as I expected,

  the slow, slow heartbeat of hypothyriodism.

  "Yes, that's it. Not a shadow of a doubt about it."

  "What did you call it?"

  "Myxoedema. It's a thyroid deficiency there's a gland in his neck

  which isn't doing its job properly."

  "And that makes 'is hair fall out?"

  "Oh yes. And it also causes this typical scaliness and wrinkling of

  the skin."

  "Aye, but he's half asleep all t'time. How about that?"

  "Another classical symptom. Dogs with this condition become very

  lethargic - lose all their energy."

  She reached out and touched the dog's skin, bare and leathery where

  once the coat had through in bushy glory.

  "And can you cure it?"

  / ~ ~ "Now Mr Herriot, don't take this the wrong way, but could you be

  mistaken Are ye positive it's this myxi-whatever-it-is?"

  "Of course I am. It's a straightforward case."

  .

  .........~ . ~ ~ . - ~ ... _ . _ ~, "Straightforward to you, maybe."

  She flushed and appeared to be grinding h' teeth.

  "But not straightforward to that clever husband o' mine The great

  lubber When ah think what he's put me good dog through ah could kill

  'im."

  "Well, I suppose he thought he was acting for the best, Mrs Pilling."

  "Ah don't care what he thought, he's made this poor dog suffer, the big

  fool.

  Wait till ah get hold of 'im."

  I gave her a supply of tablets.

  "These are thyroid extract, and I want you to give him one night and

  morning" I also handed her a bottle of potassium iodide which I had

  found helpful in these cases. : She looked at me doubtfully.

  "But surely he'll want sum mat rubbed on 'is skin."

  "No," I replied.

  "Applications to the skin do no good at all."

  "Then you mean." She turned a dark purple colour and began snorting

  again.

  "You mean all them bottles o' filthy stuff me husband put on 'im were a

  waste o'time?"

  "Afraid so."

  "Oh Ah'll murder 'im!" she burst out.

  "Mucky, oily rubbish, it was. And that fancy feller in Braw ton sent

  some 'orrible lotion yeller it was, and stank the place out. Ruined me

  carpets and good chair covers an' all!" ~;~ Sulphur, whale oil and

  creosote, I thought. Splendid old fashioned ingredients.

  but quite useless in this case and definitely antisocial. - .

  Mrs Pilling heaved the keeshound to the floor and strode along the

  passagewaY head down, powerful shoulders hunched. I could hear her

  muttering to herself as she went.

  "By yaw, just wait till ah get home. Ah'll sort 'im, by gaw ah

  will!"

  I was naturally interested in the progress of my patient, and when I

  failed to see him around for the next fortnight I could only conclude

  that Seth Pilling' was keeping out of my way. Indeed there was one

  occasion when I thought I saw him and the dog disappearing down an

  alley, but I couldn't be sure.

  When I did see them both it was by accident. I was driving round the

  come' into the market place and I came upon a man and dog coming away

  from one of the stalls on the cobbles.

  And as I peered through the window I caught my breath. Even in that

  short~ space of time the animal's skin was covered with a healthy down

  of new hair.

  and he was stepping out with something very like his old vitality.

  His master swung round as I slowed down. He gave me a single hunted

  look then tugged on the lead and scuttled away. :~ I could only

  imagine the turmoil in his mind, the conflict of emotions. No?

  doubt he wanted to see his dog recover, but not this way. And as it

  turned out; the dice were loaded against the poor man because this was

  an unbelievably' rapid recovery. I have seen some spectacular cures in

  myxoedema, but none dramatic as that keeshound.

  Mr Pilling's sufferings were communicated to me in various ways. For

  instance I heard he had changed his pub and now went to the Red Bear of

  evening. In a little place like Darrow by, news fairly crackles around

  and I had a good idea that the farm men in the Crown and Anchor would

  have had a bit of quiet Yorkshire sport with the expert.

  But his main martyrdom was at home. It was about six weeks after I ha

  finished treating the dog that Mrs Pilling brought him to the

  surgery.

  ~,i c~ .,. ~ ~.,.

