It Shouldn't Happen to a Vet Read online

he was trying to find something good to say.

  "Well, I reckon she's about "'same."

  "But dammit," I shouted, 'she should be much better! Let's have a look

  at her."

  The cow wasn't just the same, she was worse. And on top of all the other

  symptoms she had a horribly sunken eye - the sign, usually, of

  approaching death in the bovine.

  We both stood looking at the grim wreck of the once beautiful cow, then

  Dick broke the silence, speaking gently. "Well, what do you think? Is it

  Mallock for The sound of the knacker man's name added the final note of

  despair. And indeed, Strawberry looked just like any of the other broken

  down animals that man came to collect.

  I shuffled my feet miserably. "I don't know what to say, Dick. There's

  nothing more I can do." I took another look at the gasping staring head,

  the mass of bubbling foam around the lips and nostrils. "You don't want

  her to suffer any more and neither do I. But don't get Mallock yet she's

  distressed but not actually in pain, and I want to give her another day.

  If she's just the same tomorrow, send her in." The very words sounded

  futile - every instinct told me the thing was hopeless. I turned to go,

  bowed down by a sense of failure heavier than I had ever known. As I

  went out into the yard, Dick called after me.

  "Don't worry, lad, these things happen. Thank ye for all you've done."

  The words were like a whip across my back. If he had cursed me

  thoroughly I'd have felt a lot better. What had he to thank me for with

  his cow dying back -there, the only good cow he'd ever owned? This

  disaster would just about floor Dick Rudd and he was telling me not to

  worry.

  When I opened the car door I saw a cabbage on the seat. Mrs. Rudd, too,

  was still at it. I leaned my elbow on the roof of the car and the words

  flowed from l me. It was as if the sight of the cabbage had tapped the

  deep well of my frustration and I directed a soliloquy at the unheeding

  vegetable in which I ranged far over my many inadequacies. I pointed out

  the injustice of a situation where kindly people like the Rudds, in dire

  need of skilled veterinary assistance, had called on Mr. Herriot who had

  responded by falling flat on his face. I drew attention to the fact that

  the Rudds, instead of hounding me off the place as I deserved, had

  thanked me sincerely and started to give me cabbages.

  I went on for quite a long time and when I had finally finished I felt a

  little better. But not much, because, as I drove home I could not detect

  a glimmer of hope. If the walls of that abscess had been going to

  collapse they would have done so by now. I should have sent her in - she

  would be dead in the morning anyway.

  I was so convinced of this that I didn't hurry to Birch Tree next day. I

  took it in with the round and it was almost midday when I drove through

  the gates. I knew what I would find - the usual grim signs of a vet's

  failure; the box door open and the drag marks where Mallock had winched

  the carcass across the yard on to his lorry. But everything was as usual

  and as I walked over to the silent box I steeled myself. The knacker man

  hadn't arrived yet but there was nothing surer than that my patient was

  Lying dead in there. She couldn't possibly have hung on till now. My

  fingers fumbled at the catch as though something in me didn't want to

  look inside, but with a final wrench I threw the door wide.

  Strawberry was standing there, eating hay from the rack; and not just

  eating it but jerking it through the bars almost playfully as cows do

  when they are really enjoying their food. It looked as though she

  couldn't get it down fast enough, pulling down great fragrant tufts and

  dragging them into her mouth with her rasp-like tongue. As I stared at

  her an organ began to play somewhere in the back of my mind; not just a

  little organ but a mighty instrument with gleaming pipes climbing high

  into the shadows of the cathedral roof. I went into the box, closed the

  door behind me and sat down in the straw in a corner. I had waited a

  long time for this. I was going to enjoy it.

  The cow was almost a walking skeleton with her beautiful dark roan skin

  stretched tightly over the jutting bones. The once proud udder was a

  shrivelled purse dangling uselessly above her hocks. As she stood, she

  trembled from sheer weakness, but there was a light in her eye, a calm

  intensity in the way she ate which made me certain she would soon fight

  her way back to her old glory.

  There was just the two of us in the box and occasionally Strawberry

  would turn her head towards me and regard me steadily, her jaws moving

  rhythmically. It seemed like a friendly look to me - in fact I wouldn't

  have been surprised if she had winked at me.

  I don't know just how long I sat in there but I savoured every minute.

  It took some time for it to sink in that what I was watching was really

  happening; the swallowing was effortless, there was no salivation, no

  noise from her breathing. When I finally went out and closed the door

  behind me the cathedral organ was really blasting with all stops out,

  the exultant peals echoing back from the vaulted roof.

  The cow made an amazing recovery. I saw her three weeks later and her

  bones were magically clothed with flesh, her skin shone and, most

  important, the magnificent udder bulged turgid beneath her, a neat

  little teat proudly erect at each corner.

  I was pretty pleased with myself but of course a cold assessment of the

  case would show only one thing - that I had done hardly anything right

  from start to finish. At the very beginning I should have been down that

  cow's throat with a knife, but at that time I just didn't know how. In

  later years I have opened many a score of these abscesses by going in

  through a mouth gag with a scalpel tied to my fingers. It ~was a fairly

  heroic undertaking as the cow or bullock didn't enjoy it and was

  inclined to throw itself down with me inside it almost to the shoulder.

  It was simply asking for a broken arm.

  When I talk about this to the present-day young vets they are inclined

  to look at me blankly because most of these abscesses undoubtedly had a

  tuberculous origin and since attestation they are rarely seen. But I can

  imagine it might bring a wry smile to the faces of my contemporaries as

  their memories are stirred.

  The post-pharyngeal operation had the attraction that recovery was

  spectacular and rapid and I have had my own share of these little

  triumphs. But none of them gave me as much satisfaction as the one I did

  the wrong way.

  It was a few weeks after the Strawberry episode and I was back in my old

  position in the Rudds' kitchen with the family around me. This time I

  was in no position to drop my usual pearls of wisdom because I was

  trying to cope with a piece of Mrs. Rudd's apple tart. Mrs. Rudd, I

  knew, could make delicious apple tarts but this was a special kind she

  produced for "lowance' time - for taking out to Dick and the family when

  they were working in the fields. I had chewed at the two-inch pastry

  till