Vet in a Spin Read online

  "I doubt she's 'ad it," Mr Birtwhistle muttered.

  Cow's hind feet are difficult to lift, but today I didn't need any help

  because Nellie had stopped caring. I examined the swollen digit. It

  was now vast i great ugly club of tissue with a trickle of pus

  discharging down the wall. ' I see it's bust there." The farmer poked

  a finger at the ragged opening.

  "B.

  it hasn't given erno relief."

  "Well, I wouldn't expect it to," I said.

  "Remember I told you the trouble is inside the joint."

  "Well, these things 'appen," he replied.

  "Ah might as well telephone to Mallock. She's hardly givin' a drop o'

  milk, poor awd lass, she's nowt but screw now."

  I al ways had to wait for the threat of the knacker man's humane killer

  before" I said what I had to say now. Right from the start this had

  been a case for surgery, but it would have been a waste of time to

  suggest it at the beginning.

  Amputation of the bovine digit has al ways filled farmers with horror

  and a4 now I knew I would have trouble convincing Mr Birtwhistle.

  "There's no need to slaughter her," I said.

  "There's another way of curing thiS. "Another way? We've tried 'arc

  enough, surely."

  I bent and lifted the foot again.

  "Look at this." I seized the inner cleat and moved it freely around.

  "This side is perfectly healthy. There's nothing wrong with it. It

  would bear Nellie's full weight."

  "Aye, but . . . how about tother 'orrible thing?"

  "I could remove it."

  "You mean . . . cut it off ?"

  "Yes."

  He shook his head vigorously

  "Nay, nay, I'm not havin' that. She's suffered enough Far better send

  for Jeff Mallock and get the job over."

  Here it was again. Farmers are anything but shrinking violets, but

  there was something about this business which appalled them.

  "But Mr Birtwhistle," I said.

  "Don't you see the pain is immediately relieved.

  The pressure is off and all the weight rests on the good side."

  "Ah said no, Mr Herriot, and ah mean no. You've done your best and I

  thank ye, but I'm not havin' her foot cut off and that's all about it."

  He turned and began to walk away.

  I looked after him helplessly. One thing I hate to do is talk a man

  into an operation on one of his beasts for the simple reason that if

  anything goes wrong I get the blame. But I was just about cert ain

  that an hour's work could restore this good cow to her former state, I

  couldn't let it go at this.

  I trotted from the byre. The farmer was already half way across the

  yard on his way to the phone.

  I panted up to him as he reached the farmhouse door.

  "Mr Birtwhistle, listen to me for a minute. I never said anything

  about cutting off her foot. Just one cleat."

  "Well that's half a foot, isn't it?" he looked down at his boots.

  "And it's ower much for me."

  "But she wouldn't know a thing," I pleaded.

  "She'd be under a general anaesthetic. And I'm nearly sure it would be

  a success."

  "Mr Herriot, I just don't fancy it. I don't like t'idea. And even if

  it did work it would be like havin' a crippled cow walk in' about."

  "Not at all. She would grow a little stump of horn there and I'd like

  to bet you'd never notice a thing."

  He gave me a long sideways look and I could see he was weakening.

  "Mr Birtwhistle," I said, pressing home the attack.

  "Within a month Nellie could be a fat cow again, giving five gallons of

  milk a day."

  This was silly talk, not to be recommended to any veterinary surgeon,

  but I was seized by a kind of madness. I couldn't bear the thought of

  that cow being cut up for dog food when I was convinced I could put her

  right. And there was another thing; I was already savouring the

  pleasure, childish perhaps, of instantly relieving an animal's pain, of

  bringing off a spectacular cure. There aren't many operations in the

  field of bovine surgery where you can do this but digit amputation is

  one of them.

  Something of my fervour must have been communicated to the farmer

  because he looked at me steadily for a few moments then shrugged.

  "When do you want to do it?" he asked.

  "Tomorrow."

  "Right. Will you need a lot o'fellers to help?"

  "No, just you and Len. I'll see you at ten o'clock."

