Vets Might Fly Read online

  "But I'll tell you this, I've had enough! So it straight, once and for

  all no more of this nonsense. Cut it out!"

  I felt my heart thudding as I went down to see the dogs for the next

  race.

  I examined the five animals the owners and kennel lads fixed me with a

  flinty stare as though I were some strange freak. My pulse began to

  slow down when I found there were no full stomachs this time and I

  glanced back in relief along the line. I was about to walk away when I

  noticed that number one looked: little unusual. I went back and bent

  over him, trying to decide what it was ate' him that had caught my

  attention. Then I realised what it was he fool sleepy. The head was

  hanging slightly and he had an air of apathy.

  I lifted his chin and looked into his eyes. The pupils were dilated

  and every.

  now and then there was a faint twitch of nystagmus. There was

  absolutely doubt about it he had received some kind of sedative. He

  had been doped. .

  The men in the paddock was very still as I stood upright. For a few

  moments I gazed through the wire netting at the brightly lit green

  oval, feeling the nil air cold on my cheeks. George was still at it on

  the loudspeakers.

  "Oh Mr Wu," he trilled.

  "What can I do?"

  Well I knew what I had to do, anyway. I tapped the dog on the back.

  "This one's out," I said.

  I didn't wait for the announcement and was half way up the steps to

  manager's office before I heard the request for my presence blared

  across I stadium.

  When I opened the door I half expected Mr Coker to rush at me and

  attack me and I was surprised when I found him sitting at his desk, his

  head burl in his hands. I stood there on the carpet for some time

  before he raised a ghastly countenance to me.

  "Is it true?" he whispered despairingly.

  "Have you done it again?"

  I nodded.

  "Afraid so."

  His lips trembled but he didn't say any thing, and after a brief.

  disbelieving scrutiny he sank his head in his hands again.

  I waited for a minute or two but when he stayed like that, quite

  motionless I realised that the audience was at an end and took my

  leave.

  I found no fault with the dogs for the next race and as I left the

  paddock unaccustomed peace settled around me. I couldn't understand it

  when I heard the loudspeaker again- "Will the vet please report . . ."

  But this time it was the paddock and I wondered if a dog had been

  injured. Anyway, it would b.

  relief to do a bit of real vet ting for a change. : But when I arrived

  there were no animals to be seen; only two men cradling a fat com

  panion in their arms. : "What's this?" I asked one of them.

  "Ambrose 'ere fell down the steps in the stand and skinned 'is knee."

  r I stared at him

  "But I'm a vet, not a doctor."

  "Ain't no doctor on the track," the man mumbled.

  "We reckoned you could patch 'im up."

  Ah well, it was a funny night.

  "Put him over on that beech," I said.

  I rolled up the trouser to reveal a rather revolting fat dimpled knee.

  Ambrose emitted a hollow groan as I touched a very minor abrasion on

  the patella.

  "It's nothing much," I said.

  "You've just knocked a bit of skin off."

  Ambrose looked at me tremblingly.

  "Aye, but it could go t'wrong way, couldn't it? I don't want no blood

  poison in'."

  "All right, I'll put something on it." I looked inside Stewie's

  medical bag.

  The selection was limited but I found some tincture of iodine and I

  poured a little on a pad of cotton wool and dabbed the wound.

  Ambrose gave a shrill yelp.

  "Bloody 'elf, that 'urts! What are you coin' to me?" His foot jerked

  up and rapped me sharply on the elbow.

  Even my human patients kicked me, it seemed. I smiled reassuringly.

  "Don't worry, it won't sting for long. I'll put a bandage on now."

  I bound up the knee, rolled down the trouser and patted the fat man's

  shoulder.

  "There you are good as new."

  He got off the bench, nodded, then grimacing painfully, prepared to

  leave.

  But an afterthought appeared to strike him and he pulled a handful of

  change from his pocket. He rummaged among it with a forefinger before

  selecting a coin which he pressed into my palm.

  "There yare," he said.

  I looked at the coin. It was a sixpence, the fee for my only piece of

  doctoring of my own species. I stared stupidly at it for a long time

  and when I finally looked up with the half-formed idea of throwing

  Ambrose's honorarium back at his head the man was limping into the

  crowd and was soon lost to sight.

  Back in the bar I was gazing apathetically through the glass at the

  dogs parading round the track when I felt a hand on my arm. I turned

  and recognised a man I had spotted earlier in the evening He was one of

  a group of three men and three women, the men dark, tight-suited,

  foreign-loo king, the women loud and over-dressed. There was something

  sinister about them and I remembered thinking they could have passed

  without question as members of the Mafia.

  The man put his face close to mine and I had a brief impression of

  black, darting eyes and a predatory smile.

  "Is number three fit?" he whispered.

  I couldn't understand the question. He seemed to know I was the vet

  and surely it was obvious that if I had passed the dog I considered him

  fit.

  "Yes," I replied.

  "Yes, he is."

  The man nodded vigorously and gave me a knowing glance from hooded

  eyes.

  He returned and held a short, intimate conversation with his friends,

  then they all turned and looked over at me approvingly.

  I was bewildered, then it struck me that they may have thought I was

  giving them an inside tip. To this day I am not really sure but I

  think that was it because when number three finished nowhere in the

  race their attitude changed dramatically and they flashed me some black

  glares which made them look more like the Mafia than ever.

  Anyway I had no more trouble down at the paddock for the rest of the

  evening No more dogs to take out, which was just as well, because I had

  made enough enemies for one night.

  After the last race I looked around the long bar. Most of the tables

  were occupied by people having a final drink, but I noticed an empty

  one and sank wearily into a chair. Stewie had asked me to stay for

  half an hour after the finish to make sure all the dogs got away safely

  and I would stick to my bargain even though what I wanted most in the

  world was to get away from here an, never come back.

  George was still in splendid voice on the loudspeakers,

  "I always get to be by half past nine," he warbled, and I felt strongly

  that he had a point there.

  Along the bar counter were assembled most of the people with whom I ha,

  clashed; Mr Coker and other officials and dog owners. There was a lot

  of nudging and whispering and I didn't have to be told the subje