Vet in Harness Read online

pile of sticks and coal. Girls used to wear things called 'pixie hoods'

  in those days and I can see her now in a blue pixie hood, her face

  flushed with the long climb up the stairs looking round that door at me

  busy with my chores.

  But tonight my worst fears were being realised. My wife gave a long

  contented sigh and laid out one by one the dread ace, king, queen, jack

  and ten.

  "Sequence,' she murmured in a matter of fact tone and moved her peg up

  another two hundred and fifty.

  It wasn't a defeat, it was a massacre. It was obvious I hadn't long to

  live. But as I scanned the board anxiously the front door bell echoed

  along the passage downstairs.

  Maybe I was going to be saved. I leapt to my feet and began the familiar

  descent.

  A bulky figure loomed beyond the glass door at the end of the passage

  and as I turned the handle a waft of beer fumes blew in.

  "Ah want a cleansing drink,' the figure said.

  I opened the door wide. "Come inside for a minute, it's a cold night.'

  It was Reg Mallaby, a member of the large body of farmers who liked to

  drop in at the surgery on the way home after a night in the pub or the

  cinema, just to pick up some medicaments for the livestock.

  We went into the office and he stood leaning on the desk, breathing

  heavily.

  "A cleansing drink, eh?' I said. "Right, I'll bring one through.'

  Of course there was no such thing as a cleansing drink - there never has

  been - and when I first came to Darrowby and didn't know any better I

  used to waste a lot of time telling the farmers so. I went out of my way

  to explain as lucidly as I could that nothing you poured down a cow's

  throat could possibly influence the separation of the afterbirth and

  that they shouldn't throw their money away on something which was

  useless. The farmers listened with growing disbelief then left,

  offended, to purchase a cleansing drink at the chemist's shop.

  I took a more practical view now and went through to the stockroom.

  There was quite a pile of the square packets there. They were wrapped in

  bright red paper with lettering in confident black capitals and we did a

  brisk trade in them at half a crown a time. We bought them by the gross

  from a wholesaler and though I never had them analysed I had a strong

  suspicion that they consisted of a pound of Epsom salts flavoured with

  aromatic powder.

  "Here you are, Mr Mallaby,' I said. "That's what you want, isn't it?'

  "Aye, that's it, young man.' The farmer handled the packet almost

  lovingly. "They're champion things, these, the knows. Ah've never known

  'em fail. Must have some wonderful stuff in 'em.'

  He handed over his half crown then looked at me benevolently. "I 'ope I

  haven't disturbed you, lad. Maybe you were doing summat important like?'

  "No, that's quite all right, Mr Mallaby.' I looked at him with mingled

  surprise and gratitude. He was the first of the nocturnal callers who

  had shown any interest or concern. It had always been another symptom of

  the general opinion that vets have no private life. "No, you needn't

  worry about that. I was just playing cards with my wife.'

  The farmer nodded and a slow seraphic smile crept over his face. There

  was no doubt he had been indulging to the full. Then he narrowed his

  eyes suddenly.

  "Is your Missus t'lass that works at "'mill?'

  "Yes, that's right. She's in the office there.'

  His face became very solemn. "Aye well, I 'ave a complaint to make.'

  "A complaint? What do you mean?'

  I must have looked astonished because he held up a placatory hand.

  "Now then, young man, she's a grand lass, I'm not sayin' nowt about

  that. But she sent me a wrong bill.'

  "A wrong bill? In what way?'

  "There was a mistake in it. She charged me for a lot o' things I never

  'ad.'

  "Well that's very strange. Are you absolutely sure?' I could easily

  imagine myself making clerical errors but in my experience Helen was a

  model of efficiency in that line.

  "Aye, ah'm sure,' he replied. "Haud on a minute and I'll show you. I

  'ave it in my pocket here.'

  He put his cleansing drink on the desk and began a laborious search of

  his pockets. He tracked down the offending account among a huge wad of

  envelopes which he extracted from inside his coat.

  "There y'are, young man,' he said importantly. "Just have a look at

  that.'

  I studied the paper carefully. Opposite a date at the top there was an

  entry "Two bags pig meal' and underneath on dates when the order had

  obviously been repeated Helen had put dittos by writing 'do .. . do . ..

  do .. . do'.

  "Well what's wrong with it, Mr Mallaby?'

  The farmer pursed his lips. "Ah'll tell ye. Ye see that about pig meal?'

  I nodded.

  'well,' he went on, 'ah've had a few bags o' that, I'm not denyint and I

  expect to pay for't. But ... ' and here he raised a portentous

  forefinger, 'there's one thing I'm certain of. Ah've never 'ad none o'

  them bloody doo-doo's.'

  ~ _ .~

  Chapter Twenty.

  No vet likes to have his job made more difficult and as I worked inside

  the ewe I fought a rising tide of irritation.

  "You know, Mr Kitson,' I said testily, 'you should have got me out

  sooner. How long have you been trying to lamb this ewe?'

  The big man grunted and shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, for a bit - not

  ower long.'

  "Half an hour - an hour?'

  "Nay, nay, nobbut a few minutes.' Mr Kitson regarded me gloomily along

  his pointed nose. It was his habitual expression; in fact I had never

  seen him smile and the idea of a laugh ever disturbing those pendulous

  cheeks was unthinkable.

  I gritted my teeth and decided to say no more about it, but I knew it

  had taken more than a few minutes to cause the swelling of the vaginal

  wall, this sandpaper dryness of the little creature's inside. And it was

  a simple enough presentation - biggish twins, one anterior the other

  posterior, but of course as often happens the hind legs of one were laid

  alongside the head of the other giving the illusion that they belonged

  to the same lamb. I'd like to bet that Mr Kitson had been guddling for

  ages inside her with his big rough hands in a dogged attempt to bring

  that head and those legs out together.

  If I had been there at the start it would have been the work of a few

  moments but instead here I was without an inch of space, trying to push

  things around with one finger instead of my full hand and getting

  nowhere.

  Fortunately the present day farmer doesn't often play this trick on us.

  The usual thing I hear at a lambing is, "Nay, I just had a quick feel

  and I knew it wasn't a job for me,' or something I heard from a farmer

  the other day, "Two men at one ewe's no good,' and I think that says it

  very well.

  But Mr Kitson was of the old school. He didn't believe in getting the

  vet out until every other avenue had been explored and when he did

  finally have to fall back on our services he was usually dissatisfied

  with the resu