Vet in a Spin [112-2.5]

By: JAMES HERRIOT

Synopsis:

More musings and anecdotes from everyone's favorite country veterinarian,
James Herriot.

Chapter One Vet in a Spin With love to ROSIE, JIM and GILL .

. .

This was a very different uniform.  The welling tons and breeches of my
country vet days seemed far away as I climbed into the baggy flying
suit and pulled on the sheepskin boots and the gloves the silk ones
first then the big clumsy pair on top.  It was all new but I had a
feeling of pride.

Leather helmet and goggles next, then I fastened on my parachute,
passing the straps over my shoulders and between my legs and buckling
them against my chest before shuffling out of the flight hut on to the
long stretch of sunlit grass.

Flying Officer Wood ham was waiting for me there.  He was to be my
instructor and he glanced at me apprehensively as though he didn't
relish the prospect.

With his dark boyish good looks he resembled all the pictures I had
seen of Battle of Britain pilots and in fact, like all our instructors,
he had been through this crisis in our history.  They had been sent
here as a kind of holiday after their tremendous experience but it was
said that they regarded their operations against the enemy as a picnic
compared with this.  They had faced the might of the Luftwaffe without
flinching but we terrified them.

As we walked over the grass I could see one of my friends coming in to
land.

The little biplane slewed and weaved crazily in the sky.  It just
missed a clump of trees, then about fifty feet from the ground it
dropped like a stone, bounced high on its wheels, bounced twice again
then zigzagged to a halt.  The helmeted head in the rear cockpit jerked
and nodded as though it were ma king some pointed remarks to the head
in front.  Flying Officer Wood ham's face was expressionless but I knew
what he was thinking.  It was his turn next.

The Tiger Moth looked very small and alone on the wide stretch of
green.

I climbed up and strapped myself into the cockpit while my instructor
got in behind me.  He went through the drill which I would soon know by
heart like a piece of poetry.  A fitter gave the propeller a few turns
for priming.  Then 'contact!"  the fitter swung the prop, the engine
roared, the chocks were pulled away from the wheels and we were away,
bumping over the grass; then suddenly and miraculously lifting and
soaring high over the straggle of huts into the summer sky with the
patchwork of the soft countryside of southern England unfolding beneath
us.

I felt a sudden elation, not just because I liked the sensation but
because I had waited so long for this moment.  The months of drilling
and marching and studying navigation had been leading up to the time
when I would take to the air and now it had arrived.

FO Wood ham's voice came over the intercom.

"Now you've got her.  Take the stick and hold her steady.  Watch the
artificial horizon and keep it level.  See that cloud ahead?  Line
yourself up with it and keep your nose on it."

I gripped the joystick in my gauntleted hand.  This was lovely.  And
easy, too.

They had told me flying would be a simple matter and they had been
right.  It was child's play.  Cruising along I glanced down at the
grandstand of Ascot racecourse far below.

I was just beginning to smile happily when a voice crashed in my ear.

"Rela' for God's sake!  What the hell are you playing at?"

I couldn't understand him.  I felt perfectly relaxed and I thought I
was coin fine, but in the mirror I could see my instructor's eyes
glaring through h goggles.

"No, no, no!  That's no bloody good!  Relax, can't you hear me,
relax!"

"Yes, sir," I quavered and immediately began to stiffen up.  I couldn't
imagine what was troubling the man but as I began to stare with
increasing desperation, now at the artificial horizon then at the nose
of the aircraft against the cloud^ ahead, the noises over the intercom
became increasingly apoplectic.

I didn't seem to have a single problem, yet all I could hear were
curses an groans and on one occasion the voice rose to a scream.

"Get your bloody finger out, will you!"  ; I stopped enjoying myself
and a faint misery welled in me.  And as al way when that happened I
began to think of Helen and the happier life I had left behind.  In the
open cockpit the wind thundered in my ears, lending vivid life to the
picture forming in my mind.

The wind was thundering here, too, but it was against the window of our
bed-sitter.  It was early November and a golden autumn had changed with
brute suddenness to arctic cold.  For two weeks an icy rain had swept
the grey town and villages which huddled in the folds of the Yorkshire
Dales, turning the fields into shallow lakes and the farmyards into
squelching mud-holes.

Everybody had colds.  Some said it was flu, but whatever it was it
decimated the population.  Half of Darrow by seemed to be in bed and
the other half sneezing at each other.

I myself was on a knife edge, crouching over the fire, sucking an
antiseptic lozenge and wincing every time I had to swallow.  My throat
felt raw and there was an ominous tickling at the back of my nose.  I
shivered as the rain hurled a drumming cascade of water against the
glass.  I was all alone in the practice Siegfried had gone away for a
few days and I just daren't catch cold.

It all depended on tonight.  If only I could stay indoors and then have
a good sleep I could throw this off, but as I glanced over at the phone
on the bedside table it looked like a crouching beast ready to
spring.

Helen was sit ting on the other side of the fire, knitting.  She didn't
have a cold, - she never did.  And even in those early days of our
marriage I couldn't help feeling it was a little unfair.  Even now,
thirty-five years later, things are just the same and, as I go around
sniffling.  I still feel tight-lipped at her obstinate refusal to join
me.

I pulled my chair closer to the blaze.  There was al ways a lot of
night work in our kind of practice but maybe I would be lucky.  It was
eight o'clock wild never a cheep and perhaps fate had decreed that I
would not be hauled out in that sodden darkness in my weakened state.

Helen came to the end of a row and held up her knitting.  It was a
sweater for me, about half done.

"How does it look, Jim?"  she asked.

I smiled.  There was something in her gesture that seemed to epitomise
our life together.  I opened my mouth to tell her it was simply
smashing when the phone pealed with a suddenness which made me bite my
tongue.

Tremblingly I lifted the receiver while horrid visions of calving
heifers fload' before me.  An hour with my shirt off would just tip me
nicely over the brim' "This is Sow den of Long Pasture," a voice
croaked.

"Yes, Mr Sow den?"  I gripped the phone tightly.  I would know my fate
in a moment.

"I 'ave a big calf 'ere.  Looks very dowry and grunt in' bad.  Will ye
come?

A long breath of relief escaped me.  A calf with probable stomach
trouble.  It Could have been a lot worse.

"Right' I'll see you in twenty minutes," I said.

As I turned back to the cosy warmth of the little room the injustice of
life smote me.

"I've got to go out, Helen."

"Oh, no."

"Yes, and I have this cold coming on," I whimpered.

"And just listen to that rain!

"Yes, you must wrap up well, Jim."

I scowled at her.

"That place is ten miles away, and a cheerless dump if ever there was
one.  There's not a warm corner anywhere."  I fingered my aching
throat

"A trip out there's just what I need I'm sure I've got a
temperature."

I don't know if all veterinary surgeons blame their wives when they get
an unwanted call, but heaven help me, I've done it all my life.

Instead of giving me a swift kick in the pants Helen smiled up at me.

"I'm really sorry, Jim, but maybe it won't take you long.  And you can
have a bowl of hot soup when you get back."

I nodded sulkily.  Yes, that was something to look forward to.  Helen
had made some brisket broth that day, rich and meaty, crowded with
celery, leeks and carrots and with a flavour to bring a man back from
the dead.  I kissed her and trailed off into the night.

Long Pasture Farm was in the little hamlet of Dowsett and I had
travelled this narrow road many times.  It snaked its way high into the
wild country and on summer days the bare lonely hills had a serene
beauty; treeless and austere, but with a clean wind sweeping over the
grassy miles.

But tonight as I peered unhappily through the streaming windscreen the
unseen surrounding black bulk pressed close and I could imagine the
dripping stone walls climbing high to the summits where the rain drove
across the moorland, drenching the heather and bracken, churning the
dark mirrors of the bog water into liquid mud.

When I saw Mr Sow den I realised that I was really quite fit.  He had
obviously been suffering from the prevalent malady for some time, but
like most farmers he just had to keep going at his hard ceaseless work.
He looked at me from Swimming eyes, gave a couple of racking coughs
that almost tore him apart and led me into the buildings.  He held an
oil lamp high as we entered a lofty barn and in the feeble light I
discerned various rusting farm implements, a heap of potatoeS and
another of turnips and in a corner a makeshift pen where my patient
stood.

It wasn't the two week old baby calf I had half expected, but a little
animal of six months, almost stirk age, but not well-grown.  It had all
the signs of a 'bad doer'_ thin and pot-bellied with its light roan
coat hanging in a thick overgrown fringe below its abdomen.

"All us been a poor calf," Mr Sow den wheezed between coughs.

"Never seemed to put on flesh.  Rain stopped for a bit this afternoon,
so ah let 'im out for a bit Of fresh air and now look at 'im."

I climbed into the pen and as I slipped the thermometer into the rectum
I Studied the little creature.  He offered no resistance as I gently
pushed him to one side, his head hung down and he gazed apathetically
at the floor from deep Sunk eyes.  Worst of all was the noise he was ma
king.  It was more than a grunt - rather a long, painful groan repeated
every few seconds.

"It certainly looks like his stomach," I said.

"Which field was he in this afternoon ?"

I nob but let 'im have a walk round "'orchard for a couple of hours."

"I see."  I looked at the thermometer.  The temperature was subnormal
Suppose there's a bit of fruit Lying around there."

t Mr Sow den went into another paroxysm, then leaned on the boards of s
pen to recover his breath.

"Aye, there's apples and pears all over "'grass.  I t a helluva crop
this year."

I I put the stethoscope over the rumen and instead of the normal surge
bubble of the healthy stomach I heard only a deathly silence.  I
palpated flank and felt the typical doughy fullness of impaction.

] "Well, Mr Sow den, I think he's got a bellyful of fruit and it's
brought ' digestion to a complete halt.  He's in a bad way."

The farmer shrugged.

"Well.  if 'e's just a bit lounged up a good dose of fins oil 'ud
shift'im."

"I'm afraid it's not as simple as that," I said.

"This is a serious condition' "Well what are we goin' to do about it
then?"  He wiped his nose and fool at me morosely.  .

I hesitated.  It was bitterly cold in the old building and already I
was feel shivery and my throat ached.  The thought of Helen and the
bed-sitter and warm fire was unbearably attractive.  But I had seen
impactions like this before and tried treating them with purgatives and
it didn't work.  This animal; temperature was falling to the moribund
level and he had a sunken eve if didn't do something drastic he would
be dead by morning

"There's only one thing will save him," I said.

"And that s a rumenotomy.

"A what?"

"An operation.  Open up his first stomach and clear out all the stuff
that shouldn't he there' .... ~.~. ~ .  ~. ... ~- .  ~.

_. . _ _ .  _. . ~ _ _ .  _ _ .

"Are you sure?  Dye not think a good pint of oil would put 'im right.
It' be a lot easier."

It would indeed.  For a moment the fireside and Helen glowed like a
jewel a cave, then I glanced at the calf.  Scraggy and long-haired, he
looked utterly unimportant, infinitely vulnerable and dependent.  It
would be the easiest thing in the world to leave him groaning in the
dark till morning

"I'm quite sure, Mr Sow den.  He's so weak that I think I'll do it
under a local' anaesthetic, so we'll need some help."

The farmer nodded slowly.

"Aw right, ah'll go down "'village and get Geor Hindley."  He coughed
again, painfully.

"But by yaw, ah could do without this tonight.  Ah'm sure I've got
brown chi tis."

Brown chi tis was a common malady among the farmers of those days a'
there was no doubt this poor man was suffering from it but my pang of
sympathy faded as he left because he took the lamp with him and the
darkness closed tightly on me.  There are all kinds of barns. Some of
them are small, cosy and fragrant with hay, but this was a terrible
place.  I had been in here on sunny afternoons and even then the dank
gloom of crumbling walls and rotting beams was like a clammy blanket
and all warmth and softness seemed to disappear among the cob webbed
rafters high above.  I used to feel that people with starry eyed
notions of farm ing ought to take a look inside that barn.  It was
evocative of the grim comfortless other side of the agricultural life.
~` I had it to myself now, and as I stood there listening to the wind
rattling door on its latch a variety of draughts whistled round me and
a remorseless drip-drip from the broken pan tiles on the roof sent icy
droplets trickling my head and neck.  And as the minutes ticked away I
began to hop from to foot in a vain effort to keep warm.

Dales farmers are never in a hurry and I hadn't expected a quick
return, after fifteen minutes in the impenetrable blackness bitter
thoughts began to ad me Where the hell was the man?  Maybe he and
George Hindley were brewing a pot of tea for themselves or perhaps
settling down to a quick game of dominoes.

My legs were trembling by the time the oil lamp reappeared in the
entrance and Mr Sow den ushered his neighbour inside.

"Good evening, George," I said.

"How are you?"

"Only moderate, Mr Herriot," the newcomer sniffled.

"This bloody caud's just ah ah whooosh - just get tin' a haud o' me."
He blew lustily into a red handkerchief and gazed at me blearily.

I looked around me.

"Well let's get started.  We'll need an operating table Perhaps you
could stack up a few straw bales?"

The two men trailed out and returned, carrying a couple of bales
apiece.

When they were built up they were about the right height but rather
wobbly.

"We could do with a board on top."  I blew on my freezing fingers and
stamped my feet.

"Any ideas?"

Mr Sow den rubbed his chin.

"Aye, we'll get a door."  He shuffled out into the yard with his lamp
and I watched him struggling to lift one of the cow byre doors from its
hinges George went to give him a hand and as the two of them pulled and
heaved I thought wearily that veterinary operations didn't trouble me
all that much but get ting ready for them was a killer.

Finally the men staggered back into the barn, laid the door on top of
the bales and the theatre was ready.

"Let's get him up," I gasped.

We lifted the unresisting little creature on to the improvised table
and stretched him on his right side.  Mr Sow den held his head while
George took charge of the tail and the rear end.

Quickly I laid out my instruments, removed coat and jacket and rolled
up my shirt sleeves.

"Damn!  We've no hot water.  Will you bring some, Mr Sow den?"

I held the head and again waited interminably while the farmer went to
the house.  This time it was worse without my warm clothing and the
cold ate into me as I pictured the farm kitchen and the slow scooping
of the water from the side boiler into a bucket, then the unhurried
journey back to the buildings.

When Mr Sow den finally reappeared I added antiseptic to the bucket and
scrubbed my arms feverishly.  Then I clipped the hair on the left side
and filled the syringe with local anaesthetic.  But as I infiltrated
the area I felt my hopes sinking.

"I can hardly see a damn thing."  I looked helplessly at the oil lamp
balanced on a nearby turnip chopper.

"That light's in the wrong place."

Wordlessly Mr Sow den left his place and began to tie a length of
plough cord to a beam.  He threw it over another beam and made it fast
before suspending the lamp above the calf.  It was a big improvement
but it took a long time and by the time he had finished I had abandoned
all hope of ever throwing off my cold.  I was frozen right through and
a burning sensation had started in my chest I would soon be in the same
state as my helpers.  Brown chi tis was just round the corner.

Anyway, at least I could start now, and I incised skin, muscles,
peritoneum and rumen al wall at record speed.  I plunged an arm deep
into the opened organ, through the fermenting mass of stomach contents,
and in a flash all my troubles dissolved.  Along the floor of the rumen
apples and pears were spread in layers, Some of them bitten but most of
them whole and intact.  Bovines take most of their food in big swallows
and chew it over later at their leisure, but no animal could make cud
out of this lot.

I looked up happily.

"It's just as I thought.  He's full of fruit."

"Hhrraaagh!"  replied Mr Sow den.  Coughs come in various forms but
this one Was tremendous and fundamental, star ting at the soles of his
hob-nailed boots and exploding right in my face.  I hadn't realised how
vulnerable I was with the farmer leaning over the calf's neck, his head
a few inches from mine.

"Hhrraaag he repeated, and a second shower of virus laden moisture
struck me.  Apparent Mr Sow den either didn't know or didn't care about
droplet infection, but with my hands inside my patient there was
nothing I could do about it.

Instinctively I turned my face a little in the other direction.

"Whoosh!"  went George.  It was a sneeze rather than a cough, but it
sent similar deadly spray against my other cheek.  I realised there was
no escape.

was hopelessly trapped between the two of them.

But as I say, my morale had received a boost.  Eagerly I scooped out
are handfuls of the offending fruit and within minutes the floor of the
barn w littered with Bramley's seedlings and Conference pears.

"Enough here to start a shop," I laughed.

"Hhrraaagh!"  responded Mr Sow den.

"Whooosh!"  added George, not to be outdone.

When I had sent the last apple and pear rolling into the darkness I
scrubbed' up again and started to stitch.  This is the longest and most
wearisome part a rumenotomy.  The excitement of diagnosis and discovery
is over and it is good time for idle chat, funny stories, anything to
pass the time.

But there in the circle of yellow light with the wind whirling round my
feet from the surrounding gloom and occasional icy trickles of rain
running down my back I was singularly short of gossip, and my
companions, sunk in the' respective miseries, were in no mood for
badinage.

I was half way down the skin sutures when a tickle mounted at the back
my nose and I had to stop and stand upright.

"Ah ah ashooo!"  I rubbed my forearm along my nose.

"He's star tin'," murmured George with mournful satisfaction.

"Aye, 'e's off," agreed Mr Sow den, brightening visibly.

I was not greatly worried.  I had long since come to the conclusion
that n cause was lost.  The long session of freezing in my shirt
sleeves would have down it without the incessant germ; bombardment from
either side.  I was resigned my fate and besides, when I inserted the
last stitch and helped the calf down from the table I felt a deep
thrill of satisfaction.  That horrible groan h; vanished and the little
animal was loo king around him as though he had be!

away for a while.  He wasn't cheerful yet, but I knew his pain had gone
and that he would live.  ~ "Bed him up well, Mr Sow den."  I started to
wash my instruments in the bucket.

"And put a couple of sacks round him to keep him warm.  I'll call in
fortnight to take out the stitches."

That fortnight seemed to last a long time.  My cold, as I had confident
expected, developed into a raging holocaust which settled down into the
inevitable brown chi tis with an accompanying cough which rivalled Mr
Sow den's.

Mr Sow den was never an ebullient man but I expected him to look a
little happier when I removed the stitches.  Because the calf was
bright and lively a' I had a chase him round his pen to catch him.

~e the fire in my chest I had that airy feeling of success.

\said expansively.

"He's done very well.  He'll make a good bullo \ ",\~shrugged
gloomily.

"Aye, reckon 'e will.  But there was no no Go O9 ~ on."

my ."s.,:.  \en talkie' to one or two folk about t'job and they all
said; to foOIt .  f ~G~ ~up like that.  Ah should just 'ave given 'im a
pint of oil 1~ after fifteen minutes.  JI '~r Sow den, I assure you . 
. .

~And now ah'll have a big bill to pay."  He dug his hands deep into his
pockets.

"Believe me, it was worth it."

~Nay, nay, never."  He started to walk away, then looked over his
shoulder.

~It wouldtve been better if you 'adn't come."

I had done three circuits with FO Wood ham and on this third one he had
kept fairly quiet.  Obviously I was doing all right now and I could
start enjoying myself again Flying was lovely.

The voice came over the intercom again.

"I'm going to let you land her yourself this time.  I've told you how
to do it.  Right, you've got her."

"I've got her," I replied.  He had indeed told me how to do it again
and again - and I was sure I would have no trouble.

As we lost height the tops of the trees appeared, then the grass of the
airfield came up to meet us.  It was the moment of truth.  Carefully I
eased the stick back, then at what I thought was the right moment I
slammed it back against my stomach.  Maybe a bit soon because we
bounced a couple of times and that made me forget to seesaw the rudder
bar so that we careered from side to side over the turf before coming
to a halt.

With the engine stilled I took a deep breath.  That was my first
landing and it hadn't been bad.  In fact I had got better and better
all the time and the conviction was growing in me that my instructor
must have been impressed with my initial showing.  We climbed out and
after walking a few steps in silence FO Wood ham halted and turned to
me.

"What's your name?"  he asked.

Ah yes, here was the proof.  He knew I had done well.  He was
interested in me.

"Herriot, sir," I replied smartly.

For a few moments he gave me a level stare.

"Well, Herriot," he murmured, 'that was bloody awful."

He turned and left me.  I gazed down at my feet in their big sheepskin
boots.

Yes, the uniform was different, but things hadn't changed all that
much.

Chapter Two "Takes all kinds, doesn't it, chum?"

The airman grinned at me across the flight hut table.  We had been
listening to a monologue from a third man who had just left us after
tell ing us what he intended to do after gaining his wings.  The
impression he left was that he was almost going to win the war on his
own.

There were certainly all kinds in the RAF and this 'line shooting' was
a common phenomenon when different types were thrown together.

There are all kinds of animals, too.  Many people think my farm
patients are all the same, but cows, pigs, sheep and horses can be
moody, placid, vicious, docile, spiteful, loving.

~.

~."  `.

There was one particular pig called Gertrude, but before I come to her
I must start with Mr Barge.

Nowadays the young men from the pharmaceutical companies who call
veterinary surgeons are referred to as 'reps', but nobody would have
dream of applying such a term to Mr Barge.  He was definitely a
'representative, Car gill and Sons, Manufacturers of Fine Chemicals
since 1850, and he was old that he might have been in on the
beginning.

It was a frosty morning in late winter when I opened the front door
Skeldale House and saw Mr Barge stan ding on the front step.  He raised
l black homburg a few inches above the sparse strands of silver hair
and his pi features relaxed into a smile of gentle benevolence.  He had
al ways treated me.

as a favourite son and I took it as a compliment because he was a man
immense prestige.

"Mr Herriot, "he murmured, and bowed slightly.  The bow was rich in
dignity and matched the dark morning coat, striped trousers and shiny
leather brief case.

"Please come in, Mr Barge," I said, and ushered him into the house.

He al ways called at midday and stayed for lunch.  My young boss,
Siegfried Far non, a man not easily overawed, invariably treated him
with deference a in fact the visit was something of a state occasion.

The modern rep breezes in, chats briefly about blood levels of
antibiotics a steroids, says a word or two about bulk discounts, drops
a few data sheets, the desk and hurries away.  In a way I feel rather
sorry for these young because, with a few exceptions, they are all
selling the same things.

Mr Barge, on the other hand, like all his contemporaries, carried a
thick catalogue of exotic remedies, each one peculiar to its own
firm.

Siegfried pulled out the chair at the head of the dining table.

"Come and here, Mr Barge."

"You are very kind."  The.  old gentleman inclined his head slightly
and to his place.

As usual there was no reference to business during the meal and it
wasn't until the coffee appeared that Mr Barge dropped his brochure
carelessly on t table as though this part of the visit was an
unimportant afterthought.

Siegfried and I browsed through the pages, savouring the exciting whiff
witchcraft which has been blown from our profession by the wind of
science.

intervals my boss placed an order.

"I think we'd better have a couple of dozen electuaries," Mr Barge.

"Thank you so much."  The old gentleman flipped open a leather-bound'
notebook and made an entry with a silver pencil.

"And we're get ting a bit low on fever drinks, aren't we, James?"
Siegfried glanced round at me.

"Yes, we'll need a gross of them if you please."

"I am most grateful," Mr Barge breathed, noting that down, too.

My employer murmured his requests as he riffled through the
catalogue.

Winchester of spirits of nit re and another of formalin, castration
clams, tri' bromide, Stockholm tar all the things we never use now and
Mr Barge responded gravely to each with

"I do thank you' or

"Thank you indeed," and flourish of his silver pencil.  : Finally
Siegfried lay back in his chair.

"Well now, Mr Barge, I think the it unless you have anything new."

"As it happens, my dear Mr Far non, we have."  The eyes in the pink
face twinkled.

"I can offer you our latest product,

"Soothitt", an admirable sedative.

In an instant Siegfried and I were all attention.  Every animal doctor
is keenly interested in sedatives.  Anything which makes our patients
more amenable , t;.  .,. ~ - ~.,.

, ~, a blessing.  Mr Barge extolled the unique properties of Soothitt
and we probed for further information.

"How about un maternal sows?"  I asked.

"You know the kind which savage their young.  I don't suppose it's any
good for that?"

"My dear young sir," Mr Barge gave me the kind of sorrowing smile a
bishop might bestow on an erring curate,

"Soothitt is a specific for this condition.

A

single injection to a farrowing sow and you will have no problems."

~That's great," I said.

"And does it have any effect on car sickness in dogs?"

The noble old features lit up with quiet triumph.

"Another classical indication, ~r Herriot Soothitt comes in tablet
form for that very purpose."

"Splendid' Siegfried drained his cup and stood up.

"Better send us a good supply then.  And if you will excuse us, we must
start the afternoon round, Mr Barge.  Thank you so much for calling."

We all shook hands, Mr Barge raised his homburg again on the front step
and another gracious occasion was over.

Within a week the new supplies from Car gill and Sons arrived.
Medicines were al ways sent in tea chests in those days and as I prised
open the wooden lid I looked with interest at the beautifully packed
phials and tablets of Soothitt.

And it seemed uncanny that I had a call for the new product
immediately.

That same day one of the town's bank managers, Mr Ronald Beresford,
called to see me.

"Mr Herriot," he said.

"As you know I have worked here for several years but I have been
offered the manager ship of a bigger branch down south and I leave
tomorrow for Portsmouth."  From his gaunt height he looked down at me
with the unsmiling gaze which was characteristic of him.

"Portsmouth!  Gosh, that's a long way."

"Yes, it is about three hundred miles.  And I have a problem."

"Really ?"

"I have, I fear.  I recently purchased a six-month-old cocker spaniel
and he is an excellent little animal but for the fact that he behaves
peculiarly in the car."

"In what way?"

He hesitated.

"Well, he's outside now.  If you've got a minute to spare I could
demonstrate."

"Of course," I said.

"I'll come with you now."

We went out to the car.  His wife was in the passenger seat, as fat as
her husband was thin, but with the same severe unbending manner.  She
nodded at me coldly but the attractive little animal on her lap gave me
an enthusiastic welcome.

I stroked the long silky ears.

"He's a nice little fellow."

Mr Beresford gave me a sidelong glance.

"Yes, his name is Coco and he really is quite charming.  It's only when
the engine is running that the trouble begins."

I got in the back, he pressed the starter and we set off.  And I saw
immediately what he meant.  The spaniel stiffened and raised his head
till his nose pointed at the roof.  He formed his lips into a cone and
emitted a series of high-pitched howls.

"Hooo hooo, hooo, hooo," wailed Coco.

It really startled me because I had never heard anything quite like it.
I don't know whether it was the perfectly even spacing of the hoots,
their piercing, Jarring quality, or the fact that they never stopped
which drove the sound deep into my brain, but my head was singing after
a two minute circuit of the town.

I was vastly relieved when we drew up again outside the surgery.

I`mr Beresford switched off the engine and it was as though he had
switched off the noise, too, because the little animal relaxed
instantly and began to lick my hand.

' Yes," I said.  you have a problem without a doubt."

He pulled nervously at his tie.

"And it gets louder the longer you drive me take you a bit further
round and .  . ."  .

"No-no, no-no," I put in hastily.

"That won't be necessary.  I can see er how you are placed.  But you
say you haven't had Coco for long.  He isn't I more than a pup.  I'm
sure he'll get used to the car in time."

"Very possibly he will."  Mr Beresford's voice was taut with appreher
"But I'm thinking of tomorrow.  I've got to drive all the way to
Portsmouth my wife and this dog and I've tried car sickness tablets
without result."

A full day with that appalling din was unthinkable but at that moment
image of Mr Barge rose before me.  He had sprouted wings and floated in
of my eyes like an elderly guardian angel.  What an incredible piece of
luck "As it happens," I said with a reassuring smile, 'there is
something new this sort of thing, and by a coincidence we have just
received a batch of it t~ Come in and I'll fix you up."

"Well, thank heavens for that."  Mr Beresford examined the box of table
just give one half an hour before the journey and all will be well ?"

"That's the idea," I replied cheerfully.

"I've given you a few extra for f Journeys.

"I am most grateful, you've taken a great load off my mind."  He went o
the car and I watched as he started the engine.  As if in response to a
signal little brown head on the back seat went up and the lips
pursed.

"Hooo, hooo, hooo, hooo," Coco yowled, and his master shot me a de
sparing look as he drove away.

I stood on the steps for some time, listening incredulously.  Many
people Darrow by didn't like Mr Beresford very much, probably because
of his manner, but I felt he wasn't a bad chap and he certainly had my
sympathy.

Long after the car had disappeared round the corner of Trengate I could
hear Coco.  _ "Hooo, hooo, hooo, hooo."

About seven o'clock that evening I had a phone call from Will Hollin.

"Gertrude's started farrow in'!"  he said urgently.

"And she's try in' to worr, pigs!"

It was bad news.  Sows occasionally alta,cked their piglets after birth
an fact would kill them if they were not removed from their reach.  And
of course it meant that suckling was impossible.

It was a tricky problem at any time but particularly so in this case
because Gertrude was a pedigree sow an expensive animal Will Hollin had
bought improve his strain of pigs.

"How many has she had?"  I asked.

"Four and she's gone for every one."  His voice was tense.

It was then I remembered Soothitt and again I blessed the coming of
Barge.  : I smiled into the receiver.

"There's a new product I can use, Mr Hollin.

arrived today.  I'll be right out."

I trotted through to the dispensary, opened the box of phials and had a
q, read at the enclosed pamphlet.  Ah yes, there it was.

"Ten cc intra muscularly the sow will accept the piglets within twenty
minutes."

It wasn't a long drive to the Hollin farm but as I sped through the
dark.

I could discern the workings of fate in the day's events.  The Soothitt
had an this morning and right away I had two urgent calls for it. There
was no Mr Barge had been sent for a purpose living proof, perhaps, that
every thing Vet ~n a S;bin 705 in our lives is preordained.  It gave me
a prickling at the back of my neck to think about it.

I could hardly wait to get the injection into the sow and climbed
eagerly into the pen.  Gertrude didn't appreciate having a needle
rammed into her thigh and she swung round on me with an explosive bark.
But I got the ten cc in before ma king my escape "We just wait twenty
minutes, then?"  Will Hollin leaned on the rail and looked down
anxiously at his pig.  He was a hard-working small holder in his
fifties and I knew this meant a lot to him.

I was about to make a comforting reply when Gertrude popped out another
pink, squirming piglet.  The farmer leaned over and gently nudged the
little creature towards the udder as the sow lay on her side, but as
soon as the nose made contact with the teat the big pig was up in a
flash, all growls and yellow teeth.

He snatched the piglet away quickly and deposited it with the others in
a tall cardboard box.

"Well, you see how it is, Mr Herriot."

"I certainly do.  How many have you got in there now?"

"There's six.  And they're grand pigs, too."

I peered into the box at the little animals.  They all had the
classical long bodied shape.

"Yes, they are.  And she looks as though she has a lot more in her
yet."

The farmer nodded and we waited.

It seemed to take a long time for the twenty minutes to pass but
finally I lifted a couple of piglets and clambered into the pen.  I was
about to put them to the sow when one of them squealed.  Gertrude
rushed across with a ferocious roar mouth gaping, and I leaped to
safety with an agility which surprised me.

"She don't look very sleepy," Mr Hollin said.

"No .  . . no .  . . she doesn't, does she?  Maybe we'd better wait a
bit longer."

We gave her another ten minutes and tried again with the same result. I
injected a further ten cc of the Soothitt, then about an hour later a
third one.

By nine o'clock Gertrude had produced fifteen beautiful young pigs and
had chased me and her family from the pen six times.  She was, if
anything, livelier and fiercer than when I started.

"Well, she's cleansed," Mr Hollin said gloomily.

"So it looks like she's finished."

He gazed, sad-faced, into the box.

"And now I've got fifteen pigs to rear without their mother's milk.  I
could lose all this lot."

"Nay, nay."  The voice came from the open doorway.

"You won't lose 'em."

I looked round.  It was Grand ad Hollin, his puckish features set in
their customary smile.  He marched to the pen and poked Gertrude's ribs
with his stick.

She responded with a snarl and a malignant glare and the old man's
smile grew broader.

"Ah'll soon fettle the awd beggar," he said.

'fettle her?"  I shifted my feet uncomfortably.

"What do you mean?"

"Why, she just wants quiet in', the knaws."

I took a long breath.

"Yes, Mr Hollin, that's exactly what I've been trying to do., "Aye, but
you're not coin' it the right way, young man."

I looked at him narrowly.  The know-all with his liberal advice in a
difficult situation is a familiar figure most veterinary surgeons have
to tolerate, but in grand ad Hollin's case I didn't feel the usual
irritation.  I liked him.  He was a 0"Ce man, the head of a fine
family.  Will was the eldest of his four sons and he had several farmer
grandsons in the district.

&` Anyway' I had failed miserably.  I was in no position to be
uppity.

Vet in a Spzn "Well, I've given her the latest injection," I mumbled.

He shook his head.

"She don't want injections, she wants beer."

"Eh ?"

"Beer, young man.  A drop o' good ale."  He turned to his son.

"Haste g.

clean bucket, Will, lad?"

"Aye, there's a new-scalded one in t'milk house."

"Right, ah'll slip down to the pub.  Won't be long."  Grand ad swung on
his heel and strode briskly into the night.  He must have been around
eighty, from the back he looked like a twenty-five-year-old upright,
square-shouldered jaunty.

Will Hollin and I didn't have much to say to each other.  He was sullen
with disappointment and I was awash with shame.  It was a relief when
Grand ad returned bearing an enamel bucket brimming with brown
liquid.

"By gaw," he chuckled.

"You should've seen their faces down at t"Wago Horses.  Reckon they've
never heard of a two gallon order afore."

I gaped at him.

"You've got two gallons of beer?"

"That's right, young man, and she'll need it all."  He turned again to
his I "She hasn't had a drink for a bit, has she, Will?"  ~ "New I was
goin' to give her some water when she'd finished piggin', b .

haven't done it yet."

Grand ad poised his bucket.

"She'll be nice and thirsty, then."  He leaned ~ the rail and sent a
dark cascade frothing into the empty trough.  .

Gertrude ambled moodily across and sniffed at the st range fluid. 
After ~j hesitation she dipped her snout and tried a tentative swallow,
and within seoq' the building echoed with a busy slobbering.

"By heck, she likes it!"  Will exclaimed.

"She should," Grand ad murmured wistfully.

"It's John Smith's best bit, It took a big sow a surprisingly short
time to consume the two gallons when she had finished she licked out
every corner of the trough before turning away.  She showed no
inclination to return to her straw bed but began to sa round the pen.
Now and then she stopped at the trough to check that the' no more beer
in it and from time to time she looked up at the three overhanging the
timber walls.

On one of these occasions I caught her eye and saw with a sense of
dread that the previously baleful little orb now registered only a
gentle benevolence In fact with a little effort I could have imagined
she was smiling.

As the minutes passed her perambulations became increasingly
erratic."

were times when she stumbled and almost fell and finally with an
unmistakable hiccup she flopped on the straw and rolled on to her
side.

Grand ad regarded her expressionlessly for a few moments, whistling
lessly, then he reached out again and pushed his stick against the
fleshy but t' only response he received from the motionless animal was
a soft `r ret ~ was stoned to the wide.

~_ an gestured towards the cardboard box.

"Put the little 'uns in into the pen with a wriggling armful, then
another, andes they didn't have to be told what to do.  Fifteen rave
noun <, ~n to the teats and with mixed feelings I gazed at the l' G,
~%, to bring about with my modern veterinary skill, thbl It\~o, +, ~;
tiny stomachs with the life-giving fluid.

I could dise~ ~<\ in on the job and an octogenarian farmer had wip this
morning along ale.  I didn't feel great.  ~ Mr Barge had been >, o~ \`x
of Soothitt phials and was beating an unol' -. NHollin called after
me.

Vet in a Spin ~come in and have a cup o' coffee afore you go, Mr Her
riot."  His voice was friendly, with nothing to suggest that I had made
no useful contribution all e I made my way into the kitchen and as I
went over to the table Will dug me in the ribs.

~Hey look at this."  He held out the bucket in which a quantity of the
good beer still sloshed around the bottom.

"There's sum mat better than coffee 'ere Enough for a couple of good
drinks.  I'll get two glasses."

He was fumbling in the dresser when Grand ad walked in.  The old man
hung his hat and stick on a hook on the wall and rubbed his hands.

tTha can get another glass out, Will," he said.

"Remember ah did the pour in' and ah left enough for three."

Next morning I might have been inclined to dwell despondently on my
chastening experience but I had a pre-breakfast call to a cow with a
prolapsed uterus and there is nothing like an hour of feverish activity
to rid the mind of brooding.

It was 8 a.m. when I drove back into Darrow by and I pulled in to the
market place petrol station which was just opening.  With a pleasantly
blank mind I was watching Bob Cooper running the petrol into my tank
when I heard the sound in the distance.

"Hooo, hooo, hooo, hooo."

Tremblingly I sc anned the square.  There was no other vehicle in sight
but the dread ululation approached inexorably until Mr Beresford's car
rounded the far corner, heading my way.

I shrank behind a petrol pump but it was of no avail.  I had been
spotted and the car bumped over the strip of cobbles before screeching
to a halt beside me.

"Hooo, hooo, hooo, hooo."  At close quarters the noise was
insupportable.

I peeped round the pump and into the bulging eyes of the bank manager
as he lowered his window.  He switched off the engine and Coco stopped
his howling and gave me a friendly wag through the glass.

His master, however, did not look at all friendly.

"Good morning, Mr Herriot," he said, grim-faced.

"Good morning," I replied hoarsely, then working up a smile I bent at
the window.

"And good morning to you, Mrs Beresford."

The lady withered me with a look and was about to speak when her
husband went on.

"I administered one of the wonderful new tablets early this morning on
your advice ~ His chin quivered slightly.

Oh, yes .  ..?"

"Yes, I did, and it had no effect, so I gave him another."  He
paused.

"Since this produced a similar result I tried a third and a fourth."

I swallowed.

"Really .  . . ?"

'indeed."  He gave me a cold stare.

"So I am driven to the conclusion that the tablets are useless '
'\Weller .  . . it certainly does look .  . ."

He held up a hand.

"I cannot listen to explanations.  I have already wasted enough time
and there are three hundred mires' driving in front of me."

I'm truly sorry .  . ."  I began, but he was already closing the
window.  He started the engine and Coco froze immediately into his
miniature wolf position, 8 se high, lips puckered into a small circle.
I watched the car roll across the square and turn out of sight on the
road to the south.  For quite a while after had gone I could still hear
Coco.

Vet zn a ~p~n Feeling suddenly weak, I leaned against the pump.  My
heart went out to Beresford.  As I have said, I felt sure he was a
decent man.  : In fact I quite liked him, but for all that I was
profoundly grateful that I would probably never see him again.

Our audiences with Mr Barge usually took place every three months and
it mid June before I saw him again at the head of our luncheon table.
The silver head gleamed under the summer sunshine as he sipped his
coffee and murmured politenesses.  At the end of the meal he dabbed his
lips with a napkin and his brochure unhurriedly along the table
cloth.

Siegfried reached for it and asked the inevitable question.

"Anything new, Barge ?"

"My dear sir."  The old gentleman's smile seemed to convey that the
folk' the young, though incomprehensible to him, were still
delightful.

"Car gill Sons never send me to you without a host of new products,
many of t specific, all of them efficient.  I have many sovereign
remedies to offer you."

I must have uttered some sort of strangled sound because he turned
regarded me quizzically.

"Ah, Mr Herriot, did you say something, young s I swallowed a couple
of times and opened my mouth as the wave benevolence flowed over me,
but against that dignity and presence I was help "No .  . . no, not
really, Mr Barge," I replied.  I knew I would never be to tell him
about the Soothitt.

Chapter Three Now that we were faced with the reality of life at flying
school, the ties w bound me to my fellow airmen were strengthened.  We
had a common aim common worry.  ~ The feeling of comradeship was very
like my relationship with Siegfried, his student brother, Tristan, back
in Darrow by.  But there, the pressures not from learning to fly but
from the daily challenge of veterinary practice.

existence was ruled by sudden and unexpected alarms.

Tristan, however, didn't let it get him down.  He and I were sit ting
in the room at Skeldale House one night when the telephone burst into
strident He reached from his chair and lifted the receiver.

"Allo, plis, oo is dis?"  he enquired.

He listened attentively for a few moments then shook his head.

"New, new, verr~e sorry, but Me ester Far non no at home.  Yis, yis,~
heem when he come.  Hokey do key, bye bye."

I looked across at him wonderingly from the other side of the fireplace
replaced the instrument.  These st range accents were only one facet of
his co.

determination to extract amusement from every situation.  He didn't do
it a time, only when the mood was on him, but it was not unusual for
farmers say that 'some foreign feller' had answered the phone.  -,)
Tristan settled comfortably behind his Daily Mirror and was fumbling'
Woodbine when the ringing started again.  He stretched out once more.
~,4 "Yeas, yeas, goot efening, howdy do.  Vat you vant, huh?"

r ~' I could just hear a deep rumble from the other end of the line and
Tristan suddenly snapped upright in his chair.  His Daily Mirror and
cigarettes slithered to the floor ~Yes, Mr Mount," he said smartly.

"No, Mr Mount.  Yes indeed, Mr Mount I shall pass on your message
immediately.  Thank you very much, goodbye."

He fell back in the chair and blew out his cheeks.

"That was Mr Mount."

"So I gathered.  And he certainly wiped the smile off your face,
Triss."

"Yes .  . yes .  .

one thoughtfully "Quite," I said.

"What did he ring for, anyway?"

~Oh, he has a cart horse to see tomorrow morning Something wrong with
its hind feet."

I made a note on the pad and turned back to the young man.

"I don't know how you find the time in your hectic love life, but
you're running around with that chap s daughter, aren't you?"

Tristan took the cigarette from his mouth and studied the glowing
end.

"Yes as a matter of fact I have taken Deborah Mount out a few times.
Why do you ask ?"

"Oh, no particular reason.  Her old man seems a bit formidable, that's
all."

I could picture Mr Mount the last time I saw him.  He was well named; a
veritable massif of a man towering several inches over six feet.  From
shoulders like the great buttresses of the fell which overhung his farm
rose a beetling cliff of head with craggy outcrops of jaw and cheek and
brow.  He had the biggest hands I have ever seen approximately three
times the size of my own.

"Oh, I don't know," Tristan said.

"He's not a bad sort."

"I agree, I've nothing against him."  Mr Mount was deeply religious and
had the reputation of being hard but fair.

"It's just that I wouldn't like him to come up to me and ask if I was
trifling with his daughter's affections."

Tristan swallowed, and anxiety flitted briefly in his eyes.

"Oh, that's ridiculous.

Deborah and I have a friendly relationship, that's all."

"Well I'm glad to hear it," I said.

"I've been told her father is very protective about her and I'd hate to
feel those big hands round my throat."

Tristan gave me a cold stare.

"You're a sadistic bugger at times, Jim.  Just because I occasionally
enjoy a little female company .  . ."

"Oh, forget it, Triss, I'm only kidding.  You've nothing to worry
about.  When I see old Mount tomorrow I promise I won't mention that
Deborah is one of your harem."  I dodged a flying cushion and went
through to the dispensary to stock up for the next day's round.

But I realised next morning that my joke was barbed when I saw Mr Mount
coming out of the farm house.  For a moment his bulk filled the
doorway, then he advanced with measured tread over the cobbles till he
loomed over me blocking out the sunshine, throwing a large area around
me into shade.

"That young man, Tristan," he said without preamble.

"He was speak in' a bit funny like on the phone last night.  What sort
of a feller is he?"

I looked up at the great head poised above me, at the unwavering grey
eyes probing into mine from beneath a bristling overhang of brow.

"Tristan?"  I oodbinesanswered shakily.

"Oh, he's a splendid chap.  A really fine type."

~mm."  The huge man continued to look at me and one banana-like finger
rUbbed doubtfully along his chin.

"Does he drink?"

~r Mount was renowned for his rigid antagonism to alcohol and I thought
it unwise to reply that Tristan was a popular and esteemed figure at
most of the .  just a little unexpected."  He recovered his W and ht

S:

ri I said.

"Hardly at all .  . . in the strictest moderation .  .

At that moment Deborah came out of the house and began to walk across
the.

yard.

She was wearing a flowered cotton dress.  About nineteen, shining
golden falling below her shoulders, she radiated the healthy buxom
beauty country girl.  As she went by she flashed a smile at me and I
had a heart-li glimpse of white teeth and warm brown eyes.  It was in
the early days I had met Helen and I had as sharp an interest in a
pretty lass as anybody.

found myself studying her legs appreciatively after she had passed.  i
It was then that I had an almost palpable awareness of her father's
gaze me.  I turned and saw a new expression there a harsh disapproval
which ~ me and left a deep conviction in my mind.  Deborah was a little
smash right, and she looked nice, but no .  . . no .  . . never.
Tristan had more co than I had.  .

Mr Mount turned away abruptly.

"This 'oss is in the stable," he grunt In those late thirties the
tractor had driven a lot of the draught horses the land but most of the
farmers kept a few around, perhaps because they al ways worked horses
and it was part of their way of life and maybe b' of the sheer proud
beauty of animals like the one which stood before me It was a
magnificent Shire gelding, stan ding all of eighteen hands.  He a
picture of massively muscled power but when his master spoke, the
white-blazed face which turned to us was utterly docile.  i The farmer
slapped him on the rump.

"He's a good sort is Bobby and I a bit about 'im.  What ah noticed
first was a st range smell about his hind and then ah had a look for me
self.  I've never seen owt like it."

I bent and seized a handful of the long feathered hair behind the h
pastern.  Bobby did not resist as I lifted the huge spatulate foot and
rested my knee.  It seemed to occupy most of my lap but it was not the
size ~ astonished me.  Mr Mount had never seen owt like it and neither
had I. The was a ragged, sodden mass with a stinking exudation oozing
from the und horn, but what really bewildered me was the series of
growths sprouting every crevice.

They were like nightmare toadstools long papillae with horny caps
growing' from the diseased surface.  I had read about them in the
books; they were ergots, but I had never imagined them in such
profusion.  My thoughts rat I moved behind the horse and lifted the
other foot.  It was just the same.

as bad.

I had been qualified only a few months and was still trying to gain the
confidence of the Darrow by farmers.  This was just the sort of thing I
want.

"What is it?"  Mr Mount asked, and again I felt that un winking gaze
pi.

me.

I straightened up and rubbed my hands.

"It's canker, but a very bad a knew all about the the ory of the thing,
in fact I was bursting with the or r~ it into practice with this animal
was a bit different.

N~,are you going to cure it?"  Mr Mount had an uncomfortable habit of
get ting right to the heart of things.

see, all that loose horn and those growths will have to be cut
N`surface dressed with caustic," I replied, and it sounded easy say~,
Tristan.

Woodbine w'.~ "Yeas, yeas, goo.

~ter on its own, then?"  .

~it the sole will disintegrate and the pedal bone will.

Nx\arge will work up under the wall of the hoof and~ \

NN

vet zn a apin ~he farmer nodded.

"So he'd never walk again, and that would be the end of Bobby "I'm
afraid so."

~Right.  then."  Mr Mount threw up his head with a decisive gesture.

"When are you going to do it."

It was a nasty question, because I was preoccupied at that moment not
so much with when I would do it but how I would do it.

~Well now, let's see," I said huskily.

"Would it be .  . ."  The farmer broke in.

We're busy hay-ma kin' all this week, and you'll be wan tin' some men
to help out How about Monday next week?"

Y A wave of relief surged through me.  Thank heavens he hadn't said
tomorrow.

I had a bit of time to think now.

"Very well, Mr Mount.  That suits me fine.  Don't feed him on the
Sunday because he'll have to have an anaesthetic."

Driving from the farm, a sense of doom oppressed me.  Was I going to
ruin that beautiful animal in my ignorance?  Canker of the foot was
unpleasant at any time and was not uncommon in the days of the draught
horse, but this was something away out of the ordinary.  No doubt many.
 of my contemporaries have seen feet like Bobby's, but to the modern
young veterinary surgeon it must be like a page from an ancient manual
of farriery.

As is my wont when I have a worrying case I started mulling it over
right away.  As I drove, I rehearsed various procedures.  Would that
enormous horse go down with a chloroform muzzle?  Or would I have to
collect all Mr Mount's men and rope him and pull him down?  But it
would be like trying to pull down St Paul's Cathedral.  And then how
long would it take me to hack away all that horn all those dreadful
vegetations?

Within ten minutes my palms were sweating and I was tempted to throw
the whole lot over to Siegfried.  But I was restrained by the knowledge
that I had to establish myself not only with the farmers but with my
new boss.  He wasn't going to think much of an assistant who couldn't
handle a thing on his own.

