Vets Might Fly Read online

  seriously ill."

  "Nay, nay, nob but a bit o' cough, but ah want 'im see in' to."

  "Certainly, certainly, I'll be right out, Mr . . . er . . ."

  "Pyre's ma name and ah live next to t'post office in Rolf village."

  "Aye, two miles outside Hens field."

  I sighed with relief.

  "Very good, Mr Pyre, I'm on my way."

  "Thank ye." The voice sounded mollified.

  "Well, the knows me now, don't the - Pyre o' Rolf."

  The light was blinding.

  "Pyre o' Rolf!" Such a simple explanation.

  A lot of Mrs Holroyd's messages were eccentric but I could usually

  interpret them after some thought. However one bizarre entry jolted me

  later in the we It read simply: "Johnson, 12, Back Lane, Smiling Harry

  Syphilis."

  I wrestled with this for a long time before making a diffident approach

  Mrs Holroyd.

  She was kneading dough for scones and didn't look up as I entered the

  kitchen' "Ah, Mrs Holroyd." I rubbed my hands nervously.

  "I see you have written down that I have to go to MrJohnson'ss."

  "That's right, luv."

  "Weller . . . fine, but I don't quite understand the other part the

  Smiling Harry Syphilis."

  She shot a sidelong glance at me.

  "Well that'sow you spell that word, is it? Ah looked it up once in a

  doctor's book in our 'ouse," she said defensively "Oh yes, of course,

  yes, you've spelled it correctly. It's just the Smiling . .

  . a the Harry." .

  Her eyes glinted dangerously and she blew a puff of smoke at me.

  "Wel that's what "'feller said. Repeated it three times. Couldn't

  make no mistake' "I see. But did he mention any particular animal?"

  "New, 'e didn't. That was what 'e said. That and no more." A grey

  spicul of ash toppled into the basin and was immediately incorporated

  in the scone "Ah do ma best, the knows!"

  "Of course you do, Mrs Holroyd," I said hastily.

  "I'll just pop round to Bx Lane now."

  And Mr Johnson put everything right within seconds as he led me to a

  she on his allotment.

  "It's me pig, guvnor. (covered wi' big red spots. Reckon it's Swine

  Erysipelas Only he pronounced it arrysipelas and he did have a slurring

  mode of speech~ I really couldn't blame Mrs Holroyd.

  Little things like that enlivened the week but the tension still

  mounted as awaited the return of Kim. And even when the seventh day

  came round I w.

  still in suspense because the Gillards did not appear at the morning

  surgery When they failed to. show up at the afternoon session I began

  to conclude that they had had the good sense to return south to a more

  sophisticated establishment But at five thirty they were there.

  I knew it even before I pulled the curtains apart. The smell of doom

  was everywhere, filling the premises, and when I went through the

  curtains it h me; the sickening stink of putrefaction.

  Gangrene. It was the fear which had haunted me all week and now it was

  realised.

  There were about half a dozen other people in the waiting room, all

  keep in as far away as possible from the young couple who looked up at

  me with strained smiles. Kim tried to rise when he saw me but I had

  eyes only for the dangling useless hind limb where my once stone-hard

  plaster hung in sodden folds.

  Of course it had to happen that the Gillards were last in and I was

  forced t see all the other animals first. I examined them and

  prescribed treatment in a stupor of misery and shame. What had I done

  to that beautiful dog out there I had been crazy to try that

  experiment. A gangrenous leg meant that even amputation might be too

  late to save his life. Death from septicaemia was likely now and what

  the hell could I do for him in this ramshackle surgery?

  When at last it was their turn the Gillards came in with Kim limping

  between them, and it was an extra stab to realise afresh what a

  handsome animal he we', I bent over the great golden head and for a

  moment the friendly eyes looked into mine and the tail waved.

  ~ . .. .

  ' Right," I said to Peter Gillard, putting my arms under the chest.

  "You take the back end and we'll lift him up."

  As we hoisted the heavy dog on to the table the flimsy structure

  disintegrated immediately' but this time the young people were ready

  for it and thrust their legs under the struts like a well-trained team

  till the surface was level again.

  With Kim stretched on his side I fingered the bandage. It usually took

  time and patience with a special saw to remove a plaster but this was

  just a stinking pulp. My hand shook as I cut the bandage length ways

  with scissors and removed I had steeled myself against the sight of the

  cold dead limb;lb with its green flesh but though there was pus and

  serous fluid everywhere the exposed flesh was a surprising, healthy

  pink. I took the foot in my hand and my heart gave a great bound. It

  was warm and so was the leg, right up to the hock. There was no

  gangrene.

  Feeling suddenly weak I leaned against the table.

  "I'm sorry about the terrible smell. All the pus and discharge have

  been decomposing under the bandage for a week but despite the mess it's

  not as bad as I feared."

  "Do you ... do you think you can save his leg?" Marjorie Gillard's

  voice trembled.

  "I don't know. I honestly don't know. So much has to happen. But I'd

  say it was a case of so far so good."

  I cleaned the area thoroughly with spirit, gave a dusting of iodoform

  and applied fresh lint and two more plaster bandages.

  "You'll feel a lot more comfortable now, Kim," I said, and the big dog

  flapped his tail against the wood at the sound of his name.

  I turned to his owners.

  "I want him to have another week in plaster, so what would you like to

  do?"

  "Oh, we'll stay around Hens field," Peter Gillard replied.

  "We've found a place for our caravan by the river it's not too bad."

  "Very well, till next Saturday, then." I watched Kim hobble out,

  holding his new white cast high, and as I went back into the house

  relief flowed over me in a warm wave.

  But at the back of my mind the voice of caution sounded. There was

  still a long way to go . . .

  Chapter Twenty-three The second week went by without incident. I had a

  mildly indecent postcard from Stewie and a view of Black pool Tower

  from his wife. The weather was scorching and they were having the best

  holiday of their lives. I tried to picture them enjoying themselves

  but I had to wait a few weeks for the evidence a snap taken by a beach

  photographer. The whole family were standing in the sea, grinning

  delightedly into the camera as the wavelets lapped round their ankles

  The children brandished buckets and spades, the baby dangled bandy legs

  towards the water, but it was Stewie who fascinated me. A smile of

  blissful Contentment beamed from beneath a knotted handkerchief, sturdy

  braces sup ported baggy flannel trousers rolled decorously calf high.

  He w~c ~h~ ~r`~h~`,^ of the British father on holiday.

  ,r The last event of my st