Vets Might Fly Read online

  the front door. They stopped on the steps. The little dog, still on

  the end of its string, looked much as it did before.

  "All right, Mr Bailey," my colleague said.

  "I can only tell you the same as Mr Herriot. I'm afraid he's got that

  cough for life, but when it gets bad you must come and see us."

  "Very good, sir," the old man put his hand in his pocket.

  "And what is the charge' please?"

  "The charge, oh yes ... the charge ..." Siegfried cleared his throat a

  few times but seemed unable to articulate. He kept loo king from the

  mongrel dog to the old man's tattered clothing and back again. Then he

  glanced furtively into the house and spoke in a hoarse whisper.

  "It's nothing, Mr Bailey."

  "But Mr Far non, I can't let ye . . ."

  'shin! Shh!" Siegfried waved a hand agitatedly in the old man's

  face.

  "Not a Word now! I don't want to hear any more about it."

  Having silenced Mr Bailey he produced a large bag.

  There's about a hundred M&B tablets in here," he said, throwing an

  anxious glance over his shoulder.

  "He's going to keep needing them, so I've given y' a good supply."

  I could see my colleague had spotted the hole in the trouser knee

  because gazed down at it for a long time before putting his hand in his

  jacket pocket.

  "Hang on a minute." He extracted a handful of assorted chattels. A

  few coins fell and rolled down the steps as he prodded in his palm

  among scissOrs thermometers, pieces of string, bottle openers. Finally

  his search was reward and he pulled out a bank note.

  "Here's a quid," he whispered and again nervously shushed the man's

  attempts to speak.

  Mr Bailey, realising the futility of argument, pocketed the money.

  "Well, thank ye, Mr Far non. Ahtll take t'missus to Scar borough wi'

  that."

  "Good lad, good lad," muttered Siegfried, still loo king around him

  guiltily "Now off you go."

  The old man solemnly raised his cap and began to shuffle painfully down

  t street. .

  "Hey, hold on, there," my colleague called after him.

  "What's the matter You're not going very well."

  "It's this clang arthritis. Ah go a long way in a long time."

  "And you've got to walk all the way to the council houses?" Siegfried

  rubbed his chin irresolutely.

  "It's a fair step." He took a last wary peep down the passe then

  beckoned with his hand.

  "Look, my car's right here," he whispered.

  "Nip in and I'll run you home."

  Some of our disagreements were sharp and short.

  I was sitting at the lunch table, rubbing and flexing my elbow.

  Siegfried carving enthusiastically at a joint of roast mutton, looked

  up from his work.

  "What's the trouble, James rheumatism?"

  "No, a cow belted me with her horn this morning. Right on the funny

  bone "Oh, bad luck. Were you trying to get hold of her nose?"

  "No, giving her an injection."

  My colleague, transporting a slice of mutton to my plate, paused in

  mid-a "Injecting her? Up there?"

  "Yes, in the neck."

  "Is that where you do it?"

  "Yes, always have done. Why?"

  l "Because if I may say so, it's rather a daft place. I always use the

  rump."

  "Is that so?" I helped myself to mashed potatoes.

  "And what's wrong with neck ?"

  "Well, you've illustrated it yourself, haven't you? It's too damn near

  the ho' for a start."

  "Okay, well the rump is too damn near the hind feet."

  "Oh, come now, James, you know very well a cow very seldom kicks aft ~

  .

  rump injection." ~.

  "Maybe so, but once is enough." ;: "And once is enough with a bloody

  horn, isn't it?" : I made no reply, Siegfried plied the gravy boat

  over both our plates and started to eat. But he had hardly swallowed

  the first mouthful when he returned' to the attack.

  "Another thing, the rump is so handy. Your way you have to squeeze

  between the cows."

  "Well, so what?"

  "Simply that you get your ribs squashed and your toes stood on, that's

  a.

  ~_ "All right." I spooned some green beans from the tureen.

  "But your way you stand an excellent chance of receiving a faceful of

  cow shit."

  Oh rubbish, James, you're just making excuses!" He hacked violently at

  his mutton.

  "Not at all," I said.

  "It's what I believe. And anyway, you haven't made out a case against

  the neck."

  "Made out a case? I haven't started yet. I could go on indefinitely.

  For instance.

  the neck is more painful."

  "The rump is more subject to contamination," I countered.

  "The neck is often thinly muscled," snapped Siegfried.

  "You haven't got a nice pad to stick your needle into."

  "No, and you haven't got a tail either," I growled.

  "Tail? What the hell are you talking about?"

  "I'm talking about the bloody tail! It's all right if you have

  somebody holding it but otherwise it's a menace, lashing about."

  Siegfried gave a few rapid chews and swallowed quickly.

  "Lashing about?

  What in God's name has that got to do with it?"

  "Quite a lot," I replied.

  "I don't like a whack across the face from a shitty tail even if you

  do."

  There was a heavy-breathing lull then my colleague spoke in an

  ominously quiet voice.

  "Anything else about the tail?"

  "Yes, there is. Some cows can whip a syringe out of your hand with

  their tail.

  The other day one caught my big fifty cc and smashed it against a wall.

  Broken glass everywhere."

  Siegfried flushed slightly and put down his knife and fork.

  "James, I don't like to speak to you in these terms, but I am bound to

  tell you that you are talking the most unmitigated balls, bullshit and

  poppycock."

  I gave him a sullen glare.

  "That's your opinion, is it?"

  "It is indeed, James."

  "Right."

  "Right."

  "Okay."

  "Very well."

  We continued our meal in silence.

  But over the next few days my mind kept returning to the

  conversation.

  Siegfried has always had a persuasive way with him and the thought kept

  recurring that there might be a lot in what he said.

  It was a week later that I paused, syringe in hand, before pushing

  between two cows. The animals, divining my intent as they usually did,

  swung their craggy hind ends together and blocked my way. Yes, by God,

  Siegfried had a point. Why should I fight my way in there when the

  other end was ready and ~waiting ?

  I came to a decision.

  "Hold the tail, please," I said to the farmer and pushed my needle into

  the rump.

  The cow never moved and as I completed the injection and pulled the

  needle out I was conscious of a faint sense of shame. That lovely pad

  of gluteal muscle the easy availability of the site my colleague had

  been dead right and I had been a pig-headed fool. I knew what to do in

  future.

  The farmer laughed as he step