  ~next day the sun was warm on my back as I laid out my equipment on a

  small ~ :: field near the house. It was a typical setting for many

  large animal operations.

  I have carried out over the years; the sweet stretch of green, the grey

  Stone buildings and the peaceful bulk of the fells rising calm and

  unheeding into the white scattering of clouds. Y It took a long time

  for them to lead Nellie out, though she didn't have far to go, and as

  the bony scarecrow hopped painfully towards me, dangling her useless.

  limb, the brave words of yesterday seemed foolhardy.

  "All right," I said.

  "Stop there. That's a good spot." On the grass, nearby, lay] my tray

  with the saw, chloroform, bandages, cotton wool and iodoform. I had`]

  my long casting rope too, which we used to pull cattle down, but I had

  a feeling Nellie wouldn't need it.

  I was right. I buckled on the muzzle, poured some chloroform on to the

  sponge and the big white cow sank almost thankfully on to the cool

  green herbage.

  "Kestrels had a smash in' match on Wednesday night," Len chuckled

  happily, ~ "Johnnie Nudd didn't score but Len Bottomley . . ." ~j "I

  'ope we're coin' t'right thing," muttered Mr Birtwhistle.

  "The way she-] staggered out 'ere I'd say it was a waste of time to . .

  ." :~ '. . . cracked in a couple o' beauties." Len's face lit up at

  the memory.

  "Kestrel~ is lucky to 'ave two fellers like . . ."

  "Get hold of that bad foot, Len!" I barked, playing them at their own

  game. l "And keep it steady on that block of wood. And you, Mr

  Birtwhistle, hold her head down. I don't suppose she'll move, but if

  she does we'll have to ~give her more chloroform."

  Cows are good subjects for chloroform anaesthesia but I don't like to

  keep] them laid out too long in case of regurgitation of food. I was

  in a hurry.

  I quickly tied a bandage above the hoof, pulling it tight to serve as a

  tourniquet" then I reached back to the tray for the saw. The books are

  full of sophisticated methods of digit amputation with much talk of

  curved incisions, reflections of ll skin to expose the region of the

  articulations, and the like. But I have whipped:' l off hundreds of

  cleats with a few brisk strokes of the saw below the coronar)ii: l band

  with complete success. ~ l I took a long breath.

  "Hold tight, Len." And set to work. .~3 For a few moments there was

  silence except for the rhythmic grating of metal] on bone, then the

  offending digit was Lying on the grass, leaving a flat stump from which

  a few capillary vessels spurted. Using curved scissors I speedily

  disarticulated the remains of the pedal bone from the second ph
alanx

  and held ~t up. :~ "Look at that!" I cried.

  "Almost eaten away." I pointed to the necrotic tissue~lt~ in and

  around the joint.

  "And d'you see all that rubbish? No wonder she wet: g~ in pain." I

  did a bit of quick curetting, dusted the surface with iodoform, applied

  < a thick pad of cotton wool and prepared to bandage. ,: And as I tore

  the paper from the white rolls I felt a stab of remorse. In m

  absorption I had been rather rude. I had never replied to Len's remark

  about!^ ;.

  his beloved team. Maybe I could pass the next few minutes with a

  little gentle banter. '-~ "Hey Len," I said.

  "When you're talking about the Kestrels you never mentioned' the time

  Willerton beat them five nil. How is that?"

  In reply the young man hurled himself unhesitatingly at me, butting 1

  savagely on the forehead. The assault of the great coarse-haired head

  against my skin was like being attacked by a curly-polled bull, and the

  impact sent flying backwards on to the grass. At first the inside of

  my cranium ~ illuminated by a firework display but as consciousness

  slipped away my 1, sensation was of astonishment and disbelief. ~ I

  loved football myself but never had I thought that Len's devotion to!l'

  Vet in a Spin Kestrels would lead him to physical violence. He had al

  ways seemed a most gentle and harmless boy.

  I Suppose I was out for only a few seconds but I fancy I might have

  spent a good deal longer Lying on the cool turf but for the fact that

  something kept hammering out the message that I was in the middle of a

  surgical procedure.

  I blinked and sat up.