I did what I usually did when I was worried; drove off the unfenced
road, got out of the car and followed a track across the moor.  The
track wound beneath the brow of the fell which overlooked the Mount
farm and when I had left the road far behind I flopped on the grass and
looked down on the sunlit valley floor a thousand feet below.

In most places you could hear something the call of a bird, a car in
the distance but here there was a silence which was absolute, except
when the wind sighed over the hill top, rustling the bracken around
me.

The farm lay in one of the soft places in a harsh countryside; lush
flat fields where cattle grazed in comfort and the cut hay lay in long
even swathes.

It was a placid scene, but it was up here in the airy heights that you
found true serenity Peace dwelt here in the high moorland, stealing
across the empty miles, breathing from the silence and the tufted grass
and the black, peaty earth.

The heady fragrance of the hay rose in the warm summer air and as al
ways I felt my troubles dissolving.  Even now, after all the years, I
still count myself lucky that I can so often find tranquillity of mind
in the high places.

As I rose to go I was filled with a calm resolve.  I would do the job
somehow.

SUrely I could manage the thing without troubling Siegfried.

In any case Siegfried had other things on his mind when I met him over
the lunch table.

j-I looked in at Granville Bennett's surgery at Hartington this
morning," he said, helping himself to some new potatoes which had been
picked that morning L from the garden.

"And I must say I was very impressed with his waiting room.

often a lot of farmers in there." He poured gravy on to a corner of his
I "Tristan, I'll give you the job.  Slip round to Gar low's and order a
few silly things to be delivered every week, will you?"

"Okay," his student brother replied.

"I'll do it this afternoon."

"Splendid."  Siegfried chewed happily.

"We must keep progressing in ~ way.  Do have some more of these
potatoes, James, they really are very good Tristan went into action
right away and within two days the table and shelf in our waiting room
carried a tasteful selection of periodicals.  The Illustrated London
News, Farmer's Weekly, The Farmer and Stock breeder, Punch.  B usual he
had to embroider the situation.

"Look at this, Jim," he whispered one afternoon, guiding me through the
"I've been having a little harmless sport."

"What do you mean?"  I looked around me uncomprehendingly.  ~ Tristan
said nothing, but pointed to one of the shelves.  There, among innocent
journals was a German naturist magazine displaying asta frontispiece of
full frontal nudity.  Even in these permissive days it would caused a
raised eyebrow but in rural Yorkshire in the thirties it was
cataclysmic.

"Where the devil did you get this?"  I gasped, leafing through it
hurried was just the same inside.

"And what's the idea, anyway?"

Tristan repressed a giggle.

"A fellow at college gave it to me.  And it's r a lark to sneak in
quietly and find some solid citizen having a peek when thinks nobody's
loo king.  I've had some very successful incursions.  My best so far
have been a town councillor, a Justice of the Peace and a lay
preacher.

I shook my head.

"I think you're sticking you neck out.- What if Siegfried' comes across
it?"

"No fear of that," he said.

"He rarely comes in here and he's al ways i much of a hurry.  Anyway,
it's well out of the way."

I shrugged.  Tristan had been blessed with an agile intelligence which
I e' but so much of it was misapplied.  However, at the moment I hadn't
time for tricks.  My mind was feverishly preoccupied.

Mentally I had cast that horse by innumerable methods and operated c
feet a thousand times by night and day.  In daylight, riding round in
the ~ wasn't so bad, but the operations I carried out in bed were truly
bizarre.  A time I had the feeling that something was wrong, that there
was some fatal in the picture of myself carving away those hideous
growths in one s Finally I buried my pride.

"Siegfried," I said, one afternoon when the practice was slack.

"I have r."

a weird horse case."

My boss's eyes glinted and the mouth beneath the small sandy moustache
crooked into a smile.  The word 'horse' usually had this effect.

"Really, James?  Tell me."

I told him.

~s .  . . yes .  . ."  he murmured.

"Maybe we'd better have a look together Mount Farm was deserted when we
arrived.  Everybody was i working frantically while the sunshine
lasted.

i~<he?"  Siegfried asked.

NJed the way to the stable.

say>~ Tristan.

Woodbine Wl.4 "Yeas, yeas, goo.

~ , ~d a hind foot and whistled softly.  Then he moved roura ~r one.
For a full minute he gazed down at the obscene 5~attered stinking horn.
When he stood up he looked before he spoke.

"And you were just going to pop this fellow on to the grass and do the
job?"  : N~s the idea."

V t:' TTI t1 oyln /19 A Strange smile spread over my employer's face.
It held something of wonder, Sympathy, amusement and a tinge of
admiration.  Finally he laughed and shook his" Ah, the innocence of
youth," he murmured.

~what do you mean?"  After all, I was only six years younger than
Siegfried.

He came over and patted my shoulder.

"I'm not mocking you, James.  This is the worst case of canker I've
ever seen and I've seen a few."

"You mean I couldn't do it at one go?"

that's exactly what I mean.  There's six weeks' work here James."

"Six weeks .  . . ?"  ~ "Yes and there'll be three men involved.  We'll
have to get this horse into one of the loose boxes at Skeldale House
and then the two of us plus a blacksmith will have a go at him.  After
that his feet will have to be dressed every day in the stocks."

"I see."

"Yes, yes."  Siegfried was warming to his subject.

"We'll use the strongest caustic nitric acid and he'll be shod with
special shoes with a metal plate to exert pressure on the sole."  He
stopped, probably because I was beginning to look bewildered, then he
continued in a gentler tone.

"Believe me, James, all this is necessary.  The alternative is to shoot
a fine horse, because he can't go on much longer than this."

I looked at Bobby, at the white face again turned towards us.  The
thought of a bullet entering that noble head was unbearable.

"All right, whatever you say, Siegfried," I mumbled, and just then Mr
Mount's vast bulk darkened the entrance to the stable.

"Ah, good afternoon to you, Mr Mount," my boss said.

"I hope you're get ting a good crop of hay."

"Aye, thank ye, Mr Far non.  We're doing very nicely.  We've been lucky
with the weather."  The big man looked curiously from one of us to the
other, and Siegfried went on quickly.

"Mr Herriot asked me to come and look at your horse.  He's been
thinking the matter over and has decided that it would be better to
hospitalise him at our place for a few weeks.  I must say I agree with
him.  It's a very bad case and the chances of a permanent cure would be
increased."

Bless you, Siegfried, I thought.  I had expected to emerge from this
meet ing as the number one chump, but all was suddenly well.  I
congratulated myself, not for the first time, on having an employer who
never let me down.

Mr Mount took off his hat and drew a forearm across his sweating
brow.

"Aye well, if that's what you think, both of ye, we'd better do it.  Ah
want the best for Bobby.  He's a favourite o' mine."

"Yes, he's a grand sort, Mr Mount."  Siegfried went round the big
animal patting and stroking him, then as we walked back to the car he
kept up an effortless conversation with the farmer.  I had al ways
found it difficult to speak to this formidable man, but in my
colleague's presence he became quite chatty.

In fact there were one or two occasions when he almost smiled Bobby
came into the yard at Skeldale House the following day and when I saw
the amount of sheer hard labour which the operation entailed I realised
the utter impossibility of a single man doing it at one go.

Pat Jenner the blacksmith with his full tool kit was pressed into
service and between us, taking it in turns, we removed all the
vegetations and diseased tissue leaving only healthy horn.  Siegfried
applied the acid to cauterise the area, then Packed the sole with
twists of tow which were held in place by the metal plate Pat had made
to fit under the shoe.  This pressure from the tow was essential /14
vel zn a op~n After a week I was doing the daily dressings myself. This
was when I be to appreciate the value of the stocks with their massive
timbers sunk deep j the cobbles of the yard.  It made every thing so
much easier when I was able lead Bobby into the stocks, pull up a foot
and make it fast in any position wished.

Some days Pat Jenner came in to check on the shoes and he and I were b,
in the yard when I heard the familiar rattle of my little Austin in the
back la The big double doors were open and I looked up as the car
turned in and d' alongside us.  Pat looked too, and his eyes popped.

"Bloody 'ell!"  he exclaimed, and I couldn't blame him, because the car
had driver.  At least it looked that way since there was nobody in the
seat as it sw' in from the lane.

A driverless car in motion is quite a sight, and Pat gaped open mouthed
for a few seconds.  Then just as I was about to explain, Tristan shot
up from floor with a piercing cry.

"Hi there!"  he shrieked.

Pat dropped his hammer and backed away.

"God 'elp us!"  he breathed.

I was unaffected by the performance because it was old stuff to me.
Whenever .

I was in the yard and a call came in, Tristan would drive my car round
from the front street and this happened so many times that inevitably
he grew bored and tried to find a less orthodox method.

After a bit of practice he mastered the driverless technique.  He
crouched the floor with a foot on the accelerator and one hand on the
wheel and nearly; frightened the life out of me the first time he did
it.  But I was used to it n' and blase.  ~ ~~~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~~ Within a few
days I was able to observe another of Tristan's little jokes.

I turned the corner of the passage at Skeldale House I found him
lurking by waiting room door which was slightly ajar.

"I think I've got a victim in there," he whispered.

"Let's see what happens He gently pushed the door and tiptoed inside.

As I peeped through the crack I could see that he had indeed scored a
success.

A man was stan ding there with his back to him and he was poring over
nudist magazine with the greatest absorption.  As he slowly turned the
pages enthralment showed in the way he frequently moved the pictures
towards light from the French window, inclining his, head this way and
that to take in' all the angles.  He looked as though he would have
been happy to spend all there but when he heard Tristan's exquisitely
timed cough he dropped magazine as though it was white hot, snatched
hurriedly at the Farmer's Weekly.

and swung round.  .i That was when Tristan's victory went flat.  It was
Mr Mount.

The huge farmer loomed over him for a few seconds and the deep bass
rumble came from between clenched teeth.

"It's you, is it?"  He glanced quickly from the young man to the
embarrassing' magazine and back again and the eyes in the craggy face
narrowed dangerously "Yes .  . . yes .  . . yes, Mr Mount," Tristan
replied unsteadily.

"And how you, Mr Mount?"

"Ah'm aw right?"

"Good .  . . good .  . . splendid."  Tristan backed away a few steps.

"And ho' Deborah ?"

The eyes beneath the sprouting bristles drew in further.

"She's aw right."

There was a silence which lingered interminably and I felt for my young
friend.  It was not a merry meet ing.

At last he managed to work up a sickly smile.

"Ah well, yes, er .  . . and can we do for you, Mr Mount?"

"Ah ve come to see me 'oss."

~Yes, indeed, of course, certainly.  I believe Mr Herriot is just
outside the room."

I led the big man down the long garden into the yard.  His encounter
with Tristan had clearly failed to improve his opinion of the young man
and he glowered as I opened the loose box.

But his expression softened when he saw Bobby eating hay contentedly.
He went in and patted the arching neck.

"How's he goin' on, then?"

"Oh, very well."  I lifted a hind foot and showed him the metal
plate.

"I can take this ~ for you if you like."

"Nay, nay ah don't want to disturb the job.  As long as all's well,
that's all ah want to know."

The dressings went on for a few more weeks till finally Siegfried was
satisfied that the last remnants of the dies ease had been extirpated.
Then he telephoned for Mr Mount to collect his horse the following
morning

It is al ways nice to be in on a little triumph, and I looked over my
boss's shoulder as he lifted Bobby's feet and displayed the finished
job to the owner.

The necrotic jumble on the soles had been replaced by a clean, smooth
surface with no sign of moisture anywhere.

Mr Mount was not enthusiastic by nature but he was obviously
impressed.

He nodded his head rapidly several times.

"Well now, that's champion.  I'm right capped wi' that."

Siegfried lowered the foot to the ground and straightened with a
pleased smile.

There was a general air of bonhomie in the yard, and then I heard my
car in the back lane.

I felt a sudden tingle of apprehension.  Oh no, Tristan, not this time,
please.

You don't know .  . . My toes curled as I waited but I realised all was
lost when the car turned in through the double doors.  It had no
driver.

With a dreadful feeling of imminent catastrophe I watched as it stopped
within a few feet of Siegfried and Mr Mount who were staring at it in
disbelief.

No thing happened for a few seconds, then without warning Tristan
catapulted like a jack-in-the-box into the open window.

"Yippeeee!"  he screeched, but his happy grin froze as he found himself
gazing into the faces of his brother and Mr Mount.  Siegfried's
expression of exasperation was familiar to me, but the farmer's was
infinitely more menacing.  The eyes in the stony visage were mere
slits, the jaw jutted, the great tangle of eyebrows bristled fiercely.
There was no doubt he had finally made up his mind about Tristan.

I felt the young man had suffered enough, and I kept off the subject
for a week or two afterwards, but we were sit ting in the big room at
Skeldale House when he mentioned casually that he wouldn't be taking
Deborah out any more.

"Seems her father has forbidden it," he said.

I shrugged in sympathy, but said nothing.  After all, it had been an
ill-starred romance from the beginning.

. r Chapter Four ~. i ~.

.

"Circuits and bumps' they called it.  Taking off, circling the field
and land ~ over and over and over.  After an hour of it with FO Wood
ham in full voice:3 had had enough and it was a blessed relief when we
climbed out at the end, As my instructor walked away, one of his fellow
officers strolled by his side.

"How are you get ting on with that chap, Woody?"  he asked, smiling.

FO Wood ham did not pause in his stride or turn his head.

"Oh God!"  he with a hollow groan, and that was all.  .

I knew I wasn't meant to hear the words but they bit deep.  My spirits
d' not rise till I entered the barrack hut and was greeted by the
cheerful voices my fellow airmen.

"Hello, Jim!"  "How's it going, Jim?"  The words were like balm.

I looked around at the young men sprawled on their beds, reading or
smoking and I realised that I needed them and their friendship.  .

Animals are the same.  They need friends.  Have you ever watched two
animals in a field?  They may be of different species a pony and a
sheep but t hang together.  This comradeship between animals had al
ways fascinated and I often think of Jack Sanders's two dogs as a
perfect example of mutual devotion.

One of them was called Jingo and as I injected the local anaesthetic
along the barbed wire tear in his skin the powerful white bull terrier
whimpered once.  Then he decided to resign himself to his fate and
looked stolidly to front as I depressed the plunger.

Meanwhile his inseparable friend, Skipper the corgi, gnawed gently at
Jingo's' hind leg.  It was odd to see two dogs on the table at once,
but I knew relationship between them and made no comment as their
master hoisted both up.

After I had infiltrated the area around the wound I began to stitch and
J relaxed noticeably when he found that he could feel nothing.

"Maybe this'll teach you to avoid barbed wire fences in future, Jing,"
I Jack Sanders laughed.

"I doubt if it will, Mr Herriot.  I thought the coast clear when ~k
him down the lane this morning, but he spotted a dog on other fence and
he was through like a bullet.

Fortunately it ~ couldn't catch it."  _ terror, Jing."  I patted my
patient, and withe big Roman-r th an ear-to-ear grin and at the other
end the tail whit it?"  his master said.

"He's al ways loo king for a \can do anything with him.  He's the best
natured Debo~.  \dropped the suture needle into a kidney dish o' e y
remember that the bull terrier is the original En There was iabeying an
age-old instinct."

At last he manageo~eve to go on scannin~z the horizon every time can we
do for you, Mr \, \ vet In a ~pin /1/ ~Except this one, Jack."  I
laughed and pointed to the little corgi who had tired of his companions
leg and was now chewing his ear.

~Yes, isn't it marvellous.  I think he could bite Jing's ear off
without reprisal."

It was indeed rather wonderful.  The corgi was eleven years old and
beginning to show his age in stiffness of movement and impairment of
sight while the bull terrier was only three, at the height of his
strength and power.  A squat, barrel-cheated bundle of bone and muscle,
he was a formidable animal.  But when the ear-chewing became too
violent, all he did was turn and gently engulf skipper's head in his
huge jaws till the little animal desisted.  Those jaws could be as
merciless as a steel trap but they held the tiny head in a loving
embrace.

Ten days later their master brought both dogs back to the surgery for
the removal of the stitches.  He looked worried as he lifted the
animals on to the table.

"Jingo isn't at all well, Mr Herriot," he said.

"He's been off his food for a couple of days and he looks miserable.
Could that wound make him ill if it turned septic?"

"Yes it could, of course."  I looked down anxiously at the area of the
flank where I had stitched, and my fingers explored the long scar.

"But there's not the slightest sign of infection here.  No swelling, no
pain.  He's healed beautifully."

I stepped back and looked at the bull terrier.  He was strangely
disconsolate tail tucked down, eyes gazing ahead with total lack of
interest.  Not even the busy nibbling of his friend at one of his paws
relieved his apathy.

Clearly Skipper didn't like being ignored in this fashion.  He
transferred his operations to the front end and started on the big
dog's ear.  As his efforts still went unnoticed he began to chew and
tug harder, dragging the massive head down to one side, but as far as
Jingo was concerned he might as well not have been there.

"Hey, that's enough, Skipper," I said.  'ding isn't in the mood for
rough stuff to-day."  I lifted him gently to the floor where he paced
indignantly around the table legs.

I examined the bull terrier thoroughly and the only significant finding
was an elevated temperature.

"It's a hundred and five, Jack.  He's very ill, there's no doubt about
that."

"But what's the matter with him?"

"With a high fever like that he must have some acute infection.  But at
the moment it's difficult to pinpoint."  I reached out and stroked the
broad skull, running my fingers over the curving white face as my
thoughts raced.

For an instant the tail twitched between his hocks and the friendly
eyes rolled round to me and then to his master.  It was that movement
of the eyes which seized my whole attention.  I quickly raised the
upper lid.  The conjunctive appeared to be a normal pink, but in the
smooth white sclera I could discern the faintest tinge of yellow.

"He's got jaundice," I said.

"Have you noticed anything peculiar about his urine ?"

Jack Sanders nodded.

"Yes, now you mention it.  I saw him cock his leg in the garden and his
water looked a bit dark."

"Those are bile pigments."  I gently squeezed the abdomen and the dog
winced slightly

"Yes, he's definitely tender in there."

"Jaundice' His master stared at me across the table.

"Where would he get I rubbed my chin.

"Well, when I see a dog like this I think firstly of two things
phosphorus poisoning and leptospirosis.  In view of the high
temperature I go for the leptospirosis."

would he catch it from another doe?"

"Possibly, but more likely from rats.  Does he come into contact with
any rat, "Yes, now and then.  There's a lot of them in an old hen house
at the foot the lane and Jing sometimes gets in there after them."

"Well that's it."  I shrugged.

"I don't think we need to look any further for cause."

He nodded slowly.

"Anyway, it's something to know what's wrong with h Now you can set
about put ting him right."

I looked at him for a moment in silence.  It wasn't like that at all. I
did want to upset him, but on the other hand he was a highly
intelligent and sensible man in his forties, a teacher at the local
school.  I felt I had to tell him the wh, truth.

"Jack," I said.

"This is a terrible condition to treat.  If there's one thing I h to
see it's a jaundiced dog."

"You mean it's serious?"

"I'm afraid so.  In fact the mortality rate is very high."

I felt for him when I saw the sudden pain and concern in his face, but
warning now was better than a shock later, because I knew that Jingo
could ~ dead within a few days.  Even now, thirty years later, I quail
when I see that' yellowish discoloration in a dog's eyes.  Penicillin
and other antibiotics have some effect against the causal organism of
leptospirosis but the disease is still very often fatal.

"I see .  . . I see .  . ."  He was collecting his thoughts.

"But surely you can: something?"

"Yes, yes, of course," I said briskly.

"I'm going to give him a big shot antileptospiral serum and some
medicine to administer by the mouth.  It i' completely hopeless."

r~ ~ - ~r~ - ~ -~ ~ I injected the serum in the knowledge that it
didn't have much effect at ~ stage, but I had nothing else to offer.  I
gave Skipper a shot, too, with the hap' feeling that it would protect
him against the infection.

"One thing, more, Jack," I added.

"This disease also affects humans, so please take all hygienic
precautions when handling Jingo.  All right?"

He nodded and lifted the bull terrier from the table.  The big dog, as
most of my patients do, tried to hurry away from the disturbing
white-coat-and-antiseptic atmosphere of the surgery.  As he trotted
along the passage his master turned' me eagerly.  ~ "Look at that!  He
doesn't seem too bad, does he?"

I didn't say anything.  I hoped with all my heart that he was right,
but I fighting off the conviction that this nice animal was doomed.  At
any rate I would soon know.

I knew, in fact, next day.  Jack Sanders was on the phone before nine
o'clock in the morning

"Jing's not so good," he said, but the tremor in his voice belied the
lightness of his words.

"Oh."  I experienced the familiar drooping of the spirits.

"What is he coin "No thing, I'm afraid.  Won't eat a thing .  . . lying
around .  . . just lifeless.

J

every now and then he vomits."

It was what I expected, but I still felt like kicking the desk by my
side."

well, I'll be right round."  There was no tail wags from Jing to-day.
He was crouched before the] gazing listlessly into the coals.  The
yellow in his eyes had deepened to a orange and his temperature still
soared.  I repeated the serum injection, but the big dog did not heed
the entry of the needle.  Before I left I ran mhandddd the smooth white
body and Skipper as ever kept burrowing in on his friend Jingo's
thoughts were elsewhere, sunk in his inner misery.

I visited him daily and on the fourth day I found him stretched almost
Comatose on his side.  The conjunctive, sclera, and the mucous
membranes of the mouth were a dirty chocolate colour "Is he suffering?"
Jack Sanders asked.

I hesitated for a moment.

"I honestly don't think he's in pain.  Sickness, nausea, yes, but I'd
say that's all."

~Well I'd like to keep on trying," he said.

"I don't want to put him down even though you think it's hopeless.  You
do .  . . don't you?"

I made a non-committal gesture.  I was watching Skipper who seemed
bewildered.  He had given up his worrying tactics and was sniffing
round his friend in a puzzled manner.  Only once did he pull very
gently at the unresponsive I went through the motions with a feeling of
helplessness and left with the unpleasant intuition that I would never
see Jingo alive again.

And even though I was waiting for it, Jack Sanders' phone call next
morning was a bad start to the day.

'ding died during the night, Mr Herriot.  I thought I'd better let you
know.

You said you were coming back this morning" He was trying to be
matter-of-fact.

' I'm sorry, Jack," I said.

"I did rather expect .  . ."

"Yes, I know.  And thank you for what you did."

It made it worse when people were nice at these times.  The Sanders
were a childless couple and devoted to their animals.  I knew how he
was feeling.

I stood there with the receiver in my hand.

"Anyway, Jack, you've still got Skipper."  It sounded a bit lame, but
it did help to have the comfort of one remaining dog, even though he
was old.

"That's right," he replied.

"We're very thankful for Skipper."

I went on with my work.  Patients died sometimes and once it was over
it was almost a relief, especially when I knew in Jingo's case that the
end was inevitable.

But this thing wasn't over.  Less than a week later Jack Sanders was on
the phone again.

"It's Skipper," he said.

"He seems to be going the same way as Jing."

A cold hand took hold of my stomach and twisted it.

"But .  . . but .  . . he can't be!  I gave him the protective
injection!"

"Well, I don't know, but he's hanging around miserably and hardly eats
a thing.  He seems to be going down fast."

I ran out and jumped into my car.  And as I drove to the edge of the
town where the Sanders lived my heart thudded and panicky thoughts
jostled around in my mind.  How could he have got the infection?  I had
little faith in the serum as a cure but as a prevention I felt it was
safe.  I had even given him a second shot to make sure.  The idea of
these people losing both their dogs was bad enough but I couldn't bear
the thought the second one might be my fault.

The little corgi trailed unhappily across the carpet when he saw me and
I lifted him quickly on to the kitchen table.  I almost snatched at his
eyelids in my anxiety but there was no sign of jaundice in the sclera
nor in the mucous membranes of the mouth.  The temperature was dead
normal and I felt a wave of relief.

"He hasn't got leptospirosis, anyway," I said.

mrs Sanders clasped her hands.

"Oh thank God for that.  We were sure it was the same thing.  He looks
so awful."

I examined the little animal meticulously and when I finished I put my
Stethoscope in my pocket.

"Well, I can't find much wrong here.  He's got a bit f a heart murmur
but you've known about that for some time.  He's old after e all, ' "Do
you think he could be fretting for Jing?"  Jack Sanders asked.

"Yes, I do.  They were such friends.  He must feel lost."

"But he'll get over that, won't he?"

"Oh of course he will.  I'll leave some mild sedative tablets for him
and I' sure they'll help."

I met Jack a few days later in the market place.

"How is Skipper?"  I asked.

He blew out his cheeks.

"About the same.  Maybe a bit worse.  The trouble he eats practically
nothing he's get ting very thin."  :.

I didn't see what else I could do but on the following day I looked in
at t Sanders' as I was passing.

I was shocked at the little corgi's appearance, Despite his age he had
been cocky and full of bounce, and when Jing was alive he had been
indisputably boss dog.  But now he was utterly deflated.  He looked at
me with lack-lustre eyes as I came in, then crept stiffly to his basket
where he curled himself though wishing to shut out the world.

I examined him again.  The heart murmur seemed a little more pronoun
but there was nothing else except that he looked old and decrepit and
done.  ] "You know, I'm beginning to wonder if he really is fretting,"
I said.

"It could be just his age catching up on him.  After all, he'll be
twelve in the spring, w, he?"

Mrs Sanders nodded.

"That's right.  Then you think ... this could be end ?"  '.

"It's possible."  I knew what she was thinking.  A couple of weeks ago
healthy dogs rolling around and playing in this house and now there
could s be none.

"But isn't there anything else you can do?"

"Well I can give him a course of digitalis for his heart.  And perhaps
would bring in a sample of his urine.  I want to see how his kidneys
Vet in a Spin functioning."  ..

I tested the urine.  There was a little albumen, but no more than you
would expect in a dog of his age.  I ruled out nephritis as a cause.

As the days passed I tried other things; vitamins, iron tonics,
organo-pl phases, but the little animal declined steadily It was about
a month after his death that I was called to the house again.  ~
Skipper was in his basket and when I called to him he slowly raised his
h.

His face was pinched and fleshless and the filmed eyes regarded me with
recognition.

"Come on, lad," I said encouragingly.

"Let's see you get out of there."

Jack Sanders shook his head.

"It's no good, Mr Herriot.  He never leaves basket now and when we
lift him out he's almost too weak to walk.  Another thing .  . . he
makes a mess down here in the kitchen during the night.  Th something
he's never done."

It was like the tolling of a sad bell.  Everything he said pointed to a
dog in last stages of senility.  I tried to pick my words.

_ _~ -----~- - ---- - -- r-- ~ "I'm sorry, Jack, but it all sounds as
if the old chap has come to the end of the road.  I don't think
fretting could possibly cause all this."

He didn't speak for a moment.  He looked at his wife then down at the
forlorn little creature.

"Well of course this has been in the back of our minds.  But w.

kept hoping he would start to eat.  What .  . . what do you suggest?"

I could not bring myself to say the fateful words.

"It seems to me that we c' stand by and let him suffer.  He's just a
little skeleton and I can't think get ting any pleasure out of his life
now."

"I see," he said.

"And I agree.  He lies there all day he has no interest' Vet in a Spin
anything."  He paused and looked at his wife again.

"I tell you what, Mr Herriot.

Let us think it over till tomorrow.  But you do think there's no
hope?"

yes, Jack, I do.  Old dogs often go this way at the end.  Skipper has
just cracked up he's finished, I'm afraid."

He drew a long breath.

"Right, if you don't hear from me by eight o'clock tomorrow morning,
please come and put him to sleep."

I had small hope of the call coming and it didn't.  In those early days
of our marriage Helen worked as a secretary for one of the local
millers.  We often started our day together by descending the long
flights of stairs from our bed sitter and I would see her out of the
front door before get ting ready for my round.

This morning she gave me her usual kiss before going out into the
street but then she looked at me searchingly.

"You've been quiet all through breakfast Jim.  What's the matter?"

"It's nothing, really.  Just part of the job," I said.  But when she
kept her steady gaze on me I told her quickly about the Sanders.

She touched my arm.

"It's such a shame, Jim, but you can't let your sad cases depress you.
You'd never survive."

"Aagh, I know that.  But I'm a softy, that's my trouble.  Sometimes I
think I should never have been a vet."

"You're wrong there," she said.

"I couldn't imagine you as anything else.

You'll do what you have to do, and you'll do it the right way."  She
kissed me again, turned and ran down the steps.

It was mid morning before I drew up outside the Sanders' home.  I
opened the car boot and took out the syringe and the bottle of
concentrated anaesthetic which would give the old dog a peaceful and
painless end.

The first thing I saw when I went into the kitchen was a fat little
white puppy waddling across the floor.

I looked down in astonishment.

"What's this .  . .?

Mrs Sanders gave me a strained smile,

"Jack and I had a talk yesterday.  We couldn't bear the idea of not
having a dog at all, so we went round to Mrs Palmer who bred Jing and
found she had a litter for sale.  It seemed like fate.

We've called him Jingo, too."

"What a splendid idea!"  I lifted the pup which squirmed in my hand,
grunted in an obese manner and tried to lick my face.  This, I felt,
would make my unpleasant task easier.

"I think you've been very sensible."

I lifted the bottle of anaesthetic unobtrusively from my pocket and
went over to the basket in the corner.  Skipper was still curled in the
unheeding ball of yesterday and the comforting thought came to me that
all I was going to do was push him a little further along the journey
he had already begun.

I pierced the rubber diaphragm on the bottle with my needle and was
about to withdraw the barbiturate when I saw that Skipper had raised
his head.  Chin resting on the edge of the basket, he seemed to be
watching the pup.  Wearily his eyes followed the tiny creature as it
made its way to a dish of milk and began to lap busily.  And there was
something in his intent expression which had not been there for a long
time.

I stood very still as the corgi made a couple of attempts then heaved
himself to a stan ding position.  He almost fell out of the basket and
staggered on shaking legs across the floor.  When he came alongside the
pup he remained there, swaying' for some time, a gaunt caricature of
his former self, but as I watched ~n disbelief, he reached forward and
seized the little white ear in his mouth.

Stoicism is not a characteristic of pups and Jingo the Second yelped
shrilly as the teeth squeezed.  Skipper, undeterred, continued to gnaw
with rapt concentration.

!722 Vet in a Spin Vet in a Spin 723 I dropped bottle and syringe back
in my pocket.

"Bring him some food," I said Speaker was Seth Pilling, a casual
labourer and a well known character in : quietly.  Darrow by He was
designated a labourer, but in truth he didn't labour unduly Mrs Sanders
hurried to the pantry and came back with a few pieces of meat: and his
burly frame and red meaty face was a common sight around the Labour on
a saucer.  Skipper continued his ear-nibbling for a few moments then
sniffed exchange where he signed for his unemployment pay.

the pup unhurriedly from end to end before turning to the saucer.  He
hardly, "Aye, 'e's got no idea.  Knaws nowt about dogs."  The big man
tipped about had the strength to chew but he lifted a portion of meat
and his jaws moves half a pint over his throat in one swallow.

slowly.  "He's not a bad hand wi' cows," another voice broke in "Good
heavers!"  Jack Sanders burst out.

"That's the first thing he's eaten for' "Aye, maybe, but I'm not
talkie' about bloody awd cows," Seth retorted days!  "witheringly

"I'm talkie' about dogs: Ye need skill to doctor dogs."

, His wife seized my arm.

"What's happened, Mr Herriot?  We only got the' A third man spoke
up.

"Well, 'e's a vitnery, isn't he?"

puppy because we couldn't have a house without a dog."  "Aye a knew he
is, but there's all kind o'vitneries and this 'un's a dead loss.

"Well, it looks to me as though you've got two again."  I went over to
the coo' Ah could tell ye some tales about this feller."

~i!  and smiled back at the two people watching fascinated as the corgi
swallower They say an eavesdropper never hears anything good about
himself, and I ~: then started determinedly on another piece of meat.

"Good morning, I'm goinl knew the sensible thing would be to get out of
there immediately rather than ~now."hear this man vilifying me In a
crowded bar.  But of course I didn't get out.  I : stayed, morbidly
fascinated, listening with every nerve and fibre.

- About eight months later, Jack Sanders came into the surgery and put
JinB.  "What sort o' tales, Seth?"  The company was as interested as I
was.

Two on the table.  He was growing into a fine animal with the wide
chest ant "Well," he replied.

"There's many a time folks 'ave brought dogs to me that `. powerful
legs of the breed.  His good-natured face and whipping tail reminded'
he's made a mess of."

me strongly of his predecessor.  "The knaws all about dogs, doesn't
the, Seth?"

"He's got a bit of eczema between his pads," Jack said, then he bent
and lifted ~It was perhaps wishful thinking that made me imagine a
touch of sarcasm in Skipper up.  the last remark, but if it were so it
was lost on Mr Pilling His big, stupid face ~. At that moment I had no
eyes for my patient.  All my attention was on the creased into a
self-satisfied smirk.

: ~corgi, plump and bright-eyed, nibbling at the big white dog's hind
limbs wit' "Ah'll tell ye there's not a lot ah don't know about 'em.
I've been among 'em all his old bounce and vigour.  all me life and
I've studied t'job, too."  He slurped down more beer.

"I've got a , i "Just look at that!"  I murmured.

"It's like turning the clock back."  houseful o' books and read 'em
all.  Ah ken every thin' about them diseases and :, Jack Sanders
laughed.

"Yes, isn't it.  They're tremendous friends just like.  the
remedies."

' before.  "Another of the men in the bar spoke.

"Have ye never been beat wi' a dog job, "Come here, Skipper."  I
grabbed the little corgi and looked him over.  Wha Seth?"

~, I had finished I held him for a moment as he tried to wriggle his
way back t' There was a pause.

"Well ah'm not goin' to say I never 'ave," he said judicially.

~: his friend.

"Do you know, I honestly think he'll go on for years yet."  "It's very
rare I'm beat, but if I am I don't go to Herriot."  He shook his
head.

~ ~"Really?"  Jack Sanders looked at me with a mischievous light in his
eyes.

"But "Nay, nay, ah slip through to Braw ton and consult wi' Dennaby
Broome.  He's .4 I seem to remember you saying quite a long time ago
that his days were over..  a big friend o' mine."

~; !  - he was finished.  "In the quiet of the snug I sipped at my
glass. Dennaby Broome was one of I held up a hand.

"I know, I know.  But sometimes it's lovely to be wrong.".

the many 'quacks' who flourished in those days.  He had started in the
building trade as a plasterer to be exact and had gravitated
mysteriously and without : l ~formal training into the field of
veterinary science where he now made a .. i comfortable living.

~i I had nothing against him for that we all have to live.  In any case
he rarely bothered me because Braw ton was mainly outside our practice
orbit, but my , colleagues around there used some unkind words about
him.  I had a private I conviction that a lot of his success was due to
his resounding name.  To me, the -~ chapter Fzve~ I very words

"Dennaby Broome' were profoundly imposing.

,/ | "Aye, that's what ah co," Seth continued.

"Dennaby and me's big friends and : i' I we oft consult about dogs.
Matter of fact ah took me own dog to 'im once he "That young Herriot's
a bloody thick-'ead."  ~ I looks well, eh?"

It wasn't the sort of statement to raise one's morale and for a moment
I stood on tiptoe and peered into the bar.  I could just see Seth's
keeshound ~- - good ale turned to vinegar in my mouth.  I was having a
quiet pint all alone ;4 I Sit ting at his feet.  A handsome creature
with a luxuriant glossy coat.  The big i the 'snug' of the Crown and
Anchor on my way home from an evening a9.  I man leaned over and patted
the fox-like head.

"He's a vallible animal is that.

. case, and the words came clearly through the hatch from the public
bar.  ~I Ah couldn~t trust 'im to a feller like Herriot."

I suppose it was the fact that I had come to the conclusion that my fl
~I "What's the matter wi' Herriot, any road?"  somebody asked.

~ i ~instructor, FO Wood ham, considered me to be a person of low
intelligence t ~ Well, ah'll tell tha."  Seth tapped his head.

"He hasn't got ower much up 'ere."

. brought the incident back to my mind.  ,~ I didn't want to hear any
more.  I put down my glass and stole out into the ~I shifted my
position slightly so that I could see into the brightly lit room ~
night 724 Vet in a ~,p n After that experience I took more notice of
Seth Pilling.  He was often to be seen strolling round the town
because, despite his vast store of knowledge OR many subjects, he was
frequently out of work.  He wasn't an expert only on dogs - he
pontificated in the Crown and Anchor on politics, gardening, cage
birdS`, agriculture, the state of the economy, cricket, fishing and
many other matters.

There were few topics which his wide intellect did not effortlessly
embrace, so that it was surprising that employers seemed to dispense
with his services after a very brief period.  ~ He usually took his dog
with him on his strolls, and the attractive animal began to appear to
me as a symbol of my shortcomings.  Instinctively I kept oUt: of his
way but one morning I came right up against him.  -i It was at the
little shelter in the market place and a group of people were waiting
for the Braw ton bus.  Among them was Seth Pilling and the keeshound'
and as I passed within a few feet of them on my way to the post office
I stopped involuntarily and stared.  The dog was almost
unrecognisable.

The dense, off-stan ding ash-grey coat I knew so well had become sparse
and lustre less.  The thick ruff, so characteristic of the breed, had
shrunk to nothing "You're loo kin' at me dog?"  Mr Pilling tightened
the lead and pulled the little animal towards him protectively as
though he feared I might put my contaminaating hand on him.

"Yes ... I'm sorry, but I couldn't help noticing.  He has a skin
condition The big man looked down his nose at me.

"Aye, 'e has, a bit.  I'm just takin' him through to Braw ton to see
Dennaby Broome."

' I see."

"Yes, ah thought ah'd better take 'im to somebody as knows sum mat
about dogs."  He smirked as he looked around at the people in the
shelter who were.

listening with interest.

"He's a vallible dog is that."

"I'm sure he is," I said.

He raised his voice further.  Mind you, ah've been givin' him some of
me own treatment."  He didn't have to tell me.  There was a strong
smell of tar, and the dog's hair was streaked with some oily
substance.

"But it's maybe better to malt.

sure.  We're lucky to 'ave a man like Dennaby Broome to turn to."  .

"Quite."

He looked around his audience appreciatively.

"Especially with a vallible dog.

like this.  You can't 'ave any Tom Dick or Harry muck in' around with
'im."  `, "Well," I said.

"I hope you get him put right."

"Oh, ah will."  The big man was enjoying the interlude, and he
laughed.

"Don, you worry about that."  :: This little session did not enliven my
day, but it gave me more reason t.

watch out for Mr Pilling.  For the next two weeks I observed his
movements with the deepest interest because his dog was losing its hair
at an alarming rate Not only that, but the animal's whole demeanour had
changed and instead d tripping along in his old sprightly way he
dragged one foot after another se!

though he were on the point of death.  ~ Towards the end of the period
I was horrified to see the big man ~with|3 something like a shorn ewe
on the end of the lead.  It was all that was left of the

beautiful keeshound, but as I started to walk towards him his master
spotted ~ and hurried off in the opposite direction, dragging the
unfortunate animal behi' him.

I did, however, succeed in having a look at the dog a few days
afterwards.  1:' was in the waiting room at Skeldale House, and this
time he was accompanied by his mistress instead of his master.  ~. -
.

"Yes."

Mrs Pilling was sit ting very upright.  and when I asked her to come
through.

; ,..

,~ to the consulting room she jumped to her feet, marched past me and
stumped quickly along the passage in front of me.

She was quite small, but broad tripped and stocky, and she al ways
walked rapidly, her head nodding forward aggressively at each step, her
jaw thrust out.

She never smiled.

I had heard it said that Seth Pilling was a big talker outside, but
under his own roof he was scared to death of his little wife.  And as
the tight-mouthed fiery-eyed face turned to me I could believe it.

She bent, pushed powerful arms under the keeshound and hoisted him on
to the table.

"Just look at me good dog, Mr Herriot!"  she rapped out.

I looked.

"Good heavens!"  I gasped.

The little animal was almost completely bald.  His skin was dry, scaly
and wrinkled, and his head hung down as though he were under
sedation.

"Aye, you're surprised, aren't you?"  she barked.

"And no wonder.  He's in a terrible state, isn't he?"

"I'm afraid so.  I wouldn't have known him."

"No, nobody would.  Ah think the world 'o this dog and just look at
'im!"  She paused and snorted a few times.

"And I know who's responsible, don't you?"

"Well .  . ."

"Oh, you do.  It's that husband o' mine."  She paused and glared at me,
breathing rapidly.

"What d'you think of my husband, Mr Herriot?"

"I really don't know him very well.  I .  . ."

"Well ah know 'im and he's a gawp.  He's a great gawp.  Knows every
thing and knows nowt.  He's played around wi' me good dog till he's
ruined 'im."

I didn't say anything.  I was studying the keeshound.  It was the first
time I had been able to observe him closely and I was cert ain I knew
the cause of his trouble.

Mrs Pilling stuck her jaw out further and continued.

"First me husband said it was eczema.  Is it?"

"No."

"Then 'e said it was mange.  Is it?"

"No."

"D'you know what it is?"

"Yes."

"Well, will you tell me please?"

"It's myxoedema."

"Myx .  . . ?"

"Wait a minute," I said.

"I'll just make absolutely sure."  I reached for my stethoscope and put
it on the dog's chest.  And the bradycardia was there as I expected,
the slow, slow heartbeat of hypothyriodism.

"Yes, that's it.  Not a shadow of a doubt about it."

"What did you call it?"

"Myxoedema.  It's a thyroid deficiency there's a gland in his neck
which isn't doing its job properly."

"And that makes 'is hair fall out?"

"Oh yes.  And it also causes this typical scaliness and wrinkling of
the skin."

"Aye, but he's half asleep all t'time.  How about that?"

"Another classical symptom.  Dogs with this condition become very
lethargic - lose all their energy."

She reached out and touched the dog's skin, bare and leathery where
once the coat had through in bushy glory.

"And can you cure it?"

/ ~ ~ "Now Mr Herriot, don't take this the wrong way, but could you be
mistaken Are ye positive it's this myxi-whatever-it-is?"

"Of course I am.  It's a straightforward case."

.

.........~ .  ~ ~ .  - ~ ... _ .  _ ~, "Straightforward to you, maybe."
She flushed and appeared to be grinding h' teeth.

"But not straightforward to that clever husband o' mine The great
lubber When ah think what he's put me good dog through ah could kill
'im."

"Well, I suppose he thought he was acting for the best, Mrs Pilling."

"Ah don't care what he thought, he's made this poor dog suffer, the big
fool.

Wait till ah get hold of 'im."

I gave her a supply of tablets.

"These are thyroid extract, and I want you to give him one night and
morning" I also handed her a bottle of potassium iodide which I had
found helpful in these cases.  : She looked at me doubtfully.

"But surely he'll want sum mat rubbed on 'is skin."

"No," I replied.

"Applications to the skin do no good at all."

"Then you mean."  She turned a dark purple colour and began snorting
again.

"You mean all them bottles o' filthy stuff me husband put on 'im were a
waste o'time?"

"Afraid so."

"Oh Ah'll murder 'im!"  she burst out.

"Mucky, oily rubbish, it was.  And that fancy feller in Braw ton sent
some 'orrible lotion yeller it was, and stank the place out.  Ruined me
carpets and good chair covers an' all!"  ~;~ Sulphur, whale oil and
creosote, I thought.  Splendid old fashioned ingredients.

but quite useless in this case and definitely antisocial.  - .

Mrs Pilling heaved the keeshound to the floor and strode along the
passagewaY head down, powerful shoulders hunched.  I could hear her
muttering to herself as she went.

"By yaw, just wait till ah get home.  Ah'll sort 'im, by gaw ah
will!"

I was naturally interested in the progress of my patient, and when I
failed to see him around for the next fortnight I could only conclude
that Seth Pilling' was keeping out of my way.  Indeed there was one
occasion when I thought I saw him and the dog disappearing down an
alley, but I couldn't be sure.

When I did see them both it was by accident.  I was driving round the
come' into the market place and I came upon a man and dog coming away
from one of the stalls on the cobbles.

And as I peered through the window I caught my breath.  Even in that
short~ space of time the animal's skin was covered with a healthy down
of new hair.

and he was stepping out with something very like his old vitality.

His master swung round as I slowed down.  He gave me a single hunted
look then tugged on the lead and scuttled away.  :~ I could only
imagine the turmoil in his mind, the conflict of emotions.  No?

doubt he wanted to see his dog recover, but not this way.  And as it
turned out; the dice were loaded against the poor man because this was
an unbelievably' rapid recovery.  I have seen some spectacular cures in
myxoedema, but none dramatic as that keeshound.

Mr Pilling's sufferings were communicated to me in various ways.  For
instance I heard he had changed his pub and now went to the Red Bear of
evening.  In a little place like Darrow by, news fairly crackles around
and I had a good idea that the farm men in the Crown and Anchor would
have had a bit of quiet Yorkshire sport with the expert.

But his main martyrdom was at home.  It was about six weeks after I ha
finished treating the dog that Mrs Pilling brought him to the
surgery.

~,i c~ .,. ~ ~.,.

, 4, As before, she lifted him easily on to the table and looked at me
her face as bit grim and unsmiling.  ' 'mr Herriot," she said.

"Ah've just come to say thank ye, and ah thought you'd be interested to
see me dog now."

"I am indeed, Mrs Pilling.  It's nice of you to come."  I gazed
wonderingly at the thick coat, bushy, shining and new, and at the
sparkling eyes and alert expression

"I think you can say he's about back to normal."

She nodded.

"That's what I thought and ah'm grateful to ye for what you've done."

I walked with her to the front door and as she led her dog onto the
street she turned her tough little face to me again.  As the stern eyes
met mine she looked very menacing "There's one thing," she said.

"Ah'll never forgive that man o' mine for what he did to me dog.  By
gum, I've given 'im some stick, the great goof!  He'll never hear the
last of it from me."

As she made off down the street, the little animal trotting briskly by
her side I brimmed with pleasant emotions.  It is al ways warming to
see a case recover so well, but in this instance there was an
additional bonus.

For a long time little Mrs Pilling was going to give her husband pure
hell.

Chapter Six "Today," said FO Wood ham,

"We're going to try a few new things.  Spinning, side-slipping and how
to come out of a stall."  His voice was gentle, and before he pulled on
his helmet he turned his dark, fine-featured face towards me and
smiled.  Walking over the grass I thought what a likeable chap he was.
I could have made a friend of him.

But he was al ways like that on the ground.  He was altogether
different in the air.

Yet I could never understand it.  Flying was no trouble at all, and as
we spun and dropped and soared about the summer sky his instructions
appeared simple and easy to carry out.  But the rot, as al ways, began
to set in very soon.

"Didn't I tell you opposite rudder and stick to sideslip?"  he bawled
over the intercom.

"Yes, sir," was all I replied, instead of the more appropriate,

"That's just what I'm doing, you stupid bugger!"  which I might have
used in civil life.

The goggled eyes bulged in the mirror.

"Well why the bloody hell aren't you doing it?"  His voice rose to a
wild shriek.

"Sorry, sir."

"Well take her up.  We'll try again.  And for God's sake keep your wits
about you!"

It was the same with the spins and stalls.  I hadn't the slightest
difficulty in pulling out of them but at times I thought my instructor
was going out of his mind.

Berserk cries rang in my ears.

"Full opposite rudder and centralise the stick!

Centralise it!  Can't you hear me?  Oh God, God!"

And of course the panic gradually crept in and I began to crack.  One
moment //X V~l 2n an

, " I

I could see a railway station in front of me whirling around in crazy
circles .

then there was nothing but the empty heavens and within seconds fields
and , trees would start to rush at me.  Everything kept changing
bewilderingly except the enraged eyes in the mirror and the exasperated
yells.

"Centralise it, you bloody fool!  Keep your eye on that cloud!  Watch
your artificial horizon!  Don't you know what the altimeter's for?  I
told you to keep at 1,000 feet but it's like talking to a bloody
wall!"

After a while a kind of numbness took over and the words rang
meaninglessly in my head, one sentence seeming to contradict another.
Desperately I tried to, sort out the volleys of advice, but the whole
thing began to slip from my grasp; I had felt like this somewhere
before.  There was a familiar ring about the jumble in my brain.  Then
it came back to me.  It was like being back at the.

it~Birtwhistles.

The trouble with the Birtwhistles was that they all spoke at once.  ~
Birtwhistle invariably discussed his livestock, his wife concentrated
on family.

matters and Len, their massive eighteen-year-old son, talked of nothing
but ' !, t b a I I .  , " ~ .  ~, .  . . ~ .  . A ~ ~ A ~1 ~ _. ~ A A ~
I was examining Nellie, the pig wnltc ~ow rilal al waya at~Uu ~ - alic
IrD doorway in the grey stone byre.  She had been lame for over a week
and I didn't' like the look of her.