  , 4, As before, she lifted him easily on to the table and looked at me

  her face as bit grim and unsmiling. ' 'mr Herriot," she said.

  "Ah've just come to say thank ye, and ah thought you'd be interested to

  see me dog now."

  "I am indeed, Mrs Pilling. It's nice of you to come." I gazed

  wonderingly at the thick coat, bushy, shining and new, and at the

  sparkling eyes and alert expression

  "I think you can say he's about back to normal."

  She nodded.

  "That's what I thought and ah'm grateful to ye for what you've done."

  I walked with her to the front door and as she led her dog onto the

  street she turned her tough little face to me again. As the stern eyes

  met mine she looked very menacing "There's one thing," she said.

  "Ah'll never forgive that man o' mine for what he did to me dog. By

  gum, I've given 'im some stick, the great goof! He'll never hear the

  last of it from me."

  As she made off down the street, the little animal trotting briskly by

  her side I brimmed with pleasant emotions. It is al ways warming to

  see a case recover so well, but in this instance there was an

  additional bonus.

  For a long time little Mrs Pilling was going to give her husband pure

  hell.

  Chapter Six "Today," said FO Wood ham,

  "We're going to try a few new things. Spinning, side-slipping and how

  to come out of a stall." His voice was gentle, and before he pulled on

  his helmet he turned his dark, fine-featured face towards me and

  smiled. Walking over the grass I thought what a likeable chap he was.

  I could have made a friend of him.

  But he was al ways like that on the ground. He was altogether

  different in the air.

  Yet I could never understand it. Flying was no trouble at all, and as

  we spun and dropped and soared about the summer sky his instructions

  appeared simple and easy to carry out. But the rot, as al ways, began

  to set in very soon.

  "Didn't I tell you opposite rudder and stick to sideslip?" he bawled

  over the intercom.

  "Yes, sir," was all I replied, instead of the more appropriate,

  "That's just what I'm doing, you stupid bugger!" which I might have

  used in civil life.

  The goggled eyes bulged in the mirror.

  "Well why the bloody hell aren't you doing it?" His voice rose to a

  wild shriek.

  "Sorry, sir."

  "Well take her up. We'll try aga
in. And for God's sake keep your wits

  about you!"

  It was the same with the spins and stalls. I hadn't the slightest

  difficulty in pulling out of them but at times I thought my instructor

  was going out of his mind.

  Berserk cries rang in my ears.

  "Full opposite rudder and centralise the stick!

  Centralise it! Can't you hear me? Oh God, God!"

  And of course the panic gradually crept in and I began to crack. One

  moment //X V~l 2n an

  , " I

  I could see a railway station in front of me whirling around in crazy

  circles .

  then there was nothing but the empty heavens and within seconds fields

  and , trees would start to rush at me. Everything kept changing

  bewilderingly except the enraged eyes in the mirror and the exasperated

  yells.

  "Centralise it, you bloody fool! Keep your eye on that cloud! Watch

  your artificial horizon! Don't you know what the altimeter's for? I

  told you to keep at 1,000 feet but it's like talking to a bloody

  wall!"

  After a while a kind of numbness took over and the words rang

  meaninglessly in my head, one sentence seeming to contradict another.

  Desperately I tried to, sort out the volleys of advice, but the whole

  thing began to slip from my grasp; I had felt like this somewhere

  before. There was a familiar ring about the jumble in my brain. Then

  it came back to me. It was like being back at the.

  it~Birtwhistles.

  The trouble with the Birtwhistles was that they all spoke at once. ~

  Birtwhistle invariably discussed his livestock, his wife concentrated

  on family.

  matters and Len, their massive eighteen-year-old son, talked of nothing

  but ' !, t b a I I . , " ~ . ~, . . . ~ . . A ~ ~ A ~1 ~ _. ~ A A ~

  I was examining Nellie, the pig wnltc ~ow rilal al waya at~Uu ~ - alic

  IrD doorway in the grey stone byre. She had been lame for over a week

  and I didn't' like the look of her.