  Nellie was still sleeping peacefully against the green background of

  hills. Mr Birtwhistle, hands on her neck, was regarding me anxiously,

  and Len was Lying unconscious face down across the cow's body.

  "Has he hurt the, Mr Herriot?"

  "No . . . no . . . not really. What happened?"

  "I owt to have told ye. He can't stand the sight o' blood. Great daft

  beggar."

  The farmer directed an exasperated glare at his slumbering son.

  "But ah've never seen 'im go down as fast as that. Pitched right into

  you, 'e did!"

  I rolled the young man's inert form to one side and began again. I

  bandaged slowly and carefully because of the danger of post operative

  haemorrhage. I finished with several layers of zinc oxide plaster then

  turned to the farmer.

  "You can take her muzzle off now, Mr Birtwhistle. The job's done."

  I was star ting to wash my instruments in the bucket when Len sat up

  almost as suddenly as he had slumped down. He was deathly pale but he

  looked at me with his usual friendly smile.

  "What was that ye were say in' about ""Kestrels, Mr Herriot?"

  "No thing, Len," I replied hastily.

  "No thing at all."

  After three days I returned and removed the original dressing which was

  caked hard with blood and pus. I dusted the stump with powder again

  and bandaged on a clean soft pad of cotton wool.

  "She'll feel a lot more comfortable now," I said, and indeed Nellie was

  already loo king vastly happier. She was taking some weight on the

  affected foot rather gingerly, as though she couldn't believe that

  terrible thing had gone from her hfe.

  As she walked away I crossed my fingers. The only thing that can ruin

  these operations is if the infection spreads to the other side. The

  inevitable result then is immediate slaughter and terrible

  disappointment.

  But it never happened to Nellie. When I took off the second dressing

  she was almost sound and I didn't see her again until about five weeks

  after the operation.

  I had finished injecting one of Mr Birtwhistle's pigs when I asked

  casually, "And how's Nellie?"

  "Come and 'ave a look at her," the farmer replied.

  "She's just in that field at side of "'road."

  We walked together over the grass to where the white cow was stan ding

  among her companions, head down, munching busily. And she must have

  done a lot of that since I saw her because she was fat again.

  "Get on, lass." The farmer gently nudged her rump with his thumb and

  she ambled forward a few places before setting to work on another patch

  of grass.

  There wasn't the slightest trace of lameness.

  "Well, that's grand," I said.

  "And is she milking well, too?"

  "Aye, back to five gallons." He pulled a much dented tobacco tin from

  his pocket, unscrewed the lid and produced an ancient watch.

  "It's ten o'clock, young man. Len'll have gone into t'house for his

  tea, and 'lowance. Will ye come in and have a cup?"

  I squared my shoulders and followed him inside, and the barrage began

  ~immediately.

  "Sum mat right funny happened on Saturday," Len said with a roar of

  laughter.

  "Walter Gimmett was referee in' and 'e gave two penalties agin

  ""Kestrels what did the lads do, they . . ."

  "Eee, wasn't it sad about old Mr Brent?" Mrs Birtwhistle put her head

  on on side and looked at me piteously.

  "We buried 'im on Saturday and. . ."

  "You know, Mr Herriot," her husband put in.

  "Ah thought you were pull in' ma leg when you said Nellie would be

  givin' five gallons again. I never . . ."

  '. . . dumped the beggar in a 'oss trough. He won't give no more

  penalties.

  agin ""Kestrels. You should 'ave seen . . ."

  '. . . it would 'ave been his ninetieth birthday today, poor old man.

  He w well liked in "'village and there was a big congregation. Parson

  said . . ."

  '. . . expected owt like that. Ah thought she might maybe put on a bit

  of flP.

  so we could get 'er off for beef. Ah'm right grateful to . . ."

  ~' , , ~.1 _ _ ~ ~ At that moment, fingers clenched tensely around my

  cup, I happened to catch sight of my reflection in a cracked mirror

  above the kitchen sink. It was frightening experience because I was

  staring glassily into space with my features contorted almost out of

  recognition. There was something of an idiot smile, I acknowledged the

  humour of Walter in the horse trough, a touch of sorrow at Mr Brent's

  demise, and, I swear, a suggestion of gratification at the successful

  outcome of Nellie's operation. And since I was also trying to look in

  three directions at once, I had to give myself full marks for effort.