"Lift her foot, will you, Len," I said.  It was wonderful to have a
muscular giant to hoist the hind limb instead of going through the
tedious business of hauling it-up with a rope over a beam.

With the cloven hoof cradled in the great hands I could see that my
fears we g realised.  The space between the cleats was clear but there
was a significant; swelling around the inter phalangeal joint.  ~ I
looked up from my stoop ing position.

"Can you see that, Mr Birtwhistle?i The infection is spreading
upwards."

"Aye .  . . aye .  . ."  The farmer thrust a finger against the
tumefied area and; Nellie flinched.

"It's goin' up her leg on that side right enough.  Ah thought it was
nowt but a bit o' foul and I've been put tin' .  . ."

"By gaw," Len interjected.

"The lads 'ad a good win against Heller by q.

Saturday.  Johnnie Nudd got another couple o' goals and .  . ."  ;~
'... put tin' that caustic lotion between 'er cleats."  Mr Birtwhistle
didn't appear to have heard his son but it was al ways like that.

"Done it regular night and morning'.  And ah'll tell ye the best way to
do it.  Get a hen feather a~ '. . . ah wouldn't be surprised if'e
scores a few more this Saturday," continu" Len unheedingly.

"He's a right bobby dazzler when 'e .  . ."  .; '. . . ye jU' ~ it in
"'lotion and push the feather in between "'cleats.  It wor~ like a .  }
~ : :~: ~, on 'is right foot.  He just whacks 'em in .  . ."

"Wait a minute.  You must realise this cow hasn't got foul <, arthritis
in this little joint just at the coronet here.  I clod ';~; ~A '\words
but she has pus matter right inside the bloody thing."

' - o ~c ~owly.

"Sort of a abscess, you mean?

Well, maybe) i'- ~ ~C; \vou let "'matter out it would .  . ."

instancco, ~o ~ ;\ \\t on Len.

"Ah'll tell ye, Johnnie could get a t~ evening.  In ; ~'t~ \~s and then
. ' a good idea that .  ~ .  ~ok at a person when they are talking to
ydi~ of quiet Yorkshire sP -. %~> \~oth talking at once, especially
when o d But his main martyro~ \, ~tanding behind you.  4 finished
treating the dog that ~ put her foot down now."  I straight~

~ G- `16 U Q~61`

/~7 up and directed my gaze somewhere between them.

"The trouble with this condition is that you can't just stick a knife
into it and relieve it.  Very often the smooth surfaces of the joint
are eaten away and it's terribly painful."

Nellie would agree with me.  It was the outside cleat which was
affected and she was stan ding with her leg splayed sideways in an
attempt to take the weight on the healthy inner digit.

The farmer asked the inevitable question.

"Well, what are we goin' to do?"

I had an uncomfortable conviction that it wasn't going to make much
difference what we did, but I had to make an effort.

We'll give her a course of sulphanilamide powders and I also want you
to put a poultice on that foot three times daily."

"Poultice?"  The farmer brightened.

"Ah've been coin' that.  Ah've been .  . ."

"If Darlington signed Johnnie Nudd I reckon .  . ."

"Hold on, Len," I said.

"What poultice have you been using, Mr Birtwhistle?"

"Cow shit," the farmer replied confidently.

"Ye can't beat a good cow shit poultice to bring t'bad out.  Ah've used
it for them bad cases o' .  . ."

'. . . ah'd have to go through to Darlington now and then instead of
watch in' the Kestrels," Len broke in.

"Ah'd have to see how Johnnie was get tin' on wit hem professionals
because .  . ."

I managed a twisted smile.  I like football myself and I found it
touching that Len ignored the great panorama of league football to
concentrate on a village team who played in front of about twenty
spectators.

"Yes, yes, Len, I quite understand how you feel."  Then I turned to his
father.

"I was thinking of a rather different type of poultice, Mr
Birtwhistle."

The farmer's face lengthened and the corners of his mouth drooped.

"Well, ah've never found owt better than cow shit and ah've been among
stock all my life."

I clenched my teeth.  This earthy medicament was highly regarded among
the Dales farmers of the thirties and the damnable thing was that it
often achieved its objective.  There was no doubt that a sackful of
bovine faeces applied to an inflamed area set up a tremendous heat and
counter-irritation.  In those days I had to go along with many of the
ancient cures and keep my tongue between my teeth but I had never
prescribed cow shit and I wasn't going to start now.

"Maybe so," I said firmly,

"But what I was thinking of was kaolin.  You could call down at the
surgery for some.  You just heat the tin in a pan of hot water and
apply the poultice to the foot.  It keeps its heat for several
hours."

Mr Birtwhistle showed no great enthusiasm so I tried again.

"Or you could use bran.  I see you've got a sack over there."

He cheered up a little.

"Aye .  . . that's right."

"Okay, put on some hot bran three times a day and give her the powders
and I'll see her again in a few days."  I knew the farmer would do as I
said, because he was a conscientious stockman, but I had seen cases
like this before and I wasn't happy.  No thing seems to pull a good cow
down quicker than a painful foot.  Big fat animals could be reduced to
skeletons within weeks because of the agony of septic arthritis.  I
could only hope.

"Very good, Mr Herriot," Mr Birtwhistle said.

"And now come into the house.

I'missus has a cup o' tea ready for you."

I seldom refuse such an invitation but as I entered the kitchen I knew
this was where the going got really tough.

"Now then, Mr Herriot," the farmer's wife said, beaming as she handed
me a steaming mug.

"I was talkie' to your good lady in the market place yesterday, and she
said .  . ."

"And ye think them powders o' yours might do the trick?"  Her husband
looked \ ~.

at me seriously.

"I 'ope so, because Nellie's a right good milker.  Ah reckon last.

Lactation she gave .  . ."

"Kestrels is drawn agin Dibham in t"Hulton cup."  Len chimed in.

"It'll be.

some game.  Last time .  . ."

Mrs Birtwhistle continued without drawing breath.  '... you were
nicely.

settled in at top of Skeldale House.  It must be right pleasant up
there with the lovely view and .  . ."

'. . . five gallons when she fust calved and she kept it up for .  .
."

'. . . they nearly kicked us off "'pitch, but by gaw ah'll tell ye,
we'll .  .

." : '. . . you can see right over Darrow by.  But it wouldn't do for a
fat body like me.  I was say in' to your missus that you 'ave to be
young and slim to live up there.  All them stairs and .  . ."

I took a long draught from my cup.  It gave me a chance to focus my
eyes and attention on just one thing as the conversation crackled
unceasingly around me.

I invariably found it wearing trying to listen to all three
Birtwhistles in full cry and of course it was impossible to look at
them all simultaneously and adjust my expression to their different
remarks.

The thing that amazed me was that none of them ever became angry at the
others butting in.  Nobody ever said,

"I'm speaking do you mind?"  or

"Don't interrupt!"  or

"For Pete's sake, shut up!"  They lived together in perfect harmony
with all of them talking at once and none paying the slightest heed to
what the other was saying

When I saw the cow during the following week she was worse.  Mr
Birtwhistle had followed my instructions faithfully but Nellie could
scarcely hobble as }~ brought her in from the field.

Len was there to lift the foot and I gloomily surveyed the increased
swelling; It ran right round the coronet from the heel to the
interdigital cleft in front, and the slightest touch from my finger
caused the big cow to jerk her leg in pain.

I didn't say much, because I knew what was in store for Nellie and I
knew too, that Mr Birtwhistle wasn't going to like it when I told
him.

When I visited again at the end of the week I had only to look at the
farmer) face to realise that every thing had turned out as I feared.
For once he was on his own and he led me silently into the byre.

Nellie was on three legs now, not daring even to bring the infected
foot into momentary contact with the cobbled flooring.  and worse, she
was in an advanced} state of emaciation, the sleek healthy animal of
two weeks ago reduced to little more than bone and hide.

"I doubt she's 'ad it," Mr Birtwhistle muttered.

Cow's hind feet are difficult to lift, but today I didn't need any help
because Nellie had stopped caring.  I examined the swollen digit.  It
was now vast i great ugly club of tissue with a trickle of pus
discharging down the wall.  ' I see it's bust there."  The farmer poked
a finger at the ragged opening.

"B.

it hasn't given erno relief."

"Well, I wouldn't expect it to," I said.

"Remember I told you the trouble is inside the joint."

"Well, these things 'appen," he replied.

"Ah might as well telephone to Mallock.  She's hardly givin' a drop o'
milk, poor awd lass, she's nowt but screw now."

I al ways had to wait for the threat of the knacker man's humane killer
before" I said what I had to say now.  Right from the start this had
been a case for surgery, but it would have been a waste of time to
suggest it at the beginning.

Amputation of the bovine digit has al ways filled farmers with horror
and a4 now I knew I would have trouble convincing Mr Birtwhistle.

"There's no need to slaughter her," I said.

"There's another way of curing thiS.  "Another way?  We've tried 'arc
enough, surely."

I bent and lifted the foot again.

"Look at this."  I seized the inner cleat and moved it freely around.

"This side is perfectly healthy.  There's nothing wrong with it.  It
would bear Nellie's full weight."

"Aye, but .  . . how about tother 'orrible thing?"

"I could remove it."

"You mean .  . . cut it off ?"

"Yes."

He shook his head vigorously

"Nay, nay, I'm not havin' that.  She's suffered enough Far better send
for Jeff Mallock and get the job over."

Here it was again.  Farmers are anything but shrinking violets, but
there was something about this business which appalled them.

"But Mr Birtwhistle," I said.

"Don't you see the pain is immediately relieved.

The pressure is off and all the weight rests on the good side."

"Ah said no, Mr Herriot, and ah mean no.  You've done your best and I
thank ye, but I'm not havin' her foot cut off and that's all about it."
He turned and began to walk away.

I looked after him helplessly.  One thing I hate to do is talk a man
into an operation on one of his beasts for the simple reason that if
anything goes wrong I get the blame.  But I was just about cert ain
that an hour's work could restore this good cow to her former state, I
couldn't let it go at this.

I trotted from the byre.  The farmer was already half way across the
yard on his way to the phone.

I panted up to him as he reached the farmhouse door.

"Mr Birtwhistle, listen to me for a minute.  I never said anything
about cutting off her foot.  Just one cleat."

"Well that's half a foot, isn't it?"  he looked down at his boots.

"And it's ower much for me."

"But she wouldn't know a thing," I pleaded.

"She'd be under a general anaesthetic.  And I'm nearly sure it would be
a success."

"Mr Herriot, I just don't fancy it.  I don't like t'idea.  And even if
it did work it would be like havin' a crippled cow walk in' about."

"Not at all.  She would grow a little stump of horn there and I'd like
to bet you'd never notice a thing."

He gave me a long sideways look and I could see he was weakening.

"Mr Birtwhistle," I said, pressing home the attack.

"Within a month Nellie could be a fat cow again, giving five gallons of
milk a day."

This was silly talk, not to be recommended to any veterinary surgeon,
but I was seized by a kind of madness.  I couldn't bear the thought of
that cow being cut up for dog food when I was convinced I could put her
right.  And there was another thing; I was already savouring the
pleasure, childish perhaps, of instantly relieving an animal's pain, of
bringing off a spectacular cure.  There aren't many operations in the
field of bovine surgery where you can do this but digit amputation is
one of them.

Something of my fervour must have been communicated to the farmer
because he looked at me steadily for a few moments then shrugged.

"When do you want to do it?"  he asked.

"Tomorrow."

"Right.  Will you need a lot o'fellers to help?"

"No, just you and Len.  I'll see you at ten o'clock."

~next day the sun was warm on my back as I laid out my equipment on a
small ~ :: field near the house.  It was a typical setting for many
large animal operations.

I have carried out over the years; the sweet stretch of green, the grey
Stone buildings and the peaceful bulk of the fells rising calm and
unheeding into the white scattering of clouds.  Y It took a long time
for them to lead Nellie out, though she didn't have far to go, and as
the bony scarecrow hopped painfully towards me, dangling her useless.

limb, the brave words of yesterday seemed foolhardy.

"All right," I said.

"Stop there.  That's a good spot."  On the grass, nearby, lay] my tray
with the saw, chloroform, bandages, cotton wool and iodoform.  I had`]
my long casting rope too, which we used to pull cattle down, but I had
a feeling Nellie wouldn't need it.

I was right.  I buckled on the muzzle, poured some chloroform on to the
sponge and the big white cow sank almost thankfully on to the cool
green herbage.

"Kestrels had a smash in' match on Wednesday night," Len chuckled
happily, ~ "Johnnie Nudd didn't score but Len Bottomley .  . ."  ~j "I
'ope we're coin' t'right thing," muttered Mr Birtwhistle.

"The way she-] staggered out 'ere I'd say it was a waste of time to . .
."  :~ '. . . cracked in a couple o' beauties."  Len's face lit up at
the memory.

"Kestrel~ is lucky to 'ave two fellers like .  . ."

"Get hold of that bad foot, Len!"  I barked, playing them at their own
game.  l "And keep it steady on that block of wood.  And you, Mr
Birtwhistle, hold her head down.  I don't suppose she'll move, but if
she does we'll have to ~give her more chloroform."

Cows are good subjects for chloroform anaesthesia but I don't like to
keep] them laid out too long in case of regurgitation of food.  I was
in a hurry.

I quickly tied a bandage above the hoof, pulling it tight to serve as a
tourniquet" then I reached back to the tray for the saw.  The books are
full of sophisticated methods of digit amputation with much talk of
curved incisions, reflections of ll skin to expose the region of the
articulations, and the like.  But I have whipped:' l off hundreds of
cleats with a few brisk strokes of the saw below the coronar)ii: l band
with complete success.  ~ l I took a long breath.

"Hold tight, Len."  And set to work.  .~3 For a few moments there was
silence except for the rhythmic grating of metal] on bone, then the
offending digit was Lying on the grass, leaving a flat stump from which
a few capillary vessels spurted.  Using curved scissors I speedily
disarticulated the remains of the pedal bone from the second phalanx
and held ~t up.  :~ "Look at that!"  I cried.

"Almost eaten away."  I pointed to the necrotic tissue~lt~ in and
around the joint.

"And d'you see all that rubbish?  No wonder she wet: g~ in pain."  I
did a bit of quick curetting, dusted the surface with iodoform, applied
< a thick pad of cotton wool and prepared to bandage.  ,: And as I tore
the paper from the white rolls I felt a stab of remorse.  In m
absorption I had been rather rude.  I had never replied to Len's remark
about!^ ;.

his beloved team.  Maybe I could pass the next few minutes with a
little gentle banter.  '-~ "Hey Len," I said.

"When you're talking about the Kestrels you never mentioned' the time
Willerton beat them five nil.  How is that?"

In reply the young man hurled himself unhesitatingly at me, butting 1
savagely on the forehead.  The assault of the great coarse-haired head
against my skin was like being attacked by a curly-polled bull, and the
impact sent flying backwards on to the grass.  At first the inside of
my cranium ~ illuminated by a firework display but as consciousness
slipped away my 1, sensation was of astonishment and disbelief.  ~ I
loved football myself but never had I thought that Len's devotion to!l'
Vet in a Spin Kestrels would lead him to physical violence.  He had al
ways seemed a most gentle and harmless boy.

I Suppose I was out for only a few seconds but I fancy I might have
spent a good deal longer Lying on the cool turf but for the fact that
something kept hammering out the message that I was in the middle of a
surgical procedure.

I blinked and sat up.

Nellie was still sleeping peacefully against the green background of
hills.  Mr Birtwhistle, hands on her neck, was regarding me anxiously,
and Len was Lying unconscious face down across the cow's body.

"Has he hurt the, Mr Herriot?"

"No .  . . no .  . . not really.  What happened?"

"I owt to have told ye.  He can't stand the sight o' blood.  Great daft
beggar."

The farmer directed an exasperated glare at his slumbering son.

"But ah've never seen 'im go down as fast as that.  Pitched right into
you, 'e did!"

I rolled the young man's inert form to one side and began again.  I
bandaged slowly and carefully because of the danger of post operative
haemorrhage.  I finished with several layers of zinc oxide plaster then
turned to the farmer.

"You can take her muzzle off now, Mr Birtwhistle.  The job's done."

I was star ting to wash my instruments in the bucket when Len sat up
almost as suddenly as he had slumped down.  He was deathly pale but he
looked at me with his usual friendly smile.

"What was that ye were say in' about ""Kestrels, Mr Herriot?"

"No thing, Len," I replied hastily.

"No thing at all."

After three days I returned and removed the original dressing which was
caked hard with blood and pus.  I dusted the stump with powder again
and bandaged on a clean soft pad of cotton wool.

"She'll feel a lot more comfortable now," I said, and indeed Nellie was
already loo king vastly happier.  She was taking some weight on the
affected foot rather gingerly, as though she couldn't believe that
terrible thing had gone from her hfe.

As she walked away I crossed my fingers.  The only thing that can ruin
these operations is if the infection spreads to the other side.  The
inevitable result then is immediate slaughter and terrible
disappointment.

But it never happened to Nellie.  When I took off the second dressing
she was almost sound and I didn't see her again until about five weeks
after the operation.

I had finished injecting one of Mr Birtwhistle's pigs when I asked
casually, "And how's Nellie?"

"Come and 'ave a look at her," the farmer replied.

"She's just in that field at side of "'road."

We walked together over the grass to where the white cow was stan ding
among her companions, head down, munching busily.  And she must have
done a lot of that since I saw her because she was fat again.

"Get on, lass."  The farmer gently nudged her rump with his thumb and
she ambled forward a few places before setting to work on another patch
of grass.

There wasn't the slightest trace of lameness.

"Well, that's grand," I said.

"And is she milking well, too?"

"Aye, back to five gallons."  He pulled a much dented tobacco tin from
his pocket, unscrewed the lid and produced an ancient watch.

"It's ten o'clock, young man.  Len'll have gone into t'house for his
tea, and 'lowance.  Will ye come in and have a cup?"

I squared my shoulders and followed him inside, and the barrage began
~immediately.

"Sum mat right funny happened on Saturday," Len said with a roar of
laughter.

"Walter Gimmett was referee in' and 'e gave two penalties agin
""Kestrels what did the lads do, they .  . ."

"Eee, wasn't it sad about old Mr Brent?"  Mrs Birtwhistle put her head
on on side and looked at me piteously.

"We buried 'im on Saturday and.  . ."

"You know, Mr Herriot," her husband put in.

"Ah thought you were pull in' ma leg when you said Nellie would be
givin' five gallons again.  I never .  . ."

'. . . dumped the beggar in a 'oss trough.  He won't give no more
penalties.

agin ""Kestrels.  You should 'ave seen .  . ."

'. . . it would 'ave been his ninetieth birthday today, poor old man.
He w well liked in "'village and there was a big congregation.  Parson
said .  . ."

'. . . expected owt like that.  Ah thought she might maybe put on a bit
of flP.

so we could get 'er off for beef.  Ah'm right grateful to .  . ."

~' , , ~.1 _ _ ~ ~ At that moment, fingers clenched tensely around my
cup, I happened to catch sight of my reflection in a cracked mirror
above the kitchen sink.  It was frightening experience because I was
staring glassily into space with my features contorted almost out of
recognition.  There was something of an idiot smile, I acknowledged the
humour of Walter in the horse trough, a touch of sorrow at Mr Brent's
demise, and, I swear, a suggestion of gratification at the successful
outcome of Nellie's operation.  And since I was also trying to look in
three directions at once, I had to give myself full marks for effort.

But as I say, I found it a little unnerving and excused myself soon
afterwards.

The men were still busy with Mrs Birtwhistle's apple pie and scones and
t conversation was raging unabated when I left.  The closure of the
door behind me brought a sudden peace.  The feeling of tranquillity
stayed with me as I into my car and drove out of the yard and onto the
narrow country road.

persisted as I stopped the car after less than a hundred yards and
wound do, the window to have a look at my patient.

Nellie was Lying down now.  She had eaten her fill and was resting
comfortably on her chest as she chewed her cud.  To a doctor of farm
animals there is nothing more reassuring than that slow lateral
grinding.  It means contentment a health.  She gazed at me across the
stone wall and the placid eyes in the wh face added to the restfulness
of the scene, accentuating the silence after the ba of voices in the
farmhouse.

Nellie couldn't talk, but those calmly moving jaws told me all I wanted
know.

Chapter Seven To me there are few things more appealing than a dog
begging.  This one tied to a lamp post outside a shop in Windsor.  Its
eyes were fixed steadfastly on the shop doorway, willing its owner to
come out, and every now and the.

it sat up in mute entreaty.  ~-7 Flying had been suspended for an
afternoon.  It gave us all a chance to rest' and no doubt it eased the
frayed nerves of our instructors, but as I looked at the dog all the
pressures of the RAF fell away and I was back in Darrow by.  ~ It was
when Siegfried and I were ma king one of our market day sorties t.

we noticed the little dog among the stalls.

veIn a optn

/S)

When things were quiet in the surgery we often used to walk together
across the cObbles and have a word with the farmers gathered round the
doorway of the Drovers, Arms.  Sometimes we collected a few outstan
ding bills or drummed up a bit of work for the forthcoming week and if
nothing like that happened we still enjoyed the fresh air.

The thing that made us notice the dog was that he was sit ting up
begging in front of the biscuit stall.

"Look at that little chap," Siegfried said.

"I wonder where he's sprung from."

As he spoke, the stall holder threw a biscuit which the dog devoured
eagerly but when the man came round and stretched out a hand the little
animal trotted away He stopped, however, at another stall which sold
produce; eggs, cheese, butter, cakes and scones.  Without hesitation he
sat up again in the begging position, rock steady, paws dangling, head
pointing expectantly.

I nudged Siegfried.

"There he goes again."

My colleague nodded.

"Yes, he's an engaging little thing, isn't he?  What breed would you
call him?"

"A cross, I'd say.  He's like a something else maybe terrier."

It wasn't long before he was munching a bun, and this time we walked
over to him.  And as we drew near I spoke gently.

"Here, boy," I said, squatting down a yard away.

"Come on, let's have a look at you."

He faced me and for a moment two friendly brown eyes gazed at me from a
singularly attractive little face.  The fringed tail waved in response
to my words but as I inched nearer he turned and ambled unhurriedly
among the market day crowd till he was lost to sight.  I didn't want to
make a thing out of the encounter because I could never quite divine
Siegfried's attitude to the small animals.

He was eminently wrapped up in his horse work and often seemed amused
at the way I rushed around after dogs and cats.

At that time, in fact, Siegfried was strongly opposed to the whole idea
of keeping animals as pets.  He was quite vociferous on the subject
said it was utterly foolish despite the fact that five assorted dogs
travelled everywhere with him in his car.  Now, thirty-five years
later, he is just as strongly in favour of keeping pets, though he now
carries only one dog in his car.  So, as I say, it was difficult to
assess his reactions in this field and I refrained from following the
little animal.

I was stan ding there when a young policeman came up to me.

"I've been watching that little dog begging among the stalls all
morning," he said.

"But like you, I haven't been able to get near him."

"Yes, it's st range.  He's obviously friendly, yet he's afraid.  I
wonder who owns him."

"I reckon he's a stray, Mr Herriot.  I'm interested in dogs myself and
I fancy I know just about all of them around here.  But this 'un's a st
ranger to me."

I nodded.

"I bet you're right.  So anything could have happened to him.  He could
have been ill-treated by somebody and run away, or he could have been
dumped from a car."

"Yes," he replied 'there's some lovely people around.  It beats me how
anybody can leave a helpless animal to fend for itself like that.  I've
had a few goes at catching him myself but it's no good."

The memory stayed with me for the rest of the day and even when I lay
in bed that night I was unable to dispel the disturbing image of the
little brown i. creature wandering in a st range world, sit ting up
asking for help in the only ~ way he knew.

little brown sheepdog, but there's a touch of ~_ I was still a bachelor
at that time and on the Friday night of the same w Siegfried and I were
arraying ourselves in evening dress in preparation for Hunt Ball at
East Hirdsley, about ten miles away.

It was a tortuous business because those were the days of starched
shirt fronts' and stiff high collars and I kept hearing explosions of
colourful language from Siegfried's room as he wrestled with his
studs.

I was in an even worse plight because I had outgrown my suit and even
when I had managed to secure the st rangling collar I had to fight my
way into dinner jacket which nipped me cruelly under the arms.  I had
just managed don the complete outfit and was trying out a few careful
breaths when the phone.

rang.

It was the same young policeman I had been speaking to earlier in the
we "We've got that dog round here, Mr Herriot.  You know the one that
begging in the market place."

"Oh yes?  Somebody's managed to catch him then?"

There was a pause.

"No, not really.  One of our men found him Lying by roadside about a
mile out of town and brought him in.  He's been in an accident' I told
Siegfried.  He looked at his watch.

"Always happens, doesn't it, Jam Just when we're ready to go out.  It's
nine o'clock now and we should be on e way."  He thought for a
moment.

"Anyway, slip round there and have a look a I'll wait for you.  It
would be better if we could go to this affair together."

As I drove round to the Police Station I hoped fervently that there
would be much to do.  This Hunt Ball meant a lot to my boss because it
would b' gather ing of the horse-loving fraternity of the district and
he would have a wonderful time just chatting and drinking with so many
kindred spirits e' though he hardly danced at all.  Also, he
maintained, it was good for business to meet the clients socially.

The kennels were at the bottom of a yard behind the Station and the
policeman led me down and opened one of the doors.  The little dog was
Lying very still under the single electric bulb and when I bent and
stroked the brown coat I tail stirred briefly among the straw of his
bed.

"He can still manage a way, anyway," I said.

The policeman nodded.

"Aye, there's no doubt he's a good-natured little thing I tried to
examine him as much as possible without touching.  I didn't want to
hurt him and there was no saying what the extent of his injuries might
But even at a glance cert ain things were obvious; he had multiple
lacerations one hind leg was crooked in the unmistakable posture of a
fracture and there.

was blood on his lips.

This could be from damaged teeth and I gently raised the head with a
vie to loo king into his mouth.  He was Lying on his right side and as
the head cad.

round it was as though somebody had struck me in the face.

The right eye had been violently dislodged from its socket and it
spouted like some hideous growth from above the cheek bone, a great
glistening orb with t eyelids tucked behind the white expanse of
sclera.

I seemed to squat there for a long time, stunned by the obscenity, and
as seconds dragged by I looked into the little dog's face and he looked
back at me.

- trustingly from one soft brown eye, glaring meaninglessly from the
grotesque ball on the other side.  '~ The policeman's voice broke my
thoughts.

"He's a mess, isn't he?"  )~ "Yes ... yes ... must have been struck by
some vehicle maybe dragged.

along by the look of all those wounds."  ~ "What d'you think, Mr Her
riot?"  -~l I knew what he meant.  It was the sensible shine to ease
this lost unwa.

creature from the world.  He was grievously hurt and he didn't seem to
b. l ver tn a ~pin to anybody A quick overdose of anaesthetic his
troubles would be over and I'd be on my way to the dance.

But the policeman didn't say anything of the sort.  Maybe, like me, he
was loo king into the soft depths of that one trusting eye.

I stood up quickly.

"Can I use your phone?"

At the other end of the line Siegfried's voice crackled with
impatience.

"Hell JameS, it's half-past nine!  If we're going to this thing we've
got to go now or we might as well not bother.  A stray dog, badly
injured.  Ii doesn't sound such a great problem."

"I know, Siegfried.  I'm sorry to hold you up but I can't make up my
mind.

I wish you'd come round and tell me what you think."

There was a silence then a long sigh.

"All right, James.  See you in five minutes."

He created a slight stir as he entered the Station.  Even in his casual
working clothes Siegfried al ways managed to look distinguished, but as
he swept into the station newly bathed and shaved, a camel coat thrown
over the sparkling white shirt and black tie there was something ducal
about him.

He drew respectful glances from the men sit ting around, then my young
policeman stepped forward.

"This way, sir' he said, and we went back to the kennels.

Siegfried was silent as he crouched over the dog, loo king him over as
I had done without touching him.  Then he carefully raised the head and
the monstrous eye glared.

"My God!"  he said softly, and at the sound of his voice the long
fringed tail moved along the ground.

For a few seconds he stayed very still loo king fixedly at the dog's
face while in the silence, the whisking tail rustled the straw.

Then he straightened up.

"Let's get him round there," he murmured.

In the surgery we anaesthetised the little animal and as he lay
unconscious on the table we were able to examine him thoroughly.  After
a few minutes Siegfried stuffed his stethoscope into the pocket of his
white coat and leaned both hands on the table.

"Luxated eyeball, fractured femur, umpteen deep lacerations, broken
claws.

There's enough here to keep us going till midnight, James."

I didn't say anything.

My boss pulled the knot from his black tie and undid the front stud. He
peeled off the stiff collar and hung it on the cross bar of the surgery
lamp.

"By God, that's better," he muttered, and began to lay out suture
materials.

I looked at him across the table.

"How about the Hunt Ball?"

"Oh bugger the Hunt Ball," Siegfried said.

"Let's get busy."

We were busy, too, for a long time.  I hung up my collar next to my
colleague's and we began on the eye.  I know we both felt the same we
wanted to get rid of that horror before we did anything else.

I lubricated the great ball and pulled the eyelids apart while
Siegfried gently manoeuvred it back into the orbital cavity.  I sighed
as every thing slid out of Sight, leaving only the cornea visible.

Siegfried chuckled with satisfaction.

"Looks like an eye again, doesn't it."  He Seized an ophthalmoscope and
peered into the depths.

"And there's no major damage could be as good as new again.  But we'll
just Stitch the lids together to protect it for a few days."

The broken ends of the fractured tibia were badly displaced and we had
a Struggle to bring them into apposition before applying the plaster of
parts.

But at last we finished and started on the long job of stitching the
many cuts and lacerations We worked separately for this, and for a long
time it was quiet in the operating room except for the snip of scissors
as we clipped the brown hair away from t.

wounds, I knew and Siegfried knew that we were almost certainly working
without payment, but the most disturbing thought was that after all our
efforts we might still have to put him down.  He was still in the care
of the police and if nobody claimed him within ten days it meant
euthanasia.  And if his la.

owners were really interested in his fate, why hadn't they tried to
contact the police before now .  . . :; By the time we had completed
our work and washed the instruments it w' after midnight.  Siegfried
dropped the last suture needle into its tray and looked at the sleeping
animal.  ;.

"I think he's beginning to come round," he said.

"Let's take him through to t.

fire and we can have a drink while he recovers."  .

We stretchered the dog through to the sit ting-room on a blanket and
laid him .

on the rug before the brightly burning coals.  My colleague reached a
long an up to the glass-fronted cabinet above the mantelpiece and
pulled down the.

whisky bottle and two glasses.  Drinks in hand, collarless, still in
shirt sleeves.

with our starched white fronts and braided evening trousers to remind
us of the lost dance we lay back in our chairs on either side of the
fireplace and between us our patient stretched peacefully.

He was a happier sight now.  (one eye was closed by the protecting
stitch and his hind leg projected stiffly in its white cast, but he was
tidy, cleaned u cared for.  He look as though he belonged to somebody
but then there was great big doubt about that.

It was nearly one o'clock in the morning and we were get ting well down
t.

bottle when the shaggy brown head began to move.  , Siegfried leaned
forward and touched one of the ears and immediately the tail flapped
against the rug and a pink tongue lazily licked his fingers.

"What an absolutely grand little dog," he murmured, but his voice had,
al4o "What^~ I knew wh;~ creature from the `, \.

distant quality.  I knew he was worried too.  ..` l I took the stiches
out of the eyelids in two days and was delighted to find normal eye
underneath.  ~) The young policeman was as pleased as I was.

"Look at that!"  he exclaimed.  "You'd never know anything had happened
there."  ?t'3 "Yes, it's done wonderfully well.  All the swelling and
inflammation has gone I hesitated for a moment.

"Has anybody enquired about him?"

He shook his head.

"No thing yet.  But there's another eight days to go we're taking good
care of him here."  ~: :j~ I visited the Police Station several times
and the little animal greeted me undisguised joy, all his fear gone,
stan ding upright against my legs on plastered limb, his tail
swishing.

But all the time my sense of foreboding increased, and on the tenth d;
made my way almost with dread to the police kennels.  I had heard
nothing.

- action seemed inevitable.  Putting down old or hopelessly ill dogs ~t
of mercy but when it was a young healthy dog it was terrible it was one
of the things veterinary surgeons had to do.  ~ 'policeman was stan
ding in the doorway.  $?"

I asked, and he shook his head.

into the kennel and the shaggy little creature stood up ag' laughing
into my face, mouth open, eyes shining.  ~ ickly.  I'd have to do this
right now or I'd never do it.  :i ~policeman put his hand on my arm.

"I think I'll take ~ Vet in a Spin ~Aye, that's right.  We get a lot o'
stray dogs in here and though I feel sorry ~or them you can't give them
all a home, can you?"

'~o you can't," I said.

"I have the same problem."

He nodded slowly.

"But somehow this 'un's different, and it seems to me he's 'just come
at the right time.  I have two little girls and they've been at me for
a J it to get 'em a dog.  This little bloke looks just right for the
job."

Warm relief began to ebb through me.

"I couldn't agree more.  He's the soul of good nature.  I bet he'll be
wonderful with children."

"Good.  That's settled then.  I thought I'd ask your advice first."  He
smiled happily I looked at him as though I had never seen him before,

"What's your name?"

"Phelps," he replied.

"PC Phelps."

He was a good-loo king young fellow, clear-skinned, with cheerful blue
eyes and a solid dependable look about him.  I had to fight against an
impulse to wring his hand and thump him on the back.  But I managed to
preserve the professional exterior.

"Well, that's fine."  I bent and stroked the little dog.

"Don't forget to bring him along to the surgery in ten days for removal
of the stitches, and we'll have to get that plaster off in about a
month."

It was Siegfried who took out the stitches, and I didn't see our
patient again until four weeks later.

PC Phelps had his little girls, aged four and six, with him as well as
the dog.

"You said the plaster ought to come off about now," he said, and I
nodded.

He looked down at the children.

"Well, come on, you two, lift him on the table."

Eagerly the little girls put their arms around their new pet and as
they hoisted him the tail wagged furiously and the wide mouth panted in
delight.

"Looks as though he's been a success," I said.

He smiled.

"That's an understatement.  He's perfect with these two.  I can't tell
you what pleasure he's given us.  He's one of the family."

I got out my little saw and began to hack at the plaster.

"It's worked both ways, I should say.  A dog loves a secure home."

"Well, he couldn't be more secure."  He ran his hand along the brown
coat and laughed as he addressed the little dog.

"That's what you get for begging among the stalls on market day, my
lad.  You're in the hands of the law now."

Chapter Eight when I entered the RAF I had a secret fear.  All my life
I have suffered from ~vertigo and even now I have only to look down
from the smallest height to be engulfed by that dreadful dizziness and
panic.  What would I feel, then, when [started to fly?

As it turned out, I felt nothing.  I could gaze downwards from the open
cockpit through thousands of feet of space without a qualm, so my fear
was groundless.

._ ~ I had my fears in veterinary practice, too, and in the early days
the thing l whiCh raised the greatest terror in my breast was the
Ministry of Agriculture.

C! OpIT' :~ An extraordinary statement, perhaps, but true.  It was the
clerical sidejj.

scared me all those forms.  As to the practical Ministry work itself, I
fdd all modesty that I was quite good at it.  My thoughts often turned
back to a~ tuberculin testing I used to do clipping a clean little area
from just the place in the cow's neck, inserting the needle into the
thickness of the skin ~ injecting one tenth of a c.c. of tuberculin.
,"

It was on Mr Hill's farm, and I watched the satisfactory intradermal ~
rise up under my needle.  That was the way it should be, and when it
came} like that you knew you were really doing your job and testing the
animal] tuberculosis.

"That 'un's number 65," the farmer said, then a slightly injured look
sp~ over his face as I checked the number in the ear.  .:l "You're was
tin' your time, Mr Herriot.  I 'ave the whole list, all in t'cor
order.  Wrote it out special for you so you could take it away with
you."

I had my doubts.  All farmers were convinced that their herd records v
flawless but I had been caught out before.  I seemed to have the gift
of ma king every possible clerical mistake and I didn't need any help
from the farmers But still .  . . it was tempting.  I looked at the
long list of figures dangling from the horny fingers.  If I accepted it
I would save a lot of time.  There were more than fifty animals to test
here and I had to get through two more h.

before lunch time.

I looked at my watch.  Damn!  I was well behind my programme and I fdt
old stab of frustration.

"Right, Mr Hill, I'll take it and thank you very much."  I stuffed the
she.

paper into my pocket and began to move along the byre, clipping and
injec at top speed.

A week later the dread words leaped out at me from the open day book.

"E

Thin."  The cryptic phrase in Miss Harbottle's writing had the power to
fn my blood quicker than anything else.  It meant simply that I had to
telept the Ministry of Agriculture office, and whenever our secretary
wrote those w' in the book it meant that I was in trouble again.  I
extended a trembling h towards the receiver.  s As al ways, Kitty
Pattison answered my call and I could detect the note of in her voice.
She was the attractive girl in charge of the office staff and she Ic
all about my misdemeanours.  In fact wined it was something very
trivial sometimes brought it to my attention herself, but when I had
really dropp large brick I was dealt with by the boss, Charles Harcourt
the Divis~ Inspector.

"Ah, Mr Herriot," Kitty said lightly.  I knew she sympathised with me
but' couldn't do a thing about it.

"Mr Harcourt wants a word with you."

There it was.  The terrible sentence that al ways set my heart
thumping.

"Thank you," I said huskily, and waited an eternity as the phone was
swit~ through.

"Herriot!"  The booming voice made me jump.

I swallowed.

"Good morning, Mr Harcourt.  How are you?"

"I'll tell you how I am, I'm bloody annoyed!"  I could imagine vividly
handsome, high-coloured, choleric face flushing deeper, the greenish
eyes al;.

"In fact I'm hop ping bloody mad!"

"Oh."

"It's no use saying "oh".  That's what you said the last time when you
~ that cow of Frank land's that had been dead for two years!  That was
very <:1 - I don't know how you managed it.  Now I've been going over
your $d Hill's of High View and there are two cows here that you've
tested number74 and ~ 03.  Now our records show that he sold both of
them at Braw ton Auction ~art six months ago, so you've performed
another miracle."

"I'm sorry .  .

~please don't be sorry, it's bloody marvellous how you do it.  I have
all the figUres here skin measurements, the lot.  I see you found they
were both thin-skinned animals even though they were about fifteen
miles away at the time.  Clever stuff!"

"Well I .  . ."

"All right, Herriot, I'll dispense with the comedy.  I'm going to tell
you once mOre, for the last time, and I hope you're listening."  He
paused and I could almost see the big shoulders hunching as he barked
into the phone.

"Look in the bloody ears in future!"

I broke into a rapid gabble.

"I will indeed, Mr Harcourt, I assure you from now on .  . ~ "All
right, all right, but there's something else."

"Something else?"

"Yes, I'm not finished yet."  The voice took on a great weariness.

"Can I ask you to cast your mind back to that cow you took under the TB
order from Wilson of Low Parks?"

I dug my nails into my palm.  We were heading for deep water.

"Yes I remember it."

"Well now, Herriot, lad, do you remember a little chat we had about
the forms?"  Charles was trying to be patient, because he was a decent
man, but it was costing him dearly.

"Didn't anything I told you sink in?"

"Well, yes, of course."

"Then why, why didn't you sent me a receipt for slaughter?"

"Receipt for .  . . didn't I .  . .?"

"No, you didn't," he said.

"And honestly I can't understand it.  I went over it with you step by
step last time when you forgot to forward a copy of the valuation
agreement."

"Oh dear, I really am sorry."

A deep sigh came from the other end.

"And there's nothing to it."  He paused.

"Tell you what we'll do.  Let's go over the procedure once more, shall
we?"

"Yes, by all means."

"Very well," he said.

"First of all, when you find an infected animal you serve B.205 DT Form
A, which is the notice requiring detention and isolation of the animal.
Next," and I could hear the slap of finger on palm as he enumerated his
points, 'next, there is B. 207 DT, Form C, Notice of intended
slaughter.  Then B. 208 DT, Form D, Post Mortem Certificate.  Then B.
196 DT, Veterinary inspector's report.  Then B. 209 DT, Valuation
agreement, and in cases where the owner objects, there is B. 213 DT,
Appointment of valuer.  Then we have B. 212 DT, Notice to owner of time
and place of slaughter, followed by B. 227 DT, Receipt for animal for
slaughter, and finally B. 230 DT, Notice requiring cleansing and
disinfection.  Dammit, a child could understand that.  It's perfectly
simple' isn't it?"

"Yes, yes, certainly, absolutely."  It wasn't simple to me, but I
didn't mention the fact.  He had calmed down nicely and I didn't want
to infiame him again.

"Well thank you, Mr Harcourt," I said.

"I'll see it doesn't happen again."  I put dOwn the receiver with the
feeling that things could have turned out a lot worse but for all that
my nerves didn't stop jangling for some time.  The trouble was that the
Ministry work was desperately important to general practitioners.  In
act, in those precarious days it was the main rent payer.

This business of the Tuberculosis Order.  When a veterinary surgeon
came Upon a cow with open TB it was his duty to see that the animal was
slaughtered ~, immediately because its milk could be a danger to the
public.  That sounds but unfortunately the law insisted that the demise
of each unhappy creatur~ commemorated by a confetti-like shower of the
doom-laden forms.

It wasn't just that there were so many of these forms, but they had to
be to an amazing variety of people.  Sometimes I used to think that
there were few people in England who didn't get one.  Apart from
Charles Harcourt, o recipients included the farmer concerned, the
police, the Head Office of Ministry, the knacker man, the local
authority.  I nearly al ways managed forget one of them.  I used to
have nightmares about stan ding in the middle the market place,
throwing the forms around me at the passers-by and laugh;
hysterically.

Looking back, I can hardly believe that for all this wear and tear on
nervous system the payment was one guinea plus ten and sixpence for the
mortem.

It was a mere two days after my interview with the Divisional Inspector
I had to take another cow under the TB Order.  When I came to fill in
the f~ I sat at the surgery desk in a dither of apprehension, going
over them again a again, laying them out side by side and enclosing
them one by one in various envelopes.  This time there must be no
mistake.

I took them over to the post myself and uttered a silent prayer as I
droppt them into the box.  Charles would have them the following
morning, and I wold soon know if I had done it again.  When two days
passed without incident I f~ I was safe, but midway through the third
morning I dropped in at the surgd and read the message in letters of
fire.

"RING MIN!"

Kitty Pattison sounded strained.  She didn't even try to appear casual.
~11 yes, Mr Herriot," she said hurriedly.

"Mr Harcourt asked me to call you.  I put ting you through now."

My heart almost stopped as I waited for the familiar bellow, but when 4
quiet voice came on the line it frightened me even more.

"Good morning, Herriot."  Charles was curt and impersonal.

"I'd like to disc~ that last cow you took under the Order."

"Oh yes?"  I croaked.

"But not over the telephone.  I want to see you here in the office."  i
"In the .  . . the office?"

"Yes, right away if you can."

I put down the phone and went out to the car with my knees knockiql
Charles Harcourt was really upset this time.  There was a kind of
restrai~j fury in his words, and this business of going to the office
that was reserved-~ serious transgressions.

Twenty minutes later my footsteps echoed in the corridor of the Mini~
building.  Marching stiffly like a condemned man I passed the windows
wh.

I could see the typists at work, then I read

"Divisional Inspector' on the doll at the end.

I took one long shuddering breath, then knocked.

"Come in."  The voice was still quiet and controlled.

(3harles looked up unsmilingly from his desk as I entered.  He motioned
me to a chair and directed a cold stare at me.

"Herriot," he said unemotionally.

"You're really on the carpet this time."i~ Charles had been a major in
the Punjabi Rifles and he was very much~ Indian Army officer at this
moment.  A fine loo king man, clear-skinned) ruddy, with massive cheek
bones above a powerful jaw.  Looking at the daq ously glinting eyes it
struck me that only a fool would trifle with somebod' him and I had a
nasty feeling that I had been trifling.  -~ Dry-mouthed, I waited.

Vet in a Spin 'you know, Herriot," he went on.

"After our last telephone conversation about ~B forms I thought you
might give me a little peace."

"Peace .  . . ?"

~Yes, yes, it was silly of me, I know, but when I took all that time to
go over the procedure with you I actually thought you were
listening."

"Oh I was, I was!"

"You were?  Oh good."  He gave me a mirthless smile.

"Then I suppose it was even more foolish of me to expect you to act
upon my instructions.  In my nOcence I thought you cared about what I
was tell ing you."

"Mr Harcourt, believe me, I do care, I .  . ."

"Then why," he bawled without warning, bringing his great hand flailing
down on the desk with a crash that made pens and inkwells dance.

"Why the bloody hell do you keep ma king a balls of it?  ' I resisted a
strong impulse to run away.

"Making a ... I don't quite understand."

"You don't?"  He kept up his pounding on the desk.

"Well I'll tell you.  One of my veterinary officers was on that farm,
and he found that you hadn't served a Notice of Cleansing and
Disinfection!"

"Is that so?"

"Yes, it bloody well is so!  You didn't give one to the farmer but you
sent one to me.  Maybe you want me to go and disinfect the place, is
that it?  Would you like me to slip along there and get busy with a
hose pipe - I'll go now if it'll make you feel any happier!"

"Oh no, no, no .  . . no."

He was apparently not satisfied with the thunderous noise he was ma
king because he began to use both hands, bringing them down
simultaneously with sickening force on the wood while he glared
wildly.

"Herriot!"  he shouted.

"There's just one thing I want to know from you do you want this bloody
work or don't you?  Just say the word and I'll give it to another
practice and then maybe we'd both be able to live a quiet life!"

"Please, Mr Harcourt, I give you my word, I .  . . we .  . . we do want
the work very much."  And I meant it with all my heart.

The big man slumped back in his chair and regarded me for a few moments
in silence.  Then he glanced at his wrist watch.

"Ten past twelve," he murmured.

"Just time to have a beer at the Red Lion before lunch."

In the pub lounge he took a long pull at his glass, placed it carefully
on the table in front of him, then turned to me with a touch of
weariness.

"You know, Herriot, I do wish you'd stop doing this sort of thing.  It
takes it out of me."

I believed him.  His face had lost a little of its colour and his hand
trembled Slightly as he raised his glass again.

"I'm truly sorry, Mr Harcourt, I don't know how it happened.  I did try
to get it right this time and I'll do my best to avoid troubling you in
future."

IHe nodded a few times then clapped me on the shoulder.

"Good, good let's I Just have one more."

He moved over to the bar, brought back the drinks then fished out a
brown paper parcel from his pocket.

I"Little wedding present, Herriot.  Understand you're get ting married
soon Ith~ s is from my missus and me with our best wishes."

|I didn't know what to say.  I fumbled the wrapping away and uncovered
a I Snlall square barometer.

LShame engulfed me as I muttered a few words of thanks.  This man was
the ~ head of the Ministry in the area while I was the newest and lower
/~"

V ~1 ITI 11 O]JL,"

minions.  Not only that, but I was pretty sure I caused him more
trouble t all the others put together I was like a hair shirt to him.
There was no reason why he should give me a barometer.

This last experience deepened my dread of form filling to the extent
that I ho it would be a long time before I encountered another
tuberculous animal fate decreed that I had some concentrated days of
clinical inspections and it with a feeling of inevitability that I
surveyed Mr Moverley's Ayrshire cow It was the soft cough which made me
stop and look at her more closely, as I studied her my spirits sank.
This was another one.  The skin stret tightly over the bony frame, the
slightly accelerated respirations and that careful cough.  Mercifully
you don't see cows like that now, but in those they were all too
common.

I moved along her side and examined the wall in front of her.
The-tell.

blobs of sputum were clearly visible on the rough stones and I quickly
lift~ sample and smeared it on a glass slide.

Back at the surgery I stained the smear by Ziehl-Niel son's method and
put the slide under the microscope.  The red clumps of tubercle bacilli
lay amon' scattered cells, tiny, iridescent and deadly.  I hadn't
really needed the ~rim n but it was there.

Mr Moverley was not amused when I told him next morning that the animal
would have to be slaughtered.

"It's nob but got a bit of a chill," he grunted.  The farmers were
never plc when one of their milk producers was removed by a petty
bureaucrat like "But ah suppose it's no use arguin'."

"I assure you, Mr Moverley, there's no doubt about it.  I examined that
sar last night and .  . ."

"Oh never mind about that."  The farmer waved an impatient hand.