  "Lift her foot, will you, Len," I said. It was wonderful to have a

  muscular giant to hoist the hind limb instead of going through the

  tedious business of hauling it-up with a rope over a beam.

  With the cloven hoof cradled in the great hands I could see that my

  fears we g realised. The space between the cleats was clear but there

  was a significant; swelling around the inter phalangeal joint. ~ I

  looked up from my stoop ing position.

  "Can you see that, Mr Birtwhistle?i The infection is spreading

  upwards."

  "Aye . . . aye . . ." The farmer thrust a finger against the

  tumefied area and; Nellie flinched.

  "It's goin' up her leg on that side right enough. Ah thought it was

  nowt but a bit o' foul and I've been put tin' . . ."

  "By gaw," Len interjected.

  "The lads 'ad a good win against Heller by q.

  Saturday. Johnnie Nudd got another couple o' goals and . . ." ;~

  '... put tin' that caustic lotion between 'er cleats." Mr Birtwhistle

  didn't appear to have heard his son but it was al ways like that.

  "Done it regular night and morning'. And ah'll tell ye the best way to

  do it. Get a hen feather a~ '. . . ah wouldn't be surprised if'e

  scores a few more this Saturday," continu" Len unheedingly.

  "He's a right bobby dazzler when 'e . . ." .; '. . . ye jU' ~ it in

  "'lotion and push the feather in between "'cleats. It wor~ like a . }

  ~ : :~: ~, on 'is right foot. He just whacks 'em in . . ."

  "Wait a minute. You must realise this cow hasn't got foul <, arthritis

  in this little joint just at the coronet here. I clod ';~; ~A 'words

  but she has pus matter right inside the bloody thing."

  ' - o ~c ~owly.

  "Sort of a abscess, you mean?

  Well, maybe) i'- ~ ~C; vou let "'matter out it would . . ."

  instancco, ~o ~ ; \t on Len.

  "Ah'll tell ye, Johnnie could get a t~ evening. In ; ~'t~ ~s and then

  . ' a good idea that . ~ . ~ok at a person when they are talking to

  ydi~ of quiet Yorkshire sP -. %~> ~oth talking at once, especially

  when o d But his main martyro~ , ~tanding behind you. 4 finished

  treating the dog that ~ put her foot down now." I straight~

  ~ G- `16 U Q~61`

  /~7 up and directed my gaze somewhere between them.

  "The trouble with this condition is that you can't just stick a knife

  into it and relieve it. Very often the smooth surfaces of the joint

  are eaten away and it's terribly painful."

  Nellie would agree with me. It was the outside cleat which was

  affected and she was stan ding with her leg splayed sideways in an

  attempt to take the weight on the healthy inner digit.

  The farmer asked the inevitable question.

  "Well, what are we goin' to do?"

  I had an uncomfortable conviction that it wasn't going to make much

  difference what we did, but I had to make an effort.

  We'll give her a course of sulphanilamide powders and I also want you

  to put a poultice on that foot three times daily."

  "Poultice?" The farmer brightened.

  "Ah've been coin' that. Ah've been . . ."

  "If Darlington signed Johnnie Nudd I reckon . . ."

  "Hold on, Len," I said.

  "What poultice have you been using, Mr Birtwhistle?"

  "Cow shit," the farmer replied confidently.

  "Ye can't beat a good cow shit poultice to bring t'bad out. Ah've used

  it for them bad cases o' . . ."

  '. . . ah'd have to go through to Darlington now and then instead of

  watch in' the Kestrels," Len broke in.

  "Ah'd have to see how Johnnie was get tin' on wit hem professionals

  because . . ."

  I managed a twisted smile. I like football myself and I found it

  touching that Len ignored the great panorama of league football to

  concentrate on a village team who played in front of about twenty

  spectators.

  "Yes, yes, Len, I quite understand how you feel." Then I turned to his

  father.

  "I was thinking of a rather different type of poultice, Mr

  Birtwhistle."

  The farmer's face lengthened and the corners of his mouth drooped.

  "Well, ah've never found owt better than cow shit and ah've been among

  stock all my life."

