Vets Might Fly Read online

she was like dyin' that pump in' job hadn't done no good at all. He

  told me to give her a bloody good gallop round t'field."

  "What!"

  "Aye, that's what he said. He'd seen 'em like that afore and a good

  gallop put 'em right. So we got Rose out here and did as he said and

  by gaw it did the trick.

  She looked better right away."

  I drew myself up.

  "And who," I asked frigidly, 'is Jim Oakley?"

  "He's "'postman, of course."

  "The postman!"

  "Aye, but he used to keep a few beasts years ago. He's a very clever

  man wi' stock, is Jim."

  "No doubt, but I assure you, Mr Bailes. . ."

  The farmer raised a hand.

  "Say no more, lad. Jim put 'er right and there's no den yin' it. I

  wish you'd seen 'im chasin' 'er round. He's as awd as me but by gaw 'e

  did go. He can run like 'elf, can Jim." He chuckled reminiscently.

  I had had about enough. During the farmer's eulogy I had been

  distractedly: scratching the cow's tail and had soiled my hand in the

  process. Mustering the remains of my dignity I nodded to Mr Bailes.

  "Well, I must be on my way. Do you mind if I go into the house to wash

  my hands ?"

  "You go right in," he replied.

  "T'missus will get you some hot water."

  Walking back down the field the cruel injustice of the thing bore down

  on me increasingly. I wandered as in a dream through the gate and

  across the road.

  Before entering the alley between the walls I glanced into the garden.

  It was empty. Shuffling beside the rough stones I sank deeper into my

  misery. There was no doubt I had emerged from that episode as a

  complete Charlie. No matter where I looked I couldn't see a gleam of

  light.

  It seemed to take a long time to reach the end of the wall and I was

  about to turn right towards the door of the farm kitchen when from my

  left I heard the sudden rattle of a chain then a roaring creature

  launched itself at me, bayed once, mightily, into my face and was

  gone.

  This time I thought my heart would stop. With my de fences at their

  lowest I was in no state to withstand Shep. I had quite forgotten that

  Mrs Bailes occasionally tethered him in the kennel at the entrance to

  discourage unwelcome visitors, and he half lay against the wall, the

  blood thundering in my ears,

  I

  looked dd'`"long coil of chain on the cobbles.

  I people who lose their temper with animals but something then. All my

  frustration burst from me in a torrent of grabbed the chain and began

  to pull on it frenziedly.

  ~tured me was there in that kennel. For once I knew this time I was

  going to have the matter out with him.

  ten feet away and at first I saw nothing. There was end of the

  chain. Then as I hauled inexorably all of the big animal hanging

  limply by his get up and greet me but I was merciless and \he cobbles

  till he was lying at my feet.

  ~cried, shook my fist under his nose and yelled me again I'll knock

  your bloody head off!

  gy head clean off!"

  ~ ~ 0 "Sh~ ~ e4 Mr Ba~t-, turned and air.": ~ My Bible in those
  great man stated there'^ foreign body in her reticu.. :(, . . . it

  had to be something else-?

  ~ G~.~ ,5;~ ~

  Shep rolled frightened eyes at me and his tail flickered apologetically

  between his legs. When I continued to scream at him he bared his upper

  teeth in an ingratiating grin and finally rolled on his back where he

  lay inert with half closed eyes.

  So now I knew. He was a softie. All his ferocious attacks were just a

  game. I began to calm down but for all that I wanted him to get the

  message.

  wright, mate," I said in a menacing whisper.

  "Remember what I've said!" I let go the chain and gave a final

  shout.

  "Now get back in there!"

  Shep, almost on his knees, tail tucked well in, shot back into his

  kennel and I turned toward the farmhouse to wash my hands.

  The memory of my discomfiture fermented in the back of my mind for some

  time. I had no doubt then that I had been unfairly judged, but I am

  older and wiser now and in retrospect I think I was wrong.

  The symptoms displayed by Mr Bailes' cow were typical of displacement

  of the abomasum (when the fourth stomach slips round from the right to

  the left side) and it was a condition that was just not recognized in

  those early days.

  At the present time we correct the condition by surgery pushing the

  displaced organ back to the right side and tacking it there with

  sutures. But sometimes a similar result can be obtained by casting the

  cow and rolling her over, so why not by making her run . . .?1 freely

  admit that I have many times adopted Jim Oakley's precept of a 'bloody

  good gallop," often with spectacular results. To this day I frequently

  learn things from farmers, but that was one time when I learned from a

  postman.

  I was surprised when, about a month later, I received another call to

  one of Mr Bailes' cows. I felt that after my performance with Rose he

  would have called on the services of Jim Oakley for any further

  trouble. But no, his voice on the 'phone was as polite and friendly as

  ever, with not a hint that he had lost faith. It was strange....

  Leaving my car outside the farm I looked warily into the front garden

  before venturing between the walls. A faint tinkle of metal told me

  that Shep was lurking there in his kennel and I slowed my steps; I

  wasn't going to be caught again.

  At the end of the alley I paused, waiting, but all I saw was the end of

  a nose which quietly withdrew as I stood there. So my outburst had got

  through to the big dog he knew I wasn't going to stand any more

  nonsense from him.

  And yet, as I drove away after the visit I didn't feel good about it. A

  victory over an animal is a hollow one and I had the uncomfortable

  feeling that I had deprived him of his chief pleasure. After all,

  every creature is entitled to some form of recreation and though Shep's

  hobby could result in the occasional heart failure it was, after all,

  his thing and part of him. The thought that I had crushed something

  out of his life was a disquieting one. I wasn't proud.

  So that when, later that summer, I was driving through High burn I

  paused in anticipation outside the Bailes farm. The village street,

  white and dusty slumbered under the afternoon sun. In the blanketing

  silence nothing moved except for one small man strolling towards the

  opening between the walls. He was fat and very dark one of the tinkers

  from a camp outside the village and he carried an armful of pots and

  pans.

  From my vantage point I could see through the railings into the front

  garden where Shep was slinking noiselessly into position beneath the

  stones.

  Fascinated I watched as the man turned unhurriedly into the opening and

  the dog followed the course of the disembodied head along the top of

  the wall.

  As I expected it all happened half way along. The perfectly timed

  leap, th