"If t'bl.

government says me cow's got to go she's got to go.  But ah get com
pensa don't 1?"

"Yes, you do."

"How much?"

I thought rapidly.  The rules stated that the animal be valued as if it
were for sale in the open market in its present condition.  The minimum
was pounds and there was no doubt that this emaciated cow came into
that category.  "The statutory value is five pounds," I said.

"Shit!"  replied Mr Moverley.

"We can appoint a valuer if you don't agree."

"Oh 'elf, let's get t'job over with."  He was clearly disgusted and I
thou" imprudent to tell him that he would only get a proportion of the
five po depending on the post mortem.

"Very well," I said.

"I'll tell Jeff Mallock to collect her as soon as possib The fact that
I was unpopular with Mr Moverley didn't worry me as mu' the prospect of
dealing with the dreaded forms.  The very thought of se~ another batch
winging hopefully on its way to Charles Harcourt brougb out in a
sweat.

Then I had a fiash of inspiration.  Such things don't often happen to
me this struck me as brilliant.  I wouldn't send off the forms till I'd
had them v by Kitty Pattison.

I couldn't wait to get the plan under way.  Almost gleefully I laid the
T~ out in a long row, signed them and laid them by their envelopes,
ready for varied journeys.  Then I phoned the Ministry office.

..

O - r veIn a optn iq) Kitty was patient and kind.  I am sure she
realised that I did my work conscientiously but that I was a clerical
numbskull and she sympathised.

When I had finished going through the list she congratulated me.

"Well done, ~r Herriot, you've got them right this time!  All you need
now is the knacker man's signature and your post mortem report and
you're home and dry."

"Bless you, Kitty," I said.

"You've made my day."

And she had.  The airy sensation of relief was tremendous.  The
knowledge that there would be no come-back from Charles this time was
like the sun bursting through dark clouds.  I felt like singing as
I-went round to Mallock's yard and arranged with him to pick up the cow
"Have her ready for me to inspect tomorrow, Jeff," I said, and went on
my way with a light heart.

I couldn't understand it when Mr Moverley waved me down from his farm
gate next day.  As I drew up I could see he was extremely agitated.

"Hey!"  he cried.

"Ah've just got back from the market and my missus tells me Mallock's
been!"

I smiled.

"That's right, Mr Moverley.  Remember I told you I was going to send
him round for your cow."

"Aye, ah know all about that!"  He paused and glared at me.

"But he's took the wrong one!"

"Wrong .  . . wrong what?"

"Wrong cow, that's what!  He's off withe best cow in me herd. Pedigree
Ayrshire ah boughs erin Dumfries last week and they only delivered 'er
this mormn'.

Horror drove through me in a freezing wave.  I had told the knacker man
to collect the Ayrshire which would be isolated in the loose box in the
yard.  The new animal would be in a box, too, after her arrival.  I
could see Jeff and his man leading her up the ramp into his wagon with
a dreadful clarity.

"This is your responsibility, the knaws!"  The farmer waved a
threatening finger.

"If he kills me good cow you'll 'ave to answer for it!"

He didn't have to tell me.  I'd have to answer for it to a lot of
people, including Charles Harcourt.

"Get on the phone to the knacker yard right away!"  I gasped.

The farmer waved his arms about

"Ah've tried that and there's no reply.  Ah tell ye he'll shooter afore
we can stop 'im.  Do you know how much ah paid for that cow?"

"Never mind about that!  Which way did he go?"

"T'missus said he went towards Grampton - about ten minutes ago' I
started my engine.

"He'll maybe be picking up other beasts I'll go after h~m.

Teeth clenched, eyes popping, I roared along the Grampton road.  The
enormity of this latest catastrophe was almost more than I could
assimilate.

The wrong form was bad enough, but the wrong cow was unthinkable.  But
it had happened Charles would crucify me this time.  He was a good
bloke but he Would have no option, because the higher-ups in the
Ministry would get wind f an immortal boner like this and they would
howl for blood.

Peverishly but vainly I sc anned each farm entrance in Grampton village
as I shot through, and when I saw the open countryside ahead of me
again the tension was almost unbearable.  I was tell ing myself that
the whole thing was hOpeless when in the far distance above a row of
trees I spotted the familiar top f kIallock's wagon It was a high,
wooden-sided vehicle and I couldn't mistake it.  Repressing a shout of
triumph I put my foot on the boards and set off in that direction with
/~+0 ve' In a oy`TI the fanatical zeal of the hunter.  But it was a
long way off and I hadn't travellq~ a mile before I realised I had lost
it.  ~ Over the years many things have stayed in my memory, but the
Great Co] Chase is engraver deeper than most.  The sheer terror I felt
is vivid to this dat9 I kept sighting the wagon among the maze of lanes
and side roads but by the time I had cut across country my quarry had
disappeared behind a hillside d dipped into one of the many hollows in
the wide vista.  I was constantly deceive~ by the fact that I expected
him to be turning towards Darrow by after passing through a village,
but he never did.  Clearly he had other business on the way3L The whole
thing seemed to last a very long time and there was no fun in ~ for me.
I was gripped throughout by a cold dread, and the violent swings if.

alternating scents of hope and despair were wearing to the point of
exhaust io.

I was utterly drained when at last I saw the tall lorry rocking along a
straight road in front of me.

I had him now!  Forcing my little car to the limit, I drew abreast of
him sounding my horn repeatedly till he stopped.  Breathlessly I pulled
up in front~ of him and ran round to offer my explanations.  But as I
looked up into the~ driver's cab my eager smile vanished.  It wasn't
Jeff Mallock at all.  I had beef 1t following the wrong man.

It was the 'ket feller'.  He had exactly the same type of wagon as
Mallock a he went round a wide area of Yorkshire picking up the
nameless odds and en of the dead animals which even the knacker men
didn't want.  It was a st rang job and he was a st range-loo king man.
The oddly piercing eyes glittere4, ~ uncannily from under a tattered
army peaked cap.  - :~ f~.

"Wot's up, guvnor?"  He removed a cigarette from his mouth and sp2~:
companionably into the roadway.

My throat was tight.

"I - I'm sorry.  I thought you were Jeff Mallock."

The eyes did not change expression, but the corner of his mouth
twitched F briefly.

"If the wants Jeff he'll be back at his yard now, ah reckon."  He sp'
again and replaced his cigarette.  .* I I nodded dully.  Jeff would be
there now all right long ago.  I had been ..

chasing the wrong wagon for about an hour and that cow would be dead
an4( hanging up on hooks at this moment.  The knacker man was a fast
and skiff' worker and wasted no time when he got back with his beasts.
i~j: "Well, ah'm off 'ome now," the ket feller' said.

"So long, boss."  He winked me, started his engine and the big vehicle
rumbled away.  - I trailed back to my car.  There was no hurry now. And
strangely now the' all was lost my mood relaxed.  In fact, as I drove
away, a great calm settled OD ~: me and I began to assess my future
with cool objectivity.  I would be drumau' out of the Ministry's
service for sure, and idly I wondered if they had ar, special ceremony
for the occasion perhaps a ritual stripping of the Par~: Certificates
or something of the sort.  t I tried to put away the thought that more
than the Ministry would bl~: interested in my latest exploit.  How
about the Royal College?  Did they strili~ you off for something like
this?  Well, it was possible, and in my serene state4 mind I toyed with
the possibilities of alternative avenues of employment.  I h~l.

often thought it must be fun to run a secondhand book shop and now
that' began to consider it seriously I felt sure there was an opening
for one~ Darrow by.  I experienced a comfortable glow at the vision of
myself sit ting und.

the rows of dusty volumes, pulling one down from the shelf when I felt
liked or maybe just loo king out into the street through the window
from my safe little world where there were no forms or telephones or
messages saying,

"Ring Mi In Darrow by I drove round without haste to the knacker yard.
I left my.

outside the grim little building with the black smoke drifting from its
chim' *.~

~G ~616 ~=}~116

I pulled back the sliding door and saw Jeff seated at his ease on a
pile G. l hides, holding a slice of apple pie in blood-stained fingers.
And, ah yes, the~

I

just behind him hung the two great sides of beef and on the floor, the
lungs | bowels and other viscera the sad remnants of Mr Moverley's
pedigree Ayrshire.

/ "Hello, Jeff," I said.

"Now then, Mr Herriot."  He gave me the beatific smile which mirrored
his personality so well.

"Ah'm just havin' a little snack.  I all us like a bite about this
time' He sank his teeth into the pie and chewed appreciatively.

"So I see."  I sorrowfully sc anned the hanging carcase.  Just dog meat
and not even much of that.  Ayrshires were never very fat.  I was
wondering how to break the news to him when he spoke again.

"Ah'm sorry you've caught me out this time, Mr Herriot," he said,
reaching for a greasy mug of tea.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I all us reckon to have t'beast dressed and ready for you but
you've come a bit early."

I stared at him.

"But ... every thing's here, surely."  I waved a hand around me.

"Nay, nay, that's noter

"You mean .  . . that isn't the cow from Moverley's."

"That's right."  He took a long draught from the mug and wiped his
mouth with the back of his hand.

"I 'ad to do this 'un first.  Moverley's cow's still in t'wagon out at
the back."

"Alive?"

He looked mildly surprised.

"Aye, of course.  She's never had a finger on 'en Nice cow for a screw,
too."

I could have fainted with relief.

"She's no screw, Jeff.  That's the wrong cow you've got there?"

"Wrong cow ?"  No thing ever startled him but he obviously desired more
information.  I told him the whole story.

When I had finished, his shoulders began to shake gently and the
beautiful clear eyes twinkled in the pink face.

"Well, that's a licker," he murmured, and continued to laugh gently.
There was nothing immoderate in his mirth and indeed nothing I had said
disturbed him in the least.  The fact that he had wasted his journey or
that the farmer might be annoyed was of no moment to him.

Again, loo king at Jeff Mallock, it struck me, as many times before,
that there was nothing like a lifetime of dabbling among diseased car
cases and lethal bacteria for breeding tranquillity of mind.

"You'll slip back and change the cow?"  I said.

"Aye, in a minute or two.  There's nowt spoil in'.  Ah never likes to
hurry me grub' He belched contentedly.

"And how about you, Mr Herriot?  You could do with sum mat to keep
your strength up."  He produced another mug and broke off a generous
wedge of pie which he offered to me.

i...."No no er no, thank you, Jeff.  It's kind of you, but no no . .
not just now."

He shrugged his shoulders and smiled as he stretched an arm for his
pipe which was balanced on a sheep's skull.  Flicking away some shreds
of stray t"SSue from the stem he applied a match and settled down
blissfully on the hides.

"I'll see ye later, then," he said.

"Come round tonight and every thing'll be ready for you."  He closed
his eyes and again his shoulders quivered.

"Ah'd better get the right 'un this time."

It must be more than twenty years since I took a cow under the TB
Order, `~"But do come in,i she giggled.

"Forgive me for keeping you stan ding on t1: step, but I'm all of a
dither!"  n~ T wPnt n~ct hPr intn the '

"Well it's very understandable.  It must hav~.~.> .  , because the
clinical cases so rarely exist now.

"Ring Mites' no longer has the~ power to chill my blood, and the dread
forms which scarred my soul lie unused and yellowing in the bottom of a
drawer.

All these things have gone from my life.  Charles Harcourt has gone
too, but I think of him every day when I look at the little barometer
which still hangs on my wall.

Chapter Nine "Oh Mr Herriot!"  Mrs Ridge said delightedly.

"Somebody stole our car last] night."  She looked at me with a radiant
smile.  ~i F~ I was Iying on my bed in the barrack hut at Wink field
listening to somebody ;~ on the radio adjuring people to immobilise
their cars in wartime when this lady, st range remark bubbled back from
my veterinary days.  ~ I stopped in the doorway of her house.

"Mrs Ridge, I'm terribly sorry,."

How .  . . ?"  P PY.

"Yes, yes, oh I can't wait to tell you!"  Her voice trembled with
excitement and ~.

joy.

"There must have been some prowlers around here last night, and I'm
such a silly about leaving the car unlocked."

"I see .  . . how unfortunate."

"But do come in,i she giggled.

"Forgive me for k.

step, but I'm all of a dither!"

I went past her into the lounge.

"Well, it's very u' been quite a shock."

"Shock?  Oh, but you don't see what I mean.  It's wonderful!"

"Eh ?"

"Yes, of course!"  She clasped her hands and looked up at the
ceiling.

"Do you s: know what happened?"

"Well yes," I said.

"You've just told me."

"No, I haven't told you half."

"You haven't?"

"No, but do sit down.  I know you'll want to hear all about it."

..~: ~ ..

. ~: To explain this I have to go back ten days to the afternoon when
Mrs Rid~e ran: tearfully up the steps of Skeldale House.

"My little dog's had an accident," she gasped.

I looked past her.

"Where is he?"

"In the car.  I didn't know whether I should move him."

I crossed the pavement and opened the door.  Her Cairn terrier, Joshua,
la~ very still on a blanket on the back seat.

"What happened?"  I asked.

out a hand over her eyes.

"Oh it was terrible.  You know he often plal' -mer's field opposite our
house well about half an hour ago he stat*4 rabbit and ran under the
wheels of a tractor.  ~1 \,from her face to the motionless animal and
back again.  'sit ~ lll o outside n, 'r him?"

~s the tears streamed down her cheeks.

Vet ~n a ~S'pin I took her by the arm.

"Mrs Ridge, this is important.  Are you absolutely sure that wheel
passed right over his body?"

"Yes, I am quite cert ain.  I saw it happen.  I couldn't believe he'd
be alive when I ran to pick him up."  She took a long breath.

"I don't suppose he can live after that, can he?"

I didn't want to depress her but it seemed impossible that a small dog
like this could survive being crushed under that great weight.  Massive
internal damage Would be inevitable apart altogether from broken bones.
It was sad to see the little sandy form Iying still and unheeding when
I had watched him so often running and leaping in the fields.

"Let's have a look at him," I said.

I climbed into the car and sat down on the seat beside him.  With the
utmost care I felt my way over the limbs, expecting every moment to
feel the crepitus which would indicate a fracture.  I put my hand
underneath him very slowly supporting his weight every inch of the way.
The only time Joshua showed any reaction was when I moved the pelvic
girdle.

The best sign of all was the pink ness of the mucous membranes of eye
and mouth and I turned to Mrs Ridge rather more hopefully.

"Miraculously he doesn't seem to have any internal haemorrhage and
there are no limb bones broken.  I'm pretty sure he has a fractured
pelvis, but that's not so bad."

She drew her fingers over the smears on her cheeks and looked at me
wide-eyed.

"You really think he has a chance?"

"Well I don't want to raise your hopes unduly, but at this moment I
can't find any sign of severe injury."

"But it doesn't seem possible."

I shrugged.

"I agree, it doesn't, but if he has got away with it I can only think
it was because he was on soft ground which yielded as the wheel
squeezed him down.  Anyway, let's get him X-rayed to make sure."

At that time, in common with most large animal practices, we didn't
have an X-ray machine, but the local hospital helped us out in times of
need.  I took IJoshua round there and the picture confirmed my
diagnosis of pelvic fracture.

"There's not much I can do," I said to his mistress.

"This type of injury usually heals itself.  He'll probably have
difficulty in stan ding on his hind legs for a while and for several
weeks he'll be weak in the rear end, but with rest and time he ought to
recover."

"Oh marvellous!"  She watched me place the little animal back on the
car seat.

"I suppose it's just a matter of waiting, then?"

"That's what I hope."

My fears that Joshua might have some internal damage were finally
allayed when I saw him two days later.  His membranes were a rich deep
pink and all natural functions were operating.

Mrs Ridge, however, was still worried.

"He's such a sorrowful little thing,"

she said.

"Just look at him he's lifeless."

"Well you know he must be bruised and sore after that squashing he
had.

And he was very shocked, too.  You must be patient."

As I spoke, the little dog stood up, wobbled a few feet across the
carpet and flopped down again.  He showed no interest in me or his
surroundings.

Before I left I gave his mistress some salicylate tablets to give
him.

"These will ease his discomfort," I said.

"Let me know if he doesn't improve."

She did let me know within forty-eight hours.

"I wish you'd come and see Joshua again," she said on the phone.

"I'm not at all happy about him."

The little animal was as before.  I looked down at him as he lay
dejectedly on the rug, head on his paws, loo king into the fireplace.

~ ~ i ~ "Come on, [oshua, old lad," I said.

"You must be feeling better now."  I be and rubbed my fingers along the
wiry coat, but neither word or gesture ma any impression.  I might as
well not have been there.

Mrs Ridge turned to me worriedly.

"That's what he's like all the time.  A you know how he is normally."

"Yes, he's al ways been a ball of fire."  Again I recalled him jumping
round me legs, gazing up at me eagerly.

"It's very st range."

"And another thing," she went on.

"He never utters a sound.  And you know that worries me more than
anything because he's al ways been such a good little watch dog.  We
used to hear him barking when the early post came, he barke, at the
milk boy, the dust man, everybody.  He was never a yappy dog, but he Is
know when anybody was around."

"Yes .  . ."  That was another thing I remembered.  The tumult of sound
fron within whenever I rang the door bell.

"And now there's just this dreadful silence.  People come and go but he
neve even looks up."  She shook her head slowly.

"Oh, if only he'd bark!  Just once!

think it would mean he was get ting better."

"It probably would," I said.

"Is there something else wrong with him, do you think?"  she asked.

I thought for a moment or two.

"No, I'm convinced there isn't.  Not physically anyway.  He's had a
tremendous fright and he has withdrawn within himself He'll come out of
it in time."

As I left I had the feeling I was trying to convince myself as much as
Mr Ridge.  And as, over the next few days she kept phoning me with bad
report about the little dog my confidence began to ebb.

It was a week after the accident that she begged me to come to the hous
again.  Joshua was unchanged.  Apathetic, tail tucked down, sad-eyed
and stil soundless.

His mistress was obviously under strain.

"Mr Herriot," she said.

"What are we going to do about him."

I produced stethoscope and thermometer and examined the little animal
again.; Then I palpated him thoroughly from head to tail.  When I had
finished I squatted on the rug and looked up at Mrs Ridge.

"I can't find anything new.  You'll just hate to be patient."

.. ~L_.~_ I .  . . ~

, ."

~uk lllat b wnat you sala ne tore, and I feel 1 can t go on much longer
lilce "Still no barking?"  ,<^ She shook her head.

"No, and that's what I'm waiting for.  He eats a little: walks around a
little, but we never hear a sound from him.  I know I'd sto, worrying
if I heard him bark, just once, but otherwise I have a horrible feel
ins he's going to die.  . ."

I had hoped that my next visit would be more cheerful but though I was
greatl' "elieved at Mrs Ridge's high spirits I was surprised, too. J; I
sat down in one of the comfortable chairs in the lounge.  ~ "Well I
hope you'll soon recover your car," I said.  .;6 She waved a hand
negligently.

"Oh, it'll turn up somewhere, I'm sure."  ` "But still you must be very
upset."

"Upset?  Not a bit!  I'm so happy!

"Happy?  About losing the car.  . .?"

"No, not about that.  About Joshua."

"Joshua ?"

vel ~n a op~n /bl ~Yes."  She sat down in the chair opposite and leaned
forward.

"Do you know `~hat he did when those people were driving the car
away?"

"No, tell me."

"He barked, Mr Herriot!  Joshua barked!"

Chapter Ten '~ '~.1, :";; The food was so good at the Wink field flying
school that it was said that those airmen whose homes were within
visiting distance wouldn't take a day's leave because they might miss
some culinary speciality.  Difficult to believe, maybe, but I often
think that few people in wartime Britain fared as well as the handful
of young men in the scatter of wooden huts on that flat green stretch
outside Windsor.

It wasn't as though we had a French chef, either.  The cooking was done
by two grizzled old men civilians who wore cloth caps and smoked pipes
and went about their business with unsmiling taciturnity.

It was rumoured that they were two ex-army cooks from the First World
War, but whatever their origins they were artists.  In their hands,
simple stews and pies assumed a new significance and it was possible to
rhapsodise even over the perfect flouriness of their potatoes.

So it was surprising when at lunch time my neighbour on the left drew
down his spoon pushed away his plate and groaned.  We ate on trestle
tables, sit ting in rows on long forms, and I was right up against the
young man.

"What's wrong?"  I asked.

"This apple dumpling is terrific."

"Ah, it's not the grub."  He buried his face in his hands for a few
seconds then looked at me with tortured eyes.

"I've been doing circuits and bumps this morning with Rout ledge and
he's torn the knackers off me all the time, it never stopped."

Suddenly my own meal lost some of its flavour.  I knew just what he
meant.

FO Wood ham did the same to me.

He gave me another despairing glance then stared straight ahead.

"I know one thing, Jim.  I'll never make a bloody pilot."

His words sent a chill through me.  He was voicing the conviction which
had been gradually growing in me.  I never seemed to make any progress
whatever I did was wrong, and I was losing heart.  Like all the others
I was hoping to be graded pilot, but after every session with FO Wood
ham the idea of ever flying an aeroplane all on my own seemed more and
more ludicrous.  And I had another date with him at 2 pm.

He was as quiet and charming as ever when I met him till we got up into
the sky and the shouting started again.

"Relax!  For heavens sake, relax!"  or 'watch your height!  Where the
hell d'you think you're going?"  or

"Didn't I tell you to centralise the stick?  Are you bloody deaf or
something?"  And finally, after the first circuit when we juddered to a
halt on the grass.

"That was an absolutely bloody ropy landing!  Take off again!"

On the second circuit he fell strangely silent.  And though I should
have felt relieved I found something ominous in the unaccustomed peace.
It could mean only one thing he had finally given me up as a bad job.
When we landed he told me to switch off the engine and climbed out of
the rear cockpit.  I was about 752 Vet in a Sp~n to unbuckle my straps
and follow him when he signalled me to remain in ny seat.

"Stay where you are," he said.

"You can take her up now."

I stared down at him through my goggles.

"What .  . .?"

"I said take her up."

"You mean, on my own .  . .?  Go solo .  . .?"

"Yes, of course.  Come and see me in the flight hut after you've landed
an3 taxied in."  He turned and walked away over the green.  He didn't
look back After a few minutes a fitter came over to where I sat
trembling in my sea' He spat on the turf then looked at me with deep
distaste.

"Look, mate," he said.

"That's a good aircraft you've got there."

I nodded agreement.

"Well I don't want it well smashed up, okay?"

"Okay."

He gave me a final disgusted glance then went round to the propeller.

Panic-stricken though I was, I did not forget the cockpit drill which
had dinned in to me so often.  I never thought I'd have to use it in
earnest but I automatically tested the controls rudder, ailerons and
elevator.  Fuel switch o~q."  throttle closed, then switch on, throttle
slightly open.

i: ~1 ~ Vet in a Spin "Contact!"  I cried.  ' The fitter swung the
propeller and the engine roared.  I pushed the throttld full open and
the Tiger Moth began to bump its way over the grass.  As w gathered
speed I eased the stick forward to lift the tail, then as I pulled it b
again the bumping stopped and we climbed smoothly into the air with the
1' dining hut at the end of the airfield fiashing away beneath.

I was gripped by exhilaration and triumph.  The impossible had hap pc I
was up here on my own, flying, really flying at last.  I had been so
cert ai' failure that the feeling of relief was over-powering.  In fact
it intoxicated mt that for a long time I just sailed along, grinning
foolishly to myself.

When I finally came to rny senses I looked down happily over the
side.

must be time to turn now, but as I stared downwards cold reality began
to raU over me in a gather ing flood.  I couldn't recognise a thing in
the great hazy tapestry beneath me.  And every thing seemed smaller
than usual.  Dry-mouthq4 I looked at the altimeter.  I was well over
2,000 feet.  ii And suddenly it came to me that FO ~loodham's shouts
had not bee, meaningless; he had been talking sense, giving me good
advice, and as soon 611 I got up in the air by myself I had ignored it
all.  I hadn't lined myself up on a cloud, I hadn't watched my
artificial horizon, I hadn't kept an eye on the} altimeter.  And I was
lost.

It was a terrible feeling, this sense of utter isolation as I
desperately sc anne.

the great cheque red landscape for a familiar object.  What did you do
in a cal.

like this?  Soar around southern England till I found some farmer's
field b.

enough to land in, then make my own abject way back to Wink field?  But
this way I was going to look the complete fool, and also I'd stand an
excellent chaa.

of smashing up that fitter's beloved aeroplane and maybe myself.  i;~
It seemed to me that one way or another I was going to make a name St
myself.  Funny things had happened to some of the other lads many had
W~ air-sick and vomited in the cockpit, one had gone through a hedge,
another his first solo had circled the airfield again and again seven
times he had gd~ round trying to find the courage to land while his
instructor sweated blood ;~ cursed on the ground.  But nobody had
really got lost like me.  Nobody had flo~ q into the blue and returned
on foot without his aeroplane.  ~ ' v visions of my immediate fate were
reaching horrific proportions and~ ~as hammering uncontrollably when
far away on my left I spotted;!

.:] dear familiar bulk of the big stand on Ascot racecourse.  Almost
weeping with joy, I turned towards it and within minutes I was banking
above its roof as I had done so often.

And there, far below and approaching with uncomfortable speed was the
belt of trees which fringed the airfield and beyond, the windsock blow
ing over the wide green.  But I was still far too high I could never
drop down there in time to hit that landing strip, I would have to go
round again.

The ignominy of it went deep.  They would all be watching on the ground
and some would have a good laugh at the sight of Herriot over-shooting
the field by several hundred feet and cruising o~q.  again into the
clouds.  But what was I thinking about?  There was a way of losing
height rapidly and, bless you FO Wood ham, I knew how to do it.

Opposite rudder and stick.  He had told me a hundred times how to side
slip and I did it now as hard as I could, sending the little machine
slewing like an airborne crab down, down towards those trees.

And by golly it worked!  The green copse rushed up at me and before I
knew I was almost skimming the branches.  I straightened up and headed
for the long stretch of grass.  At fifty feet I rounded out then
checked the stick gradually back till just above the ground when I
slammed it into my abdomen.  The undercarriage made contact with the
earth with hardly a tremor and I worked the rudder bar to keep straight
until I came to a halt.  Then I taxied in, climbed from the cockpit and
walked over to the flight hut.

FO Wood ham was sit ting at a table, cup in hand, and he looked up as I
entered.  He had got out of his flying suit and was wearing a battle
dress jacket with the wings we all dreamed about and the ribbon of
the

DFC.

"Ah, Herriot, I'm just having some con-tee.  Will you join me?"

"Thank you, sir."

I sat down and he pushed a cup towards me.

"I saw your landing," he said.

"Delightful, quite delightful."

"Thank you, sir."

"And that side-slip."  One corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

"Very good indeed, really masterly."

He reached for the coffee pot and went on.

"You've done awfully well, Herriot Solo after nine hours' instruction,
eh ?  Splendid.  But then I never had the slightest doubt about you at
any time."

He poised the pot over my cup.

"How do you like your coffee black or ?  ~ Chapter Eleverz I was only
the third man in our Flight of fifty to go solo and it was a matter of
particular pride to me because so many of my comrades were eighteen and
nineteen year olds.  They didn't say so but I often had the impression
that they felt that an elderly gentleman like me in my twenties with a
wife and baby had no right to be there, training for air crew.  In the
nicest possible way they thought I was past it.

Of course, in many ways they had a point.  The pull I had from home
was

probably stronger than theirs.  When our sergeant handed out the
letters on the daily parade I used to secrete mine away till I had a
few minutes of solitude to read about how fast little Jimmy was
growing, how much he weighed, the unmistakable signs of outstan ding
intelligence, even genius, which Helen could ~ already discern in
him.

I was mis sing his babyhood and it saddened me.  It is still something
I deeply: .

regret because it comes only once and is gone so quickly.  But I still
have the.

bundles of letters which his proud mother wrote to keep me in touch
with every: fascinating stage, and when I read them now it is almost as
though I had been .

there to see it all.

At the time, those letters pulled me back almost painfully to the
comforts of home but on the other hand there were occasions when life
in Darrow by hadn~t been all that comfortable.  . .

I think it was the early morning calls in the winter which were the
worst It .

was a fairly common experience to be walking sleepy-eyed into a cow
byre at 6 am for a calving but at Mr Black burn's farm there was a
difference.  In fact several differences.

Firstly, there was usually an anxious-faced farmer to greet me with the
news of how the calf was coming, when labour had started, but today I
was like an ~ unwelcome st ranger.  Secondly, I had grown accustomed to
the sight of a few ~ l cows tied up in a cobbled byre with wooden
partitions and an oil lamp, and now I was gazing down a long avenue of
concrete under blazing electric light with ~: a seemingly endless
succession of bovine backsides protruding from tubular metal stan
dings. Thirdly, instead of the early morning peace there was a .

clattering of buckets, the rhythmic pulsing of a milking machine and
the blaring of a radio loudspeaker.  There was also a frantic scurrying
of white-coated,~, white-capped men, but none of them paid the
slightest attention to me.  f tc This was one of the new big dairy
farms.  In place of a solitary figure on a~ milk stool, head buried in
the cow's side, pulling forth the milk with a gentle : 'hiss-hiss'
there was this impersonal hustle and bustle.  .

I stood just inside the doorway while out in the yard a particularly
cold snow .

drifted from the blackness above.  I had left a comfortable bed and a
warm wife to come here and it seemed somebody ought at least to say
'hello'.  Then I noticed~: :: the owner hurrying past with a bucket. He
was moving as fast as any of his .

men.

"Hey, Mr Black burn!"  I cried.

"You rang me you've got a cow calving?"  :"~!"Z He stopped and looked
at me uncomprehendingly for a moment.

"Oh aye .-:R:: .  . . aye .  . . she's down there on ttright."  He
pointed to a light roan animal half ,~: way along the byre.  She was
easy to pick out the only one Iying down.  ~Y~: "How 1~- as she been
on?"I asked, but when I turned round Mr Black burn ~.i~.

had gr`- "d after him, cornered him in the milk house and repeated my :
qtl

_A, ~ 0 ~.

,~e calved last night.  Must be sum mat amiss."  He began to)~: ~k over
the cooler into the churn.

.~ ~, inside her?"

.r~ ~A~ ~on, He turned harassed eyes towards me.

"We're a bit ~ ~ ~ 49A ~ ~ ~ruin'.  We can't be late for t'milk man."
.s, al~ ~ ~ 9 ~ the drivers who collected the churns for the big da'
his firs~O~ 5; ~c~ ~of men.  Probably kind husbands and fathers round
truculant outbursts of rage if they were kept waitig cursed on the
grilL.  ~9, '~^ Nine them, because they had a lot of territot~ into the
blue and~ '. ^ \t I had seen them when provoked and tint.

~v visions of my imme~.  t~ \ ~as hammerina uncontru~\oot water.  soaD
and a towel.  nlease?"-~~4 vez zn a opzn 1~) ~from Black burn jerked
his head at the corner of the milk house.

"You'll 'ave to help yourself.  There's every thin' there.  Ah must get
on."  He went off again at a brisk walk.  Clearly he was more in fear
of the milk man than he was of me.

I filled a bucket, found a piece of soap and threw a towel over my
shoulder.

VVhen I reached my patient I looked in vain for some sign of a name. So
many of the cows of those days had their names printed above their
stalls but there were no Marigolds, Al ices or Snowdrops here, just
numbers.

Before taking off my jacket I looked casually in the ear where the
tattoo marks stood out plainly against the creamy white surface.  She
was number eighty seven.

I was in more trouble when I stripped off my shirt.  In a modern byre
like this there were no nails jutting from the walls to serve as
hangers.  I had to roll my clothes into a ball and carry them through
to the milk house.  There I found a sack which I tied round my middle
with a length of binder twine.

Still ignored by everybody, I returned, soaped my arm and inserted it
into the cow.  I had to go a long way in to reach the calf, which was
st range considering the birth should have taken place last night.  It
was the top of the little creature's head I touched first; the nose was
tucked downwards instead of thrusting its way along the vagina towards
the outside world, and the legs were similarly coiled under the body.

And I noticed something else.  The entry of my arm did not provoke any
answering strain from the cow, nor did she try to rise to her feet.
There was something else troubling Number Eighty Seven.

Lying flat on the concrete, still buried to the shoulder in the cow, I
raised my head and looked along the shaggy back with its speckle of
light red and white hairs, and when I reached the neck I knew I need
seek no further.  The lateral kink was very obvious.  Number Eighty
Seven, slumped on her chest, was gazing wearily and without interest at
the wall in front of her but there was that funny little bend in her
neck that told me every thing.

I got up, washed and dried my arm and looked for Mr Black burn.  I
found him bending by the side of a fat brown animal, pulling the cups
from her teats.

I tapped him on the shoulder.

"She's got milk fever."  I said.

"Oh aye," he replied, then he hoisted the bucket, brushed past me and
made off down the byre.

I kept pace with him.

"That's why she can't strain.  Her uterus has lost its tone.  She'll
never calve till she gets some calcium."

"Right."  He still didn't look at me.

"Ye'll give 'er some, then?"

"Yes," I said to his retreating back.

The snow still swirled in the outer darkness and I toyed with the idea
of get ting dressed.  But I'd only have to strip again so I decided to
make a dash for it.  With the car boot open it seemed to take a long
time to fish out the bottles and Rutter valve with the flakes settling
thickly on my naked flesh.

Back in the byre I looked around for a spare man to help me but there
was no lessening of the feverish activity.  I would have to roll this
cow onto her side and inject into her milk vein without assistance.  It
all depended on how comatose she was.

And she must have been pretty far gone because when I braced my feet
against the tubular steel and pushed both hands against her shoulder
she flopped over without resistance.  To keep her there I lay on top of
her as I pushed in the needle and ran the calcium into the vein.

One snag was that my sprawling position took me right underneath the
neighbouring cow on the right, a skittish sort of animal who didn't
welcome the rubber-booted legs tangling with her hind feet.  She
expressed her disapproval by treading painfully on my ankles and giving
me a few smart kicks on the thigh, but I dared not move because the
calcium was flowing in beautifully When the bottle was empty I kneed my
patient back onto her chest and ran another bottle of calcium magnesium
and phosphorus under her skin.  By the time I had finished and rubbed
away the subcutaneous fluid Number Eight' Seven was loo king decidedly
happier.

I didn't hurry over cleaning and put ting away my injection outfit and
re~ soaping my arms because I knew that every minute would bring back
strength: to my patient.

The lightning response to intravenous calcium has al ways afforded me
a: simple pleasure and when I pushed my arm in again the difference
we.

remarkable.  The previously flaccid uterus gripped at my hand and as
the cow~ went into a long expulsive effort she turned her head, looked
back at me and opened her mouth in a muffled bellow.  It was not a
sound of pain but rather as though she was saying,

"I'm back in business now."

"All right, my lass," I replied.

"I'll stay with you till it's all over."

At other times I might have been a little chary of being overheard
convPr~ir~ with a cow, but with the clamour of buckets and the nonstop
radio there was no chance of that happening.

l i l ~: - - v: blasting of the I knew that I had to guide the calf
back into the correct position and that would take time, but I had a st
range sense of one-ness with this animal becaux neither of us seemed to
be of the slightest importance in the present setting.

Ai I lay there face down on the concrete which grew harder all the time
and with the milkers stumbling over my prostrate form I felt very much
alone.  There we.

just myself and Number Eighty Seven for it.

Another thing I missed was the sense of occasion.  There was a com
pensati~ in many an arduous calving in the feeling of a little drama
being enacted; the worried farmer, attentive stocks men, the danger of
losing the calf or even the mother it was a gripping play and there was
no doubt the vet was the leadin.;] man.  He may even be the villain but
he was number one.  And here I was no' a scrabbling nonentity with
hardly a mention in the cast.  It was the shape things to come.

And yet .  . . and yet .  . . the job was still there.  I lifted the
calf's lower jaw a' as the cow gave a heave I eased it over the brim of
the pelvis.  Then I grop for the tiny legs and straightened them as
another expulsive effort pushed d little creature towards me.  He was
definitely on his way now.  ;~ I didn't rush things just lay there and
let the cow get on with it.  My wo.

moment was when one of the men came to put the milking machine on t
temperamental animal on my right.  As he tried to step up beside her
she swuq round, cocked her tail and sent a jet of faeces cascading
across my back.

The man pushed her back into place, slipped on the teat cups then
lifted t hose which was Iying ready for swilling down the byre.  A
moment later I f the icy flow of water playing from my shoulders to my
hips then the applicati of a spare udder cloth as the helpful fellow
cleaned me off.

"Thanks very much," I gasped.  And I was really grateful.  It was thc
o' attention I had received all morning

Within half an hour the feet appeared at the vulva followed by a wet m
whose nostrils twitched reassuringly.  But they were big feet this
would b.

bull calf and his final entry into the world could be a tight squeeze.
~' I got into a sit ting position and gripped a slippery cloven hoof in
each he Leaning back, feet against the dung channel, I addressed Number
Eighty SGt again.

"Come on, old lass.  A couple of good shoves and we're there."

r~: ~.

she responded with a mighty inflation of the abdomen and the calf
surged tOwards me as I pulled, giving me a glimpse of a broad forehead
and a pair of Slightly puzzled eyes.  For a moment I thought the ears
were going to slip through but then the cow relaxed and the head
disappeared back inside.

~Once more, girl!"  I pleaded, and this time it seemed that she had
decided to stop playing around and get the job over with.  She gave a
prolonged strain Which sent head and shoulders through, and as I hauled
away I had only that momentary panic I al ways feel that the hips might
jam in the pelvis.  But this one didn't stick and came sliding
beautifully on to my lap.

puffing slightly, I got to my feet and parted the hind legs.  Sure
enough the little scrotum was there; he was a fine bull calf.  I pulled
some hay from the rack and dried him off and within minutes he was sit
ting up, sniffing and snorting, king around him with interest.

He wasn't the only interested party.  His mother, craning round in her
neck chain, gazed fascinatedly at the new arrival before releasing a
deafening bellow.

I seized the front feet again and pulled the calf up to the front of
the stall where the cow after a brief examination began to lick him
from head to tail.  Then as I watched, entranced, she suddenly rose to
her feet so that she could reach some of the little creature's more
inaccessible corners.

I smiled to myself.  So that was that.  She had got over the milk fever
and had a nice live calf, too.  All was well with Number Eighty
Seven.

~vIr Black burn came up and stood by my side and I realised that the
noise in ~-the byre had subsided.  The milking was finished.

The farmer took off his white hat and wiped away the sweat from his
brow.

"By yaw, that was a rush.  We were shorthanded this morn in' and I was
sure we were goin' to miss that milk feller.  He's a terror won't wait
a minute, and I've had to chase after 'im in a tractor with the churns
afore now' As he finished speaking a hen leaped with a squawk from the
rack, Mr .  IBlack burn reached forward and lifted a warm new-laid egg
out of the hay.

He inspected it for a moment then turned to me.

"Have you 'ad your breakfast ?"

~- "No, of course not."

.tWell tell your missus to put this in the fry in' pan," he said,
handing me the ~"Oh, thank you very much, Mr Black burn, I'll enjoy
that."

|He nodded and continued to stand there, gazing at the cow and calf.
Dairy .  If arming is one of the hardest ways of ma king a living and
this pre-dawn turmoil was an every day occurrence in his life.  But I
knew he was pleased with my efforts because he faced me suddenly and
his weathered features broke into a delighted grin.  Without warning he
gave me a friendly thump on the chest.

"Good old Jim!"  he said, and walked away.

I dressed, got into the car and placed my egg with the utmost care on
the dash, then I eased myself gingerly on to the seat, because that
hosing had sent a pint or two of dirty water down into my underpants
and sit ting down was ~ntensely uncomfortable.

As I drove away the darkness was thinning into the grey beginning of a
new day and around me the white bulk of the fells began to lift from
the half light - massive, smooth and inexpressibly cold.

I looked at the egg rocking gently on the dash, and smiled to myself. I
could still see Mr Black burn's sudden grin, still feel his punch on
the chest, and my main sensation was of reassurance.

Systems may be changing, but cows and calves and Yorkshire farmers were
JUst the same.

Chapter Twelve On my wage of seven and threepence a day, out of which
was deduct maintenance for wife and child, I was unable to indulge in
high living even i~ , I had wanted to, but one evening in Windsor I
decided to allow myself t luxury of one glass of beer, and as I pushed
open the pub doorway the fir.

thing I saw was a man sit ting at the corner of the bar with a small
dog undid his chair.  :i Little things like that could lift me
effortlessly back to my old life, and I coul.

almost hear George Wilks, the auctioneer, in the Drovers' Arms at
Darrowb,r,5 "I reckon that's the best pub terrier I've ever seen."  He
bent down from the bar counter and patted Theo's shaggy head as it
protruded from beneath hit master' s stool.  .

It struck me that 'pub terrier' wasn't a bad description.  Theo was
small an.

mainly white, though there were odd streaks of black on his flanks, and
the muzzle had a bushy outgrowth of hair which made him undeniably
attracti~ but still more mysterious.  \?

I warmed to a Scottish colleague recently who, when pressed by a lady
client .

to diagnose her dog's breed and lineage replied finally,

"Madam, I think it woul~ .

be best just to call him a wee broon dug."  j1 By the same token Theo
could be safely be described as a wee white dug, b~ in Yorkshire the
expression 'pub terrier' would be more easily understood.  -~v} His
master, Paul Cotter ell, looked down from his high perch.  ;) "What's
he saying about you, old chap?"  he murmured languidly, and at the
sound of his voice the little animal leaped, eager and wagging, from
his retreat;.,.

Theo spent a considerable part of his life between the four metal legs
of the~ stool, as did his master on the seat.  And it often seemed to
me to be a waste ~ .* time for both of them.  I often took my own dog,
Sam, into pubs and he wou~ s squat beneath my seat, but whereas it was
an occasional thing with me mayi4~.~.S5 once or twice a week with Paul
Cotter ell it was an unvarying ritual.  Eve~ night from eight o'clock
onwards he could be found sit ting there at the end al: the bar of the
Drovers' Arms, pint glass in front of him.  little curly niDe drooDi
over his chin.

For a young man like him he was a bachelor in his late thirties and t
person of education and intelligence, it seemed a sterile existence.

He turned to me as I approached the counter.

"Hello, Jim, let me get you a~ drink."  ~ ~ "That's very kind of you,
Paul," I replied.

"I'll have a pint."  {~!~ ; "Splendid."  He turned to the barmaid with
easy courtesy.

"Could I trout.

you, Moyra?"  ~.

We sipped our beer and we chatted.  This time it was about the music
fest~ i at Braw ton and then we got on to music in general.  As with
any other topj~ had discussed with him he seemed to know a lot about
it.

"So you're not all that keen on Bach?"  he enquired lazily.

"No, not really.  Some of it, yes, but on the whole I like some thine a
bit more emotional El gar, Beethoven, Mozart.  Even Tchaikovsky I
suppose you highbrows look down your noses at him?"

He shrugged, puffed his little pipe and regarded me with a half smile,
one eyebrow raised.  He often looked like that and it made me feel he
ought to wear a monocle.  But he didn't enthuse about Bach, though it
seemed he was his favourite composer.  He never enthused about
anything, and he listened with that funny look on his face while I
rhapsodised about the El gar violin concerto.

Paul Cotter ell was from the south of England, but the locals had long
since forgiven him for that because he was likeable, amusing, and al
ways ready to buy anybody a drink from his corner in the Drovers'. To
me, he had a charm which was very English; casual, effortless.  He
never got excited, he was al ways polite and utterly self-contained.

"While you're here, Jim," he said.

"I wonder if you'd have a look at Theo's foot ?"

"Of course."  It is one of a vet's occupational hazards that wherever
he goes socially it is taken for granted that there is nothing he would
rather do than dole out advice or listen to symptoms.

"Let's have him up."

"Here, boy, come on."  Paul patted his knee and the little dog jumped
up and sat there, eyes sparkling with pleasure.  And I thought as I al
ways did that Theo should be in pictures.  He was the perfect film dog
with that extraordinarily fuzzy laugh-face.  People paid good money to
see dogs just like him in cinemas all over the world.

1t All right, Theo," I said, scooping him from his master's knee.

"Where's the 1f trouble?"

Paul indicated the right fore foot with the stem of his pipe.

"It's that one.

He's been going a bit lame off and on for the last few days."

"I see."  I rolled the little animal on his back and then laughed.

"Oh, he's only got a broken claw.  There's a little big hanging off
here.  He must have caught it on a stone.  Hang on a minute."  I delved
in my pocket for the scissors which 'al ways dwelt there.  A quick snip
and the job was done.

"Is that all?"  asked Paul.

"Yes, that's it."

One eyebrow went up mockingly as he looked at Theo.

"So that's what you were ma king all the fuss about, eh?  Silly old
trout."  He snapped his fingers.

"Back you go."

The little dog obediently leaped to the carpet and disappeared into his
sanctuary beneath the stool.  And at that moment I had a fiash of
intuition about A,Paul about his charm which I had often admired and
envied.  He didn't really care.  He was fond of his dog, of course.  He
took him everywhere with him exercised him regularly by the river, but
there was none of the anxiety, the almost desperate concern which I had
so often seen in the eyes of my clients when I dealt with even the most
trivial of their ailments.  They cared too much - as I have al ways
done with my own animals.

And of course he was right.  It was an easier and more comfortable way
to live.  Caring made you vulnerable while Paul cruised along,
impregnable.  That attractive casualness, the nonchalant good manners,
the imperturbability they all had their roots in the fact that nothing
touched him very deeply.

And despite my snap diagnosis of his character I still envied him.  I
have al ways been blown around too easily by my emotions; it must be
lovely to be like Paul.  And the more I thought about it the more I
realised how every thing fitted tn.  He had never cared enough to get
married.  Even Bach, with his mathematical music, was part of the
pattern.

"I think that major operation deserves another pint, Jim."  He smiled
his lop-sided smile.

"Unless you demand a hic her fee?"

r !

l Vet in a St~in I laughed.  I would al ways like him.  We are all
different and we have to a~ as we are made, but as I started my second
glass I thought again of his carefr~ life.  He had a good job in the
government offices in Braw ton, no domesti.

responsibilities, and every night he sat on that same stool drinking
beer with hba dog underneath.  He hadn't a worry in the world.

Anyway, he was part of the Darrow by scene, part of something I liked,
a~ since I have al ways hated change it was in a sense reassuring to
know that n~ matter what night you went into the Drovers' you would
find Paul Cotter ell i~ the corner and Theo's shaggy muzzle peeping
from below.  .4 I felt like that one night when I dropped in near
closing time.

"D'you think he's got worms?"  The question was typically off-hand.

"I don't know, Paul.  Why do you ask?"

He drew on his pipe.

"Oh I just thought he looked a bit thin lately.  Come ~ The little dog,
perched on his master's knee, looked as chirpy as ever a when I reached
over and lifted him he licked my hand.  But his ribs did f rather
prominent.

"Mmm, yes," I said.

"Maybe he has lost a bit of weight.  Have you noticed h passing any
worms?"

"I haven't, actually."

"Not even little bits whitish segments sticking round his rear?"  ..

"No, Jim."  He shook his head and smiled.

"But I haven't looked all that closer old boy."

"Okay," I said.

"Let's worm him, just in case.  I'll bring in some tabl tomorrow night.
You'll be here.  . .?"

The eyebrow went up.

"I think that's highly probable."  Y' Theo duly got his worm tablets
and after that there was a space of seve weeks when I was too busy to
visit the Drovers'.  When I finally did get in it a Saturday night and
the Athletic Club dance was in full spate.  A rhythmic b' drifted from
the ballroom, the little bar was packed, and the domino play' were
under pressure, squashed into a corner by the crush of dinner jackets a
backless dresses.

In the noise and heat I struggled towards the bar, thinking that the
place ~ unrecognisable.  But there was one feature unchanged Paul
Cotter ell on, stool at the far end of the counter.  ~ I squeezed in
next to him and saw he was wearing his usual tweed jach "Not dancing,
Paul?"  :.

He half closed his eyes, shook his head slowly and smiled at me over
his b.

little pipe.

"Not for me, old boy," he murmured.

"Too much like work."

I glanced down and saw that something else hadn't changed.  Theo was
the too, keeping his nose well clear of the milling feet.  I ordered
two beers and tried to converse, but it was difficult to shout above
the babel.  Arms kept poki between us towards the counter, red faces
pushed into ours and shouted greet in Most of the time we just looked
around us.

Then Paul leaned close and spoke into my ear.

"I gave Theo those pills he's still get ting thinner."

"Really?"  I shouted back.

"That's unusual."

"Yes .  . . perhaps you'd have a look at him?"

