Vets Might Fly Read online

like a small boy admiring a film star.

  "How do you do," I said.

  Meg Brannan took my hand and smiled. Any glamour about her existed

  only in her husband's eyes. A ravaged prettiness still remained but

  her face bore the traces of some tough years. I could imagine her life

  of mother, housewife, cook, secretary, receptionist and animal nurse.

  "Oh, Mr Herriot, it is good of you and Mr Far non to help us out like

  this.

  We're so loo king forward to going away." Her eyes held a faintly

  desperate gleam but they were kind.

  I shrugged.

  "Oh it's a pleasure, Mrs Brannan. I'm sure I'll enjoy it and I hope

  you all have a marvellous holiday." I really meant it she looked as

  though she needed one.

  I was introduced to the children but I never really got them sorted

  out. Apart from the baby, who yelled indefatigably from leather lungs,

  I think there were three little boys and two little girls, but I

  couldn't be sure they moved around too quickly.

  The only time they were silent was for a brief period at supper when

  Meg fed them and us from a kind of cauldron in which floated chunks of

  mutton, potatoes and carrots. It was very good, too, and was followed

  by a vast blancmange with jam on top.

  The tumult broke out again very soon as the youngsters raced through

  their meal and began to play in the room. One thing I found

  disconcerting was that the two biggest boys kept throwing a large, new,

  painted ball from one to the other across the table as we ate. The

  parents said nothing about it Meg, I felt, because she had stopped

  caring, and Stewie because he never had cared.

  Only once when the ball whizzed past my nose and almost carried away a

  poised spoonful of blancmange did their father remonstrate.

  "Now then, now then," he murmured absently, and the throwing was

  re-sited more towards the middle of the table.

  Next morning I saw the family off. Stewie had changed his dilapidated

  Austin Seven for a large rust-encrusted Ford V Eight. Seated at the

  wheel he waved and beamed through the cracked side windows with serene

  contentment. Meg, by his side, managed a harassed smile and at the

  other windows an assortment of dogs and children fought for a vantage

  point. As the car moved away a pram, several suitcases and a cot

  swayed perilously on the roof, the children yelled, the dogs barked,

  the baby bawled, then they were gone.

  As I re-entered the house the unaccustomed silence settled around me,

  and with the silence came a faint unease. I had to look after this

  practice for two weeks and the memory of the thinly furnished surgery

  was not reassuring. I just didn't have the tools to tackle any major

  problem.

  But it was easy to comfort myself. From what I had seen this wasn't

  the sort of place where dramatic things happened. Stewie had once said

  he made most of his living by castrating tom cats and I supposed if you

  threw in a few ear' cankers and minor ailments that would be about

  it.

  The morning surgery seemed to confirm this impression; a few humble fol

  .

  Ied in nondescript pets with mild conditions and I happily dispensed a

  series ol Bovril bottles and meat paste jars containing Stewie's

  limited drug store.

  I had only one difficulty and that was with the table, which kept

  collapsing when I lifted the animals on to it. For some obscure reason

  it had folding leg' held by metal struts underneath and these were apt

  to disengage at crucial moments, causing the patient to slide abruptly

  to the floor. After a while I go the hang of the thing and kept one

  leg jammed against the struts throughout the' examination. ' It was

  about 10.30a.m. when I finally parted the curtains and found the

  waiting room empty and only the distinctive cat-dog smell lingering on

  the air As I locked the door it struck me that I had very little to do

  till the afternoon surgery. At Darrow by I would have been dashing out

  to start the long day" driving round the countryside, but here almost

  all the work was done at the practice house. .

  I was wondering how I would put the time in after the single outside

  visit on ~ the book when the door bell rang. Then it rang again

  followed by a frantic ~q pounding on the wood. I hurried through the

  curtain and turned the handle. A well dressed young couple stood on

  the step. The man held a Golden Labrador in his arms and behind them a

  caravan drawn by a large gleaming car stood by the kerb.

  "Are you the vet?" the girl gasped. She was in her twenties, auburn

  haired, I extremely attractive, but her eyes were terrified.

  I nodded.

  "Yes yes, I am. What's the trouble?"

  "It's our dog." The young man's voice was hoarse, his face deathly

  pale.

  "A

  car hit him." .

  I glanced over the motionless yellow form.

  "Is he badly hurt?"

  There were a few moments of silence then the girl spoke almost in a

  whisper.

  "Look at his hind leg."

  I stepped forward and as I peered into the crook of the man's arm a

  freezing:: wave drove through me. The limb was hanging off at the

  hock. Not fractured but snapped through the joint and dangling from

  what looked like a mere shred of skin. In the bright morning sunshine

  the white ends of ankle hon~ ~iitt~r-A with a sickening lustre.

  It took me a long time before ~ came out of my first shock and found

  myself staring stupidly at the animal. And when I spoke the voice

  didn't sound like my own.

  "Bring him in," I muttered, and as I led the way back through the

  odorous waiting room the realisation burst on me that I had been wrong

  when I thought that nothing ever happened here.

  . Chapter Twenty-two I held the curtains apart as the young man

  staggered in and placed his burden on the table.

  Now I could see the whole thing; the typical signs of a road accident;

  the dirt driven savagely into the glossy gold of the coat, the multiple

  abrasions. But that mangled leg wasn't typical. I had never seen any

  thing like it before.

  I dragged my eyes round to the girl.

  "How did it happen?"

  "Oh, just in a flash." The tears welled in her eyes.

  "We are on a caravanning holiday We had no intention of staying in Hens

  field' - (I could understand that) - 'but we stopped for a newspaper,

  Kim jumped out of the car and that was it."

  I looked at the big dog stretched motionless on the table. I reached

  out a hand and gently ran my fingers over the noble outlines of the

  head.

  "Poor old lad," I murmured and for an instant the beautiful hazel eyes

  turned to me and the tail thumped briefly against the wood.

  "Where have you come from?" I asked.

  "Surrey," the young man replied. He looked rather like the prosperous

  young stockbroker that the name conjured up.

  I rubbed my chin.

  "I see...." A way of escape shone for a moment in the tunnel.

  "Perhaps if I patch him up you could get him back to your own vet

  there."

  He looked at his wife f