Vet in a Spin Read online

sparkled at the memory.

  "I know, Mr Potts, I've blown up a few myself, only I didn't use a

  bicycle pump I had a special little inflation apparatus."

  That black box with its shining cylinders and filter is now in my

  personal museum, and it is the best place for it. It had got me out of

  some diflicult situations but in the background there had al ways been

  the gnawing dread of vet tn a ~n l ,~i transmitting tuberculosis. I

  had heard of it happening and was glad that calcium boro gluconate had

  arrived.

  As we spoke, Sam and Nip played on the grass beside us, I watched as

  the beagle frisked round the old animal while Nip pawed at him

  stiffjointedly, his tail waving with pleasure. You could see that he

  enjoyed these meet ings as much as his master and for a brief time the

  years fell away from him as he rolled on his back with Sam astride him,

  nibbling gently at his chest.

  I walked with the old farmer as far as the little wooden bridge, then I

  had to turn for home. I watched the two of them pottering slowly over

  the narrow strip of timber to the other side of the river. Sam and I

  had our work pressing but they had nothing else to do.

  I used to see Mr Potts at other times, too. Wandering aimlessly among

  the stalls on market days or stan ding on the fringe of the group of

  farmers who al ways gathered in front of the Drovers' Arms to meet

  cattle dealers, cow feed merchants, or just to talk business among

  themselves.

  Or I saw him at the auction mart, leaning on his stick, listening to

  the rapid-fire chanting of the auctioneer, watching listlessly as the

  beasts were bought and sold. And all the time I knew there was an

  emptiness in him, because there were none of his cattle in the stalls,

  none of his sheep in the long rows of pens. He was out of it all, old

  and done.

  I saw him the day before he died. It was in the usual place and I was

  stan ding at the river's edge watching a heron rising from a rush-lined

  island and flapping lazily away over the fields.

  The old man stopped as he came abreast of me and the two dogs began

  their friendly wrestling.

  "Well now, Mr Herriot." He paused and bowed his head over the stick

  which he had dug into the grass of his farm for half a century.

  "What have you been coin' today?"

  Perhaps his cheeks were a deeper shade of blue and the breath whistled

  through his pursed lips as he exhaled, but I can't recall that he

  looked any worse than usual.

  "I'll tell you, Mr Potts," I said.

  "I'm feeling a bit weary. I ran into a real snorter of a foaling this

  morning took me over two hours and I ache all over."

  "Foaling, eh? Foal would be laid wrong, I reckon?"

  "Yes, crOss-ways on, and I had a struggle to turn it."

  "By yaw, yes, it's hard work is that." He smiled reminiscently.

  "Doesta remember that Clydesdale mare you foaled at ma place? Must

  'ave been one of your first jobs when you came to Darrow by."

  "Of course I do," I replied. And I remembered too, how kind the old

  man had been. Seeing I was young and green and unsure of myself he had

  taken pains, in his quiet way, to put me at my ease and give me

  confidence.

  "Yes," I went on, 'it was late on a Sunday night and we had a right

  tussle with it. There was just the two of us but we managed, didn't

  we?"

  He squared his shoulders and for a moment his eyes looked past me at

  something I couldn't see.

  "Aye, that's right. We made a job of 'er, you and me.

  Ah could push and pull a bit then."

  "You certainly could. There's no doubt about that."

  He sucked the air in with difficulty and blew it out again with that

  peculiar pursing of the lips. Then he turned to me with a st range

  dignity.

  "They were good days, Mr Herriot, weren't they?"

  "They were, Mr Potts, they were indeed."

  "Aye, aye." He nodded slowly.

  "Ah've had a lot o' them days. Hard but good."

  He looked down at his dog.

  "And awd Nip shared 'em with me, didn't ye, lad?"

  His words took me back to the very first time I had seen Mr Potts. He

  was ~ .. .~. ~ ~.

  perched on a stool, milking one of his few cows, his cloth-capped head

  thrusting into the hairy flank, and as he pulled at the teats old Nip

  dropped a stone on the toe of his boot. The farmer reached down,

  lifted the stone between two fingers and flicked it out through the

  open door into the yard. Nip scurried delightedly after it and was

  back within seconds, dropping the stone on the boot and panting

  hopefully.

  He wasn't disappointed. His master repeated the throw automatically as

  if it was something he did all the time, and as I watched it happening

  again and again I realised that this was a daily ritual between the

  two. I had a piercing impression of infinite patience and devotion.

  "Right, then, Mr Herriot, we'll be off," Mr Potts said, jerking me

  back to the present.

  "Come on, Nip." He waved his stick and I watched him till a low

  hanging willow branch hid man and dog from my sight.

  That was the last time I saw him. Next day the man at the petrol pumps

  mumbled casually.

  "See old Mr Potts got his time in, eh?"

  And that was it. There was no excitement, and only a handful of his

  old friends turned up at the funeral.

  For me it was a stab of sorrow. Another familiar face gone, and I

  should miss him as my busy life went on. I knew our daily

  conversations had cheered him but I felt with a sad finality that there

  was nothing else I could do for Mr Potts.

  It was about a fortnight later and as I opened the gate to let Sam into

  the riverside fields I glanced at my watch. Twelve thirty plenty of

  time for our pre-lunch walk and the long stretch of green was empty.

  Then I noticed a single dog away on the left. It was Nip, and as I

  watched he got up, took a few indeterminate steps over the grass then

  turned and sat down again at the gate of his back garden.

  Instead of taking my usual route I cut along behind the houses till I

  reached the old dog. He had been loo king around him aimlessly but

  when we came up to him he seemed to come to life, sniffing Sam over and

  wagging his tail at me.

  On the other side of the gate Mrs Potts was doing a bit of weeding,

  bending painfully as she plied her trowel.

  "How are you, Mrs Potts?" I said.

  With an effort she straightened up.

  "Oh, not too bad, thank you, Mr Herriot."

  She came over and leaned on the gate.

  "I see you're loo kin' at the awd dog. My word he's mis sin' his

  master."

  I didn't say anything and she went on.

  "He's ~eating all right and I can give him plenty of good food, but

  what I can't do is take 'im for walks." She rubbed her back.

  "I'm plagued with rheumatic ks, Mr Herriot, and it takes me all my

  time to get around the house and garden."

  "I can understand that," I said.

  "And I don't suppose he'll walk by himself."

  "Nay, he won't. There's the path