I nodded, he snapped his fingers and the little dog was on his knee in:
instant I reached and lifted him onto mine and I noticed immediatelY
that~ was lighter in my hands.

2You're right," I said.

"He's still losing weight."

lialancing the dog in my lap, I pulled down an eyel~d and saw the ~.

conjunctiva was pale.

Vet in a Spin I shouted again.

"He's anaemic."  I felt my way back over his face and behind the angle
of the jaw I found that the post pharyngeal lymph glands were greatly
enlarged.  This was st range.  Could he have some form of mouth or
throat jnfection?  I looked helplessly around me, wishing fervently
that Paul wouldn't jnvariably consult me about his dog in a pub.  I
wanted to examine the animal, but I couldn't very well deposit him
among the glasses on the bar.

I was trying to get a better grip with a view to loo king down his
throat when my hand slipped behind his fore leg and my heart gave a
sudden thump as I encountered the axillary gland.  It, too, was grossly
enlarged.  I whipped my fingers back into his groin and there was the
inguinal gland, prominent as an egg.  The pre scapular was the same,
and as I groped feverishly I realised that every superficial lymph
gland was several times its normal size.

Hodgkin's disease.  For a few moments I was oblivious of the shouting
and laughter, the muffled blare of music.  Then I looked at Paul who
was regarding me calmly as he puffed his pipe.  How could I tell him in
these surroundings?

He would ask me what Hodgkin's disease was and I would have to explain
that it was a cancer of the lymphatic system and that his dog was
surely going to die.

As my thoughts raced I stroked the shaggy head and Theo's comic
whiskered face turned towards me.  People jostled past, hands reached
out and bore gins and whiskies and beers past my face, a fat man threw
his arm round my neck.

I leaned across.

"Paul," I said.

"Yes, Jim?"

"Will you .  . . will you bring Theo round to the surgery tomorrow
morning

It's ten o'clock on a Sunday."

Momentarily the eyebrow twitched upwards, then he nodded.

"Right, old boy."

I didn't bother to finish my drink.  I began to push my way towards the
door and as the crush closed around me I glanced back.  The little
dog's tail was just disappearing under the stool.

Next day I had one of those early waking mornings when I started
tossing around at six o'clock and finished by staring at the ceiling.

Even after I had got my feet on the ground and brought Helen a cup of
tea the waiting was interminable until the moment arrived which I had
been dread ing when I faced Paul across the surgery table with Theo
stan ding between us.

I told him straight away.  I couldn't think of any easy way to lead up
to it.

His expression did not change, but he took his pipe out of his mouth
and looked steadily at me, then at the dog and back again at me.

"Oh," he said at last.

"I see."

I didn't say anything and he slowly ran his hand along the little
animal's back.

"Are you quite sure, Jim?"

"Absolutely.  I'm terribly sorry."

"Is there no treatment?"

"There are various palliatives, Paul, but I've never seen any of them
do any good.  The end result is al ways the same."

"Yes .  . ."  He nodded slowly.

"But he doesn't look so bad.  What will happen ~f we don't do
anything?"

I paused.

"Well, as the internal glands enlarge, various things will happen.

Ascites dropsy will develop in the abdomen.  In fact you see he's a
little bit pot-bellied now."

"Yes .  . . I do see, now you mention it.  Anything else?"

"As the thoracic glands get bigger he'll begin to pant."

"I've noticed that already.  He's breathless after a short walk."

"And all the time he'll get thinner and thinner and more
debilitated."

Paul looked down at his feet for a few moments then faced me.

"So what i' amounts to is that he's going to be pretty miserable for
the rest of his life."

He swallowed.

"And how long is that going to be?"

"A few weeks.  It varies.  Maybe up to three months."  _ "Well, Jim."
He smoothed back his hair.

"I can't let that happen.  It's responsibility.  You must put him to
sleep now, before he really starts to suffer.

Don't you agree?"

"Yes, Paul, it's the kindest thing to do."  ~ E "Will you do it
immediately as soon as I am out of that door?"  ~ ~ "I will," I
replied.

"And I promise you he won't know a thing."  ,!  (_ His face held a
curious fixity of expression.  He put his pipe in his mouth, b - ) it
had gone out so he stuffed it into his pocket.  Then he leaned forward
a~ patted his dog once on the head.  The bushy face with the funny
shock of hair-.;.

round the muzzle turned to him and for a few seconds they looked at
each oth=.: 3~: Then,

"Goodbye, old chap," he muttered and strode quickly from the room.

I kept my promise.  ~,~ "Good lad, good old Theo," I murmured, and
stroked the face and ears again i~~i~ and again as the little creature
slipped peacefully away.  Like all vets I hat~-~ doing this, painless
though it was, but to me there has al ways been a comfort:~: in the
knowledge that the last thing these helpless animals knew was the soun~
~ of a friendly voice and the touch of a gentle hand.  .: Sentimental,
maybe.  Not like Paul.  He had been practical and utterly rational :.

in the way he had acted.  He had been able to do the right thing
because he was : not at the mercy of his emotions.

Later, over a Sunday lunch which I didn't enjoy as much as usual I told
~.~; Helen about Theo.

I had to say something because she had produced a delicious pot roast
on the~ ..~: gas ring which was our only means of cooking and I wasn't
doing justice to he `~ skill.  :' ~ .

Sit ting at our bench I looked down at her.  It was my turn for the
high st~l.:': "You know, Helen," I said.

"That was an object lesson for me.  The way Pa~:~, ..

acted, I mean.  If I'd been in his position I'd have shilly-shallied -
tried to

D~:

off something which was inevitable."

She thought for a moment.

"Well, a lot of people would."  ~ ' Yes, but he didn't."  I put down my
knife apd fork and stared at the wall.

`~2;:"i'~'4'~ behaved in a mature way.  I suppose Paul has one of those
personalities you r~d r< about.  Well-adjusted, completely adequate."
~Z=f."

"Come on, Jim, eat your lunch.  I know it was a sad thing but it had to
- t.:done and you mustn't start criticising yourself.  Paul is Paul and
you are you."  : I started again on the meat but I couldn't repress the
rising sense of my o~ - '.

inadequacy.  Then as I glanced to one side I saw that my wife was
smiling : at me.

I felt suddenly reassured.  It seemed that she at least didn't seem to
mind t - ) ..~ That was on the Sunday, and on Tuesday morning I was
handing out wart lotion to Mr Sangster who kept a few dairy cows down
by the station: "Dab that on the udder night and morning after
milking," I said.

"I thi~ ~'11 find that the warts will start to drop off after a week or
two."

'hank ye."  He handed over half a crown and I was dropping it into thc
d~..

- when he spoke again.

.....~b about Paul Cotter ell, wasn't it?"

..... 'o you mean?"

.....conjurebt you'd have heard," he said.

"He's dead."

"Dead!"  I stared at him stupidly.

"How .  . . what .  . .?"

"Pound 'im this morn in'.  He did away with 'is self."

I leaned with both hands on the desk.

"Do you mean .  . . suicide?"

"Aye, that's what they say.  Took a lot o' pills.  It's all ower
t'town' I found myself hunching over the day book, sightlessly scanning
the list of calls while the farmer's voice seemed to come from far
away.

"It's a bad job, right enough.  He were a nice feller.  Reckon
everybody liked 'im."

Later that day I was passing Paul's lodgings when I saw his landlady,
Mrs Clayton' in the doorway.  I pulled up and got out of the car.

"Mrs Clayton," I said.

"I still can't believe this."

"Nor can I, Mr Herriot, it's terrible."  Her face was pale, her eyes
red.

"He was with me six years, you know he was like a son."

"But why on earth .  . .?"

"Oh, it was rosin' his dog that did it.  He just couldn't stand it."

A great wave of misery rose and engulfed me and she put her hand on my
arm.

"Don't look like that, Mr Herriot.  It wasn't your fault.  Paul told
me all about it and nobody could have saved Theo.  People die of that,
never mind dogs."

I nodded dumbly and she went on.

"But I'll tell you something in confidence, Mr Herriot.  Paul wasn't
able to stand things like you or me.  It was the way he was made you
see he suffered from depression."

"Depression!  Paul...?"

"Oh yes, he's been under the doctor for a long time and takin' pills
regular.

He all us put a brave face on, but he's had nervous trouble off and on
for years."

"Nervous trouble .  .. I'd never have dreamed.  . ."

"No, nobody would, but that's how it was.  He had an unhappy childhood
from what I made out.  Maybe that's why he was so fond of his dog.  He
got too attached to him, really."

"Yes .  .. yes..."

She took out a screwed up handkerchief and blew her nose.

"Well, as I said, the poor lad had a rough time most of his life, but
he was brave."

There didn't seem anything else to say.  I drove away out of the town
and the calm green hills offered a quiet contrast to the turmoil which
can fill a man's mind.  So much for Herriot as a judge of character. 
I couldn't have been more wrong, but Paul had fought his secret battle
with a courage which had deceived everybody.

I reflected on the object lesson which I thought he had given me, but
in fact it was a lesson of another kind and one which I have never
forgotten; that there are countless people like Paul who are not what
they seem.

:'3'::~ !

v~z zn a opzn Chapter Thirteen The shock of Paul Cotter ell's death
stayed with me for a long time, and in fact I know I have never quite
got over it because even now when the company in the bar of the
Drovers' has changed and I am one of the few old faces left from~
thirty-five years ago I can still see the jaunty figure on the corner
stool and the~] bushy face peeping from beneath.  ~ It was the kind of
experience I didn't want repeated in my lifetime.  uncannily, I ran
into the same sort of thing almost immediately afterwards.

It couldn't have been more than a week after Paul's funeral that Andre
Vine brought his fox terrier to the surgery.

I put the little dog on the table and examined each of his eyes
carefully iD."

turn.

"I'm afraid he's get ting worse," I said.  ~ Without warning the man
slumped across the table and buried his face in his hands.  ~ ~ ~ hand
on his shoulder.

"What is it, Andrew?  What on earth's the :: At first he did not answer
but stayed there, huddled grotesquely by the side;~ of his dog as great
sobs shook his body.  ~) When he spoke at last it was into his hands
and his voice was hoarse and'~ .

desperate.

"I can't stand it!  If Digger goes blind I'll kill myself!"  ~ ,i, I
looked down at the bowed head in horrified disbelief.  It couldn't be
happening: again.  Not so soon after Paul.  And yet there were
similarities.  Andrew was$^ another bachelor in his thirties and the
terrier was his constant companion.

Hi!~lived in lodgings and appeared to have no worries though he was a
shy, diffident man with a fragile look about his tall stoop in, frame
and pallid face.  :~ He had first consulted me about Digger several
months ago.  - .ifi~.

"I call him that because he's dug large holes in the garden ever since
his -':~ puppy days," he said with a half smile, loo king at me almost
apprehensively' :~ from large dark eyes.  .

I laughed.

"I hope you haven't brought him to me to cure that, because I've

never read anything in the books about it."  ~. ~: "No, no, it's about
something else his eyes.  And he's had that trouble sine.

~~ he was a pup, too."

"Really?  Tell me."

~UL Illy matter ?"

"Well, when I first got him he had sort of mastery eyes, but the
breeder : r he'd probably just got some irritant in them and it would
soon clear up.  And:: in fact it did.  But he's never been quite right.
He al ways seems to have a littl~9 discomfort in his eyes."

"How do you mean?"

"He rubs the side of his face along the carpet and he blinks in bright
ligh~ "I see."  I pulled the little animal's face round towards me and
looked intentl at the eyelids.  My mind had been busy as he spoke and I
was fairly sure I should find either entropion (inversion of the
eyelids) or distichiasis (an e~ row of lashes rubbing against the
eyeball) but there was no sign of either~ (,...... . .

/o) Surface of the cornea, too, looked normal, except perhaps that the
deeper structure of lens and iris were not as easy to define as
usual.

I moved over to a cupboard for the ophthalmoscope.

"How old is he now?"

"About a year."

"So he's had this for about ten months?"

"Yes, about that.  But it varies a lot.  Most of the time he seems
normal then there are days when he goes and lies in his basket with his
eyes half closed and you can tell there's something wrong.  Not pain,
really.  More like discomfort, as I said."

I nodded and hoped I was loo king wise but none of this added up to
anything familiar.  I switched on the little light on the
ophthalmoscope and peered into the depths of that most magical and
delicate of all organs, down through the lens to the brilliant tapestry
of the retina with its optic papilla and branching blood vessels.  I
couldn't find a thing wrong.

"Does he still dig holes?"  I asked.  When baffled I often snatch at
straws and I wondered if the dog was suffering from a soil
irritation.

Andrew shook his head.

"No, very seldom now, and anyway, his bad days are never associated
with his digging."

"Is that so?"  I rubbed my chin.  The man was obviously ahead of me
with his thinking and I had an uncomfortable feeling of bewilderment.
People were al ways bringing their dogs in with 'bad eyes' and there
was invariably something to be seen, some cause to be found.

"And would you say that this was one of his bad days?"

"Well I thought so this morning, but he seems a bit better now.  Still,
he's a bit blinky, don't you think?"

"Yes .  . . maybe so."  Digger did appear to be reluctant to open his
eyes fully to the sunshine streaming through the surgery window.  And
occasionally he kept them closed for a second or two as though he
wasn't very happy.  But damn it, nothing gave me the slightest clue.

I didn't tell the owner that I hadn't the faintest idea what was wrong
with his dog.  Such remarks do not inspire confidence.  Instead, I took
refuge in businesslike activity.

"I'm going to give you some lotion," I said briskly.

"Put a few drops into his eyes three times daily.  And let me know how
he goes on.  It's possible he has some long-stan ding infection in
there."

I handed over a bottle of 2% boric acid solution and patted Digger's
head.

"I hope that will clear things up for you, lad," I said, and the stumpy
tail wagged in reply.  He was a sharp loo king little animal,
attractive and good-natured and a fine specimen of the smooth-haired
breed with his long head and neck, pointed nose and beautifully
straight limbs.

He jumped from the table and leaped excitedly around his master's
legs.

I laughed.

"He's eager to go, like most of my patients."  I bent and slapped him
playfully on the rump.

"My word, doesn't he look fit!"

"He is fit."  Andrew smiled proudly.

"In fact I often think that apart from those eyes he's a perfect little
physical machine.  You should see him out in the fields - he can run
like a whippet."

"I'll bet he can.  Keep in touch, will you?"  I waved them out of the
door and turned to my other work, mercifully unaware that I had just
embarked on one of the most frustrating and traumatic cases of my
career.

After that first time I took special notice of Digger and his owner.
Andrew, a sensitive likeable man, was a representative for a firm of
agricultural chemists and, like myself, spent most of his time driving
around the Darrow by district.

His dog was al ways with him and I had been perfunctorily amused by the
fact that the little animal was invariably peering intently through the
windscreen, ;: 7f~f~ Vet zn a ~t>zn .  ~ ~ .

his paws either on the dash or balanced on his master's hand as he
operated the gear lever.

But now that I was personally interested I could discern the obvious
deligh which the little animal derived from taking in every detail of
his surrounding~ He missed nothing in his daily journeys.  The road
ahead, the houses and people trees and fields which flashed by the
windows these made up his world.

I met him one day when I was exercising Sam up on the high moors whidl
crown the windy summits of the fells.  But this was May, the air was
soft an.

a week's hot sunshine had dried the green paths which wandered among
the.

heather.  I saw Digger flashing like a white streak over the velvet
turf and when he spotted Sam he darted up to him, set himself teasingly
for a moment thee shot back to Andrew who was stan ding in a natural
circular glade among t harsh brown growth.

Here gorse bushes blazed in full yellow glory and the little dog
hurtled round and round the arena, exulting in his health and speed.

"That's what I'd call sheer joy of living," I said.

Andrew smiled shyly.

"Yes, isn't he beautiful," he murmured.

"How are the eyes?"  I asked.

He shrugged.

"Sometimes good, sometimes not so good.  Much the same as before.  But
I must say he seems easier whenever I put the drops in."

"But he still has days when he looks unhappy?"

"Yes .  . . I have to say yes.  Some days they bother him a lot."

Again the frustration welled in me.

"Let's walk back to the car," I said.

"I

might as well have a look at him."  - .

I lifted Digger on to the bonnet and examined him again.  There wasn't
a single abnormality in the eyelids I had wondered if I had missed
something last time but as the bright sunshine slanted across the
eyeballs I could ju~ IA (~ A~ ~IA~BA;AOC.~ in tho .^.^rno~ There was a
slieht keratitis there ...................Ul~!  I] LIl~ ,~""~, ~,~",~ ~
~ o '.,hi,.h h~An,~ hoon `'iciLlo hof.A'r~o B~lt why .  . . why?

, ~ ~" .  ~ .  _ , "He'd better have some stronger lotion."  I rummaged
in the car boot.

"I've got.

some here.  We'll try silver nitrate this time."

Andrew brought him in about a week later.  The corneal discoloration
had gone probably the silver nitrate had moved it but the underlying
trouble w" ,: unchanged.  There was still something sadly wrong.
Something I couldnlt ~: diagnose ~ 'ii.

That was when I started to get really worried.  As the weeks passed I
~e bombarded those eyes with every thing in the book; oxide of mercury,
chino sd; ~ zinc sulphide, ichthyol and a host of other things which
are now buried in: history.

I had none of the modern sophisticated antibiotic and steroid
applications but -~ .

it would have made no difference if I had.  I know that now.  s~ The
real nightmare started when I saw the first of the pigment cells
beginnin6 ;~ to invade the cornea.  Sinister brown specks gather ing at
the limbus and pushi~ out dark tendrils into the smooth membrane which
was Digger's window on thc : world.  I had seen cells like them before.
When they came they usually sta - > And they were opaque.  ~ the next
month I fought them with my pathetic remedies, but they c~ .

'. slowly but inexorably, blurring and narrowing Digger's field of
vision noticed them too, and when he brought the little dog into the
surgery, he ~ ~ ~ unclasped his hands anxiously.

i~ ~ ~A - ,S seeing less all the time, Mr Herriot.  I can tell.  He
still 1 at S~."  >~, ~.ows but he used to bark at all sorts of things
he didn't Ill should hl~Q ~, ~'ce - and now he just doesn't spot them.
He's - he's lo~ row of lashes rt~- x '~

~ G. `~.  ~ - ~/'

I felt like screaming or kicking the table, but since that wouldn't
have helped I just looked at him.

"It's that brown stuff isn't it?"  he said.

"What is it?"

~It's called pigmentary keratitis, Andrew.  It sometimes happens when
the cornea the front of the eyeball has been inflamed over a long
period, and it is very difficult to treat.  I'll do the best I can."

My best wasn't enough.  That slow, creeping tide was pitiless, and as
the pigment cells were laid down thicker and thicker the resulting
layer was almost blaCk, lowering a dingy curtain between Digger and all
the things he had gazed at so eagerly.

And all the time I suffered a long gnawing worry, a helpless
wretchedness as I contemplated the inevitable.

It was when I examined the eyes five months after I had first seen them
that Andrew broke down.  There was hardly anything to be seen of the
original corneal structure now; just a brown-black opacity which left
only minute chinks for moments of sight.  Blindness was not far away.

I patted the man's shoulder again.

"Come on, Andrew.  Come over here and sit down."  I pulled over the
single wooden chair in the consulting room.

He staggered across the floor and almost collapsed on the seat.  He sat
there head in hands, for some time then raised a tearstained face to
me.  His expression was distraught.

j ~"I can't bear the thought of it," he gasped.

"A friendly little thing like Digger - he loves everybody.  What has he
ever done to deserve this?"

"No thing, Andrew.  It's just one of the sad things which happen.  I'm
terribly sorry."

He rolled his head from side to side.

"Oh God, but it's worse for him.  You've seen him in the car he's so
interested in every thing.  Life wouldn't be worth living for him if he
lost his sight.  And I don't want to live any more either!"

"You mustn't talk like that, Andrew," I said.

"That's going too far."  I hesitated.

"Please don't be offended, but you ought to see your doctor."

"Oh I'm al ways at the doctor," he replied dully.

"I'm full of pills right now.

He tells me I have a depression."

The word was like a mournful knell.  Coming so soon after Paul it sent
a wave of panic through me.

"How long have you been like this?"

"Oh, weeks.  I seem to be get ting worse."

"Have you ever had it before?"

"No, never."  He wrung his hands and looked at the floor.

"The doctor says that if I keep on taking the pills I'll get over it,
but I'm reaching the end of my tether now."

"But the doctor is right, Andrew.  You've got to stick it and you'll be
as good as new."

"I don't believe it," he muttered.

"Every day lasts a year.  I never enjoy anything.

And every morning when I wake up I dread having to face the world
again."

I didn't know what to say or how to help.

"Can I get you a glass of water?"

"No .  . . no thanks."

He turned his deathly pale face up to me again and the dark eyes held a
terrible blankness.

"What's the use of going on?  I know I'm going to be miserable for the
rest of my life."

I am no psychiatrist but I knew better than to tell somebody in
Andrew's Condition to snap out of it.  And I had a flash of
intuition.

"All right," I said.

"Be miserable for the rest of your life, but while you're about it
you've got to look after this dog."

; : "Look after him?  What can I do?  He's going blind.  There's
nothing anybodi can do for him now."  I "You're wrong, Andrew.  This is
where you start doing things for him.  He's going to be lost without
your help."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, you know all those walks you take him you've got to get him use~
to the same tracks and paths so that he can trot along on familiar
ground wit ho.4 fear.  Keep him clear of holes and ditches."

He screwed up his face.

"Yes, but he won't enjoy the walks any more."  ~ "He will," I said.

"You'll be surprised."  .` "Oh, but .  . ."  i~l "And that nice big
lawn at the back of your house where he runs.  You'll ha~j.

to be on the lookout all the time in case there are things left Iying
around on the~ grass that he might bump into.  And the eye drops you
say they make him more comfortable.  Who's going to put them in if you
don't?"

"But Mr Herriot .  . . you've seen how he al ways looks out of the car
whd he's with me .  . ."  151 "He'll still look out."  i "Even if he
can't see?"

"Yes."  I put my hand on his arm.

"You must understand, Andrew, when a.

animal loses his sight he doesn't realise what's happened to him.  It's
a terrib' .

thing, I know, but he doesn't suffer the mental agony of a human
being."  n He stood up and took a long shuddering breath.

"But I'm having the agony.,~] I've been dread ing this happening for so
long.  I haven't been-able to sleep f~ thinking about it.  It seems so
cruel and unjust for this to strike a helpless aninu - a little
creature who's never done anybody any harm."  He began to wring }ii ~
hands again and pace about the room.  ~ 3', "You're just torturing
yourself!"  I said sharply.

"That's part of your troubl~ You're using Digger to punish yourself
instead of doing something useful."

"Oh but what can I do that will really help?  All those things you
talked abo~ .

- they can't give him a happy life."  ' "Oh but they can.  Digger can
be happy for years and years if you really w~ at ~t.  It's up to you.

Like a man in a dream he bent and gathered his dog into his arms and
shufll*~ along the passage to the front door.  As he went down the
steps into the street.  I called out to him.  .

"Keep in touch with your doctor, Andrew.  Take your pills regularly and
remember."  I raised my voice to a shout.

"Remember you've got a job to do that dog!"

r | ..

After Paul I was on a knife edge of apprehension but this time there
wasn't any tragic news to shatter me.  Instead I saw Andrew Vine
frequently, sometima i.

the town with Digger on a lead, occasionally in his car with the little
white h~ framed al ways in the windscreen, and most often in the fields
by the river whe~ he seemed to be carrying out my advice by following
the good open tracks a~^ and again.  -~ It was by the river that I
stopped him one day.

"How are things goi~ Andrew ?"

. . - ;~ He looked at me unsmilingly.

"Oh, he's finding his way around not too ba~ I keep my eye on him.  I
al ways avoid that field over there there's a lot~ boggy places in
it."

"Good, that's the idea.  And how are you yourself?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes, of course."

|He tried to smile.

"Well this is one of my good days.  I'm just tense and ~dreadfUlly
unhappy.  On my bad days I'm terror-stricken, despairing, utterly ']
desolate."

"I'm sorry, Andrew ~ F IHe shrugged.

"Don't think I'm wallowing in self-pity.  You asked me.  Anyway |I have
a system.  Every morning I look at myself in the mirror and I say,
"Okay, Vine' here's another bloody awful day coming up, but you're
going to do your job and you're going to look after your dog."

"That's good, Andrew.  And it will all Dass.  The whole thin~ will an
~w~v :`n~l you'll be all right one day."

"That's what the doctor says."  He gave me a sidelong glance.

"But in the meantime .  . ."  He looked down at his dog.

"Come on, Digger."

He turned and strode away~ abruptly with the little dog trotting after
him, and there was something in the set of the man's shoulders and the
forward Ithrust of his head which gave me hope.  He was a picture of
fierce determination.

My hopes were fulfilled.  Both Andrew and Digger won through.  I knew
that within months, but the final picture in my mind is of a meet ing I
had with the two of them about two years later.  It was on the flat
table-land above Darrow by where I had first seen Digger hurtling
joyously among the gorse bushes.

He wasn't doing so badly now, running freely over the smooth green
turf, sniffing among the herbage, cocking a leg now and then with deep
contentment against the dry stone wall which ran along the hillside.

Andrew laughed when he saw me.  He had put on weight and looked a
different person.

"Digger knows every inch of this walk," he said.

"I think it's just about his favourite spot you can see how he's
enjoying himself."

I nodded.

"He certainly looks a happy little dog."

"Yes, he's happy all right.  He has a good life and honestly I often
forget that he can't see."  He paused.

"You were right, that day in your surgery.  You said this would
happen."

"Well that's great, Andrew," I said.

"And you're happy, too, aren't you?"

"I am, Mr Herriot.  Thank God, I am."  A shadow crossed his face.

"When I think how it was then, I can't believe my luck.  It was like
being in a dark valley, and bit by bit I've climbed out into the
sunshine."

"I can see that.  You're as good as new, now."

He smiled.

"I'm better than that better than I was before.  That terrible
experience did me good.  Remember you said I was torturing myself?  I
realised I had spent all my days doing that.  I used to take every
little mishap of life and beat myself over the head with it."

"You don't have to tell me, Andrew," I said ruefully.

"I've al ways been pretty good at that myself."

"Well yes, I suppose a lot of us are.  But I became an expert and see
where it got me.  It helped so much to have Digger to look after."  His
face lit up and he pointed over the grass.

"Just look at that!"

The little dog had been inspecting an ancient fence, a few rotting
planks which were probably part of an old sheep fold, and as we watched
he leaped effortlessly between the spars to the other side.

"Marvellous!"  I said delightedly.

"You'd think there was nothing wrong with him.  ~ Andrew turned to
me.

"Mr Herriot, when I see a thing like that it makes me Wonder.  Can a
blind dog do such a thing.  Do you think .  . . do you think there's a
chance he can see just a little?"

I hesitated.

"Maybe he can see a bit through that pigment, but it can't be much a
flicker of light and shade, perhaps.  I really don't know.  But in any
r ~_ _ r~ _ _ _ ~ ~ ~ r l Vet in a Spin case, he's become so clever in
his familiar surroundings that it doesn't ma.

much difference."

"Yes .  . . yes."  He smiled philosophically.

"Anyway, we must get on our Come on, Digger!"  ~ He snapped his fingers
and set o~ along a track which pushed a vivid "req.

finger through the heather, pointing clean and unbroken to the sunny
sky lid His dog bounded ahead of him, not just at a trot but at a
gallop.

I have made no secret of the fact that I never really knew the cause of
Diggat blindness, but in the light of modern developments in eye
surgery I believelE was a condition called keratitis sic ca.  This was
simply not recognised in the

early days and anyway, if I had known I could have done little about
it.  1 name means 'dryness of the cornea' and it occurs when the dog is
not produci~ enough tears.  At the present time it is treated by
instilling artificial tears or

an intricate operation whereby the salivary ducts are transferred to
the eyes.

Ba' even now, despite these things, I have seen that dread pigmentation
taking ov.

in the end.

When I look back on the whole episode my feeling is of thankfulness
sorts of things help people to pull out of a depression.  Mostly it is
their farm~ - the knowledge that wife and children are dependent on
them sometimes is a cause to work for, but in Andrew Vine's case it was
a dog.

I often think of the dark valley which closed around him at that time
and am convinced he came out of it on the end of Digger's lead.

') .,.,<~.

:, ~ :.gl.

i:~:: Chapter Fourteerz .~: .  . ~ Now that I had done my first solo I
was beginning to appreciate the qualiti~ of my instructor.  There was
no doubt FO Wood ham was a very good teacher..

There was a war on and no time for niceties.  He had to get green young
m~ into the air on their own without delay and he had done it with me.
`~.: I used to fancy myself as a teacher, too, with the boys who came
to see pract~ in Darrow by.  I could see myself now, smiling
indulgently at one of my pup~l~ "You don't see this sort of thing in
country practice, David," I said.  He w - :: one of the young people
who occasionally came with me on my rounds.  Fifteen - : years old, and
like all the others he thought he wanted to be a veterinary surgoO.

But at the moment he looked a little bewildered.  :-~ I really couldn't
blame him.  It was his first visit and he had expected to spa day with
me in the rough and tumble of large animal practice in the Yorlcd~i~;
Dales and now there was this lady with the poodle and Emmeline.  The
lad~ progress along the passage to the consulting room had been
punctuated b~ series of squeaking noises produced by her squeezing a
small rubber dolL each squeak Lucy advanced a few reluctant steps until
a final pressure lurat.

on to the table.  There she stood trembling and loo king soulfully
around here "She won't go anywhere without Emmeline," the lady
explained.  ,~ "Emmehne?  -~ "The doll."  She held up the rubber toy.

"Since this trouble started Lu9.

become devoted to her."  Chapter Fourteen' "I see. .~\nd what trouble
is that?"

"Well, it's been going on for about two weeks now.  She's so listless
and st range' end she hardly eats anything."

I reached behind me to the trolley for the thermometer.

"Right, we'll have a look at her.  There's something wrong when a dog
won't eat."

The temperature was normal.  I went over her chest thoroughly with my
stethoscope without finding any unusual sounds The heart thudded
steadily in my ears.  Careful palpation of the abdomen revealed nothing
out of the way.

eThe lady stroked Lucy's curly poll and the little animal looked up at
her with sorrowful liquid eyes.

"I'm get ting really worried about her.  She doesn't want to go walks.
In fact we can't even entice her from the house without Emmeline."

"Eh ?"

"I say she won't take a step outside unless we squeak Emmeline at her,
and then they both go out together.  Even then she just trails along
like an old dog l and she's only three after all.  You know how lively
she is normally."

I nodded.  I did know.  This little poodle was a bundle of energy.  I
had seen her racing around the fields down by the river, jumping to
enormous heights as she chased a ball.  She must be suffering from
something pretty severe, but so far I was baffled.

And I wished the lady wouldn't keep on about Emmeline and the
squeaking.

I shot a side glance at David.  I had been holding forth to him, tell
ing him how ours was a scientific profession and that he would have to
be really hot at physics, chemistry and biology to gain entrance to a
veterinary school, and it didn't fit in with all this.

Maybe I could guide the conversation along more clinical lines.

"Any more symptoms?"  I asked.

"Any cough, constipation, diarrhoea?  Does she ever cry out in pain?"

The lady shook her head.

"No, nothing like that.  She just moons around loo king at us with such
a pitiful expression and searching for Emmeline."

Oh dear, there it was again.  I cleared my throat.

"She never vomits at all?

Especially after a meal?"

"Never.  When she does eat a little she goes straight away to find
Emmeline and takes her to her basket."

"Really?  Well I can't see that that has anythin~ to do with it.  Are
vou sure she isn't lame at times?"

The lady didn't seem to be listening.

"And when she gets Emmeline into her basket she sort of circles around,
scratching the blanket as though she was ma king a bed for the little
thing."

I gritted my teeth.  Would she never stop?  Then a light flashed in the
darkness.

"Wait a minute," I said.

"Did you say ma king a bed?"

"Yes, she scratches around for ages then puts Emmeline down."

"Ah yes."  The next question would settle it.

"When was she last in season?"

The lady tapped a finger against her cheek.

"Let me see.  It was in the middle f May that would be about nine weeks
ago."

There wasn't a mystery any more.

"Roll her over, please," I said.

With Lucy stretched on her back, her eyes regarding the surgery ceiling
with deep emotion, I ran my fingers over the mammary glands.  They were
turgid and swollen.  I gently squeezed one of the teats and a bead of
milk appeared.

"She's got false pregnancy," I said.

"What on earth is that?"  The lady looked at me, round-eyed "Oh, it's
quite common in bitches.  They get the idea they are going to have
~Pups and around the end of the gestation period they start this
business.

Making .  ~, a bed for the pups is typical, but some of them actually
swell in the abdom} Thev do all sorts of Deculiar thin~s."

~ ve' "My goodness, how extraordinary!"  The lady began to laugh.

"Lucy, you' little thing, worrying us over nothing."  She looked at me
across the table.

"E

long is she going to be like this?"

I turned on the hot tap and began to wash my hands.

"Not for long.  I'll you some tablets for her.  If she's not much
better in a week come back for more But you needn't worry even if it
takes a little bit longer she'll be her old in the end."

I went through to the dispensary, put the tablets in a box and handed t
over.  The lady thanked me then turned to her pet who was sit ting on
the fioor loo king dreamily into space.

"Come along, Lucy," she said, but the poodle took no notice.

"Lucy!  Da hear me?  We're going now!"  She began to walk briskly along
the passag.

the little animal merely put her head on one side and appeared to be
heark~ to inward music.  After a minute her mistress reappeared and
regarded her some exasperation.

"Oh really, you are naughty.  I suppose there's only one She opened her
handbag and produced the rubber toy.

"Squeak-squeak," went Emmeline and the poodle raised her eyes with
adoration.

"Squeak-squeak, squeak-squeak."  The sound retreated alon passage and
Lucy followed entranced until she disappeared round the corridor I
turned to David with an apologetic grin.

"Right," I said, 'we'll get o the road.  I know you want to see farm
practice and I assure vou it's different from what you've seen here."

l .  , Sit ting in the car, I continued.

"Mind you, don't get me wrong.  I'm i~ decrying small animal work.  In
fact I'd have to admit that it is the most highq skilled branch of the
profession and I personally think that small animal surg~ is
tremendously demanding.  Just don't judge it all by Emmeline.  Anyway,
43 have one doggy visit before we go out into the country."

"What's that?"  the lad asked.

"Well, I've had a call from a Mr Ring ton to say that his dalmatian
bitch completely altered her behaviour.  In fact she's acting so
strangely that he doc~ want to bring her to the surgery."

"What do you think that might be?"

~ G~ ~/~ Ll IJiJ~I~ ~_ "~; : I thought for a moment.

"It seems a bit silly, but the first thing that comc?i my mind is
rabies.  This is the most dreadful dog disease of all, but thank heaven
we've managed to keep it out of this country so far by strict quaranti'
I regulations.  But at college it was hammered into us so forcibly that
it is al~ at the back of my mind even though I don't really expect to
see it.  But this d"YI ~ of the dalmatian could be anything.  I only
hope she hasn't turned savage because that's the sort of thing that
leads to a dog being put down and I hate that."; Mr l7;ngton's opening
remark didn't cheer me.

'~become really fierce lately, Mr Herriot.  Started moping about a ~ew
days ago and frankly I daren't trust her with st rangers now.  ~ ~I![
st man by the ankle this morning Most embarrassing."

'\ank lower.

"Actually bit somebody!  It's unbelievable shc's..

,s~ ways been able to do anything with her."

~, ~; \w," he muttered.

"She's marvellous with children, too.  I )'~.come and have a look at
her."

on i~ > 7", ~s sit ting in a corner of the lounge and she glanced up s~
"She ~ e~, t0~,~s a favourite patient and I approached her confide~
"Emmelin~ ~c '~ \1, and held out my hand.  I usually had a tail-la~ ;
"The doll."  S$~ ~\from this animal but today she froze into co~ji
become devoted to h~.  ~hdrew silently from her teeth.  It wasn't an o~
~ .  ~.d snarl it was as though the upper lip was operated by strings
and there was something unnerving about it.

"What's the matter, old girl?"  I enquired, and again the gleaming
incisors were soundlessly exposed.  And as I stared uncomprehendingly I
could see that the eyes were glaring at me with blazing primitive
hatred.  Tessa was unrecognisable.

'~vIr Herriot."  Her owner looked at me apprehensively.

"I don't think I'd go any nearer if I were you."

I withdrew a pace.

"Yes, I'm inclined to agree with you.  I don't think she'd cooperate if
I tried to examine her.  But never mind, tell me all about her."

"Well, there's really nothing more to tell," Mr Ring ton said
helplessly.

"She's just different like this."

"Appetite good?"

"Yes, fine.  Eats every thing in front of her."

; "No unusual symptoms at all?"

l"None, apart from the altered temperament.  The family can handle her,
but quite frankly I think she'd bite any st ranger who came too
near."

I ran my fingers through my hair.

"Any change in family circumstances?  New baby?  Different domestic
help?  Unusual people coming to the house?"

"No, nothing like that.  There's been no change."

"I ask because animals sometimes act like this out of jealousy or
disapproval."

"Sorry."  Mr Ring ton shrugged his shoulders.

"Everything is just as it's al ways been.  Only this morning my wife
was wondering if Tessa was still cross with us because we kept her
indoors for three weeks while she was in season.  But that was a long
time ago about two months now."

I whipped round and faced him.

"Two months?"

"Yes, about that."

"Surely not again!"  I gestured to the owner.

"Would you please lift her up so that she's stan ding on her hind
legs?"

"Like this?"  He put his arms round the dalmatian's chest and hoisted
till she was in the upright position with her abdomen facing me.

And it was as if I knew beforehand.  Because I felt not the slightest
surprise when I saw the twin row of engorged teats.  It was
unnecessary, but I leaned forward, grasped a little nipple and sent a
white jet spurting.

"She's bulging with milk," I said.

"Milk ?"

"Yes, she's got a false pregnancy.  This is one of the more unusual
side effects, but I'll give you some tablets and she'll soon be the
docile Tessa again."

As we got back into the car I had a good idea what the schoolboy was
thinking.

He would be wondering where the chemistry, physics and biology came
in.

j "Sorry about that, David," I said.

"I've been tell ing you all about the constant variety of a vet's life
and the first two cases you see are the same condition.

But we are going out to the farms now and as I said, you'll find it
very different.

I

mean, those two cases were really psychological things.  You don't get
that in COuntry practice.  It's a bit rough but it's real and down to
earth."

As we drove into the farmyard I saw the farmer carrying a bag of meal
over the cobbles.

I got out of the car with David.

"You've got a pig ill, Mr Fisher?"

"Aye, a big sow.  She's in 'ere."  He led the way into a pen and
pointed to a huge white pig Iying on her side.

"She~s been off it for a few days," he said.

"Hardly eats owt - just picks at her food.  And she just lays there all
t'time.  Ah don't think she's got strength to get to her feet."

My thermometer had been in the pig's rectum as he spoke and I fished it
out l ~ ~ :: and read the temperature.  It was 102-2 - dead normal.  I
auscultated the ch~ and palpated the abdomen with growing puzzlement.
No thing wrong.  I fool ~ over at the trough nearby.  It was filled to
the brim with fresh meal and wet' - untouched.  And pigs do love their
food.  ..; I nudged her thigh with my fist.

"Come on, lass, get up."  And I followed; with a brisk slap across the
rump.  A healthy pig would have leaped to her fe.

but the sow never moved.

I tried not to scratch my head.  There was something very funny here.
'~ she ever been ill before, Mr Fisher?"

"Nay, never ailed a thing and she's all us been a real lively pig, too.
Ah ca~ reckon it un."

Nor could I. "What beats me," I said, 'is that she doesn't look like a
si; I animal.  She's not trembling or anxious, she's Iying there as if
she hadn't a ra

- ;.; I

.~:~.

"Aye, you're right, Mr Herriot.  She's as 'appy as Larry, but she'll
neithe~ move nor eat.  It's a rum 'un, isn't it?"  :~; It was very rum
indeed.  I squatted on my heels, watching the big sow.  She reached
forward and pushed gently with her snout at the straw bedding roun~ her
head.  Sick pigs never did that.  It was a gesture of well-being.  And
these little grunts which issued from deep in her chest.  They were
grunts of dee~3., contentment and there was something familiar about
the sound of them ..~-~ j something lurking at the back of my mind
which wouldn't come forward.  It we' ~ the same with the way the sow
eased herself further on to her side, pushing that great stretch of
abdomen outward as though in offering.  `$ i.

I had heard and seen it so many times before the happy sounds, the
careful movements.  Then I remembered.  Of course!  She was like a sow
with a litter;' only there was no litter.  ;.

A wave of disbelief flowed over me.  Oh no, no, please not a third
time!  It we'; dark in the pen and I couldn't get a clear view of the
mammary glands.

I turned to the farmer.

"Open the door a little will you, please."

As the sunshine flooded in every thing was obvious.  It was mere
routine reach out to the long tumefied udder and squirt the milk
against the wall.

I straightened up wearily and was about to make my now common pl"
announcement when David did it for me.

"False pregnancy?"  he said.

I nodded dumbly.

"What was that?"  enquired Mr Fisher.  ~.: "Well your sow has got it
into her head that she is pregnant," I said.

"Not onl~ that, but she thinks she has given birth to a litter and
she's suck line the imaginary~ piglets now.  You can see it, can't
you?"

The farmer eave a lone soft whistle.

"Aye ... aye ... .` l

-------D --- ~- O ~S

~ D ~ '~-"D -- .  you re right.  That i what she's coin' .  . . enjoy
in' it, too."  He took off his cap, rubbed the top of his' head and put
the cap on again.

"Well, there's all us sum mat new, isn't there.7~.

It wasn't new to David, of course.  Old stuff, in fact, and I didn't
want to 10 him further with a lengthy dissertation.  ,~: "No thing to
worry about, Mr Fisher," I said hastily.

"Call down to the surgery.  I'll give you something to put in her food.
She'll soon be back to normal.  the pen the sow gave a deep sigh of
utter fulfilment and moved 1 ~e utmost care to avoid crushing her
phantom family.  I fool., ~ could almost see the long pink row of
piglets sucking bud to dispel the vision and went out to the car.

opening the door when the farmer's wife trotted towards me.

"I've; call from your surgery, Mr Herriot.  They want you to go t~i
~ast Farm.  There's a cow calving."

An emergency like this in the middle of a round was usually an
irritant, but tOday the news came as a relief.  I had promised this
schoolboy some genuine cOuntry practice and I was beginning to feel
embarrassed.

"Well, David," I said with a light laugh as we drove away.

"You must be thinking all my patients are neurotic.  But you're going
to see a bit of the real thing now there's nothing airy-fairy about a
calving cow.  This is where the hard work of our job comes in.  It's
often pretty tough fighting against a big Straining cow, because you
must remember the vet only sees the difficult cases where the calf is
laid wrong."

'. iThe situation of East Farm seemed to add weight to my words.  We
were bumping up the fell side along a narrow track which was never
meant for motor cars and I winced as the exhaust grated against the
jutting rocks.

The farm was perched almost on the edge of the hilltop and behind it
the sparse fields, stolen from the moorland, rolled away to the
skyline.  The crumbling stonework and broken roof tiles testified to
the age of the squat grey house.

I pointed to some figures, faintly visible on the massive stone lintel
above the front door.

"What does that date mean to you, David?"

"Sixteen sixty-six, the Great Fire of London," he replied promptly.

"Well done.  Strange to think they were building this place in the same
year as old London burned down."

Mr Rogers appeared, carrying a steaming bucket and a towel.

"She's out in t'field, Mr Herriot, but she's a quiet cow and easy to
catch."

"All right."  I followed him through the gate.  It was another little
annoyance when the farmer didn't have the cow inside for me but again I
felt that if David wanted to be a vet he ought to know that a lot of
our work was carried out in the open, often in the cold and rain.

Even now on this July morning a cool breeze whipped round my chest and
back as I pulled off my shirt.  It waS never very warm in the high
country of the Dales but I felt at home here.  With the cow stan ding
patiently as the farmer held her halter, the bucket perched among the
tufts of wiry grass, and only a few stunted wind-bent trees breaking
the harsh sweep of green, it seemed that at last this boy was seeing me
in my proper place.

I soaped my arms to the shoulders.

"Hold the tail, will you, David.  This is where I find out what kind of
job it's going to be."

As I slipped my hand into the cow it struck me that it would be no bad
thing if it was a hard calving.  If the lad saw me losing a bit of
sweat it would give him a truer picture of the life in front of him.

"Sometimes these jobs take an hour or more," I said.

"But you have the reward of delivering a new living creature.  Seeing a
calf wriggling on the ground at the end of it is the biggest thrill in
practice."

I reached forward, my mind alive with the possibilities.  Posterior?
Head back?  Breech?  But as I groped through the open cervix into the
uterus I felt a growing astonishment.  There was nothing there.

I withdrew my arm and leaned for a moment on the hairy rump.  The day's
events were taking on a dreamlike quality.  Then I looked up at the
farmer.

"There's no calf in this cow, Mr Rogers."

"Eh ?"

"She's empty.  She's calved already."

The farmer gazed around him, scanning the acres of bare grass.

"Well where the hangmen" is the thing?  This cow was mess in' about
last night and I thought she'd calve, but there was nowt to find this
morn in'."

His attention was caught by a cry from the right.

"Hey, Willie!  Just a minute, Willie!"  It was Bob Sellars from the
next farm.

He was leaning over the dry stone wall about twenty yards away.

l~ :~.

"What's matter, Bob?"  . - "Oh I know all about that."  He waved a
careless hand.

"But there's no hurry.

"Ah thowt ah'd better tell ye.  Ah saw that cow hi din' her calf this
moruj ~You've time for a bit of fun first."

"Hi din' .  . .?  What are ye on about?"  ~"Just as you say sir' I said
and followed him out of the hut.  Nobody was "Ahtm not jokin' nor jest
in' Willie.  She hid it on yon gutter ower there j - ~quite sure of Flt
Lt Cramond's status at the flying school.  He wasn't one of the every
time t'calf tried to get out she pushed it back in again." ~regular
instructors he was a much older man but he was obviously regarded "But
.  . . nay nay I can't 'ave that.  I've never heard of such a thing. 
H. I with respect by his fellow officers and seemed to adopt a
freelance role.

you Mr Herriot?"  ~He occasionally descended on an unsuspecting
trainee pilot with his familiar I shook my head but the whole thing
seemed to fit in with the air of fanti" request' "Would you care to
dice with death?"  and this was invariably followed which had begun to
pervade the day's work.  ~by a joy ride round the sky a dazzling
display of aerobatics which looked Bob Sellars began to climb over the
wall.

"Aw right if ye won't believe me ~wonderful from the ground but could
be shattering in the air.

show ye."  ~. I had seen pupils tottering green-faced from the Tiger
Moth after these He led the way to the far end of the field where a dry
ditch ran along the ~sessions and there seemed to be no particular
reason why he did it at all.  But of the wall.

"There 'e is!"  he said triumphantly.  ~there was no doubt he was a
brilliant flyer.  It was rumoured that he had been And there indeed he
was.  A tiny red and white calf half concealed by the loi~ !

a stunt pilot with Alan Cob ham's famous air circus but there were so
many herbage.  He was curled comfortably in his grassy bed his nose
resting on I rum ours in the RAF - like the one about the bromide in
the tea that I never fore legs.  really knew ,f,t was true When the
little creature sew his mother he staggered to his feet and clamberj'
However I got ~nto the aircraft with a feeling of pleasant
anticipation.

shakily up the side of the ditch, but no sooner had he gained the level
of the fi" ~Whatever happened I wouldn't feel ill being blessed with a
stomach which never got queasy with motion.  Over-mdul than the big cow
released now from her halter lowered her head and geM.

gence can have disastrous eflfects on nudged him back m agam.  ~ ~ Bob
waved his arm.

"There yare she's hi din' it isn't she?"  ~ ~boats in force nine gales
when even the crew were groaning in their bunks but Mr Rogers said
nothing and I merely shrugged my shoulders but twice and ~land-lubber
Herr~ot was still enJoying h~s four meals a day.  It was the same in
the calf managed to scramble from the ditch and twice more his mother
returru ~the a~r.

him firmly with her head.  ~ I soon had reason to be grateful for this
blessing because Flt Lt Cramond "Well it teks a bit o' believin' the
farmer murmured half to himself.