  But as I say, I found it a little unnerving and excused myself soon

  afterwards.

  The men were still busy with Mrs Birtwhistle's apple pie and scones and

  t conversation was raging unabated when I left. The closure of the

  door behind me brought a sudden peace. The feeling of tranquillity

  stayed with me as I into my car and drove out of the yard and onto the

  narrow country road.

  persisted as I stopped the car after less than a hundred yards and

  wound do, the window to have a look at my patient.

  Nellie was Lying down now. She had eaten her fill and was resting

  comfortably on her chest as she chewed her cud. To a doctor of farm

  animals there is nothin
g more reassuring than that slow lateral

  grinding. It means contentment a health. She gazed at me across the

  stone wall and the placid eyes in the wh face added to the restfulness

  of the scene, accentuating the silence after the ba of voices in the

  farmhouse.

  Nellie couldn't talk, but those calmly moving jaws told me all I wanted

  know.

  Chapter Seven To me there are few things more appealing than a dog

  begging. This one tied to a lamp post outside a shop in Windsor. Its

  eyes were fixed steadfastly on the shop doorway, willing its owner to

  come out, and every now and the.

  it sat up in mute entreaty. ~-7 Flying had been suspended for an

  afternoon. It gave us all a chance to rest' and no doubt it eased the

  frayed nerves of our instructors, but as I looked at the dog all the

  pressures of the RAF fell away and I was back in Darrow by. ~ It was

  when Siegfried and I were ma king one of our market day sorties t.

  we noticed the little dog among the stalls.

  veIn a optn

  /S)

  When things were quiet in the surgery we often used to walk together

  across the cObbles and have a word with the farmers gathered round the

  doorway of the Drovers, Arms. Sometimes we collected a few outstan

  ding bills or drummed up a bit of work for the forthcoming week and if

  nothing like that happened we still enjoyed the fresh air.

  The thing that made us notice the dog was that he was sit ting up

  begging in front of the biscuit stall.

  "Look at that little chap," Siegfried said.

  "I wonder where he's sprung from."

  As he spoke, the stall holder threw a biscuit which the dog devoured

  eagerly but when the man came round and stretched out a hand the little

  animal trotted away He stopped, however, at another stall which sold

  produce; eggs, cheese, butter, cakes and scones. Without hesitation he

  sat up again in the begging position, rock steady, paws dangling, head

  pointing expectantly.

  I nudged Siegfried.

  "There he goes again."

  My colleague nodded.

  "Yes, he's an engaging little thing, isn't he? What breed would you

  call him?"

  "A cross, I'd say. He's like a something else maybe terrier."

  It wasn't long before he was munching a bun, and this time we walked

  over to him. And as we drew near I spoke gently.

  "Here, boy," I said, squatting down a yard away.

  "Come on, let's have a look at you."

  He faced me and for a moment two friendly brown eyes gazed at me from a

  singularly attractive little face. The fringed tail waved in response

  to my words but as I inched nearer he turned and ambled unhurriedly

  among the market day crowd till he was lost to sight. I didn't want to

  make a thing out of the encounter because I could never quite divine

  Siegfried's attitude to the small animals.

  He was eminently wrapped up in his horse work and often seemed amused

  at the way I rushed around after dogs and cats.

  At that time, in fact, Siegfried was strongly opposed to the whole idea

  of keeping animals as pets. He was quite vociferous on the subject

  said it was utterly foolish despite the fact that five assorted dogs

  travelled everywhere with him in his car. Now, thirty-five years

  later, he is just as strongly in favour of keeping pets, though he now

  carries only one dog in his car. So, as I say, it was difficult to

  assess his reactions in this field and I refrained from following the

  little animal.

  I was stan ding there when a young policeman came up to me.

  "I've been watching that little dog begging among the stalls all