It Shouldn't Happen to a Vet Read online

and the corrugated uterine cervix. But the farmer had wasted no time in

  calling for assistance; the mass was clean and undamaged.

  He watched me attentively as I swabbed the prolapse with antiseptic and

  pushed it back out of sight, then he helped me build a platform with

  soil and planks for the cow's hind feet. When we had finished she was

  standing on a slope with her tail higher than her head.

  "And you say that if I give her linseed oil for a few days that thing

  won't come out again."

  "That's the idea," I said. "Be sure to keep her built up like this."

  "I will, young man, and thank you very much. I'm sure you've done a good

  job for me and I'll look forward to seeing you again."

  Back in the car, I groaned to myself. Good job! How the hell could that

  thing stay in without stitches? But I had to do as I was told and Grier,

  even if he was unpleasant, wasn't a complete fool. Maybe he was right. I

  put it out of my mind and got on with the other visits.

  It was less than a week lateral the breakfast table and I was prodding

  at the inevitable porridge when Grier, who had ventured downstairs,

  barked suddenly at me.

  "I've got a card here free Adamson. He says he's not satisfied with your

  work. We'd better get out there this morning and see what's wrong. I

  dinna like these complaints." His normal expression of being perpetually

  offended deepened and the big pale eyes swam and brimmed till I was sure

  he was going to weep into his porridge.

  At the farm, Mr. Adamson led us into the byre. "Well, what do you think

  of that, young man."

  I looked at the prolapse and my stomach lurched. The innocuous-looking

  pink projection had been transformed into a great bloated purple mass.

  It was caked with filth and an ugly wound ran down one side of it.

  "It didn't stay in very long, did it?" the farmer said quietly.

  I was too ashamed to speak. This was a dreadful thing to do to a good

  cow. I felt my face reddening, but luckily I had my employer with me; he

  would be able to explain everything. I turned towards Grier who

  snuffled, mumbled blinked his eyes rapidly but didn't say anything.

  The farmer went on. "And you see she's damaged it. Must have caught it

  on something. I'll tell you I don't like the look of it."

  It was against this decent man's nature to be unpleasant, but he was

  upset all right. "Maybe it would be better if you would take the job on

  this time, Mr. Grier, he said.

  Grier, who still had not uttered an intelligible word, now sprang into

  action. He clipped the hair over the base of the spine, inserted an

  epidural anaesthetic, washed and disinfected the mass and, with an

  effort, pushed it back to its place. Then he fastened it in with several

  strong retention sutures with little one-inch lengths of rubber tubing

  to stop them cutting into the flesh. The finished job looked neat and

  workmanlike.

  The farmer took me gently by the shoulder. "Now that's something like.

  You can see it's not going to come out again now, can't you? Why didn't

  you do something like that when you came before."

  I turned again to Grier, but this time he was seized by a violent fit of

  coughing. I continued to stare at him but when he still said nothing I

  turned and walked out of the byre.

  "No hard feelings, though, young man," Mr. Adamson called after me. "I

  reckon we've all got to learn and there's no substitute for experience.

  That's so, Mr. Grier, isn't it."

  "Aye, och aye, that's right enough. Aye, aye, rightly so, rightly so,

  there's no doubt aboot that," Grier mumbled. We got into the car.

  I settled down and waited for some explanation from him. I was

  interested to know just what he would say. But the blue-veined nose

  pointed straight ahead and the bulging eyes fixed themselves blankly on

  the road ahead of us.

  We drove back to the surgery in silence.

  Chapter Four.

  It wasn't long before Grier had to return to bed; he began to groan a

  lot and hold his injured ribs and soon he was reinstalled upstairs with

  the pillows at his back and the little pink jacket buttoned to the neck.

  Whisky was the only thing that gave him relief from his pain and the

  level of his bedside bottle went down with remarkable speed.

  Life resumed its dreary pattern. Mrs. Grier was usually around when I

  had to report to her husband; beyond the bedroom door there would be a

  lot of whispering which stopped as soon as I entered. I would receive my

  instructions while Mrs. Grier fussed round the bed tucking things in,

  patting her husband's brow with a folded handkerchief and all the time

  darting little glances of dislike at me. Immediately I got outside the

  door the whispering started again.

  It was quite late one evening - about ten o'clock -when the call from

  Mrs. Mallard came in. Her dog had a bone in its throat and would Mr.

  Grier come at once. I was starting to say that he was ill and I was

  doing his work but it was too late; there was a click as the receiver

  went down at the other end.

  Grier reacted to the news by going into a sort of trance; his chin sank

  on his chest and he sat immobile for nearly a minute while he gave the

  matter careful thought. Then he straightened up suddenly and stabbed a

  finger at me.

  "It'll not be a bone in its throat. It'll only be a touch of pharyngitis

  making it cough."

  I was surprised at his confidence. "Don't you think I'd better take some

  long forceps just in case."

  "Na, na, I've told ye now. There'll be no bone, so go down and put up

  some of the syrup of squills and ipecacuanha mixture. That's all it'll

  want. And another thing - if ye can't find anything wrong don't say so.

  Tell the lady it's pharyngitis and how to treat it - you have to justify

  your visit, ye ken."

  I felt a little bewildered as I filled a four ounce bottle in the

  dispensary, but I took a few pairs of forceps with me too; I had lost a

  bit of faith in Grier's long-range diagnosis.

  I was surprised when Mrs. Mallard opened the door of the smart

  semi-detached house. For some reason I had been expecting an old lady,

  and here was a striking-looking blonde woman of about forty with her

  hair piled high in glamorous layers as was the fashion at that time. And

  I hadn't expected the long ballroom dress in shimmering green, the

  enormous swaying earrings, the heavily made up face.

  Mrs. Mallard seemed surprised too. She stared blankly at me till I

  explained the position. "I've come to see your dog - I'm Mr. Grier's

  locum. He's ill at the moment, I'm afraid."

  It took a fair time for the information to get through because she still

  stood on the doorstep as if she didn't know what I was talking about;

  then she came to life and opened the door wide. "Oh yes, of course, I'm

  sorry, do come in." I walked past her through an almost palpable wall of

  perfume and into a room on the left of the hall. The perfume was even

  stronger in here but it was in keeping with the single, pink-tinted lamp

  which shed a dim but rosy light on the wide divan drawn close to the

  fli