"Shi threw the tattle a~rcraft around the sky in an alarming manner
climbing high had five calves afore this and we've taken 'em straight
away from eras we all; ~ I then fluttering earth wards l~ke a falhug
autumn leaf doing repeated loops and ~ .  ~ ,~.  ~ ar~ T ~ T ~ ~ soms.
Most of ~t I enJoyed because he was a likeable man and the eyes in the
ao.  mayue she wants to Keep this un for erse~t ~ 1 aunno .  . . 1
c~unno .  . .

mirror were humorous and friendly.

voice trailed away.

Later as we rattled down the stony track David turned to me.

"Do you thig He kept up a running commentary as he went through his
repertoire.

that cow really hid her calf .  . . so that she could keep ~t for
herself?"

~a violent manoeuvre which involved a lot of flying upside down.  To a
novice like I stared helplessly through the glass of the windscreen.

"Well anybody woul ~myself it was a st range sensation to be hanging in
my straps, loo king up at tell you it's impossible but you saw what
happened.  I'm like Mr Rogers I p' farmhouses and down at the
cloud-strewn sky.

don't know."  I paused as the car dipped into a deep rut and sent us
bobbi.That was the only time I didn't feel too happy, because those
canvas straps about.

"But you see some funny things at our job."  j !  were attached to the
sides of the cockpit by frayed wires which twanged and The schoolboy
nodded thoughtfully.

"Yes it seems to me that yours is a full - [ !  groaned disturbingly as
I hung there.  It was a long way to the ground and I hfe altogether."
~kept a hand on the parachute release just in case.

I was wondering how long we were going to stay in this position when he
~rolled over and went into a long dive.  Down and down we roared
heading nose : ~first for the peaceful farm land and just as I had
concluded that we must ~: certainly plunge straight into the earth he
levelled oflf and we skimmed through - ~;a long cornfield with the
wheels of the undercarriage trailing among the golden .: ears.

r~' 7 ~ r ~ ~"This is nice, isn't it?"  Flt Lt Cramond murmured.

~napier `~Jteen ~ ~ .  And it was nice too.  There was no crop spraying
in those days and the scent -~.  of the wild flowers growing among the
corn drifted into the open cockpit.

The :: heady fra~rance took me back in a moment to that picnic with
Helen.

"Would you care to come and dice with death?"  'l There were many
things leading up to the picnic.  It all started when I caught Flight
Lieutenant Cramond looked down at me his puckish features Helen in the
pantry, stealing the porridge oats.  She was stan ding with the pac~~'e
into a mischievous smile.  I was sit ting at a table in my flying suit
waiting t ~in her hand, scooping the contents into her mouth with a
spoon, and she water called for a grading test and I stood up
hurriedly.  ~guiltily when she saw me.

"You mean .  . . go up with you sir?"  ~"You're at it again!"  I
exclaimed.  I snatched the packet from `~d a little breeze "Yes that's
right."  ~ _`nearly empty!  How many do you go through a week?"  vlth
it the sweet scent "Well I'm just waiting for .  . ."~_ She looked at
me with a stricken face and shook ~ l / ~ ver In a opln "But Helen raw
porridge oats!  You're not supposed to eat them that way ~ Not a packet
at a time, anyway.  You'll give yourself indigestion."  ~] "I'm all
right so far."  Her spoon twitched and I could see she wanted more "But
why don't you cook them and eat ordinary porridge do you good that
way."

She pouted.

"Don't want ordinary porridge."

I gave her an exasperated stare and left her to it.  I'd had no
experience with' pregnant women but I had heard of these cravings and
no doubt they were to] be respected.  With Helen it had started with
oranges oranges morning noon ', and night and I was rather pleased
because I thought they would be good for her with all those vitamins.
But it wasn't long before she went off the oranges ~ and on to the
porridge and I started to worry.  .> However it was needless.  Within a
week or two the porridge had lost all it~ ~-~ attractions and Helen was
on the custard.  And it was cooked custard, good .~.; wholesome stuff
made with plenty of milk, and though Helen drank it by the :.

gallon instead of the pint I felt sure it must be beneficial.

The custard phase lasted for some time.  Whatever I was doing around
our bed-sitter Helen would be crouched over her bowl of custard,
imbibing it ~: effortlessly, spoonful by spoonful, watching me with
inward-loo king eyes.  When ~ 7-~ I was working in the garden I had
only to glance up to the little window under the tiles to see that rapt
face loo king out at me and the spoon rising and falling from the
custard bowl.

Such nourishing material, I thought, could no nothing but good both for
my ~.

wife and for our first born, but before I knew where I was the trouble
with the smells began.

It was totally unexpected.  We both accepted the fact that our dining
arrangements were somewhat primitive.  Bare boards, a wooden bench
against the wall and a gas ring was all we had.  But it was all we
wanted, so that it was something of a shock to me when Helen
complained.

It was one lunchtime and she looked around her, sniffing
suspiciously.

"There's a funny smell in here," she said.

"A funny smell?  What do you mean?"  I was utterly at a loss because
just about the only thing that annoyed me about my new wife was that
she spent far too much time scrubbing and cleaning our premises.  There
just couldn't be any t smells.

But it began to happen every day.  Each lunchtime when we climbed the
long flights of stairs to our kitchen Helen's nose began to wrinkle
almost as soon as the door closed behind her.  Matters came to a head
at the end of a week.

"Jim' she said mournfully.

"I can't eat here any more.  Not with this smdl about."

It was a problem.  Lunch was our main meal of the day and she had
almost stopped ~ting breakfast.  Also, the reassuring consumption of
custard had d' this went on she would suffer from malnutrition.  Then I
had one nt ideas.

o lunch," I said.

~" 30 They say it's very good."

~3 ~"` ~ainly.

"All right, we'll try it.  I just can't eat up herc,<, ~, ~, ~ }' 3:~
into~ ~ ~I was sure the problem was solved.  The food at the5;~.

called fol ~ ~ .  ~'t put any strain on our limited financial
resoural~i "You mean>.~. ~tatoes and two veg."  apple pie and cream,
coffee.  "Yes, that's right.  >- ence.  Helen enjoyed it all and I was
triumpha~ "Well, I'm just waitini~; the Lilac was full, with the
farmers and the Lt'

//"J

wiveS packing the place, and it was on a market day that the blow fell.
I was Sipping my coffee and ma king conversation with two stout ladies
at the next table when my wife nudged me.

"Jim," she whispered, and I felt a premonition as I saw the familiar
hunted look on her face.

"There's a funny smell in here."

I stared at her.

"What kind of smell the same as the one at home?"

I"No."  She shook her head miserably.

"But it's funny."

"But Helen, this is pure imagination."  I raised my head and gave a few
ostentatious sniffs.

"There's nothing here at all."

IBut she was already on her way out and I realised with a sense of loss
that j that was the end of the Lilac.

For the next few days we tried the Dick on Street Cafe.  It was much
smaller and the food was definitely uninspiring but Helen seemed
content, so I was thankful.  After all, I told myself as I chewed at a
toughish piece of rump steak she was the one who was having the baby
and it was only right that I should humour her.  And I was just
thinking that matters could be a lot worse when she leaned across the
table.

"Can't you smell it?"  she asked, wide-eyed.

I felt a surge of despair.

"Smell what?"

"That funny smell.  Surely you must be able to .  . ."  She gazed at me
appealingly.

"No, I can't," I said.

"But never mind, we'll try somewhere else tomorrow."

Darrow by didn't run to many cafes and there was only one left.  It was
known simply as Mrs Ackerley's and consisted of one tiny room in that
lady's house down a side street.  The cuisine there was frankly
sub-standard and Mrs Ackerley herself didn't seem to have much faith in
it because she invariably added "Preps not' to every suggestion.

"Would you like some liver or preps not?  Or some toad in the hole or
preps not?"  Then for dessert it would be the same.

"How about prunes and rice - or preps not?"

Everything was badly cooked and yet it fascinated me that she had her
faithful clientele; an old man who worked at the shoe shop, a
middle-aged spinster school teacher and a pale dyspeptic-loo king young
man whom I recognised as a clerk from the bank.  They came every day
and I realised I was exploring a hitherto unknown stratum of Darrow by
society.

Helen seemed to find some humour in the situation.

"Let's get round to Praps Not's," she would say each day and I hoped
this was a good sign.  But I could not stifle the lurking conviction
within me that Mrs Ackerley wouldn't last.

I was pushing some particularly tired-loo king cabbage round my plate
when I heard a sharp intake of breath.  My wife was sit ting bolt
upright, snuffing the air like a hound on the scent.

"Jim," she muttered urgently,

"There's a .  . ."

I held up a hand.

"Okay, okay, you don't have to tell me.  Let's go."

Our position was critical.  We had run out of cafes and yet we couldn't
live without eating.  It was Helen who found the answer.

"It's lovely weather," she said, slipping her arm through mine.

"Let's have a picnic tomorrow."

One thing about living in Darrow by is that you don't have to drive
very far to leave the town behind.  Next day we sat down on a grassy
bank and as we opened our packet of sandwiches the September sun
flooded down, warming the grey stones of the wall behind us, slanting
dazzlingly against the tumbling water of the river far below.

Beyond the wall lay the wide golden sweep of a corn field and a little
breeze stirred the ripe ears into a long slow whisper, bringing with it
the sweet scent of a thousand growing things.

Helen sliced a tomato, shook some salt on to it and drew a long
contented breath.

"Nice smell here," she said.

Chapter Sixteen The doctor put down the folder containing my case
history and gave me a friendly smile across the desk.

"I'm sorry, Herriot, but you've got to have an operation."

His words, though gentle, were like a slap in the face.  After flying
school we had been posted to Heat on Park, Manchester, and I heard
within two days that I had been graded pilot.  Everything seemed at
last to be going smoothly.

"An operation .  . . are you sure?"

. ~ ~, i r~ _ ~ "Absolutely, I'm afraid," he said, and he looked like a
man who knew his ~ | business.  He was a Wing Commander, almost
certainly a specialist in civil life, and I had been sent to him after
a medical inspection by one of the regular doctors.

"This old surgical scar they mention in your documents," he went on.

"You've already had surgery there, haven't you?"

"Yes, a few years ago."

"Well, I'm afraid the thing is opening up again and needs attention."

I seemed to have run out of words and could think of only one.

"When ?"

"Immediately.  Within a few days, anyway."

I stared at him.

"But my flight's going overseas at the end of the week."

"Ah well, that's a pity."  He spread his hands and smiled again.

"But they'll be going without you.  You will be in hospital."

I had a sudden feeling of loss, of something coming to an end, and it
lingered after I had left the Wing Commander's office.  ~ realised
painfully that the fifty men with whom I had sweated my way through all
those new experiences had become my friends.  The first breaking-in at
St John's Wood in London, the hard training at Scar borough ITW, the
'toughening course' in Shropshire ant the final flying instruction at
Wink field; it had bound us together and I had come to think of myself
not as an individual but as part of a group.  My mind could hardly
accept the fact that I was going to be on my own.

The others were sorry, too, my own particular chums loo king almost
bereaved, but they were all too busy to pay me much attention.  They
were being pushed around all over the place, get ting briefed and
killed out for their posting, and it was a hectic time for the whole
flight except me.  I sat on my bed in thc Nissen hut while the
excitement billowed around me.  .

I thought my departure would go unnoticed but when I got my summons and
~r~r prepared to leave I found, tucked in the webbing of my pack, an
envelope fillot~ with the precious coupons with which we drew our
ration of cigarettes in those days.  It seemed that nearly everybody
had chipped in and the final gestu~~ squeezed at my throat as I made my
lonely way from the camp.

The hospital was at Creden Hill, near Hereford, and I suppose it is one
a the consolations of service life that you can't feel lonely for very
long.  The b~ ve' zn a opln /51 in the long ward were filled with
people like myself who had been torn from their comrades and were eager
to be friendly.

In the few days before my operation we came to know each other pretty
well.

The young man in the bed on my left spent his time writing excruciating
poetry to his girl friend and insisted on reading it out to me, stanza
by stanza.  The lad on the right seemed a pensive type.  Everybody
addressed him as

"Sam my' but he replied only in grunts.

When he found out I was a vet he leaned from the sheets and beckoned to
me.

"I got fed up wit hem blokes call in' me Sam my," he muttered in a ripe
Birmingham accent.

"Because me name's not Sam my, it's Desmond."

"Really?  Why do they do it, then?"

He leaned out further.

"That's what I want to talk to you about.  You bein' a vet you'll know
about these things.  It's because of what's wrong with me - why I'm in'
ere."

"Well, why are you here?  What's your trouble?"

He looked around him then spoke in a confidential whisper.

"I gotta big ball."

"A big ball.  One of me balls is a right whopper."

"Ah, I see, but I still don't understand .  . ."

"Well, it's like this," he said.

"All the fellers in the ward keep say in' the doctor's goin' to cut it
off- then I'd be like Sam my Hall."

I nodded in comprehension.  Memories from my college days filtered
back.  It had been a popular ditty at the parties.

"My name is Sam my Hall and I've only got one ball .  ..

"Oh, nonsense, they're pulling your leg," I said.

"An enlarged testicle can be all sorts of things.  Can you remember
what the doctor called it?"

He screwed up his face.

"It was a funny name.  Like vorry or varry something."

"Do you mean varicocele?"

"That's it!"  He threw up an arm.

"That's the word!"

"Well, you can stop worrying," I said.

"It's quite a simple little operation.

Trifiing, in fact."

"You mean they won't cut me ball off?"

"Definitely not.  Just remove a few surplus blood vessels, that's all.
No trouble."

He fell back on the pillow and gazed ecstatically at the ceiling.

"Thanks mate,"

he breathed.

"You've done me a world o' good.  I'm get tin' done tomorrow and I've
been dread in' it."

He was like a different person all that day, laughing and joking with
everybody, and next morning when the nurse came to give him his premed
injection he turned to me with a last appeal in his eyes.

"You wouldn't kid me, mate, would you?  They're not goin' to .  . .?"

I held up a hand.

"I assure you, Sam my - er - Desmond, you've nothing to worry about.  I
give you my word."

Again the beatific smile crept over his face and it stayed there until
the 'blood wagon', the operating room trolley pushed by a male orderly,
came to collect h~m.

The blood wagon was very busy each morning and it was customary to
raise a cheer as each man was wheeled out.  Most of the victims
responded with a sleepy wave before the swing doors closed behind them,
but when I saw Desmond grinning cheerfully and giving the thumbs-up
sign I felt I had really done something.

Next morning it was my turn.  I had my injection at around eight
o'clock and by the time the trolley appeared I was pleasantly woozy.
They removed my pyjamas and arrayed me in a sort of nightgown with
laces at the neck and pulled thick woollen socks over my feet.  As the
orderly wheeled me away the o2 inmates of the ward broke into a ragged
chorus of encouragement and I managed the risual flourish of an arm as
I left.

It was a cheerless journey along white-tiled corridors until the
trolley pushed its way into the anaesthetics room.  As I entered, the
doors at the far end parted as a doctor came towards me bearing a
loaded syringe.  I had a chilling slimpse of the operating theatre
beyond, with the lights beating on the long table and the masked
surgeons waiting.

The doctor pushed up my sleeve and swabbed my forearm with surgical
spirit.

I decided I had seen enough and closed my eyes, but an exclamation from
above made me open them.

"Good God, it's Jim Herriot!"

I looked up at the man with the syringe.  It was Teddy McQueen.  He had
been in my class at school and I hadn't seen him since the day I
left.

My throat was dry after the injection but I felt I had to say
something.

"Hello, Teddy," I croaked.

His eyes were wide.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"What the hell do you think?"  I rasped crossly.

"I'm going in there for an operation."

"Oh, I know that I'm the anaesthetist here but I remember you tell ing
me at school that you were going to be a vet."

"That's right.  I am a vet."

"You are?"  His face was a picture of amazement.

"But what the devil is a vet doing in the RAF?"

It was a good question.

"No thing very much, Teddy," I replied.

He began to laugh.  Obviously he found the whole situation
intriguing.

"Well, Jim, I can't get over this!"  He leaned over me and giggled
uncontrollably "Imagine our meet ing here after all these years.  I
think it's an absolute hoot!"

His whole body began to shake and he had to dab away the tears from his
eyes.

Lying there on the blood wagon in my nightie and woolly socks I didn't
find it all that funny, and my numbed brain was searching for a
withering riposte when a voice barked from the theatre.

"What's keeping you, McQueen?  We can't wait all morning!"

Teddy stopped laughing.

"Sorry, Jim old chum," he said.

"But your presence is requested within."  He pushed the needle into my
vein and my last memory as I drifted away was of his lingering amused,
mile.

I spent three weeks at Creden Hill and towards the end of that time
those of us who were almost fully recovered were allowed out to visit
the nearby town of Hereford.  This was embarrassing because we were all
clad in the regulation suit of hospital blue with white shirt and red
tie and it was obvious from thc respectful glances we received that
people thought we had been wounded in action.

When a veteran of the First World War came up to me and asked,

"Where did you get your packet, mate?"  I stopped going altogether.

I left the RAF hospital with a feeling of gratitude particularly
towards the hard-working, cheerful nurses.  They gave us many a tongue
lashing for chattering after lights out, for smoking under the
blankets, for messing up our beds, but all the time I marvelled at
their dedication.  ~ I used to lie there and wonder what it was in a
girl's character that made hC' go in for the arduous life of nursing. A
concern for people's welfare?  A natur caring instinct?  Whatever it
was, I was sure a person was born with it.  This trait is part of the
personalities of some animals and it was exemplifi in Eric Abbot's
sheepdog, Judy.

I first met Judy when I was treating Eric's bullock for wooden
tongue.

T1' .

bullock was only a young one and the farmer admitted ruefully that he
had neglected it because it was almost a walking skeleton.

"Damn!"  Eric grunted.

"He's been runnin' out with that bunch in the far fields and I must
have missed 'im.  I never knew he'd got to this state."

When actinobacillosis affects the tongue it should be treated right at
the start, when the first symptons of salivation and swelling beneath
the jaw appear.

Otherwise the tongue becomes harder and harder till finally it sticks
out of the front of the mouth, as unyielding as the wood which gives
the disease its ancient name.

This skinny little creature had reached that state, so that he not only
looked pathetic but also slightly comic as though he were ma king a
derisive gesture at me.  But with a tongue like that he just couldn't
eat and was literally starving to death.  He lay quietly as though he
didn't care.

"There's one thing, Eric," l said.

"Giving him an intravenous injection won't be any problem.  He hasn't
the strength to resist."

The great new treatment at that time was sodium iodide into the vein
modern and spectacular.  Before that the farmers used to paint the
tongue with tincture of iodine, a tedious procedure which sometimes
worked and sometimes didn't.  The sodium iodide was a magical
improvement and showed results within a few days.

I inserted the needle into the jugular and tipped up the bottle of
clear fluid.

Two drachms of the iodide I used to use, in eight ounces of distilled
water and it didn't take long to flow in.  In fact the bottle was
nearly empty before I noticed Judy.

I had been aware of a big dog sit ting near me all the time, but as I
neared the end of the injection a black nose moved ever closer till it
was almost touching the needle.  Then the nose moved along the rubber
tube up to the bottle and back again, sniffing with the utmost
concentration.  When I removed the needle the nose began a careful
inspection of the injection site.  Then a tongue appeared and began to
lick the bullock's neck methodically.

I squatted back on my heels and watched.  This was something more than
mere curiosity; every thing in the dog's attitude suggested intense
interest and concern.

"You know, Eric," I said.

"I have the impression that this dog isn't just watching me.  She's
supervising the whole job."

The farmer laughed.

"You're right there.  She's a funny old bitch is Judy sort of a nurse.
If there's anything amiss she's on duty.  You can't keep her away."

Judy looked up quickly at the sound of her name.  She was a handsome
animal; not the usual colour, but a variegated brindle with waving
lines of brown and grey mingling with the normal black and white of the
farm collie.  Maybe there was a cross somewhere but the result was very
attractive and the effect was heightened by her bright-eyed,
laughing-mouthed friendliness.

I reached out and tickled the backs of her ears and she wagged mightily
not just her tail but her entire rear end.

"I suppose she's just good-natured."

"Oh aye, she is," the farmer said.

"But it's not only that.  It sounds daft but

I

think Judy feels a sense of responsibility to all the stock on
"'farm."

I nodded.

"I believe you.  Anyway, let's get this beast on to his chest."

We got down in the straw and with our hands under the back bone, rolled
the bullock till he was resting on his sternum.  We balanced him there
with straw bales on either side then covered him with a horse rug.

In that position he didn't look as moribund as before, but the
emaciated head with the useless jutting tongue lolled feebly on his
shoulders and the saliva drooled uncontrolled on to the straw.  I
wondered if I'd ever see him alive again.

/~* V't tn n .~^In Judy however didn't appear to share my pessimism.
After a thorough sniffing l examination of rug and bales she moved to
the front, applied an encouraging tongue to the shaggy forehead then
stationed herself comfortably facing the bullock, very like a night
nurse keeping an eye on her patient.

"Will she stay there?"  I closed the half door and took a last look
inside.

"Aye, nothing'll shift her till he's dead or better," Eric replied.

"She's in her element now."

"Well, you never know, she may give him an interest in life, just sit
ting there.

He certainly needs some help.  You must keep him alive with milk or
gruel till ;~ .

the injection starts to work.  If he'll drink it it'll do him most good
but otherwise you'll have to bottle it into him.  But be careful you
can choke a beast the t way."

A case like this had more than the usual share of the old fascination
because I was using a therapeutic agent which really worked something
that didntt : happen too often at that time.  So I was eager to get
back to see if I had been able to pull that bullock from the brink of
death.  But I knew I had to give the drug a chance and kept away for
five days.

When I walked across the yard to the box I knew there would be no
further doubts.  He would either be dead or on the road to recovery.

The sound of my steps on the cobbles hadn't gone unnoticed.  Judy's
head, ears cocked, appeared above the half door.  A little well of
triumph brimmed in me.  If the nurse was still on duty then the patient
must be alive.  And I felt even more cert ain when the big dog
disappeared for a second then came soaring effortlessly over the door
and capered up to me, working her hind end into convolutions of
delight.  She seemed to be doing her best to tell me all was well.

Inside the box the bullock was still Iying down but he turned to look
at me and I noticed a strand of hay hanging from his mouth.  The tongue
itself had disappeared behind the lips.

"Well, we're winnin', aren't we?"  Eric Abbot came in from the yard.

"Without a doubt," I said.

"The tongue's much softer and I see he's been trying to eat hay."

"Aye, can't quite manage it yet, but he's sup pin' the milk and gruel
like a good 'un.  He's been up a time or two but he's very wobbly on
his pins."

I produced another bottle of sodium iodide a~nd repeated the injection
with Judy's nose again almost touching the needle as she sniffed
avidly.  Her eyes were focused on the injection site with fierce
concentration and so intent was she on extracting the full savour that
she occasionally blew out her nostrils with a sharp blast before
recommencing her inspection.

When I had finished she took up her position at the head and as I
prepared to leave I noticed a voluptuous swaying of her hips which were
embedded in the straw.  I was a little puzzled until I realised she was
wagging in the sit ting position.

"Well, Judy's happy at the way things are going," I said.

The farmer nodded.

"Yes, she is, She likes to be in charge.  Do you know, she gives every
new-born calf a good lick over as soon as it comes into t'world and
it's the same whenever one of our cats 'as kittens."

"Bit of a midwife, too, eh?"

"You could say that.  And another funny thing about 'er - she lives
with thc ~:< livestock in the buildings.  She's got a nice warm kennel
but she never bothe - : with it sleeps with the beasts in the straw
every night."  ~i I revisited the bullock a week later and this time he
galloped round the b~ like a racehorse when I approached him.  When I
finally trapped him in a co~ ~_ Vet in a Spin ~ ' and caught his nose I
was breathless but happy.  I slipped my fingers into his mouth; the
tongue was pliable and almost normal.

"One more shot, Eric," I said.

"Wooden tongue is the very devil for recurring if you don't get it
cleared up thoroughly."  I began to unwind the rubber tube.

"By the way, I don't see Judy around."

"Oh, I reckon she feels he's cured now, and anyway, she has sum mat
else on her plate this morn in'.  Can you see her over there?"

I looked through the doorway.  Judy was stalking importantly across the
yard.

She had something in her mouth a yellow, fluffy object.

I craned out further.

"What is she carrying?"

"It's a chicken."

"A chicken?"

"Aye, there's a brood of them runnin' around just now.  They're only a
month old and ttawd bitch seems to think they'd be better off in the
stable.  She's made a bed for them in there and she keeps try in' to
curl herself around them.  But the little things won't 'ave it."

I watched Judy disappear into the stable.  Very soon she came out,
trotted after a group of tiny chicks which were pecking happily among
the cobbles and gently scooped one up.  Busily she made her way back to
the stable but as she entered the previous chick reappeared in the
doorway and pottered over to rejoin his friends.

She was having a frustrating time but I knew she would keep at it
because that was the way she was.

Judy the nurse dog was still on duty.

Chapter Seventeen My experience in the RAF hospital made me think.  As
a veterinary surgeon I had become used to being on the other end of the
knife and I preferred it that way.

As I remembered, I was quite happy that morning a couple of years ago
as I poised my knife over a swollen ear.  Tristan, one elbow leaning
wearily on the table, was holding an anaesthetic mask over the nose of
the sleeping dog when Siegfried came into the room.

He glanced briefly at the patient.

"Ah yes, that haematoma you were tell ing me about, James."  Then he
looked across the table at his brother.

"Good God you're a lovely sight this morning!  When did you get in last
night?"

Tristan raised a pallid countenance.  His eyes were bloodshot slits
between puffy lids.

"Oh, I don't quite know.  Fairly late, I should think."

"Fairly late!  I got back from a farrowing at four o'clock and you
hadn't arrived then Where the hell were you, anyway?"

"I was at the Licensed Victuallers' Ball.  Very good do, actually."

"I bet it was!"  Siegfried snorted.

"You don't miss a thing, do you?  Darts Team Dinner, Bell ringers'
Outing, Pigeon Club Dance and now it's the Licensed Victuallers' Ball.
If there's a good booze-up going on anywhere you'll find it."

When under fire Tristan al ways retained his dignity and he drew it
around him now like a threadbare cloak.

ldc' Vet In a opln "As a matter of fact," he said, 'many of the
Licensed Victuallers are my friends."

His brother flushed.

"I believe you.  I should think you're the best bloody customer they've
ever had!"

Tristan made no reply but began to make a careful check of the flow of
oxygen into the ether bottle.

"And another thing," Siegfried continued.

"I keep seeing you slinking around with about a dozen different women.
And you're supposed to be studying for an exam."

"That's an exaggeration."  The young man gave him a pained look.

"I admit I enjoy a little female company now and then just like
yourself."  .~ Tristan believed in attack as the best form of defence,
and it was a tell ing blow because there was a constant stream of
attractive girls laying siege to ~ Siegfried at Skeldale House.  `,.

But the elder brother was only temporarily halted.

"Never mind me!"  he ~$~` shouted.

"I've passed all my exams.  I'm talking about you!  Didn't I see you
with B that new barmaid from the Drovers' the other night?  You dodged
rapidly into a shop doorway but I'm bloody sure it was you."  ` Tristan
cleared his throat.

"It quite possibly was.  I have recently become friendly with Lydia
she's a very nice girl."

"I'm not saying she isn't.  What I am saying is that I want to see you
indoors at night with your books instead of boozing and chasing women.
Is that clear?"

"Quite."  The young man inclined his head gracefully and turned down
the .

knob on the anaesthetic machine.

His brother regarded him balefully for a few moments, breathing
deeply.

These remonstrations al ways took it out of him.  Then he turned away
quickly and left.

Tristan's facade crumbled as soon as the door closed.

"Watch the anaesthetic for a minute, Jim," he croaked.  He went over to
the .

basin in the corner, filled a measuring jar with cold water and drank
it at a long gulp.  Then he soaked some cotton wool under the tap and
applied it to his brow.

"I wish he hadn't come in just then.  I'm in no mood for the raised
voices and angry words."  He reached up to a large bottle of aspirins,
swallowed a few and washed them down with another gargantuan draught.

"All right then, Jim," he murmured as he returned to the table and took
over the mask again.

"Let's go."

I bent once more over the sleeping dog.  He was a Scottie called Hamish
and his mistress, Miss Wester man, had brought him in two days ago.

She was a retired school teacher and I al ways used to think she must
have had little trouble in keeping her class in order.  The chilly pale
eyes loo king straight into mine reminded me that she was as tall as I
was and the square jaw between the muscular shoulders completed a
redoubtable presence.

"Mr Herriot," she barked.

"I want you to have a look at Hamish.  I do hope it's nothing serious
but his ear has become very swollen and painful.  They don't get er -
cancer there, do they?"  For a moment the steady gaze wavered.

"Oh that's most unlikely."  I lifted the little animal's chin and
looked at thc left ear which was drooping over the side of his face.
His whole head, in fact, was askew as though dragged down by pain.

Carefully I liDed the ear and touched the tense swelling with a
forefingct Hamish looked around at me and whimpered.

"Yes, I know, old chap.  It's tender, isn't it?"  As I turned to Miss
Western~ I almost bumped into the close-cropped iron-grey head which
was hovering close over the little dog.

"He's got an aural haematoma," I said.

"What on earth is that?"

., ' Lr' c' Opzn b "It's when the little blood vessels between the skin
and cartilage of the ear rupture and the blood flows out and causes
this acute distension."

She patted the jet black shaggy coat.

"But what causes it?"

Canker, usually.  Has he been shaking his head lately?"

"Yes, now you mention it he has.  Just as though he had got something
in his ear and was trying to get rid of it."

"Well that's what bursts the blood vessels.  I can see he has a touch
of canker though it isn't common in this breed."

She nodded.

"I see.  And how can you cure it?"

I "Only by an operation, I'm afraid."

I"Oh dear!"  She put her hand to her mouth.

"I'm not keen on that."

I"There's nothing to worry about," I said.

"It's just a case of letting the blood out and stitching the layers of
the ear together.  If we don't do this soon he'll suffer a lot of pain
and finish up with a caulifiower ear, and we don't want that because
he's a bonny little chap."

I meant it, too.  Hamish was a proud-strutting, trim little dog.  The
Scottish terrier is an attractive creature and I often lament that
there are so few around in these modern days.

After some hesitation Miss Wester man agreed and we fixed a date two
days from then.  When she brough him in for the operation she deposited
Hamish in my arms, stroked his head again and again then looked from
Tristan to me and back agam.

"You'll take care of him, won't you," she said, and the jaw jutted and
the pale blue eyes stabbed.  For a moment I felt like a little boy
caught in mischief, and I think my colleague felt the same because he
blew out his breath as the lady departed.

"By gum, Jim, that's a tough baby," he muttered.

"I wouldn't like to get on the wrong side of her."

I nodded.

"Yes, and she thinks all the world of this dog, so let's make a good
job of him.

After Siegfried's departure I lifted the ear which was now a turgid
cone and made an incision along the inner skin.  As the pent up blood
gushed forth I caught it in an enamel dish, then I squeezed several big
clots through the wound.

"No wonder the poor little chap was in pain," I said softly.

"He'll feel a lot better when he wakes up."

I filled the cavity between skin and cartilage with sulphanilamide then
began to stitch the layers together, using a row of buttons.  You had
to do something like this or the thing filled up again within a few
days.  When I first began to operate on aural haematomata I used to
pack the interior with gauze then bandage the ear to the head.  The
owners often made little granny-hats to try to keep the bandage in
place, but a frisky dog usually had it off very soon.

The buttons were a far better idea and kept the layers in close
contact, lessening the chance of distortion.

By lunchtime Hamish had come round from the anaesthetic and though
still slightly dopey he already seemed to be relieved that his bulging
ear had been deflated.  Miss Wester man had gone away for the day and
was due to pick him up in the evening.  The little dog, curled in his
basket, waited philosophically.

At tea time, Siegfried glanced across the table at his brother.

"I'm going oflf to Braw ton for a few hours, Tristan," he said.

"I want you to stay in the house and give Miss Wester man her dog when
she arrives.  I don't know just when she'll come."  He scooped out a
spoonful of jam.

"You can keep an eye on the patient and do a bit of studying, too. It's
about time you had a night at home."

Tristan nodded.

"Right, I'll do that."  But I could see he wasn't enthusiastic.

/~d VeC tn a ~pin When Siegfried had driven away Tristan rubbed his
chin and gazed reflectively through the french window into the
darkening garden.

"This is distinctly awkward, Jim."

"Why ?"

"Well, Lydia has tonight off and I promised to see her."  He whistled a
fe~v bars under his breath.

"It seems a pity to waste the opportunity just when things are building
up nicely.  I've got a strong feeling that girl fancies me.  In fact
she's nearly eating out of my hand."

I looked at him wonderingly.

"My God, I thought you'd want a bit of peace ' and quiet and an early
bed after last night!"

"Not me," he said.

"I'm raring to go again."

And indeed he looked fresh and fit, eyes sparkling, roses back in his
cheeks "Look, Jim," he went on.

"I don't suppose you could stick around with this dog?"

I shrugged.

"Sorry, Triss.  I'm going back to see that cow of Ted Binns' - right at
the top of the Dale.  I'll be away for nearly two hours."

For a few moments he was silent, then he raised a finger.

"I think I have the solution.  It's quite simple, in fact it's perfect.
I'll bring Lydia in here."

"What!  Into the house?"

"Yes, into this very room.  I can put Hamish in his basket by the fire
and Lydia and I can occupy the sofa.  Marvellous!  What could be nicer
on a cold winter's night.  Cheap, too."

"But Triss!  How about Siegfried's lecture this morning?  What if he
comes home early and catches the two of you here?"

Tristan lit a Woodbine and blew out an expansive cloud.

"Not a chance.  You~ worry about such tiny things, Jim.  He's al ways
late when he goes to Braw ton.

There's no problem at all."

"Well, please yourself," I said.

"But I think you're asking for trouble.

Anyway, shouldn't you be doing a bit of bacteriology?  The exams are
get ting close."

He smiled seraphically through the smoke.

"Oh, I'll have a quick read through it all in good time."

I couldn't argue with him there.  I al ways had to go over a thing
about six times before it finally sank in, but with his brain the quick
read would no doubt suffice.  I went out on my call.

I got back about eight o'clock and as I opeped the front door my mind
was far from Tristan.  Ted Binns's cow wasn't responding to my
treatment and I was beginning to wonder if I was on the right track.
When in doubt I liked to look the subject up and the books were on the
shelves in the sit ting room.  I hurried along the passage and threw
open the door.

For a moment I stood there bewildered, trying to reorientate my
thoughts.

The sofa was drawn close to the bright fire, the atmosphere was heavy
witb cigarette smoke and the scent of perfume, but there was nobody to
be seen.

The most striking feature was the long curtain over the french window.
It was wafting slowly downwards as though some object had just hurtled
through it at great speed.  I trotted over the carpet and peered out
into the dark gard~n.

From somewhere in the gloom I heard a scuffling noise, a thud and a
muffl6t cry, then there was a pitter-patter followed by a shrill
yelping.  I stood for some time listening, then as my eyes grew
accustomed to the darkness I walked dowe the long path under the high
brick wall to the yard at the foot.  The yard do~x was open as were the
big double doors into the back lane, but there was no d*~ Slowly I
retraced my steps to the warm oblong of light at the foot of the ~ old
house.  I was about to close the french window when I heard a steaW,L
movement and an urgent whisper.

` iTI U OyLTI l~Y "Is that you, Jim?"

Triss!  Where the hell have you sprung from?"

The young man tiptoed past me into the room and looked around him:
anxiously.

"It was you, then, not Siegfried?"

"Yes, I've just come in."

He flopped on the sofa and sunk his head in his hands.

"Oh damn!  I was just Iying here a few minutes ago with Lydia in my
arms.  At peace with the world.

Everything was wonderful.  Then I heard the front door open."

"But you knew I was coming back' "Yes, and I'd have given you a shout,
but for some reason I thought,

"God help us, it's Siegfried!"  It sounded like his step in the
passage."

"Then what happened?"

He churned his hair around with his fingers.

"Oh, I panicked.  I was whispering lovely things into Lydia's ear, then
the next second I grabbed her, threw her off the couch and out of the
french window."

"I heard a thud .  . ."

"Yes, that was Lydia falling into the rockery."

"And then some sort of high-pitched cries.  . ."

He sighed and closed his eyes.

"That was Lydia in the rose bushes.  She doesn't know the geography of
the place, poor lass."

"Gosh, Triss," I said.

"I'm really sorry.  I shouldn't have burst in on you like that.  I was
thinking of something else."

He rose wearily and put a hand on my shoulder.

"Not your fault, Jim, not your fault.  You did warn me."  He reached
for his cigarettes.

"I don't know how I'm going to face that girl again.  I just chucked
her out into the lane and told her to beat it home with all speed.  She
must think I'm stone balmy."  He gave a hollow groan.

I tried to be cheerful.

"Oh, you'll get round her again.  You'll have a laugh about it
later."

But he wasn't listening.  His eyes, wide with horror, were staring past
me.

Slowly he raised a trembling finger and pointed towards the fireplace.
His mouth worked for a few seconds before he spoke.

"Christ, Jim, it's gone!"  he gasped.

For a moment I thought the shock had deranged him.

"Gone...?  What's gone ?"

"The bloody dog!  He was there when I dashed outside.  Right there!"

I looked down at the empty basket and a cold hand clutched at me.

"Oh no!

He must have got out through the open window.  We're in trouble."

We rushed into the garden and searched in vain.  We came back for
torches and searched once more, prowling around the yard and back lane,
shouting the little dog's name with diminishing hope.

After ten minutes we trailed back to the brightly lit room and stared
at each other.

Tristan was the first to voice our thoughts.

"What do we tell Miss Wester man when she calls?"

I shook my head.  My mind fled from the thought of informing that lady
that we had lost her dog.

Just at that moment the front door bell pealed in the passage and
Tristan almost leaped in the air.

"Oh God!"  he quavered.

"That'll be her now.  Go and see her, Jim.  Tell her it was my fault
anything you like but I daren't face her."

I squared my shoulders, marched over the long stretch of tiles and
opened the door It wasn't Miss Wester man, it was a well-built platinum
blonde and she glared at me angrily.

~/7U

"Where's Tristan?"  she rasped in a voice which told me we had more
than one~' tough female to deal with tonight.

"Well, he's - er -."

"Oh, I know he's in there!"  As she brushed past me I noticed she had a
smear' of soil on her cheek and her hair was sadly disarranged.  I
followed her into the room where she stalked up to my friend.

"Look at my bloody stockings!"  she burst out.

"They're ruined!"

Tristan peered nervously at the shapely legs.

"I'm sorry, Lydia.  I'll get you another pair.  Honestly, love, I
will."

"You'd better, you bugger!"  she replied.

"And don't "love" me I've never been so insulted in my life.  What did
you think you were playing at?"

"It was all a misunderstan ding.  Let me explain .  . ."  Tristan
advanced on her with a brave attempt at a winning smile, but she backed
away.

"Keep your distance," she said frigidly.

"I've had enough of you for one night' She swept out and Tristan leaned
his head against the mantelpiece.

"The end of a lovely friendship, Jim."  Then he shook himself.

"But we've got to find that dog.  Come on."

I set off in one direction and he went in the other.  It was a moonless
night of impenetrable darkness and we were loo king for a jet black
dog. I think we both knew it was hopeless but we had to try.

In a little town like Darrow by you are soon out on the country roads
where there are no lights and as I stumbled around peering vainly over
invisible fields the utter pointlessness of the activity became more
and more obvious.

Occasionally I came within Tristan's orbit and heard his despairing
cries echoing over the empty landscape.

"Haamiish!  Haamiish!  Haamiish .  . .!"

After half an hour we met at Skeldale House.  Tristan faced me and as I
shook my head he seemed to shrink within himself.  His chest heaved as
he fought for breath.  Obviously he had been running while I had been
walking and I suppose that was natural enough.  We were both in an
awkward situation but the final devastating blow would inevitably fall
on him.

"Well, we'd better get out on the road again," he gasped, and as he
spoke the front door bell rang again.

The colour drained rapidly from his face and he clutched my arm.

"That must be Miss Wester man this time.  God almighty, she's coming
in!"

Rapid footsteps sounded in the passage and the sit ting room door
opened.  But it wasn't Miss Wester man, it was Lydia again.  She strode
over to the sofa, reached underneath and extracted her handbag.  She
didn't say anything but merely shrivelled Tristan with a sidelong
glance before leaving.

"What a night!"  he moaned, put ting a hand to his forehead.

"I can't stand much more of this."

Over the next hour we made innumerable sorties but we couldn't find
Hamish and nobody else seemed to have seen him.  I came in to find
Tristan collapxd in an armchair.  His mouth hung open and he showed
every sign of advanced exhaust ion.  I shook my head and he shook his
then I heard the telephone.

I lifted the receiver, listened for a minute and turned to the young
man.

"I've got to go out, Triss.  Mr Drew's old pony has colic again."

He reached out a hand from the depths of his chair.

"You're not going to leave me, Jim?"

"Sorry, I must.  But I won't be long.  It's only a mile away."

"But what if Miss Wester man comes?"

I shrugged

"You'll just have to ar.olo~ise Hamish is bound to turn up."

maybe in the morn in~.

l "You make it sound easy .  . ."  He ran a hand inside his collar.

"And and .... ~ ~ ~.

`:~ thing how about Siegfried?  What if he arrives and asks about the
dog?  What do I tell him?"

"Oh, I shouldn't worry about that."  I replied airily.

"Just say you were too .

busy on the sofa with the Drovers' barmaid to bother about such things.
He'll understand."

But my attempt at jocularity fell flat.  The young man fixed me with a
cold eye and ignited a quivering Woodbine.

"I believe I've told you this before, Jim, but there's a nasty cruel
streak in you."

Mr Drew's pony had almost recovered when I got there but I gave it a
mild sedative injection before turning for home.  On the way back a
thought struck me and I took a road round the edge of the town to the
row of modern bungalows where Miss Wester man lived.  I parked the car
and walked up the path of number ten.

And there was Hamish in the porch, coiled up comfortably on the mat loo
king up at me with mild surprise as I hovered over him.

"Come on, lad," I said.

"You've got more sense than we had.  Why didn't we think of this
before?"

I deposited him on the passenger seat and as I drove away he hoisted
his paws on to the dash and gazed out interestedly at the road
unfolding in the headlights.

Truly a phlegmatic little hound.

Outside Skeldale House I tucked him under my arm and was about to turn
the handle of the front door when I paused.  Tristan had notched up a
long succession of successful pranks against me fake telephone calls,
the ghost in my bedroom and many others and in fact, good friends as we
were, he never neglected a chance to take the mickey out of me.  In
this situation, with the positions reversed, he would be merciless.  I
put my finger on the bell and leaned on it for several long seconds.

For some time there was neither sound nor movement from within and I
pictured the cowering figure mustering his courage before marching to
his doom.

Then the light came on in the passage and as I peered expectantly
through the glass a nose appeared round the far corner followed very
gingerly by a wary eye.  By degrees the full face inched into view and
when Tristan recognised my grinning countenance he unleashed a cry of
rage and bounded along the passage with upraised fist.

I really think that in his distraught state he would have attacked me,
but the sight of Hamish banished all else.  He grabbed the hairy
creature and began to fondle him.

"Good little dog, nice little dog," he crooned as he trotted through to
the sit ting room.

"What a beautiful thing you are."  He laid him lovingly in the basket,
and Hamish, after a 'heigh-ho, here we are again' glance around him,
put his head along his side and promptly went to sleep.

Tristan fell limply into the armchair and gazed at me with glazed
eyes.

"Well, we're saved, Jim," he whispered.

"But I'll never be the same after tonight.  I've run bloody miles and
I've nearly lost my voice with shouting.  I tell you I'm about
knackered."

I too was vastly relieved, and the nearness of catastrophe was brought
home to us when Miss Wester man arrived within ten minutes.

"Oh, my darling!"  she cried as Hamish leaped at her, mouth open, short
tail wagging furiously.

"I've been so worried about you all day."

She looked tentatively at the ear with its rows of buttons.

"Oh, it does look a lot better without that horrid swelling and what a
nice neat job you have made.  Thank you, Mr Herriot, and thank you,
too, young man."

~Tristan, who had staggered to his feet, bowed slightly as I showed the
lady _ out.

Vet in a Spin ~1 "Bring him back in six weeks to have the stitches
out," I called to her as she

Y~

left, then I rushed back into the room.

"SiegEried's just pulled up outside!  You'd better look as if you've
been working ~ He rushed to the bookshelves, pulled down Gaiger and
Davis's Bacteriology ' and a notebook and dived into a chair.  When his
brother came in he was utterly , engrossed.

Siegfried moved over to the fire and warmed his hands.  He looked pink
and' mellow.  ' "I've just been speaking to Miss Wester man," he
said.

"She's really pleased.

i,if Well done, both of you."

"Thank you," I said, but Tristan was too busy to reply, scanning the
pages anxiously and scribbling repeatedly in the notebook.

Siegfried walked behind the young man's chair and looked down at the
open ~: volume.

"Ah yes, Clostridium septique," he murmured, smiling indulgently.

"That's a good one to study.  Keeps coming up in exams."  He rested a
hand briefly on his brother's shoulder.

"I'm glad to see you at work.  You've been raking about too much lately
and it's get ting you down.  A night at your books will have been good
for you."

He yawned, stretched, and made for the door.

"I'm off to bed.  I'm rather sleepy."  He paused with his hand on the
door.

"You know, Tristan, I quite envy you there's nothing like a nice
restful evening at home."

Chapter Eighteen When I was discharged from hospital I expected to be
posted straight overseas and I wondered if I would be able to catch up
with my old flight and my friends.

However, I learned with surprise that I had~ to go to a convalescent
home for a fortnight before any further action could be taken.  This
was in Puddle stone, near Leo minster - a lovely mansion house in acres
of beautiful gardens.  It was presided over by a delightful old matron
with whom we fortunate airmen played sedate games of croquet or walked
in the cool woods; it was easy to imagine there was no such thing as a
war.  Two weeks of this treatment left me feeling revitalised.  It
wouldn't be long, I felt, before I was back on the job.

From Puddle stone it was back to Manchester and Heat on Park again ant
this time it was st range to think that in all the great sprawl of huts
and thc crowding thousands of men in blue there wasn't a soul who knew
me.

Except, of course, the Wing Commander who had sent me to hospital in
thc first place.  I had an interview with him on my arrival and he came
straight to the point.

"Herriot, "he said.

"I'm afraid you can't fly any more."

"But .  . . I've had the operation .  . . I'm a lot better."  : ' I
know that, but you can no longer be classed as 100% fit.  You have bceD
~ officially downgraded and I'm sure you realise that pilots have to be
grade o - ~i "Yes .  . . of course."  i^~4 He glanced at the file in
his hand.

"I see you are a veterinary-surgeon.  Mn~ - this poses a problem.
Normally when an air crew man is grounded he remu~ Vet in a Spin !

on the ground staff, but yours is a reserved occupation.  You really
can't serve in any capacity but air crew.  Yes .  . . yes .  . . we'll
have to see."

It was all very impersonal and businesslike.  Those few words coming
from a man like him left no room for argument and they obliterated at a
stroke every picture I had ever had of my future in the RAF.

I was fairly cert ain that if my flying days were over I would be
discharged from the service and as I left the Wing Commander's office
and walked slowly back to my hut at the other end of the park I
pondered on my contribution to the war effort.

I hadn't fired a shot in anger.  I had peeled mountains of potatoes,
washed countless dishes, shovelled coke, mucked out pigs, marched for
miles, drilled interminably, finally and magically learned to fly and
now it was all for nothing.

I passed the big dining hall and the RAF march blared out at me from
the loudspeakers.

The familiar sound reminded me of so many experiences, so many friends,
and suddenly I felt intensely lonely.  I wanted somebody to talk to. It
was a new sensation for me, and there, in those unlikely surroundings,
I began to realise how much I used to enjoy chatting to the farmers
during my veterinary calls.

It is one of the nicest things about country practice, but you have to
keep your mind on the job at the same time or you could be in trouble.
And at Mr Duggleby's I nearly landed in the biggest trouble of all.  He
was a small holder who kept a few sows and reared the litters to pork
weight in some ramshackle sheds behind the railway line outside Darrow
by.

He was also a cricket fanatic, steeped in the lore and history of the
game, and he would talk about it for hours on end.  He never tired of
it.

I was a willing listener because cricket has al ways fascinated me,
even though I grew up in Scotland where it is little played.  As I
moved among the pigs only part of my attention was focused on the
little animals most of me was out on the great green oval at Headingley
with the Yorkshire heroes.

"By yaw, you should've seen Len Hut ton on Saturday," he breathed
reverently.

