Let Sleeping Vets Lie Read online

  then I get a hell or a kick out of hearing them revving up like mad and

  roaring off for home. None of them ever slows down."

  "Well, somebody once told me your sense of humour was over-developed," I

  said. "And I'm telling you it'll land you in the cart one of these

  days."

  "Not a chance. I keep my bike behind a hedge about a hundred yards down

  the road so that I can make a quick getaway if necessary. There's no

  problem."

  "Well, please yourself." I got off the bed and made shakily for the

  door. "I'm i!.

  ~_

  going downstairs for a tot of whisky, and just remember this." I turned

  and glared at him. "If you try that trick on me again I'll strangle

  you."

  A few days later at about eight o'clock in the evening I was sitting

  reading by the fireside in the big room at Skeldale House when the door

  burst open and Siegfried burst into the room.

  "James," he rapped out. "Old Horace Dawson's cow has split its teat.

  Sounds like a stitching job. The old chap won't be able to hold the cow

  and he has no near neighbours to help him so I wonder if you'd come and

  give me a hand."

  "Sure, glad to." I marked the place in my book, stretched and yawned

  then got up from the chair. I noticed Siegfried's foot tapping on the

  carpet and it occurred to me, not for the first time, that the only

  thing that would satisfy him would be some kind of ejector seat on my

  chair which would hurl me straight through the door and into action on

  the word of command. I was being as quick as I could but I had the

  feeling as always - when I was writing something for him or operating

  under his eyes - that I wasn't going nearly fast enough. There were

  elements of tension in the knowledge that the mere fact of watching me

  rise from the chair and replace my book in the fireside alcove was an

  almost unbearable strain for him.

  By the time I was half way across the carpet he had disappeared into the

  passage. I followed at a trot and just made it into the street as he was

  starting the car. Grabbing the door I made a dive for the interior and

  felt the road whip away from under my foot as we took off into the

  darkness.

  Fifteen minutes later we screeched to a halt in the yard behind a little

  smallholding standing on its own across a couple of fields. The engine

  had barely stopped before my colleague was out of the car and striding

  briskly towards the cow house. He called to me over his shoulder as he

  went.

  "Bring the suture materials, James, will you ... and that bottle of

  wound lotion ... '

  . and the local and syringe I heard the brief murmur of conversation

  from within then Siegfried's voice again, raised this time in an

  impatient shout.

  "James! What are you doing out there? Can't you find those things?"

  I had hardly got the boot open and I rummaged frantically among the rows

  of tins and bottles. I found what he required, galloped across the yard

  and almost collided with him as he came out of the building.

  He was in mid shout. "James! What the hell's keeping you ... oh, you're

  there. Right, let's have that stuff ... what have you been doing all

  this time?"

  He had been right about Horace Dawson, a tiny frail man of about eighty

  who couldn't be expected to do any strong-arm stuff. Despite his age he

  had stubbornly refused to give up milking the two fat shorthorn cows

  which stood in the little cobbled byre.

  Our patient had badly damaged a teat; either she or her neighbour must

  have stood on it because there was a long tear running almost full

  length with the milk running from it.

  "It's a bad one, Horace," Siegfried said. "You can see it goes right

  into the milk channel But we'll do what we can for her - it'll need a

  good few stitches in there."

  He bathed and disinfected the teat then filled a syringe with local

  anaesthetic.

  "Grab her nose, James," he said, then spoke gently to the farmer.

  "Horace, will you please hold her tail for me. Just catch it by the very

  end, that's the way ... Lovely."

  The little man squared his shoulders. "Aye, ah can do that fine, Mr.

  Farnon."

  "Good lad, Horace, that's splendid, thank you. Now stand well clear." He

  1~

  bent over and as I gripped the animal's nose he inserted the needle

  above the top extremity of the wound.

  There was an instant smacking sound as the cow registered her

  disapproval by kicking Siegfried briskly half way up his wellington

  boot. He made no sound but breathed deeply and flexed his knee a couple

  of times before crouching down again.

  "Cush pet," he murmured soothingly as he stuck the needle in again.

  This time the cloven foot landed on his forearm, sending the syringe

  winging gracefully through the air till it came to rest by a piece of

  good fortune in the hay-rack. Siegfried straightened up, rubbed his arm

  thoughtfully, retrieved his syringe and approached the patient again.

  For a few moments he scratched around the root of her tail and addressed

  her in the friendliest manner. "All right, old lady, it isn't very nice,

  is it?"

  When he got down again he adopted a new stance, burrowing with his head

  into the cow's flank and stretching his long arms high he managed

  despite a few more near misses to infiltrate the tissues round the wound

  with local. Then he proceeded to thread a needle unhurriedly, whistling

  tunelessly under his breath.

  Mr. Dawson watched him admiringly. "Ah know why you're such a good

  feller wi" animals, Mr. Farnon. It's because you're so patient - I

  reckon you're t'patientest man ah've ever seen."

  Siegfried inclined his head modestly and recommenced work. And it was

  more peaceful now. The cow couldn't feel a thing as my colleague put in

  a long, even row of stitches, pulling the lips of the wound firmly

  together.

  When he had finished he put an arm round the old man's shoulders.

  "Now, Horace, if that heals well the teat will be as good as new. But it

  won't heal if you pull at it, so I want you to use this tube to milk

  her." He held up a bottle of spirit in which a teat syphon gleamed.

  "Very good," said Mr. Dawson firmly. "Ah'll use it."

  Siegfried wagged a playful finger in his face. "But you've got to be

  careful, you know. You must boil the tube every time before use and keep

  it always in the bottle or you'll finish up with mastitis. Will you do

  that?"

  "Mr. Farnon," the little man said, holding himself very erect. "Ah'll do

  exackly as you say.

  "That's my boy, Horace." Siegfried gave him a final pat on the back

  before starting to pick up his instruments. "I'll pop back in about two

  weeks to take the stitches out."

  As we were leaving, the vast form of Claude Blenkiron loomed suddenly in

  the byre door. He was the village policeman, though obviously off duty

  judging by the smart check jacket and slacks.

  "I saw you had summat on, Horace, and I wondered if you wanted a hand."

  "Nay, thank ye, Mr. Blenkiron. It's good of ye but you're ower