  I clenched my teeth. This earthy medicament was highly regarded among

  the Dales farmers of the thirties and the damnable thing was that it

  often achieved its objective. There was no doubt that a sackful of

  bovine faeces applied to an inflamed area set up a tremendous heat and

  counter-irritation. In those days I had to go along with many of the

  ancient cures and keep my tongue between my teeth but I had never

  prescribed cow shit and I wasn't going to start now.

  "Maybe so," I said firmly,

  "But what I was thinking of was kaolin. You could call down at the

  surgery for some. You just heat the tin in a pan of hot water and

  apply the poultice to the foot. It keeps its heat for several

  hours."

  Mr Birtwhistle showed no great enthusiasm so I tried again.

  "Or you could use bran. I see you've got a sack over there."

  He cheered up a little.

  "Aye . . . that's right."

  "Okay,
put on some hot bran three times a day and give her the powders

  and I'll see her again in a few days." I knew the farmer would do as I

  said, because he was a conscientious stockman, but I had seen cases

  like this before and I wasn't happy. No thing seems to pull a good cow

  down quicker than a painful foot. Big fat animals could be reduced to

  skeletons within weeks because of the agony of septic arthritis. I

  could only hope.

  "Very good, Mr Herriot," Mr Birtwhistle said.

  "And now come into the house.

  I'missus has a cup o' tea ready for you."

  I seldom refuse such an invitation but as I entered the kitchen I knew

  this was where the going got really tough.

  "Now then, Mr Herriot," the farmer's wife said, beaming as she handed

  me a steaming mug.

  "I was talkie' to your good lady in the market place yesterday, and she

  said . . ."

  "And ye think them powders o' yours might do the trick?" Her husband

  looked ~.

  at me seriously.

  "I 'ope so, because Nellie's a right good milker. Ah reckon last.

  Lactation she gave . . ."

  "Kestrels is drawn agin Dibham in t"Hulton cup." Len chimed in.

  "It'll be.

  some game. Last time . . ."

  Mrs Birtwhistle continued without drawing breath. '... you were

  nicely.

  settled in at top of Skeldale House. It must be right pleasant up

  there with the lovely view and . . ."

  '. . . five gallons when she fust calved and she kept it up for . .

  ."

  '. . . they nearly kicked us off "'pitch, but by gaw ah'll tell ye,

  we'll . .

  ." : '. . . you can see right over Darrow by. But it wouldn't do for a

  fat body like me. I was say in' to your missus that you 'ave to be

  young and slim to live up there. All them stairs and . . ."

  I took a long draught from my cup. It gave me a chance to focus my

  eyes and attention on just one thing as the conversation crackled

  unceasingly around me.

  I invariably found it wearing trying to listen to all three

  Birtwhistles in full cry and of course it was impossible to look at

  them all simultaneously and adjust my expression to their different

  remarks.

  The thing that amazed me was that none of them ever became angry at the

  others butting in. Nobody ever said,

  "I'm speaking do you mind?" or

  "Don't interrupt!" or

  "For Pete's sake, shut up!" They lived together in perfect harmony

  with all of them talking at once and none paying the slightest heed to

  what the other was saying

  When I saw the cow during the following week she was worse. Mr

  Birtwhistle had followed my instructions faithfully but Nellie could

  scarcely hobble as }~ brought her in from the field.

  Len was there to lift the foot and I gloomily surveyed the increased

  swelling; It ran right round the coronet from the heel to the

  interdigital cleft in front, and the slightest touch from my finger

  caused the big cow to jerk her leg in pain.

  I didn't say much, because I knew what was in store for Nellie and I

  knew too, that Mr Birtwhistle wasn't going to like it when I told

  him.

  When I visited again at the end of the week I had only to look at the

  farmer) face to realise that every thing had turned out as I feared.

  For once he was on his own and he led me silently into the byre.

  Nellie was on three legs now, not daring even to bring the infected

  foot into momentary contact with the cobbled flooring. and worse, she

  was in an advanced} state of emaciation, the sleek healthy animal of

  two weeks ago reduced to little more than bone and hide.