"A hundred and eighty and never gave a chance.  It was lovely to watch
'im."  He gave a fair imitation of the great man's cover drive.

"Yes, I can imagine ft."  I nodded and smiled.

"You said these pigs were lame, Mr Duggleby?"

"Aye, noticed a few of 'em hop pin' about with a leg up this morn in'.
And you know, Maurice Leyland was nearly as good.  Not as classy as
Len, the knows, but by heck 'e can clump 'em."

"Yes, he's a lion-hearted little player is Maurice," I said.  I reached
down grabbed a pig by the tail and thrust my thermometer into its
rectum.

"Remember him and Eddie Paynter in the test match against Australia?"

He gave a dreamy smile.

"Remember it?  By yaw, that's sum mat I'll never forget.  What a day
that was."

I withdrew the thermometer.

"This little chap's got a temperature of a hundred and five.  Must be
some infection somewhere maybe a touch of joint ill."  I felt my way
along the small pink limbs.

"And yet it's funny, the joints aren't swollen."

"Ah reckon Bill Bowes'll skittle Somerset out when they start their
innings today.  This wicket's just to 'is liking."

"Yes, he's a great bowler, isn't he?"  I said.

"I love watching a good fast bowler.

I suppose you'll have seen them all Larwood, Voce, GO.  Allen and the
rest?"

"Aye, that I have.  I could go on all day about those men."

I caught another of the lame pigs and examined it.

"This is rather st range, i~Mr Duggleby.  About half the pigs in this
pen seem to be lame but there's nothing to see."

"Aye well, happen it's like you said joint ill.  You can give 'em a jab
for that, :~ i : :~ : : : can't you?  And while you're coin' it I'll
tell you of the time I saw Wilfred Rhodes take eight wickets in an
afternoon' I filled a syringe.

"Right, we'd better give them all a shot.  Have you got a marking
pencil there?"

The farmer nodded and lifted one of the little animals which promptly
unleashed a protesting scream.

"There was never anybody like awd Wilfred," he shouted above the
noise.

"It was about half past two and the wicket had had a shower of rain on
it when "'skipper threw 'im the ball."

I smiled and raised my syringe.  It passed the time so pleasantly
listening to these reminiscences.  Well content, I was about to plunge
the needle into the pink thigh when one of the pigs began to nibble at
the heel of my wellington I looked down at a ring of the little
creatures all loo king up at me, alarmed by the shrill screeches of
their friend.

My mind was still with Wilfred Rhodes when I noticed what looked like a
small white knob on one of the up tilted snouts.  And there was another
on that one and that one .  . . I had been unable to see their faces
until now because they had been trying to run away from me, but a
warning bell clanged suddenly in my head.

I reached down and seized a pig, and as I squeezed the swelling on the
snout a cold wind blew through me, scattering the gentle vision of
cricket and sunshine and green grass.  It wasn't a knob, it was a
vesicle, a delicate blister which ruptured easily on pressure.

I could feel my arms shaking as I turned the piglet up and began to
examine the tiny cloven feet.  There were more vesicles there, flatter
and mQre diflfuse, but tell ing the same dread story.

Dry-mouthed, I lifted two other pigs.  They were just the same.  As I
turned to the farmer I felt bowed down by a crushing weight of pity,
almost of guilt.

He was still smiling eagerly, anxious to get on with his tale, and I
was about to give him the worst news a veterinary surgeon can give a
stocks man.

"Mr Duggleby," I said.

"I'm afraid I'll have to telephone the Ministry of Agriculture."

"The Ministry .  . .?  What for?"

"To tell them I have a case of suspected Foot and Mouth Disease."

"Foot and Mouth?  Never!"

"Yes, I'm terribly sorry."

"Are you sure?"

"It's not up to me to be definite about it, Mr Duggleby.  One of the
Minis by officers will have to do that I must phone them right away."

It was an unlikely place to find a telephone but Mr Duggleby ran a
little coal delivery round on the side.  I was quickly through to the
Ministry and I spoke to Neville Craggs, one of the full time
officers.

He groaned.

"Sounds awful like it, Jim.  Anyway, stay put till I see you."

In the farm kitchen Mr Duggleby looked at me enquiringly.

"What now?"

"You'll just have to put up with me for a bit," I said.

"I can't leave till I get the verdict."

He was silent for a moment.

"What happens if it's what you think?"

"I'm afraid your pigs will have to be slaughtered."

"Every one of 'em?"

"That is the law I'm sorry.  But you'll get compensation He scratched
his head.

"But they can get better.  Why do you have to kill 'em all?"

"You're quite right."  I shrugged.

"Many animals do recover, but Foot and.

Mouth is fiercely infectious.  While you were treating them it would
have spreat, to neighbouring farms, then all over the country."  ~
"Aye, but look at the expense.  Slaughtering must cost thousands o'
pounds~]

/ ~J

"I agree, but it would cost a lot more the other way.  Apart from the
animals that die, just think of the loss of milk, loss of flesh in
cows, pigs and sheep.  It would come to millions every year.  It's
lucky Britain is an island."

"Reckon you'll be right."  He felt for his pipe.

"And you're pretty sure I've got "Yes."

"Aye well," he murmured.

"These things 'appen."

The old Yorkshire words.  I had heard them so often under circumstances
which would make most city folk, including myself, beat their heads
against a wall.  Mr Duggleby's small holding would soon be a silent
place of death, but he just chewed his pipe and said,

"These things 'appen."

It didn't take the Ministry long to make up their minds.  The source of
the infection was almost certainly some imported meat which Mr Duggleby
hadn't boiled properly with his swill.  The disease was confirmed and a
fifteen mile radius standstill order was imposed.  I disinfected myself
and my car and went home.  I undressed, my clothes were taken away for
fumigation and I climbed into a hot antiseptic bath.

Lying there in the steam, I pondered on what might have been.  If I had
failed to spot the disease I would have gone merrily on my way,
spreading destruction and havoc.  I al ways washed my boots before
leaving a farm, but how about those little pigs nibbling round the hem
of my long coat, how about my syringe, even my thermometer?  My next
call was to have been to Terence Bailey's pedigree herd of dairy short
horns - two hundred peerless cows, a strain built up over generations. 
Foreigners came from all over the world to buy them and I could have
been the cause of their annihilation.

And then there was Mr Duggleby himself.  I could picture him rattling
around the farms in his coal wagon.  He would have done his bit of
spreading, too.  And like as not he would have taken a few store pigs
to the auction mart this week sending the deadly contagion all over
Yorkshire and beyond.  It was easy to see how a major outbreak could
have started a disaster of national importance costing millions.

If I hadn't been sweating already I would have started now at the very
thought of it.  I would have joined the unhappy band of practitioners
who had missed Foot and Mouth.

I knew of some of these people and my heart bled for them.  It could
happen so easily.  Busy men trying to examine kicking, struggling
animals in dark buildings with perhaps part of their mind on the list
of calls ahead.  And the other hazards the total unexpectedness, the
atypical case, various distractions.

My distraction had been cricket and it had nearly caused my downfall.
But I had escaped and, huddling lower in the hot water, I said a silent
prayer of thanks.

Later, with a complete change of clothes and instruments, I continued
on my rounds and as I stood in Terence Bailey's long byre I realised my
luck again.

The long rows of beautiful animals, meticulously groomed, firm high
udders pushing between their hocks, delicate heads, fine legs deep in
straw; they were a picture of bovine perfection and quite
irreplaceable.

Once Foot and Mouth is confirmed in a district there is a tense period
of waiting.

Farmers, veterinary surgeons and most of all, Ministry officials are on
the rack, wondering if there has been any dissemination before
diagnosis, bracing themselves against the telephone message which could
herald the raging spread which they dreaded and which would tear their
lives apart.

To the city dwellers a big Foot and Mouth outbreak is something remote
which they read about in the newspapers.  To the country folk it means
the : ~ : : id; : / 7U ~ G. 16 ~ - ~."- i transformation of the quiet
farms and fields into charnel houses and funeral ~ l pyres.  It means
heartbreak and ruin.

We waited in Darrow by.  And as the days passed and no frightening news
of ~ lame or salivating animals came over the wires it seemed that the
Duggleby :] episode was what we hoped an isolated case caused by a few
shreds of imported meat.

I almost bathed in disinfectant on every farm, sloshing a strong
solution of Iysol over my boots and protective clothing so that my car
reeked of the stuff and I caused wrinkled noses when I entered a shop,
the post office, the bank.  ~j After nearly two weeks I had begun to
feel reasonably safe but when I had a call from the famous Bailey farm
I felt a twinge of apprehension It was Terence Bailey himself.

"Will you come and see one of my cows, Mr Herriot.  She's got blisters
on one of her teats."

"Blisters!"  My heart went bump.

"Is she slav ering, is she lame?"

"Nay, nay, she just has these nasty blisters.  Seem to have fluid in
them."

I was breathless as I put down the receiver.  One nasty blister would
be enough.  It sometimes started like that in cows.  I almost ran out
to my car and on the journey my mind beat about like a trapped bird.

Bailey's was the farm I had visited straight from Duggleby's.  Could I
possibly have carried it there?  But the change of clothes, the bath,
the fresh thermometer and instruments.  What more could I do?  How
about my car wheels?  Well, I had disinfected them, too I couldn't
possibly be blamed, but .  . . but .  . .

It was Mr Bailey's wife who met me.

"I noticed this cow when I was milking this morning, Mr Herriot."  The
herd was still hand-milked and in the hard-working family tradition Mrs
Bailey did her stint night and morning with her husband and the farm
men.

"As soon as I got hold of the teats I could see the cow was uneasy,"
she continued.

"Then I saw there was a lot of little blisters and one big one.  I
managed to milk her and most of the little blisters burst, but the big
one's still there."

I bent and peered anxiously at the udder.  It was as she said lots of
small ruptured vesicles and one large one, intact and fluctuating.  It
was all horribly evocative and without speaking I moved along, grasped
the cow's nose and pulled her head round.  I prised the mouth open and
stared desperately at lips, cheek and dental pad.  I think I would have
fainted if I had found anything in there but it was all clean and
normal.  ~ I lifted each forefoot in turn and scrubbed out the clefts
with soap and water - nothing.  I tied a rope round the hind leg, threw
it over a beam and with thc help of one of the men pulled the foot up.
More scrubbing and searching without success then the same with the
other hind foot.  When I finished I was perspiring but no further
forward.

I took the temperature and found it slightly elevated, then I walked up
and down the byre.

"Is there any trouble among these other cows?"  I asked.

Mrs Bailey shook her head.

"No, there's just this one."  She was a good-loo kin8 woman in her
thirties with the red, roughened complexion of the outdoor worker.

"What do you think it is?"

I didn't dare tell her.  I had a cow with vesicles on the teats right
in the middl.

of a district under Foot and Mouth restrictions.  I just couldn't take
a chanoC .~ I had to bring the Ministry in.  - s Even then I was unable
to speak the dread words.  All I could say was,"C~ I use your phone,
please?"

She Ir`nkerl c,~rnric'~ri hilt cmiled ouicklv

"Yes.  of course.  Come into the.

i l Vet in a Spin As I walked down the byre I looked again at the
beautiful cows and then beyond, at the fold yard where I could see the
young heifers and the tiny calves in their pens.  All of them carrying
the Bailey blood which had been produced and perfected by generations
of careful breeding and selection.  But a humane - killer is no
respecter of such things and if my fears were realised a quick series
Iof bang-bangs would wipe out all this in an hour or two.

We went into the farm kitchen and Mrs Bailey pointed to the door at the
far end.

"The phone's through there in the front room," she said.

I kicked oflf my welling tons and was padding across the floor in my
stockinged feet when I almost fell over Giles, the lusty one-year-old
baby of the family, as he waddled across my path.  I bent to ease him
out of the way and he looked up at me with an enormous cheesy grin.

His mother laughed.

"Just look at him.  Full of the devil, and he's had such a painful arm
since his smallpcx vaccination."

"Poor lad," I said absently, patting his head as I opened the door, my
mind already busy with the uncomfortable conversation ahead.  I had
taken a few strides over the carpet beyond, when I halted abruptly.

I turned and looked back into the kitchen.

"Did you say smallpox vaccination?"

"Yes, all our other children have been done when they were his age but
they've never reacted like this.  I've had to change his dressing every
day."

"You changed his dressing .  . . and you milked that cow .  . . ?"

"Yes, that's right."

A great light beamed suddenly, spilling sunshine into my dark troubled
world.

I returned to the kitchen and closed the door behind me.

Mrs Bailey looked at me for a moment in silence, then she spoke
hesitantly.

"Aren't you going to use the phone?"

"No .  . . no .  . ."  I replied.

"I've changed my mind."

"I see."  She raised her eyebrows and seemed at a loss for words.  Then
she smiled and lifted the kettle.

"Well maybe you'll have a cup of tea, then?"

"Thank you, that would be lovely."  I sank happily on to one of the
hard wooden chairs.

Mrs Bailey put the kettle on and turned to me.

"By the way, you've never told me what's wrong with that cow."

"Oh yes, of course, I'm sorry," I said airily as though I'd just
forgotten to mention it.

"She's got cow pox.  In fact you gave it to her."

"I gave it .  . .?  What do you mean?"

"Well, the vaccine they use for babies is made from the cow pox virus.
You carried it on your hands from the baby to the cow."  I smiled,
enjoying my big moment.

Her mouth fell open slightly, then she began to giggle.

"Oh dear, I don't know what my husband's going to say.  I've never
heard of anything like that."  She wiggled her fingers in front of her
eyes.

"And I'm al ways so careful, too.  But I've been a bit harassed with
the poor little chap's arm."

"Oh well, it isn't serious," I said.

"I've got some ointment in the car which will cure it quite quickly."

I sipped my tea and watched Giles's activities.  In a short time he had
spread chaos throughout the kitchen and at the moment was busily
engaged in removing all the contents of a cupboard in the corner.  Bent
double, small bottom out thrust, he hurled pans, lids, brushes behind
him with intense dedication till the cupboard was empty.  Then, as he
looked around for further employment, he spotted me and tacked towards
me on straddled legs.

My stocking-clad toes seemed to fascinate him and as I wiggled them at
him he grasped at them with fat little hands.  When he had finally
trapped my big toe he looked up at me with his huge grin in which four
tiny teeth glittered.

I smiled back at him with sincere affection as the relief flowed
through me.

It wasn't just that I was grateful to him I really liked him.  I still
like Giles today.  He is one of my clients, a burly farmer with a
family of his own, a deep ;~ love and knowledge of pedigree cows and
the same big grin, except that there ~-Eare a few more teeth in it. .

But he'll never know how near his smallpox vaccination came to giving
me heart failure.

Chapter Nineteerz I looked around me at the heap of boots, the piled
mounds of shirts, the rows of empty shelves and pigeon holes.  I was
employed in the stores at Heat on Park, living proof that the RAF was
finding me something of a problem.

The big war machine was rumbling along pretty smoothly by this time,
turning out pilots, navigators, air-gunners in a steady stream
and-slotting them into different jobs if they failed to make the grade.
It ticked over like a well-oiled engine as long as nothing disturbed
the rhythm.

I was like a speck of sand in the works, and I could tell from various
interviews that I had caused the administrators a cert ain amount of
puzzlement.  I don't suppose Mr Churchill was losing any sleep over me
but since I wasn't allowed to fly and was ineligible for the~ ground
staff I was obviously a bit of a nuisance.

Nobody seemed to have come across a grounded vet before.

Of course it was inevitable that I would be sent back to my practice,
but I could see that it was going to take some time for the RAF to
regurgitate me into civil life.  Apparently I had to go through the
motions even though some of them were meaningless.  ~ One of the
interviews was with three officers.  They were very nice and they sat
behind a table, beaming, friendly, reassuring.  Their task, apparently,
was to find out what ground staff job might suit me.  I think they were
probably psychologists and they asked me all kinds of questions,
nodding and smiling kindly all the time.

"Well now, Herriot," the middle officer said.

"We are going to put you through a series of aptitude tests.  It will
last two days, star ting tomorrow, and by the end of it I think we'll
know all about you."  He laughed.

"It's nothing to worry about.

You might rather enjoy it."

I did enjoy it, in fact.  I filled up great long sheets with my
answers, I drew diagrams, fitted odd-shaped pieces of wood into holes.
It was fun.

I had to wait another two days before I was called before the tribunal
again.

The three were if anything more charming than before and I seemed to
sense an air of subdued excitement about them this time.  They were all
smiling broadly as the middle one spoke.

"Herriot, we have really found out something about you," he said.

"You have?"

"Yes, indeed.  We have found that you have an outstan ding mechanical
aptitude."

T7et in a Spin I stared at him.  This was a facer, because if ever
there was a mechanical idiot that man is J. Herriot.  I have a
loathing for engines, wheels, pistons, cylinders, cogs.  I can't mend
anything and if a garage mechanic tries to explain something to me I
just can't take it in.

I told the officers this and the three smiles became rather fixed.

"But surely," said the one on the left.  'you drive a car in the course
of your professional work?"

"Yes, sir, I do.  I've driven one for years, but I still don't know how
it works and if I break down I have to scream for help."

"I see, I sec."  The smiles were very thin now and the three heads came
together for a whispered consultation.

Finally the middle one leaned across the table.

"Tell you what, Herriot.  How would you like to be a meteorologist?"

"Fine," I replied.

I sympathised with them, because they were obviously kind men, but I've
never had any faith in aptitude tests since then.

Of course there was never the slightest chance of my becoming a
meteorologist and I suppose that's how I landed in the stores.  It was
one of the bizarre periods of my life, mercifully brief but vivid. They
had told me to report to Corporal We ekes at the stores hut and I made
my way through the maze of roads of a Heat on Park populated by st
rangers.

Corporal We ekes was fat and he gave me a quick look over with crafty
eyes.

"Herriot, eh?  Well you can make yourself useful around 'ere.  Not
much to do, really.  This ain't a main stores we deal mainly wiv
laundry and boot repairs."

As he spoke a fair-haired young man came in.

"A.C.2 Morgan, Corporal," he said.

"Come for my boots.  They've been resoled."

We ekes jerked his head and I had my first sight of the boot
mountain.

"They're in there.  They'll be labelled."

The young man looked surprised but he came round behind the counter and
began to delve among the hundreds of identical black objects.  It took
him nearly an hour to find his own pair during which the corporal
puffed at cigarettes with a total lack of interest.  When the boots
were finally unearthed he wordlessly ticked off the name on a long
list.

"This is the sort of thing you'll be doin'," he said to me.

"No thin' to it."

He wasn't exaggerating.  There was nothing to life in those stores.  It
took me only a day or two to realise the sweet existence We ekes had
carved out for himself.  Store-bashing is an honourable trade but not
the way he did it.  The innumerable compartments, niches and alcoves
around the big hut were all marked with letters or numbers and there is
no doubt the incoming boots and shirts should have been tucked away in
order for easy recovery.  But that would have involved work and the
corporal was clearly averse to that.

When the boots came in they were tipped out in the middle of the fioor
and the string-tied packages of laundry were stacked, shirts-uppermost
where they formed a blue tumulus reaching almost to the roof.

After three days I could stand it no longer.

"Look," I said.

"It would pass the time if I had something to do.  Do you mind if I
start put ting all this stuff on the shelves?  It would be a lot easier
to hand out."

We ekes continued to study his magazine he was a big reader and at
first I thought he hadn't heard me.  Then he tongued his cigarette to
the corner of his mouth and glanced at me through the smoke.

"Now just get this through your 'ead, mate," he drawled.

"If I want any _ thing doin"I"II well tell you.  I'm the boss in 'ere
and I give the orders, aw right?"  He resumed his perusal of the
magazine.

I subsided in my chair.  Clearly I had offended my overseer and I would
have to leave things as they were.  ,.~ But overseer is a misnomer for
We ekes because on the following day, after ~a final brain-washing that
the procedure must remain unchanged he disappeared and except for a few
minutes each morning he left me on my own.  I had nothing to do but sit
there behind the wooden counter, ticking off the comings and goings of
the boots and shirts and I had the feeling that I was only one of many
displaced persons who had fallen under his thrall.

I found it acutely embarrassing to watch the lads scrabbling for their
belongings and the strongest impression left with me was of the
infinite tolerance of the British race.  Since I was in charge they
thought I was responsible for the whole system but despite the fact
that I was of lowly rank nobody attacked me .

physically.  Most of them muttered and grumbled as they searched and
one large chap came over to the counter and said,

"You should be filing away these boots in their proper order instead of
sit ting there on your arse, you lazy sod!"  But he didn't punch me on
the nose and I marvelled at it.

But still, the knowledge that great numbers of decent young men shared
his opinion was uncomfortable and I found I was developing a
permanently ingratiating smile.

The only time I came very near to being lynched was when a mob suddenly
appeared one afternoon.  An unexpected leave pass had been granted and
there were hundreds of men milling around on the tarmac and grass
outside the stores.

They wanted their laundry and quick, because they had trains to
catch.

For a moment panic seized me.  I couldn't let them all inside to fight
for their shirts.  Then inspiration came.  I grabbed an armful of the
flat packets from the table shouted the name on the label.

"Walters!"  And from somewhere among the surging heads an eager voice
replied,

"Here!"

I located the source, held the packet between thumb and finger and with
a back-hand flick sent it skimming over the crowd.

"Re illy!"  " "Here!"

"McDonald!"

"Here!"

"Gibson!"

"Here!"

I was get ting quite skilful at it, propelling the blue oblongs
unerringly towards their owners, but it was a slow method of
distribution.  Also, there were occasional disasters when the strings
broke in mid-air, sending a shower of collars on the upturned faces.
Sometimes the shirts themselves burst free from their wrappingS and
plunged to earth.

It wasn't long before the voices had turned from eager to angry.  As my
projectiles planed and glided, volleys of abuse came back at me.

"You've made me miss my train, you useless bugger!"

"Bloody skiver, you want locking up!"

Much of it was in stronger language which I would rather not record
herei -~ but I have a particularly vivid memory of one young man
scraping up his laundry from the dusty ground and approaching me with
rapid strides.  H~ pushed his face to within inches of mine.  Despite
the rage which disfigured it, I could see it was a gentle; good-natured
face.  He looked a well-bred lad, type who didn't even swear, but as he
stared into my eyes his lips trembled and his cheeks twitched.

"This is a .  . ."  he stammered.

"This is a .  . . a bastard system!"

He spat the words out and strode away.

I agreed entirely with him, of course, but continued to hurl the
packets doggedly while somewhere in the back of my mind a little voice
kept enquiring how James Herriot, Member of the Royal College of
Veterinary Surgeons and trainee pilot had ever got into this.

After half an hour there was no appreciable dimunution in the size of
the multitude and I began to be aware of an increasing restlessness
among the medley of waiting faces.

Suddenly there was a concerted movement and the packed mass of men
surged at me in a great wave.  I shrank back, clutching an armful of
shirts, quite cert ain that this was when they rushed me and beat me
up, but my fears were groundless.

All they wanted was a speedier delivery and about a dozen of them swept
past me behind the counter and began to follow my example.

Whereas there had been only a single missile winging over the heads the
sky was now dark with the flying objects.  Mid-air collisions were
frequent.  Collars sprayed, handkerchiefs fluttered, underpants
parachuted gracefully, but after an unbearably long period of chaos the
last airman had picked up his scattered laundry, given me a disgusted
glance and departed.

I was left alone in the hut with the sad knowledge that my prestige was
very low and the equally sad conviction that the RAF still did not know
what to do with me.

Chapter Twenty Occasionally my period in limbo was relieved when I was
allowed out of camp into the city of Manchester.  And I suppose it was
the fact that I was a newfangled parent that made me look at the
various prams in the streets.  Mostly the prams were pushed by women
but now and then I saw a man doing the job.

I suppose it isn't unusual to see a man pushing a pram in a town, but
on a lonely moorland road the sight merits a second glance.  Especially
when the pram contains a large dog.

That was what I saw in the hills above Darrow by one morning and I
slowed down as I drove past.  I had noticed the st range combinatidn
before on several occasions over the last few weeks and it was clear
that man and dog had recently moved into the district.

As the car drew abreast of him the man turned, smiled and raised his
hand.

It was a smile of rare sweetness in a very brown face.  A
forty-year-old face, I thought, above a brown neck which bore neither
collar nor tie, and a faded striped shirt Iying open over a bare chest
despite the coldness of the day.

I couldn't help wondering who or what he was.  The outfit of scuffed
suede golf jacket, corduroy trousers and sturdy boots didn't give much
clue.  Some people might have put him down as an ordinary tramp, but
there was a businesslike energetic look about him which didn't fit the
term.

I wound the window down and the thin wind of a Yorkshire March bit at
my cheeks.

"Nippy this morning," I said.

The man seemed surprised.

"Aye," he replied after a moment.

"Aye, reckon it is.

I looked at the pram, ancient and rusty, and at the big animal sit ting
upright inside it.  He was a lurcher, a cross-bred greyhound, and he
gazed back at me with unruffled dignity.

"Nice dog," I said.

"Aye, that's Jake."  The man smiled again, showing good regular
teeth.

"He's a grand 'un."

I waved and drove on.  In the mirror I could see the compact figure
stepping out briskly, head up, shoulders squared, and, rising like a
statue from the middle of the pram, the huge brindled form of Jake.

I didn't have to wait long to meet the unlikely pair again.  I was
examining a cart horse's teeth in a farmyard when on the hillside
beyond the stable I saw a figure kneeling by a dry stone wall.  And by
his side, a pram and a big dog sit ting patiently on the grass.

"Hey, just a minute."  I pointed at the hill.

"Who is that?"

The farmer laughed.

"That's Roddy Travers.  D'you ken 'im?"

"No, no I don't.  I had a word with him on the road the other day,
that's all."

"Aye, on the road."  He nodded knowingly.

"That's where you'd see Roddy, right enough."

"But what is he?  Where does he come from?"

"He comes from somewhere in Yorkshire, but ah don't rightly know where
and ah don't think anybody else does.  But I'll tell you this he can
turn 'is hand to anything."

"Yes," I said, watching the man expertly laying the flat slabs of stone
as he repaired a gap in the wall.

"There's not many can do what he's doing now."

"That's true.  Wall in' is a skilled job and it's dying out, but
Roddy's a dab hand at it.  But he can do owt - hedgin', dit chin', loo
kin' after stock, it's all the same to him."

I lifted the tooth rasp and began to rub a few sharp corners off the
horse's molars.

"And how long will he stay here?"  ~ "Oh, when he's finished that wall
he'll be off.  Ah could do with 'im stop pin' around for a bit but he
never stays in one place for long."

"But hasn't he got a home anywhere?"

"Nay, nay."  The farmer laughed again.

"Roddy's got nowt.  All 'e has in thc world is in that there pram."

Over the next weeks as the harsh spring began to soften and the
sunshine brought a bright speckle of primroses on to the grassy banks I
saw Roddy quite often, sometimes on the road, occasionally wielding a
spade busily on the ditch.

around the fields.  Jake was al ways there, either loping by his side
or watching him at work.  But we didn't actually meet again till I was
inoculating Mr Paw son's sheep for pulpy kidney.

~' re were three hundred to do and they drove them in batches into a
smaD ~ere Roddy caught and held them for me.  And I could see he was as
at this, too.  The wild hill sheep whipped past him like bullets but hc
Neir fleece effortlessly, sometimes in mid-air, and held the fore leg
up hat bare clean area of skin behind the elbow that nature seemed.

put ~for the veterinary surgeon's needle.

I could.  je, on the windy slopes the big lurcher sat upright in
typical p~

OV~

Iloo king with mild interest at the farm dogs prowling intently around
the pens, but not interfering in any way.

"You've got him well trained," I said.

Roddy smiled.

"Yes, ye'll never find Jake da shin' about anno yin' people.  He knows
'e has to sit there till I'm finished and there he'll sit."

"And quite happy to do so, by the look of him."  I glanced again at the
dog, a picture of contentment.

"He must live a wonderful life, travelling everywhere with you."

"You're right there," Mr Paw son broke in as he ushered another bunch
of sheep into the pen.

"He hasn't a care in "'world, just like his master."

Roddy didn't say anything, but as the sheep ran in he straightened up
and took a long steady breath.  He had been working hard and a little
trickle of sweat ran down the side of his forehead but as he gazed over
the wide sweep of moor and fell I could read utter serenity in his
face.  After a few moments he spoke.

"I reckon that's true.  We haven't much to worry us, Jake and me."

Mr Paw son grinned mischievously.

"By yaw, Roddy, you never spoke a truer word.  No wife, no kids, no
life insurance, no overdraft at t'bank you must have a right peaceful
existence."

"Ah suppose so," Roddy said.

"But then ah've no money either."

The farmer gave him a quizzical look.

"Aye, how about that, then?  Wouldn't you feel a bit more secure, like,
if you had a bit o' brass put by?"

"Nay, nay.  Ye can't take it with you and any road, as long as a man
can pay '~s way, he s got enough."

There was nothing original about the words, but they have stayed with
me all my life because they came from his lips and were spoken with
such profound assurance.

When I finished the inoculations and the ewes were turned out to trot
back happily over the open fields I turned to Roddy.

"Well, thanks very much.  It makes my job a lot quicker when I have a
good catcher like you."  I pulled out a packet of Gold Flake.

"Will you have a cigarette?"

"No, thank ye, Mr Herriot.  I don't smoke."

"You don't?"

"No don't drink either."  He gave me his gentle smile and again I had
the impression of physical and mental purity.  No drinking, no smoking,
a life of constant movement in the open air without material
possessions or ambitions - it all showed in the unclouded eyes, the
fresh skin and the hard muscular frame.  He wasn't very big but he
looked indestructible.

"C'mon, Jake, it's dinner time," he said and the big lurcher bounded
around him in delight.  I went over and spoke to the dog and he
responded with tremendous body-swaying wags, his handsome face loo king
up at me, full of friendliness.

I stroked the long pointed head and tickled the ears.

"He's a beauty, Roddy - a grand 'un, as you said."

I walked to the house to wash my hands and before I went inside I
glanced back at the two of them.  They were sit ting in the shelter of
a wall and Roddy was laying out a thermos flask and a parcel of food
while Jake watched eagerly.

The hard bright sunshine beat on them as the wind whistled over the top
of the wall.  They looked supremely comfortable and at peace.

"He's independent, you see," the farmer's wife said as I stood at the
kitchen sink

"He's welcome to come in for a bit o' dinner but he'd rather stay
outside with his dog."

I nodded.

"Where does he sleep when he's going round the farms like this?"

"Oh, anywhere," she replied.

"In hay barns or granaries or sometimes out in 8U4 Vet In a :Yptn ~ .`
IS in the open, but when he~s with us he sleeps upstairs in one of our
rooms.  Ah know .  ~ j this afternoon.  He was right as rain, lark in'
about on the grass, then he went for a fact any of the farmers would be
willinto have him in the house because ~into a sort o'fit."

he all us keeps himself spotless clean."  E ~"How do you mean?"

"I see."  I pulled the towel from behind the door.

"He's quite a character, isn't #, "Just kind of seized up and toppled
over on 'is side.  He lay there for a bit he?"  ~ ~gaspin' and slav
erin'.  Ahtll tell ye, I thought he was a goner."  His eyes widened She
smiled ruminatively.

"Aye, he certainly is.  Just him and his dog!"  She ~and a corner of
his mouth twitched at the memory.

lifted a fragrant dishful of hot roast ham from the oven and set it on
the table.  ~ '~ "How long did that last?"

"But I'll tell you this.  The feller's all right.  Everybody likes
Roddy Travers _ ;~: "Nob but a few seconds.  Then he got up and you'd
say there was nowt wrong he's a very nice man."  : with 'im."

"But he did it again?"

Roddy stayed around the Darrow by district throughout the summer and I
grew "Aye, time and time again.  Drove me near daft.  But in between 'e
was normal.

used to the sight of him on the farms or pushing his pram along the
roads Normal, Mr Herriot!"

When it was raining he wore a tattered over-long gaberdine coat, but at
other It sounded ominously like the onset of epilepsy.

"How old is he?"  I asked.

times it was al ways the golf jacket and corduroys.  I don't know where
he had "Five gone last February."

accumulated his wardrobe.  It was a safe bet he had never been on a
golf course ~ ~Ah well, it was a bit old for that.  I reached for a
stethoscope and auscultated in his life and it was just another of the
little mysteries about him.  ;: the heart.  I listened intently but
heard only the racing beat of a frightened I saw him early one morning
on a hill path in early October.  It had been a ~animal.  There was no
abnormality.  My thermometer showed no rise in night of iron frost and
the tussocky pastures beyond the walls were held in a .~
~temperature.

pitiless white grip with every blade of grass stiffly ensheathed in
rime.

"Let's have him on the table, Roddy.  You take the back end."

I was muffled to the eyes and had been beating my gloved fingers
against my The big animal was limp in our arms as we hoisted him on to
the smooth knees to thaw them out, but when I pulled up and wound down
the window the surface, but after Iying there for a moment he loc~ked
timidly around him then first thing I saw was the bare chest under the
collarless unbuttoned shirt.

sat up with a slow and careful movement.  As we watched he reached out
and "Morn in', Mr Herriot, "he said.

"Ahtm glad I've seen ye."  He paused and gave licked his master's face
while his tail flickered between his legs me his tranquil smile.

"There's a job along t'road for a couple of weeks, then "Look at that!"
the man exclaimed.

"He's all right again.  You'd think he didn't I'm movie' on."  ~ ail a
thing."

"I see."  I knew enough about him now not to ask where he was going.
Instead And indeed Jake was recovering his confidence rapidly.  He
peered tentatively I looked down at Jake who was sniffling the
herbage.

"I see he's walking this at the floor a few times then suddenly jumped
down, trotted to his master and morning"

Roddy laughed.

"Yes, sometimes 'e likes to walk, sometimes 'e likes to ride.

pull hllSkPadWStatGhalndt hlstchedst the t il i f i I

"W 11, h ' He pleases 'imself.  relief, anyway.  I didn't like the look
of him just then, but whatever's been Right, Roddy,; said.  No doubt we
11 meet again.  All the best to you.  ~ troubling him seems to have
righted itself.  I'll .  . ."

He waved and set off jauntily over the icebound road and I felt that a
little My happy flow was cut oflf.  I stared at the lurcher.  His fore
legs were on the vein of richness had gone from my life.

, floor agam and hls mouth was gaping as he fought for breath.
Frantically he But I was wrong.  That same evening about eight 0 clock
the front door bell gasped and retched then he blundered across the
floor, collided with the pram rang.  I answered it and found Roddy on
the front door steps.  Behind him, JUst wheels and fell on his side.

visible in the frosty darkness, stood the ubiquitous pram.  "What the
hell .

. .!  Quick, get him up again!"  I grabbed the animal round the "I want
you to look at me dog, Mr Herriot, he said.  middle and we lifted him
back on to the table.

"Why, what's the trouble?"

"Ah don't rightly know.  He's havin' sort of .  . . fain tin' fits."  I
watched in disbelief as the huge form lay there.  There was no fight
for "Fainting fits' That doesn't sound like Jake.  Where is he,
anyway?"  breath now - he wasn t breathing at all, he was unconscious.
I pushed my fingers He pointed behind him

"In t'pram, under "'cover."  inside his thigh and felt the pulse.  It
was still going, rapid and feeble, but yet "All right."  I threw the
door wide.

"Bring him in."  he didn t breathe.

Roddy adroitly manhandled the rusty old vehicle up the steps and pushed
it, He could die any moment and I stood there helpless, all my
scientific training squeaking and rattling, along the passage to the
consulting room.  There, under useless.  Finally my frustration burst
from me and I struck the dog on the ribs the bright lights he snapped
back the fasteners and threw off the cover to reveal with the flat of
my hand.

Jake stretched beneath.  "Jake!"  I yelled.

"Jake, what's the matter with you?"

His head was pillowed on the familiar gaberdine coat and around him lay
05 As though in reply, the lurcher immediately started to take great
wheezing master's worldly goods; a string-tied bundle of spare shirt
and socks, a packet breaths, his eyelids twitched back to consciousness
and he began to look about of tea, a thermos, knife and spoon and an
ex-army haversack.  ~ .  him.  But he was still mortally afraid and he
lay prone as I gently stroked his The big dog looked up at me with
terrified eyes and as I patted him I could head.

feel his whole frame quivering.  ~' :-There was a long silence while
the animal's terror slowly subsided, then he "Let him lie there a
minute, Roddy," I said.

"And tell me exactly what yo~l ~sat up on the table and regarded us
placidly.

seen."  ~"There you are," Roddy said softly.

"Same thing again.  Ah can't reckon it up ;~He rubbed his palms
together and his fingers trembled.

"Well it only ~L and ah thought ah knew sum mat about dogs."

L. ~

I didn't say anything.  I couldn't reckon it up either, and I was
supposed to be a veterinary surgeon.  ' I spoke at last.

"Roddy, that wasn't a fit.  He was choking.  Something was ;
interfering with his air flow."  I took my hand torch from my breast
pocket.

"I'm going to have a look at his throat."

I pushed Jake's jaws apart, depressed his tongue with a forefinger and
shone the light into the depths.  He was the kind of good-natured dog
who offered no resistance as I prodded around, but despite my floodlit
view of the pharynx I could find nothing wrong.  I had been hoping
desperately to come across a bit of bone stuck there somewhere but I
ranged feverishly over pink tongue, healthy tonsils and gleaming molars
without success.  Everything looked perfect.

I was tilting his head a little further when I felt him stiffen and
heard Roddy's cry.

"He's goin' again!"

And he was, too.  I stared in horror as the brindled body slid away
from me and lay prostrate once more on the table.  And again the mouth
strained wide and froth bubbled round the lips.  As before, the
breathing had stopped and the rib cage was motionless.  As the seconds
ticked away I beat on the chest with my hand but it didn't work this
time.  I pulled the lower eyelid down from the staring orb the
conjunctive was blue, Jake hadn't long to live.  The tragedy of the
thing bore down on me.  This wasn't just a dog, he was this man's
family and I was watching him die.

It was at that moment that I heard the faint sound.  It was a strangled
cough which barely stirred the dog's lips.

"Damn it!"  I shouted.

"He is choking.  There must be something down there."

Again I seized the head and pushed my torch into the mouth and I shall
al ways be thankful that at that very instant the dog coughed again,
opening the cartilages of the larynx and giving me a glimpse of the
cause of all the trouble.

There, beyond the drooping epiglottis I saw for a fleeting moment a
smooth round object no bigger than a pea.

"I think it's a pebble," I gasped.

"Right inside his larynx."

"You mean, in 'is Adam's apple?"

"That's right, and it's acting like a ball valve, blocking his windpipe
every now and then."  I shook the dog's head.

"You see, look, I've dislodged it for the moment.  He's coming round
again."

Once more Jake was reviving and breathing~ steadily.

Roddy ran his hand over the head, along the back and down the great
muscles of the hind limbs.

"But .  . . but .  . . it'll happen again, won't it?"

I nodded.

"I'm afraid so."

"And one of these times it isn't goin' to shift and that'll be the end
of 'im?"

He had gone very pale.

"That's about it, Roddy, I'll have to get that pebble out."

"But how ...?"

"Cut into the larynx.  And right now it's the only way."

"All right."  He swallowed.

"Let's get on.  I don't think ah could stand it if he went down
again."

I knew what he meant.  My knees had begun to shake, and I had a strong
conviction that if Jake collapsed once more then so would I.

I seized a pair of scissors and clipped away the hair from the ventral
surface of the larynx.  I dared not use a general anaesthetic and
infiltrated the area with local before swabbing with antiseptic.
Mercifully there was a freshly boiled set of instruments Iying in the
steriliser and I lifted out the tray and set it on thc trolley by the
side of the table.

"Hold his head steady," I said hoarsely, and gripped a scalpel.

I cut down through skin, fascia and the thin layers of the sterno-hyoid
and omo-hyoid muscles till the ventral surface of the larynx was
revealed.  This was something I had never done to a live dog before,
but desperation abolished any hesitancy and it took me only another few
seconds to incise the thin membrane and peer into the interior.

And there it was.  A pebble right enough big enough to kill.

I had to fish it out quickly and cleanly without pushing it into the
trachea.

I leaned back and rummaged in the tray till I found some broad-bladed
forceps then I poised them over the wound.  Great surgeons' hands, I
felt sure, didn't shake like this, nor did such men pant as I was
doing.  But I clenched my teeth, introduced the forceps and my hand
magically steadied as I clamped them over the pebble.

I stopped panting, too.  In fact I didn't breathe at all as I bore the
shining little object slowly and tenderly through the opening and
dropped it with a gentle rat-tat on the table.

"Is that it?"  asked Roddy, almost in a whisper.

"That's it."  I reached for needle and suture silk.

"All is well now."

The stitching took only a few minutes and by the end of it Jake was
bright-eyed and alert, paws shifting impatiently, ready for anything.
He seemed to know his troubles were over.

- grey and glistening and tiny, but Roddy brought him back in ten days
to have the stitches removed.  It was, in fact, the very morning he was
leaving the Darrow by district, and after I had picked the few loops of
silk from the nicely healed wound I walked with him to the front door
while Jake capered round our feet.

On the pavement outside Skeldale House the ancient pram stood in all
its high, rusted dignity.  Roddy pulled back the cover.

"Up, boy," he murmured, and the big dog leaped effortlessly into his
accustomed place.

Roddy took hold of the handle with both hands and as the autumn
sunshine broke suddenly through the clouds it lit up a picture which
had grown familiar and part of the daily scene.  The golf jacket, the
open shirt and brown chest, the handsome animal sit ting up, loo king
around him with natural grace.

"Well, so long, Roddy," I said.

"I suppose you'll be round these parts again."

He turned and I saw that smile again.

"Aye, reckon ah'll be back."

He gave a push and they were off, the st range vehicle creaking, Jake
swaying gently as they went down the street.  The memory came back to
me of what I had seen under the cover that night in the surgery.  The
haversack, which would contain his razor, towel, soap and a few other
things.  The packet of tea and the thermos.  And something else a tiny
dog collar.  Could it have belonged to Jake as a pup or to another
loved animal?  It added a little more mystery to the man .  . . and
explained other things, too.  That farmer had been right all Roddy
possessed was in that pram.

And it seemed it was all he desired, too, because as he turned the
corner and disappeared from my view I could hear him whistling.

Chapter Twenty-one They had sent me to East church on the Isle of
Sheppey and I knew it was the last stop.

As I looked along the disorderly line of men I realised I wouldn't be
taking part in many more parades.  And it came to me with a pang that
at the Scar borough Initial Training Wing this would not have been
classed as a parade at all.  I could remember the ranks of blue outside
the Grand Hotel, straight as the Grenadier Guards and every man stan
ding stiffly, loo king neither to left nor right.  Our boots gleaming,
buttons shining like gold and not a movement anywhere as the flight
sergeant led the officer round on morning inspection.

I had moaned as loudly as anybody at the rigid discipline, the 'bull',
the scrubbing and polishing, marching and drilling, but now that it had
all gone it seemed good and meaningful and I missed it.

Here the files of airmen lounged, chatted among themselves and
occasionally took a surreptitious drag at a cigarette as a sergeant out
in front called the names from a list and gave us our leisurely
instructions for the day.

This particular morning he was taking a long time over it, consulting
sheaves of papers and ma king laboured notes with a pencil.  A big
Irishman on my right was becoming increasingly restive and finally he
shouted testily: "For sake, sergeant, get us oflf this square.  Me
feet's kill in ' me!"

The sergeant didn't even look up.

"Shut your mouth, Brady," he replied.

"You'll get off the square when I say so and not before."

It was like that at East church, the great filter tank of the RAF,
where what I had heard described as the 'odds and sods' were finally
sorted out.  It was a big sprawling camp filled with a widely varied
mixture of airmen who had one thing in common; they were all waiting
some of them for re muster, but most for discharge from the service.

There was a resigned air about the whole place, an acceptance of the
fact that we were all just put ting in time.  There was a token
discipline but it was of the most benign kind.  And as I said, every
man there was just waiting .  . . waiting Little Ned Finch in his
remote corner of the high Yorkshire Dales al ways seemed to me to be
waiting, too.  I could remember his boss yelling at him.

"For God's sake, shape up to t'job!  You're not farm in' at all!"  Mr
Daggdt grabbed hold of a leaping calf and glared in exasperation.

Ned gazed back at him impassively.  His face registered no particular
emotion' ~- i in the pale blue eyes I read the expression that was al
ways there as though vas waiting for something to happen, but without
much hope.  He made a five attempt to catch a calf but was brushed
aside, then he put his arm the neck of another one, a chunky little
animal of three months, and we' long a few yards before being deposited
on his back in the straw.

'any it, do this one, Mr Herriot!"  Mr Daggett barked, turning the
hairl rds me.

"It looks as though I'll have to catch 'em all myself."

' I injected the animal.  I was inoculating a batch of twenty with
preventive pneumonia vaccine and Ned was suffering.  With his
diminutive stature and skinny, small-boned limbs he had al ways seemed
to me to be in the wrong job: but he had been a farm worker all his
life and he was over sixty now, grizzled balding and slightly bent, but
still battling on.

Mr Daggett reached out and as one of the shaggy creatures sped past he
scooped the head into one of his great hands and seized the ear with
the other.

The little animal seemed to realise it was useless to struggle and
stood unresisting as I inserted the needle.  At the other end Ned put
his knee against the calf's rear and listlessly pushed it against the
wall.  He wasn't doing much good and his boss gave him a withering
glance.

We finished the bunch with hardly any help from the little man, and as
we left the pen and came out into the yard Mr Daggett wiped his brow.
It was a raw November day but he was sweating profusely and for a
moment he leaned his gaunt six foot frame against the wall as the wind
from the bare moorland blew over him.

"By yaw, he's a useless little beggar is that," he grunted.

"Ah don't know how ah put up with 'im."  He muttered to himself for a
few moments then gave tongue again.  "Hey, Ned!"

The little man who had been trailing aimlessly over the cobbles turned
his pinched face and looked at him with his submissive but strangely
expectant eyes.

"Get them bags o' corn up into the granary!"  his boss ordered.

Wordlessly Ned went over to the cart and with an effort shouldered a
sack of corn.  As he painfully mounted the stone steps to the granary
his frail little legs trembled and bent under the weight.

Mr Daggett shook his head and turned to me.  His long cadaverous face
was set in its usual cast of melancholy.

"You know what's wrong wiNed?"  he murmured confidentially.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know why 'e can't catch them calves?"

My own view was that Ned wasn't big enough or strong enough and anyway
he was naturally inefl~ectual, but I shook my head.

"No," I said.

"Why is it?"

"Well I'll tell ye."  Mr Daggett glanced furtively across the yard then
spoke from behind his hand.

"He's ower fond of "'bright lights."

"Eh ?"

"Ah'm tell in' ye he's crazed over "'bright lights."

"Bright .  . . what .  . . where .  . .?"

Mr Daggett leaned closer.

"He gets over to Bris ton every night."

"Brix ton .  . . ?"  I looked across from the isolated farm to the
village three miles away on the other side of the Dale.  It was the
only settlement in that bleak vista - a straggle of ancient houses dark
and silent against the green fell side.  I could recall that at night
the oil lamps made yellow flickers of light in the windows but they
weren't very bright.

"I don't understand."

"Well .  . . 'e gets into t'pub."

"Ah, the pub."

Mr Daggett nodded slowly and portentously but I was still puzzled.  The
Hulton Arms was a square kitchen where you could get a glass of beer
and where a few old men played dominoes of an evening.  It wasn't my
idea of a den of vice.

"Does he get drunk there?"  I asked.

r

U`J7

"Nay, nay."  The farmer shook his head.

"It's not that.  It's the hours 'e keeps."

"Comes back late, eh?"

"Aye, that 'e does!"  The eyes widened in their cavernous sockets.

"Sometimes ~ ~laughed uproariously at every statement and occurrence;
in fact she laughed at 'e doesn't get back till 'elf past nine or ten
o'clock!"  " the things she said herself.

"Gosh, is that so?"~ ~ "Come in, Mr Herriot, ha-ha-ha," she said.

"It's been a bit nippy today, he "Sure as ah'm stan din' here.  And
there's another thing.  He can't get out of.~ ' he, but I think it'll
get out this afternoon, ho-ho-ho."

'is bed next day.  Ah've done half a day's work before 'e starts."  He
paused and~: i All the mirth may have seemed somewhat unnecessary, and
indeed, it made glanced again across the yard.

"You can believe me or believe me not, but her rather difficult to
understand, but the general effect was cheering.  She led sometimes 'e
isn't on the job till seven o'clock in "'morning!"i me into the drawing
room and her mistress rose with some difficulty from her "Good heavens!
 "chair.

He shrugged wearily.

