It Shouldn't Happen to a Vet Read online

Tristan gave me a single despairing look then squared his shoulders and

  marched straight to his brother's room. I followed close on his heels.

  Siegfried was worse. His face was red with fever and his eyes burned

  deeply in their sockets. He didn't move when Tristan walked over to the

  foot of the bed.

  "Well, how did you get on?" The whisper was barely audible.

  "Oh fine, the cow was on her feet when we left. But there's just one

  thing I had a bit of a bump with the car."

  Siegfried had been wheezing stertorously and staring at the ceiling but

  the breathing stopped as if it had been switched off. There was an eerie

  silence then from the completely motionless figure two strangled words

  escaped. "What happened ."

  "Wasn't my fault. Chap tried to overtake a lorry and didn't make it.

  Caught one side of the Rover."

  Again the silence and again the whisper.

  "Much damage."

  "Front and rear wings pretty well mangled, I'm afraid - and both doors

  torn off the left side."

  As if operated by a powerful spring, Siegfried came bolt upright in the

  bed. It was startlingly like a corpse coming to life and the effect was

  heightened by the coils of Thermogene which had burst loose and trailed

  in shroud-like garlands from the haggard head. The mouth opened wide in

  a completely soundless scream.

  "You bloody fool! You're sacked."

  He crashed back on to the pillow as though the mechanism had gone into

  reverse and lay very still. We watched him for a few moments in some

  anxiety, but when we heard the breathing restart we tiptoed from the

  room.

  On the landing Tristan blew out his cheeks and drew a Woodbine from its

  packet. "A tricky little situation, Jim, but you know what I always

  say." He struck a match and pulled the smoke down blissfully. "Things

  usually turn out better than you expect."

  Chapter Nine.

  A lot of the Dales farms were anonymous and it was a help to find this

  one so plainly identified. "Heston Grange' it said on the gate in bold

  black capitals.

  I got out of the car and undid the latch. It was a good gate, too, and

  swung easily on its hinges instead of having to be dragged round with a

  shoulder under ~ the top spar. The farmhouse lay below me, massive,

  grey-stoned, with a pair I of bow windows which some prosperous

  Victorian had added to the original structure.

  It stood on a flat, green neck of land in a loop of the river and the

  lushness of the grass and the quiet fertility of the surrounding fields

  contrasted sharply with the stark hills behind. Towering oaks and

  beeches sheltered the house and a thick pine wood covered the lower

  slopes of the fell.

  I walked round the buildings shouting as I always did, because some

  people considered it a subtle insult to go to the house and ask if the

  farmer was in. Good farmers are indoors only at meal times. But my

  shouts drew no reply, so I went over and knocked at the door set deep

  among the weathered stones.

  A voice answered "Come in," and I opened the door into a huge,

  stone-flagged kitchen with hams and sides of bacon hanging from hooks in

  the ceiling. A dark girl in a check blouse and green linen slacks was

  kneading dough in a bowl. She looked up and smiled.

  "Sorry I couldn't let you in. I've got my hands full." She held up her

  arms, floury-white to the elbow.

  "That's all right. My name is Herriot. I've come to see a calf. It's

  lame, I understand."

  "Yes, we think he's broken his leg. Probably got his foot in a hole when

  he was running about. If you don't mind waiting a minute, I'll come with

  you. My father and the men are in the fields. I'm Helen Alderson, by the

  way."

  She washed and dried her arms and pulled on a pair of short wellingtons.

  "Take over this bread will you, Meg," she said to an old woman who came

  through from an inner room. "I have to show Mr. Herriot the calf."

  Outside, she turned to me and laughed. "We've got a bit of a walk, I'm

  afraid. He's in one of the top buildings. Look, you can just see it up

  there." She pointed to a squat, stone barn, high on the fell-side. I

  knew all about these top buildings; l they were scattered all over the

  high country and I got a lot of healthy exercise I going round them.

  They were used for storing hay and other things and as shelters for the

  animals on the hill pastures.

  I looked at the girl for a few seconds. "Oh, that's all right, I don't

  mind. I don't mind in the least."

  We went over the field to a narrow bridge spanning the river, and,

  following her across, I was struck by a thought; this new fashion of

  women wearing slacks might be a bit revolutionary but there was a lot to

  be said for it. The path led upward through the pine wood and here the

  sunshine was broken up into islands of brightness among the dark trunks,

  the sound of the river grew faint and we walked softly on a thick carpet

  of pine needles. It was cool in the wood and silent except when a bird

  call echoed through the trees.

  Ten minutes of hard walking brought us out again into the hot sun on the

  open moor and the path curved steeper still round a series of rocky

  outcrops. I was beginning to puff, but the girl kept up a brisk pace,

  swinging along with easy strides. I was glad when we reached the level

  ground on the top and the barn came in sight again.

  When I opened the half door I could hardly see my patient in the dark

  interior which was heavy with the fragrance of hay piled nearly to the

  roof. He looked very small and sorry for himself with his dangling

  foreleg which trailed uselessly along the strewed floor as he tried to

  walk.

  "Will you hold his head while I examine him, please?" I said.

  The girl caught the calf expertly, one hand under its chin, the other

  holding an ear. As I felt my way over the leg the little creature stood

  trembling, his face a picture of woe.

  "Well, your diagnosis was correct. Clean fracture of the radius and

  ulna, but there's very little displacement so it should do well with a

  plaster on it." I opened my bag, took out some plaster bandages then

  filled a bucket with water from a near-by spring. I soaked one of the

  bandages and applied it to the leg, following it with a second and a

  third till the limb was encased in a rapidly hardening i .11

  white sheath from elbow to foot.

  "We'll just wait a couple of minutes till it hardens, then we can let

  him go." I kept tapping the plaster till I was satisfied it was set like

  stone. "All right," I said finally. "He can go now."

  The girl released the head and the little animal trotted away. "Look."

  she cried. "He's putting his weight on it already! And doesn't he look a

  lot happier!" I smiled. I felt I had really done something. The calf

  felt no pain now that the broken ends of the bone were immobilised; and

  the fear which always demoralises a hurt animal had magically vanished.

  "Yes," I said. "He certainly has perked up quickly." My words were

  almost drowned by a tremendous bellow and the patch of blue above the