"Aye well, you see how it is.  Come into "'house, you'llMiss Tremayne
was elderly and half crippled with arthritis but bore her want to wash
your hands."~ affliction without fuss.

In the huge flagged kitchen I bent low over the brown earthenware
sink.

Scar" Ah, Mr Herriot," she said.

"How good of you to come."  She put her head on Farm was four hundred
years old and the various tenants hadn't altered it much~ one side and
beamed at me as though I was the most delightful thing she had since
the days of Henry the Eighth.  Gnarled beams, rough whitewashed walls
seen for a long time.

and hard wooden chairs.  But comfort had never been important to Mr
Daggett~ She, too, had a bubbling, happy personality, and since she
owned three dogs, or his wife who was ladling hot water from the
primitive boiler by the side of two cats and an elderly donkey I had
come to know her very well in her six the fire and pouring it into her
scrubbing bucket.i months' residence in the Dale.

She cropped around over the flags in her clogs, hair pulled back
tightly from My visit was to dress the donkey's overgrown hooves, and a
pair of clippers her weathered face into a bun, a coarse sacking apron
tied round her waist.

She and a blacksmith's knife dangled from my right hand.

had no children but her life was one of constant activity; indoors or
outside, she" Oh, put those grisly instruments down over there," she
said.

"Elsie's bringing worked all the time.  some tea I'm sure you've time
for a cup."

At one end of the room wooden steps led up through a hole in the
ceiling toI sank willingly into one of the brightly covered armchairs
and was loo king a loft where Ned slept.  That had been the little
man's room for nearly fifty round the comfortable room when Elsie
reappeared, gliding over the carpet as years ever since he had come to
work for Mr Daggett's father as a boy from though on wheels.  She put
the tray on the table by my side.

school.  And in all that time he had never travelled further than
Darrow by, "There's yer tea," she said, and went into a paroxysm so
hearty that she had never done anything outside his daily routine.
Wifeless, friendless, he plodded to lean on the back of my chair.  She
had no visible neck and the laughter caused through his life, endlessly
milking, feeding and mucking out, and waiting, Ithe fat little body to
shake all over.

suspected with diminishing hope, for something to happen.  When she had
recovered she rolled back into the kitchen and I heard her With my hand
on the car door I looked back at Scar Farm, at the sagging roof
clattering about with pans.  Despite her idiosyncrasies she was a
wonderful cook tiles, the great stone lintel over the door.  It
typified the harshness of the lives of and very efficient in all she
did.

the people within.  Little Ned was no bargain as a stocks man, and his
boss'sI spent a pleasant ten minutes with Miss Tremayne and the tea,
then I went exasperation was understandable.  Mr Daggett was not a
cruel or an unjust outside and attended to the donkey.  When I had
finished I made my way round man.  He and his wife had been hardened
and squeezed dry by the pitiless the back of the house and as I was
passing the kitchen I saw Elsie at the open austerity of their
existence in this lonely corner of the high Pen nines.

window.

There was no softness up here, no frills.  The stone walls, sparse
grass and" Many thanks for the tea, Elsie," I said.

stunted trees; the narrow road with its smears~ of cow muck. 
Everything was The little woman gripped the sides of the sink to steady
herself.

"Ha-ha-ha down to fundamentals, and it was a miracle to me that most of
the Dalesmenthat's all right.  That's, he-he, quite all right,
ha-ha-ho-ho-ho."

were not like the Daggetts but cheerful and humorous.  Wonderingly I
got into the car and as I drove away, the disturbing thought But as I
drove away, the sombre beauty of the place overwhelmed me.  The came to
me that one day I might say something really witty to Elsie and cause
lowering hillsides burst magically into life as a shaft of sunshine
stabbed through her to do herself an injury.

the clouds, flooding the bare flanks with warm gold.  Suddenly I was
aware of the delicate shadings of green, the rich glowing bronze of the
dead brackenI was called back to Mr Daggett's quite soon afterwards to
see a cow which spilling from the high tops, the whole peaceful majesty
of my work-a-day world.  wouldn't get up.  The farmer thought she was
paralysed.

I hadn't far to drive to my next call just about a mile and it was in a
vastlyI drove there in a thin drizzle and the light was fading at about
four o'clock diflferent atmosphere.  Miss Tremayne, a rich lady from
the south, had bought.

in the afternoon when I arrived at Scar Farm.

a tumbledown manor house and spent many thousands of pounds in
converting When I examined the cow I was convinced she had just got
herself into an it into a luxury home.  As my feet crunched on the
gravel I looked up at the large awkward position in the stall with her
legs jammed under the broken timbers - \ws with their leaded panes, at
the smooth, freshly-pointed stones.  of the partition.

opened the door to me.  She was Miss Tremayne's cook-housekeeper, "I
think she's sulking, Mr Daggett," I said.

"She's had a few goes at rising and of my favourite people.  Aged about
fifty, no more than five feet high now she's decided not to try any
more.  Some cows are like that."

~und as a ball with short bandy legs sticking out from beneath a tight
"Maybe you're right," the farmer replied.

"She's all us been a stupid bitch."

sAnd she's a big one, too.  She'll take a bit of moving."  I lifted a
rope from the ~orning, Elsie," I said, and she burst into a peal of
laughter.  Thi ~byre wall and tied it round the hocks.

"I'll push the feet from the other side - ~'>er remarkable physical
appearance, was what delighted me.  Sb ~while you and Ned pull the legs
round."

t:1 l : : v .  ~ "Pull?"  Mr Daggett.gave the little man a sour look.

"He couldn't pull the skin off a rice puddin'."

Ned said nothing, just gazed dully to his front, arms hanging limp.  He
looked as though he didn't care, wasn't even there with us.  His mind
was certainly elsewhere if his thoughts were mirrored in his eyes
vacant, unheeding, but as al ways, expectant.

I went behind the partition and thrust steadily at the feet while the
men pulled.  At least Mr Daggett pulled, mouth open, gasping with
effort, while Ned leaned languidly on the rope.

Inch by inch the big animal came round till she was Iying almost in the
middle of the stall, but as I was about to call a halt the rope broke
and Mr Daggett flew backwards on to the hard cobbles.  Ned of course
did not fall down because he hand's been trying, and his employer,
stretched flat, glared up at him with frustrated rage.

"Ye little bugger, ye let me do that all by myself!  Ah don't know why
ah bother with you, you're bloody useless."

At that moment the cow, as I had expected, rose to her feet, and the
farmer gesticulated at the little man.

"Well, go on, clang ye, get some straw and rub her legs!  They'll be
numb."

Meekly Ned twisted some straw into a wisp and began to do a bit of
massage.

Mr Daggett got up stiffly, felt gingerly along his back then walked up
beside the cow to make sure the chain hadn't tightened round her neck.
He was on his way back when the big animal swung round suddenly and
brought her cloven hoof down solidly on the farmer's toe.

If he had been wearing heavy boots it wouldn't have been so bad, but
his feet were encased in ancient cracked welling tons which offered no
protection.

"Ow!  Ow!  Ow!"  yelled Mr Daggett, beating on the hairy back with his
fists.

"Gerroff, ye awd bitch!"  He heaved, pushed and writhed but the ten
hundredweight of beef ground down inexorably.

The farmer was only released when the cow slid off his foot, and I know
from experience that that sliding is the worst part.

Mr Daggett hopped around on one leg, nursing the bruised extremity in
his hands.

"Bloody 'ell," he moaned.

"Oh, bloody 'elf.

Just then I happened to glance towards Ned and was amazed to see the
apathetic little face crinkle suddenly into a wid& grin of unholy glee.
I couldn't recall him even smiling before, and my astonishment must
have shown in my face because his boss whipped round suddenly and
stared at him.  As if by magic the sad mask slipped back into place and
he went on with his rubbing.

Mr Daggett hobbled out to the car with me and as I was about to leave
he nudged me.

"Look at 'im," he whispered.

Ned, milk pail in hand, was bustling along the byre with unwonted
energy.

His employer gave a bitter smile.

"It's ttonly time 'e ever hurries.  Can't wait to get out t'pub."

"Oh well, you say he doesn't get drunk.  There can't be any harm in
it."

The deep sunk eyes held me.

"Don't you believe it.  He'll come to a bad end ' -' ~bout the way 'e
does."

~he odd ~lass of beer .  . ."

/ tIl~ v~ ~ ~ here's more than that to it."  He glanced around him.

"Thercs I incredulously.

"Oh come now, Mr Daggett, what women?"

t'pub," he muttered.

"Them Bradley lasses."

dlord's daughters?  Oh really, I can't believe .  . ."

~.

"All right, ye can say what ye like.  He's got 'is eye on 'em. Ah knew
ah've only been in that pub once but ah've seen for me self."

I didn't know what to say, but ih any case I had no opportunity because
he turned and strode into the house.

Alone in the cold darkness I looked at the gaunt silhouette of the old
farmhouse above me.  In the dying light of the November day the rain
streamed down the rough stones and the wind caught at the thin tendril
of smoke from the chimney hurling it in ragged streamers across the
slate blue pallor of the western sky.

The fell hung over every thing, a black featureless bulk, oppressive
and menacing.

Through the kitchen window I could see the oil lamp casting its dim
light over the bare table, the cheerless hearth with its tiny flicker
of fire.  In the shadows at the far end the steps rose intoNed loft and
I could imagine the little figure clambering up to get changed and
escape to Bris ton.

Across the valley the single street of the village was a broken grey
thread in the gloom but in the cottage windows the lamps winked
faintly.  These were Ned Finch's bright lights and I could understand
how he felt.  After Scar Farm Bris ton would be like Monte Carlo.

The image stayed in my mind so vividly that after two more calls that
evening I decided to go a few miles out of my way as I returned
homeward.  I cut across the Dale and it was about half past eight when
I drove into Bris ton.  It was difficult to find the Hulton Arms
because there was no lighted entrance, no attempt to advertise its
presence, but I persevered because I had to find out what was behind Mr
Daggett's tale of debauchery.

I located it at last.  Just like the door of an ordinary house with a
faded wooden sign hanging above it.  Inside, the usual domino game was
in progress, a few farmers sat chatting quietly.  The Misses Bradley,
plain but pleasant-faced women in their forties, sat on either side of
the fire, and sure enough there was Ned with a half pint glass in front
of him.

I sat down by his side.

"Hello, Ned."

"Now then, Mr Herriot," he murmured absently, glancing at me with his
st range expectant eyes.

One of the Bradley ladies put down her knitting and came over.

"Pint of bitter, please," I said.

"What will you have, Ned?"

"Nay, thank ye, Mr Herriot.  This'll do for me.  It's me second and
ah'm not a big drinker, the knows."

Miss Bradley laughed.

"Yes, he nob but has 'is two glasses a night, but he enjoys them, don't
you, Ned?"

"That's right, ah do."  He looked up at her and she smiled kindly down
at him before going for my beer.

He took a sip at his glass.

"Ah really come for "'company, Mr Herriot."

"Yes, of course," I said.  I knew what he meant.  He probably sat on
his own most of the time, but around him was warmth and comfort and
friendliness.  A great log sent flames crackling up to the wide
chimney, there was electric light and shining mirrors with whisky
slogans painted on their surface.  It wasn't anything like Scar Farm.

The little man said very little.  He spun out his drink for another
hour, loo king around him as the dominoes clicked and I lowered another
contemplative pint.

The Misses Bradley knitted and brewed tea in a big black kettle over
the fire and when they had to get up to serve their customers they
occasionally patted Ned playfully on the cheek as they passed.

By the time he tipped down the last drop and rose to go it was a
quarter to ten and he still had to cycle across to the other side of
the Dale.  Another late night for Ned.

ol4 ver zn a OpTTI It was a Tuesday lunchtime in early spring.  Helen
al ways cooked steak and kidney pie on Tuesdays and I used to think
about it all morning on my rounds.

My thoughts that morning had been particularly evocative because
lambing had started and I had spent most of the time in my shirt
sleeves in the biting wind as my hunger grew and grew.

Helen cut into her blissful creation and began to scoop the fragrant
contents on to my plate.

"I met Miss Tremayne in the market place this morning, Jim."

"Oh yes?"  I was almost drooling as my wife stopped shovelling out the
pie, sliced open some jacket potatoes and dropped pats of farm butter
on to the steaming surfaces.

"Yes, she wants you to go out there this afternoon and put some canker
drops in Wilberforce's ears if you have time."

"Oh I have time for that," I said.  Wilberforce was Miss Tremayne's
ancient tabby cat and it was just the kind of job I wanted after my
arm-aching morning

I was raising a luscious forkful when Helen spoke again.

"Oh and she had an interesting item of news."

"Really?"  But I had begun to chew and my thoughts were distant.

"It's about the little woman who works for her Elsie.  You know her?"

I nodded and took another mouthful.

"Of course, of course."

"Well it's quite unexpected, I suppose, but Elsie's get ting
married."

I choked on my pie.

"What!"

"It's true.  And maybe you know the bridegroom."

"Tell me."

"He works on one of the neighbouring farms.  His name is Ned Finch."

This time my breath was cut off completely and Helen had to beat me on
the back as I spluttered and retched.  It wasn't until an occluding
morsel of potato skin had shot down my nose that I was able to utter a
weak croak.

"Ned Finch?"

"That's what she said."

I finished my lunch in a dream, but by the end of it I had accepted the
extraordinary fact.  Helen and Miss Tremayne were two sensible people
there couldn't be any mistake.  And yet .  . . even as I drew up
outside the old Manor House a f~ _ Elsie op "What's She star I put m
The gig holding the' , cling ot~ unreality perslstea.

ened the door as usual.  I looked at her for a moment.

this I hear, Elsie?"  ~ ted a giggle which rapidly spread over her
spherical frame.

~ / hand on her shoulder.

"Is it true?"

I ~le developed into a mighty gale of laughter, and if she hadn't been
handle I am sure she would have fallen over.

A ~A, "A ^; n to get wed "Well, I She had~ e,~ r~~ door.  Then she led
me to the drawing room.

"In ye go," she chuckled.

"Ahtll bring ye some tea."

Miss Tremayne rose to greet me with parted lips and shining eyes.

"Oh, Mr Herriot, have you heard?"

"Yes, but how .  . .?"

"It all started when I asked Mr Daggett for some fresh eggs.  He sent
Ned on his bicycle with the eggs and it was like fate."

"Well, how wonderful."

"Yes, and I actually saw it happen.  Ned walked in that door with his
basket, \sie was clearing the table here and, Mr Herriot."  She
clasped her hands right enough, sne gaspcu.  ~ll 8vC She leaned
helplessly on the door.

"I', m pleased to hear it, Elsie.  I hope you'll be very happy."

n't the strength to sue ak but merely nodded as she lay against the o'~
her chin, smiled ecstatically and her eyes rolled upwards.

"Oh, Mr Herriot, it was love at first sight!"

"Yes .  . . yes, indeed.  Marvellous!"

"And ever since that day Ned has been calling round and now he comes
every evening and sits with Elsie in the kitchen.  Isn't it
romantic!"

"It certainly is.  And when did they decide to get married?"

"Oh, he popped the question within a month, and I'm so happy for Elsie
because Ned is such a dear little man, don't you think so?"

"Yes he is."  I said.

"He's a very nice chap."

Elsie simpered and tittered her way in with the tea then put her hand
over her face and fled in confusion, and as Miss Tremayne began to pour
I sank into one of the armchairs and lifted Wilberforce on to my lap.

The big cat purred as I instilled a few drops of lotion into his ear.
He had a chronic canker condition not very bad but now and then it
became painful and needed treatment.  It was because Miss Tremayne
didn't like put ting the lotion in that I was pressed into service.

As I turned the ear over and genlty massaged the oily liquid into the
depths.

Wilberforce groaned softly with pleasure and rubbed his cheek against
my hand.

He loved this anointing of the tender area beyond his reach and when I
had finished he curled up on my knee.

I leaned back and sipped my tea.  At that moment, with my back and
shoulders weary and my hands red and chapped with countless washings on
the open hillsides this seemed to be veterinary practice at its best.

Miss Tremayne continued.

"We shall have a little reception after the wedding and then the happy
couple will take up residence here."

"You mean, in this house?"

"Yes, of course.  There's heaps of room in this big old place, and I
have furnished two rooms for them on the east side.  I'm sure they'll
be very comfortable.  Oh, I'm so excited about it all!"

She refilled my cup.

"Before you go you must let Elsie show you where they are going to
live."

On my way out the little woman took me through to the far end of the
house.

"This, hee-hee-hee," she said, 'is where we'll sit of a night, and this
ha-hahoho, oh dear me, is our bedroom."  She staggered around for a
bit, wiped her eyes and turned to me for my opinion.

"It's really lovely, Elsie," I said.

There were bright carpets, chairs with flowered covers and a fine
mahogany-ended bed.  It was nothing like the loft.

And as I looked at Elsie I realised the things Ned would see in his
bride.  Laughter, warmth, vivacity, and I had no doubt at all beauty
and glamour.

I seemed to get round to most farms that lambing time and in due course
I landed at Mr Daggett's.  I delivered a fine pair of twins for him but
it didn't seem to cheer him at all.  Lifting the towel from the grass
he handed it to me.

"Well, what did ah tell ye about Ned, eh?  Got mixed up wi' a woman
just like ah said."  He sniffed disapprovingly.

"All that rakin' and chasin' about ah knew he'd get into mischief at
t'finish."

I walked back over the sunlit fields to the farm and as I passed the
byre door Ned came out pushing a wheelbarrow.

"Good morning, Ned," I said.

He glanced up at me in his vague way.

"How do, Mr Herriot."

There was something different about him and it took me a few moments to
discern what it was; his eyes had lost the expectant look which had
been there for so long, and, after all, that was perfectly natural.

Because it had happened at last for Ned.

Chapter Twenty-two Despite the crowds of men milling around East church
I felt cut off and apart.

It made me think of old Mr Potts from my veterinary days.  He must have
felt like that.

"How are you, Mr Herriot?"

Ordinary words, but the eagerness, almost desperation in the old man's
voice made them urgent and meaningful.

I saw him nearly every day.  In my unpredictable life it was difficult
to do anything regularly but I did like a stroll by the river before
lunch and so did my beagle, Sam.  That was when we met Mr Potts and
Nip, his elderly sheepdog - they seemed to have the same habits as us.
His house backed on to the riverside fields and he spent a lot of time
just walking around with his dog.

Many retired farmers kept a bit of land and a few stock to occupy their
minds and ease the transition from their arduous existence to day-long
leisure, but Mr Potts had bought a little bungalow with a scrap of
garden and it was obvious that time dragged.

Probably his health had dictated this.  As he faced me he leaned on his
stick and his bluish cheeks rose and fell with his breathing.  He was a
heart case if ever I saw one.

"I'm fine, Mr Potts," I replied.

"And how are things with you?"

"Nob but middlin', lad.  Ah soon get short o' wind."  He coughed a
couple of times then asked the inevitable question.

"And what have you been coin' this morning'?"  that was when his eyes
grew intent and wide.  He really wanted to know.

I thought for a moment.

"Well now, let's see I al ways tried to give him a detailed answer
because I knew it meant a lot to him and brought back the life he
missed so much.

"I've done a couple of cleansings, seen a lame bullock, treated two
cows with mastitis and another with milk fever."

He nodded eagerly at every word.

"By gaw!"  he exclaimed.

"It's a beggar, that milk fever.  When I were a lad, good cows used to
die like flies with it.  All us good milkers after their third or
fourth calf.  Couldn't get to their feet and we used to dose 'em with
all sorts, but they died, every one of 'em."

"Yes," I said.

"It must have been heartbreaking in those days."

"But then."  He smiled delightedly, digging a forefinger into my
chest.

"Then we started blow in' up their udders wi' a bicycle pump, and d'you
know they jumped up and walked away.  Like magic it were."  His eyes
sparkled at the memory.

"I know, Mr Potts, I've blown up a few myself, only I didn't use a
bicycle pump I had a special little inflation apparatus."

That black box with its shining cylinders and filter is now in my
personal museum, and it is the best place for it.  It had got me out of
some diflicult situations but in the background there had al ways been
the gnawing dread of vet tn a ~n l ,~i transmitting tuberculosis.  I
had heard of it happening and was glad that calcium boro gluconate had
arrived.

As we spoke, Sam and Nip played on the grass beside us, I watched as
the beagle frisked round the old animal while Nip pawed at him
stiffjointedly, his tail waving with pleasure.  You could see that he
enjoyed these meet ings as much as his master and for a brief time the
years fell away from him as he rolled on his back with Sam astride him,
nibbling gently at his chest.

I walked with the old farmer as far as the little wooden bridge, then I
had to turn for home.  I watched the two of them pottering slowly over
the narrow strip of timber to the other side of the river.  Sam and I
had our work pressing but they had nothing else to do.

I used to see Mr Potts at other times, too.  Wandering aimlessly among
the stalls on market days or stan ding on the fringe of the group of
farmers who al ways gathered in front of the Drovers' Arms to meet
cattle dealers, cow feed merchants, or just to talk business among
themselves.

Or I saw him at the auction mart, leaning on his stick, listening to
the rapid-fire chanting of the auctioneer, watching listlessly as the
beasts were bought and sold.  And all the time I knew there was an
emptiness in him, because there were none of his cattle in the stalls,
none of his sheep in the long rows of pens.  He was out of it all, old
and done.

I saw him the day before he died.  It was in the usual place and I was
stan ding at the river's edge watching a heron rising from a rush-lined
island and flapping lazily away over the fields.

The old man stopped as he came abreast of me and the two dogs began
their friendly wrestling.

"Well now, Mr Herriot."  He paused and bowed his head over the stick
which he had dug into the grass of his farm for half a century.

"What have you been coin' today?"

Perhaps his cheeks were a deeper shade of blue and the breath whistled
through his pursed lips as he exhaled, but I can't recall that he
looked any worse than usual.

"I'll tell you, Mr Potts," I said.

"I'm feeling a bit weary.  I ran into a real snorter of a foaling this
morning took me over two hours and I ache all over."

"Foaling, eh?  Foal would be laid wrong, I reckon?"

"Yes, crOss-ways on, and I had a struggle to turn it."

"By yaw, yes, it's hard work is that."  He smiled reminiscently.

"Doesta remember that Clydesdale mare you foaled at ma place?  Must
'ave been one of your first jobs when you came to Darrow by."

"Of course I do," I replied.  And I remembered too, how kind the old
man had been.  Seeing I was young and green and unsure of myself he had
taken pains, in his quiet way, to put me at my ease and give me
confidence.

"Yes," I went on, 'it was late on a Sunday night and we had a right
tussle with it.  There was just the two of us but we managed, didn't
we?"

He squared his shoulders and for a moment his eyes looked past me at
something I couldn't see.

"Aye, that's right.  We made a job of 'er, you and me.

Ah could push and pull a bit then."

"You certainly could.  There's no doubt about that."

He sucked the air in with difficulty and blew it out again with that
peculiar pursing of the lips.  Then he turned to me with a st range
dignity.

"They were good days, Mr Herriot, weren't they?"

"They were, Mr Potts, they were indeed."

"Aye, aye."  He nodded slowly.

"Ah've had a lot o' them days.  Hard but good."

He looked down at his dog.

"And awd Nip shared 'em with me, didn't ye, lad?"

His words took me back to the very first time I had seen Mr Potts.  He
was ~ .. .~. ~ ~.

perched on a stool, milking one of his few cows, his cloth-capped head
thrusting into the hairy flank, and as he pulled at the teats old Nip
dropped a stone on the toe of his boot.  The farmer reached down,
lifted the stone between two fingers and flicked it out through the
open door into the yard.  Nip scurried delightedly after it and was
back within seconds, dropping the stone on the boot and panting
hopefully.

He wasn't disappointed.  His master repeated the throw automatically as
if it was something he did all the time, and as I watched it happening
again and again I realised that this was a daily ritual between the
two.  I had a piercing impression of infinite patience and devotion.

"Right, then, Mr Herriot, we'll be off," Mr Potts said, jerking me
back to the present.

"Come on, Nip."  He waved his stick and I watched him till a low
hanging willow branch hid man and dog from my sight.

That was the last time I saw him.  Next day the man at the petrol pumps
mumbled casually.

"See old Mr Potts got his time in, eh?"

And that was it.  There was no excitement, and only a handful of his
old friends turned up at the funeral.

For me it was a stab of sorrow.  Another familiar face gone, and I
should miss him as my busy life went on.  I knew our daily
conversations had cheered him but I felt with a sad finality that there
was nothing else I could do for Mr Potts.

It was about a fortnight later and as I opened the gate to let Sam into
the riverside fields I glanced at my watch.  Twelve thirty plenty of
time for our pre-lunch walk and the long stretch of green was empty.
Then I noticed a single dog away on the left.  It was Nip, and as I
watched he got up, took a few indeterminate steps over the grass then
turned and sat down again at the gate of his back garden.

Instead of taking my usual route I cut along behind the houses till I
reached the old dog.  He had been loo king around him aimlessly but
when we came up to him he seemed to come to life, sniffing Sam over and
wagging his tail at me.

On the other side of the gate Mrs Potts was doing a bit of weeding,
bending painfully as she plied her trowel.

"How are you, Mrs Potts?"  I said.

With an effort she straightened up.

"Oh, not too bad, thank you, Mr Herriot."

She came over and leaned on the gate.

"I see you're loo kin' at the awd dog.  My word he's mis sin' his
master."

I didn't say anything and she went on.

"He's ~eating all right and I can give him plenty of good food, but
what I can't do is take 'im for walks."  She rubbed her back.

"I'm plagued with rheumatic ks, Mr Herriot, and it takes me all my
time to get around the house and garden."

"I can understand that," I said.

"And I don't suppose he'll walk by himself."

"Nay, he won't.  There's the path he went along every day."  She
pointed to the winding strip of beaten earth among the grass.

"But he won't go more'n a few yards."

"Ah well, dogs like a bit of company just the same as we do."  I bent
and ran my hand over the old animal's head and ears.

"How would you like to come with us, Nip?"

I set off along the path and he followed unhesitatingly, trotting
alongside Sam with swinging tail.

"Eee, look!"  the old lady cried.

"Isn't that grand to see!"

I followed his usual route down to the river where the water ran dark
and 'silent under the branches of the gnarled willows.  Then we went
over the bridge .  front of us the river widened into pebbly shallows
and murmured and red among the stones.

was peaceful down there with only the endless water sound and the
piping of birds in my ears and the long curtain of leaves parting here
and there to give glimpses of the green flanks of the fells.

I watched the two dogs frisking ahead of me and the decision came to me
quite naturally; I would do this regularly.  From that day I altered my
route and went along behind the houses first.  Nip was happy again, Sam
loved the whole idea, and for me there was a st range comfort in the
knowledge that there was still something I could do for Mr Potts.

Chapter Twenty-three I had plenty of time on my hands at East church,
plenty of time to think, and like most servicemen I thought of home.
Only my home wasn't there any more.

When I left Darrow by Helen had gone back to live with her father and
the little rooms under the tiles of Skeldale House would be empty and
dusty now.

But they lived on in my mind, clear in every detail.

I could see the ivy-fringed window loo king over the tumble of roofs to
the green hills, our few pieces of furniture, the bed and side table
and the old wardrobe which only stayed shut with the aid of one of my
socks jammed in the door.  Strangely, it was that dangling woollen toe
which gave me the sharpest stab as I remembered.

And even though it was all gone I could hear the bedside radio playing,
my wife's voice from the other side of the fire and on that winter
evening Tristan shouting up the stairs from the passage far below.

"Jim!  Jim!"

I went out and stuck my head over the bannisters.

"What is it, Triss?"

"Sorry to bother you, Jim, but could you come down for a minute?"  The
upturned face had an anxious look.

I went down the long flights of steps two at a time and when I arrived
slightly breathless on the ground floor Tristan beckoned me through to
the consulting room at the back of the house.  A teenage girl was stan
ding by the table, her hand resting on a stained roll of blanket.

"It's a cat," Tristan said.  He pulled back a fold of the blanket and I
looked down at a large, deeply striped tabby.  At least he would have
been large if he had had any flesh on his bones, but ribs and pelvis
stood out painfully through the fur and as I passed my hand over the
motionless body I could feel only a thin covering of skin.

Tristan cleared his throat.

"There's something else, Jim."

I looked at him curiously.  For once he didn't seem to have a joke in
him.  I watched as he gently lifted one of the cat's hind legs and
rolled the abdomen into view.  There was a gash on the ventral surface
through which a coiled cluster of intestines spilled grotesquely on to
the cloth.  I was still shocked and staring when the girl spoke.

"I saw this cat sit tin' in the dark, down Brown's yard.  I thought 'e
looked skinny, like, and a bit quiet and I bent down to give 'im a pat.
Then I saw 'e was badly hurt and I went home for a blanket and brought
'im round to you."

"That was kind of you," I said.

"Have you any idea who he belongs to?"

The girl shook her head.

"No, he looks like a stray to me."

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~ his throat at regular intervals.  One lunch time I found Helen
kneeling by the box.

"We shall call him Oscar," she said.

"You mean we're keeping him?"

"Yes."

I am fond of cats but we already had a dog in our cramped quarters and
I could see difficulties.  Still I decided to let it go.

"Why Oscar?"

"I don't know."  Helen tipped a few drops of chop gravy onto the little
red tongue and watched intently as he swallowed.

One of the things I like about women is their mystery, the unfathomable
part of them, and I didn't press the matter further.  But I was pleased
at the way things were going.  I had been giving the sulphapyridine
every six hours and taking the temperature night and morning,rexpecting
all the time to encounter the roaring fever, the vomiting and the tense
abdomen of peritonitis.  But it never happened.

It was as though Oscar's animal instinct told him he had to move as
little as possible because he lay absolutely still day after day and
looked up at us and purred.

His purr became part of our lives and when he eventually left his bed,
sauntered through to our kitchen and began to sample Sam's dinner of
meat and biscuit it was a moment of triumph.  And I didn't spoil it by
wondering if he was ready for solid food; I felt he knew.

From then on it was sheer joy to watch the furry scarecrow fill out-and
grow strong, and as he ate and ate and the flesh spread over his bones
the true beauty of his coat showed in the glossy medley of auburn,
black and gold.  We had a handsome cat on our hands.

Once Oscar had recovered, Tristan was a regular visitor.

He probably felt, and rightly, that he, more than I, had saved Oscar's
life in the first place, and he used to play with him for long periods.
His favourite ploy was to push his leg round the corner of the table
and withdraw it repeatedly just as the cat pawed at it.

Oscar was justifiably irritated by this teasing but showed his
character by Iying in wait for Tristan one night and biting him smartly
in the ankle before he could start his tricks.  ~ From my own point of
view Oscar added many things to our menage.  Sam was delighted with him
and the two soon became firm friends, Helen adored him and each evening
I thought afresh that a nice cat washing his face by the hearth gave
extra comfort to a room.

Oscar had been established as one of the family for several weeks when
I came in from a late call to find Helen waiting for me with a stricken
face.

What's happened?"  I asked.

"It's Oscar he's gone!"

~Gone?  What do you mean?"

"Oh, Jim, I think he's run away."

I stared at her.

"He wouldn't do that.  He often goes down to the garden at night.  Are
you sure he isn't there?"

"Absolutely.  I've searched right into the yard.  I've even had a walk
round the town.  And remember."  Her chin quivered.

"He .  . . he ran away from somewhere before."

I looked at my watch.

"Ten o'clock.  Yes, that is st range.  He shouldn't be out at this
time."

As I spoke the front door bell jangled.  I galloped down the stairs and
as I ~, l rounded the corner in the passage I could see Mrs Heslington,
the vicar's wife, through the glass.  I threw open the door.  She was
holding Oscar in her arms.

"I believe this is your cat, Mr Herriot," she said.

"It is indeed, Mrs Heslington.  Where did you find him?"

She smiled.

"Well it was rather odd.  We were having a meet ing of the Mothers'
Union at the church house and we noticed the cat sit ting there in the
room."

"Just sit ting .  . .?"

"Yes, as though he were listening to what we were saying and enjoying
it all.

It was unusual.  When the meet ing ended I thought I'd better bring him
along to you."

"I'm most grateful, Mrs Heslington."  I snatched Oscar and tucked him
under my arm.

"My wife is distraught she thought he was lost."

It was a little mystery.  Why should he suddenly take off like that?
But since he showed no change in his manner over the ensuing week we
put it out of our minds.

Then one evening a man brought in a dog for a distemper inoculation and
left the front door open.  When I went up to our flat I found that
Oscar had disappeared again.  This time Helen and I scoured the market
place and side alleys in vain and when we returned at half past nine we
were both despondent.

It was nearly eleven and we were thinking of bed when the door bell
rang.

It was Oscar again, this time resting on the ample stomach of Jack
Newbould.

Jack was leaning against a doorpost and the fresh country air drifting
in from the dark street was richly intermingled with beer fumes.

Jack was a gardener at one of the big houses.  He hiccuped gently and
gave me a huge benevolent smile.

"Brought your cat, Mr Herriot."

"Gosh, thanks, Jack!"  I said, scooping up Oscar gratefully.

"Where the devil did you find him?"

"Well, smatter o' fact, 'e sort of found me."

"What do you mean?"

Jack closed his eyes for a few moments before articulating carefully.

"Thish is a big night, the knows, Mr Herriot.  Darts championship.
Lots of t'lads round at t"Dog and Gun lotsh and lotsh of 'em.  Big
gather in'."

"And our cat was there?"

"Aye, he were there, all right.  Sit tin' among t'lads.  Shpent t'whole
even in' with us."

"Just sat there, eh?"

"That e' did."  Jack giggled reminiscently.

"By gaw 'e enjoyed is self.  Ah gave 'im a drop o' best bitter out of
me own glass and once or twice ah thought 'e was goin' to have a go at
chuck in' a dart.  He's some cat."  He laughed again.

As I bore Oscar upstairs I was deep in thought.  What was going on
here?

These sudden desertions were upsetting Helen and I felt they could get
on my nerves in time.

I didn't have long to wait till the next one.  Three nights later he
was mis sing again.  This time Helen and I didn't bother to search we
just waited.

He was back earlier than usual.  I heard the door bell at nine o'clock.
It was the elderly Miss Simpson peering through the glass.  And she
wasn't holding Oscar he was prowling on the mat waiting to come in.

Miss Simpson watched with interest as the cat stalked inside and made
for the stairs.

"Ah, good, I'm so glad he's come home safely.  I knew he was your cat
and I've been intrigued by his behaviour all evening

"Where .  . . may I ask?"

"Oh, at the Women's Institute.  He came in shortly after we started and
stayed till the end."

- - - - ~ "Really?  What exactly was your programme, Miss Simpson?"

"Well, there was a bit of committee stuff, then a short talk with
lantern slides by Mr Walters from the water company and we finished
with a cake-ma king competition."

"Yes .  . . yes .  . . and what did Oscar do?"

She laughed

"Mixed with the company, apparently enjoyed the slides and showed great
interest in the cakes."

"I see.  And you didn't bring him home?"

"No, he made his own way here.  As you know, I have to pass your house
and I merely rang your bell to make sure you knew he had arrived."

"I'm obliged to you, Miss Simpson.  We were a little worried."

I mounted the stairs in record time.  Helen was sit ting with the cat
on her knee and she looked up as I burst in.

"I know about Oscar now," I said.

"Know what?"

"Why he goes on these nightly outings.  He's not running away he's
visiting."

"Visiting ?"

"Yes," I said.

"Don't you see?  He likes get ting around, he loves people, especially
in groups, and he's interested in what they do.  He's a natural
mixer."

Helen looked down at the attractive mound of fur curled on her lap.

"Of course .  . . that's it .  . . he's a socialite!"

"Exactly, a high stepper!"

"A cat-about-town!"

It all afforded us some innocent laughter and Oscar sat up and looked
at us with evident pleasure, adding his own throbbing purr to the
merriment.  But for Helen and me there was a lot of relief behind it;
ever since our cat had started his excursions there had been the
gnawing fear that we would lose him, and now we felt secure.

From that night our delight in him increased.  There was endless joy in
watching this facet of his character unfolding.  He did the social
round meticulously, taking in most of the activities of the town.  He
became a familiar figure at whist drives, jumble sales, school concerts
and scout bazaars.  Most of the time he was made welcome, but was twice
ejected from meet ings of the Rural Distria Council who did not seem to
relish the idea of a cat sit ting in on their deliberations.

At first I was apprehensive about his ma king his wet through the
streets but I watched him once or twice and saw that he looked both
ways before tripping daintily across.  Clearly he had excellent traffic
sense and this made me feel that his original injury had not been
caused by a car.

Taking it all in all, Helen and I felt that it was a kind stroke of
fortune which had brought Oscar to us.  He was a warm and cherished
part of our home life.

He added to our happiness.

When the blow fell it was totally unexpected.

I was finishing the evening surgery.  I looked round the door and saw
only a man and two little boys.

"Next, please," I said.

The man stood up.  He had no animal with him.  He was middle-aged, with
the rough weathered face of a farm worker.  He twirled a cloth cap
nervously in his hands.

"Mr Herriot?"  he said.

"Yes, what can I do for you?"

le swallowed and looked me straight in the eyes.

"Ah think you've got rna What ?"

"Ah lost ma cat a bit since."  He cleared his throat.

"We used to live at Miss don but ah got a job as ploughman to Mr Horne
of Wederly.  It was after we moved to Wederly that t'cat went mis sin'.
Ah reckon he was try into find 'is way back to his old home."

"Wederly?  That's on the other side of Braw ton - over thirty miles
away."

"Aye, ah knew, but cats is funny things."

"But what makes you think I've got him?"

He twisted the cap around a bit more.

"There's a cousin o' mine lives in Darrow by and ah heard tell from 'im
about this cat that goes around to meet in's.

I 'ad to come.  We've been hun tin' everywhere."

"Tell me," I said.

"This cat you lost.  What did he look like?"

"Grey and black and sort o' gingery.  Right bonny 'e was.  And 'e was
all us goin' out to gather in's."

A cold hand clutched at my heart.

"You'd better come upstairs.  Bring the boys with you."

Helen was put ting some coal on the fire of the bed-sitter.

"Helen," I said.

"This is Mr er - I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

"Gibbons, Sep Gibbons.  They called me Septimus because ah was the
seventh in family and it looks like ah'm goin' t'same way 'cause we've
got six already.

These are our two youngest."  The two boys, obvious twins of about
eight, looked up at us solemnly.

I wished my heart would stop hammering.

"Mr Gibbons thinks Oscar is his.

He lost his cat some time ago."

My wife put down her little shovel.

"Oh .  . . oh .  . . I sec."  She stood very still for a moment then
smiled faintly.

"Do sit down.  Oscar's in the kitchen, I'll bring him through."

She went out and reappeared with the cat in her arms.  She hadn't got
through the door before the little boys gave tongue.

"Tiger!"  they cried.

"Oh, Tiger, Tiger!"

The man's face seemed lit from within.  He walked quickly across the
floor and ran his big work-roughened hand along the fur.

"Hullo, awd lad," he said, and turned to me with a radiant smile.

"It's 'im, Mr Herriot, It's 'im aw right, and don't 'e look well!"

"You call him Tiger, eh?"  I said.

"Aye," he replied happily.

"It's them gingery stripes.  The kids called 'im that.

They were broken hearted when we lost 'im."

As the two little boys rolled on the floor our Oscar rolled with them,
pawing playfully, purring with delight.

Sep Gibbons sat down again.

"That's the way 'e all us went on withe family.

They used to play with 'im for hours.  By gaw we did miss 'im.  He were
a right favourite.

I looked at the broken nails on the edge of the cap, at the decent,
honest uncomplicated Yorkshire face so like the many I had grown to
like and respect.

Farm men like him got thirty shillings a week in those days and it was
reflected in the threadbare jacket, the cracked, shiny boots and the
obvious hand-me downs of the boys.

But all three were scrubbed and tidy, the man's face like a red beacon,
the children's knees gleaming and their hair carefully slicked across
their foreheads.

They looked like nice people to me.  I didn't know what to say.

Helen said it for me.

"Well, Mr Gibbons."  Her tone had an unnatural brightness.

"You'd better take him."

The man hesitated.

"Now then, are ye sure, Missis Herriot?"

"Yes .  . . yes, I'm sure.  He was your cat first."

i ,~ l "I know you didn't, Mr Gibbons, but you've had him all those
years and you've searched for him so hard.  We couldn't possibly keep
him from you."

He nodded quickly.

"Well, that's right good of ye."  He paused for a moment his face
serious, then he stooped and picked Oscar up.

"We'll have to be off if we're goin' to catch the eight o'clock bus."

Helen reached forward, cupped the cat's head in her hands and looked at
him steadily for a few seconds.  Then she patted the boys' heads.

"You'll take good care of him, won't you?"

"Aye, missis, thank ye, we Will that."  The two small faces looked up
at her and smiled.

"I'll see you down the stairs, Mr Gibbons," I said.

On the descent I tickled the furry cheek resting on the man's shoulder
and heard for the last time the rich purring.  On the front door step
we shook hands and they set off down the street.  As they rounded the
corner of Trengate they stopped and waved, and I waved back at the man,
the two children and the cat's head loo king back at me over the
shoulder.

It was my habit at that time in my life to mount the stairs two or
three at a time but on this occasion I trailed upwards like an old man,
slightly breathless, throat tight, eyes prickling.

I cursed myself for a sentimental fool but as I reached our door I
found a flash of consolation.  Helen had taken it remarkably well.  She
had nursed that cat and grown deeply attached to him, and I'd have
thought an unforeseen calamity like this would have upset her terribly.
But no, she had behaved calmly and rationally.  You never knew with
women, but I was thankful.

It was up to me to do as well.  I adjusted my features into the
semblance of a cheerful smile and marched into the room.

Helen had pulled a chair close to the table and was slumped face down
against the wood.  One arm cradled her head while the other was
stretched in front of her as her body shook with an utterly abandoned
weeping.

I had never seen her like this and I was appalled.  I tried to say
something comforting but nothing stemmed the flow of racking sobs.

Feeling helpless and inadequate I could only sit close to her and
stroke the back of her head.  Maybe I could have said something if I
hadn't felt just about as bad myself.

You get over these things in time.  After all, we told oursflves, it
wasn't as though Oscar had died or got lost again he had gone to a good
family who would look after him.  In fact he had really gone home.

And of course, we still had our much-loved Sam, although he didn't help
in the early stages by sniffing disconsolately where Oscar's bed used
to lie, then collapsing on the rug with a long lugubrious sigh.

There was one other thing, too.  I had a little notion forming in my
mind, an idea which I would spring on Helen when the time was right. It
was about a -~~t shattering night and we were coming out of the cinema
at knd of our half day.  I looked at my watch.

(lock," I said.

"How about going to see Oscar?"

at me in surprise.

"You mean drive on to Wederly?"

about five miles."

lowly across her face.

"That would be lovely.  But do you think ~Vhat?"

iNo, I'm sure they wouldn't.  Let's go."

pig village and the ploughman's cottage was at the far end a walked
down the path.  - -r~ ~tIt"~ll gdL~ ana we A busy-loo king little woman
answered my knock.  She was drying her hands on a striped towel.

"Mrs Gibbons?"  I said.

"Aye, that's me."

`17 ~T____ T T

-~-m James Herriot - and this is my wife."

Her eyes widened uncomprehendingly.  Clearly the name meant nothing to
her.

"We had your cat for a while," I added.

Suddenly she grinned and waved her towel at us.

"Oh aye, ah remember now.

Sep told me about you.  Come in, come in!"

The big kitchen-living room was a tableau of life with six children and
thirty shillings a week.  Battered furniture, rows of much-mended
washing on a pulley black cooking range and a general air of chaos.

Sep got up from his place by the fire, put down his newspaper, took off
a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles and shook hands.

He waved Helen to a sagging armchair.

"Well, it's right nice to see you.  Ah've often spoke of ye to
t'missis."

His wife hung up her towel.

"Yes, and I'm glad to meet ye both.  I'll get some tea in a minn it."

She laughed and dragged a bucket of muddy water into a corner.

"I've been washin' football jerseys.  Them lads just handed them to me
tonight as if I haven't enough to do."

As she ran the water into the kettle I peeped surreptitiously around me
and I noticed Helen doing the same.  But we searched in vain.  There
was no sign of a cat.  Surely he couldn't have run away again ?  With a
growing feeling of dismay I realised that my little scheme could
backfire devastatingly.

It wasn't until the tea had been made and poured that I dared to raise
the subject.

"How' I asked diffidently.

"How is er - Tiger?"

"Oh he's grand," the little woman replied briskly.  She glanced up at
the clock on the mantelpiece.

"He should be back any time now, then you'll be able to see 'im."

As she spoke, Sep raised a finger.

"Ah think ah can hear 'im now."

He walked over and opened the door and our Oscar strode in with all his
ol~ grace and majesty.  He took one look at Helen and leaped on to her
lap.  IVith a cry of delight she put down her cup and stroked the
beautiful fur as the cat arched himself against her hand and the
familiar purr echoed round the room.

"He knows me," she murmured.

"He knows me."

Sep nodded and smiled.

"He does that.  You were good to 'im.  He'll never forget ye, and we
won't either, will we mother?"

"No, we won't, Mrs Herriot," his wife said as she applied butter to a
slice of gingerbread.

"That was a kind thing ye did for us and I 'ope you'll come and see us
all whenever you're near."

"Well, thank you," I said.

"We'd love to we're often in Braw ton."

I went over and tickled Oscar's chin, then I turned again to Mrs
Gibbons.

"By the way, it's after nine o'clock.  Where has he been till now?"

She poised her butter knife and looked into space.

"Let's see, now," she said.

"It's Thursday, isn't it?  Ah yes, it's 'is night for the Yoga
class."

~. ~ H'~

Chapter Twenty-four I knew it was the end of the chapter when I slammed
the carriage door behind me and squeezed into a seat between a fat WAAF
and a sleeping corporal.

I suppose I was an entirely typical discharged serviceman.  They had
taken away my blue uniform and fitted me with a 'demote suit', a
ghastly garment of stiff brown serge with purple stripes which made me
look like an old-time gangster, but they had allowed me to retain my
RAF shirt and tie and the shiny boots which were like old friends.

My few belongings, including Black's Veterinary Dictionary lay in the
rack above in a small cardboard suitcase of a type very popular among
the lower ranks of the services.  They were all I possessed and I could
have done with a coat because it was cold in the train and a long
journey stretched between East church and Darrow by.

It took an age to chug and jolt as far as London then there was a
lengthy wait before I boarded the train for the north.  It was about
midnight when we set off, and for seven hours I sat there in the
freezing darkness, feet numb; teeth chattering.

The last lap was by bus and it was the same rattling little vehicle
which had carried me to my first job those years ago.  The driver was
the same too, and the time between seemed to melt away as the fells
began to rise again from the blue distance in the early light and I saw
the familiar farmhouses, the walls creeping up the grassy slopes, the
fringe of trees by the river's edge.

It was mid morning when we rumbled into the market place and I read
"Darrow by Co-operative Society's above the shop on the far side.  The
sun was high, warming the tiles of the fretted line of roofs with their
swelling green background of hills.  I got out and the bus went on its
way, leaving me stan ding by my case.  ~ And it was just the same as
before.  The sweet air, the silence and the cobbled square deserted
except for the old men sit ting around the clock tower.  One of them
looked up at me.

"Now then, Mr Herriot," he said quietly as though he had seen me only
yesterday.

Before me Trengate curved away till it disappeared round the grocer's
shop on the corner.  Most of the quiet street with the church at its
foot was beyond my view and it was a long time since I had been down
there, but with my eyes closed I could see Skeldale House with the ivy
climbing over the old brick walls to the little rooms under the
eaves.

That was where I would have to make another start; where I would find
out how much I had forgotten, whether I was fit to be an animal doctor
again.  But I wouldn't go along there yet, not just yet .  . .

A lot had happened since that first day when I arrived in Darrow by in
search of a job but it came to me suddenly that my circumstances hadn't
changed much.

All I had possessed then was an old case and the suit I stood in and it
was about the same now.  Except for one great and wonderful thing.  I
had Helen and Jimmy.

OG7

That made all the difference.  I had no money, not even a house to call
my own, but any roof which covered my wife and son was personal and
special.

Sam would be with them, too, waiting for me.  They were outside the
town and it was a fair walk from here, but I looked down at the blunt
toes of my boots sticking from the purple striped trousers.  The RAF
hadn't only taught me to fly, they had taught me to march, and a few
miles didn't bother me.

I took a fresh grip on my cardboard case, turned towards the exit from
the square and set off, left-right, left-right, left-right on the road
for home.

~;~ Local Words: Woodbines short~