Every Living Thing Part 7

But it wasn't like that at all. When Mrs. Featherstone came up to me she put a hand on my arm. "Really, Mr. Herriot, you did me a service last night."

"Eh?"

"Yes, you were so understanding. I realise now that I have been foolish about Rollo. I must have been such a nuisance to you."

"Oh, no, no, no..."

"You are kind, but I know I have been unreasonable, troubling you over nothing at inconvenient times and here again I was at your door on a Sat.u.r.day night."

"I a.s.sure you..."

"But instead of being upset, you laughed, and it was so wonderful how you made me see the funny side of my silliness. I feel so ashamed that I refused to listen to you when you so rightly tried to explain that I was worrying needlessly, and I do hope you can forgive me. From now on, I intend to be a sensible dog owner. And Rollo really is quite healthy, isn't he?"

Waves of relief rolled over me as I looked at the little dog, bright-eyed, laughing-faced, leaping almost head high at the sound of his name. "Well, I'm not quite sure. He doesn't look very lively to me."

"Oh, now you are trying to make me laugh again." She put her hand over her mouth with the same embarra.s.sed gesture I remembered, then gave me a quizzical look. "I feel I'm going to laugh a lot more in future."

I haven't had a funny turn for thirty years. They just gradually disappeared from my life. But when I think of that Sat.u.r.day night with Mrs. Featherstone I still get an attack of the s.h.i.+vers.

Chapter 10.

I COULDN'T BELIEVE I was going to launch this boy on his own into the jungle of veterinary practice. Young John Crooks, so familiar a face after the months he had spent seeing practice with us during his university vacations, watching us work, picking up the practical hints and knowledge, doing the odd job himself, but always under our wings, was standing there by my desk, cheerful and smiling as always, but oh, so youthful. He looked about seventeen. It didn't seem fair to send him out there unprotected.

However, there was no doubt that it was J. L. Crooks Esq, MRCVS standing there, suitcase by his side, bright-eyed and eager to go, and I had to adjust to the fact.

I cleared my throat. "Well, John," I said, smiling up at him, "congratulations on qualifying. You're a fully fledged veterinary surgeon now, all your examinations behind you, and it's good to see you here. And, you know, this is quite an occasion. You are the very first a.s.sistant to be employed in the practice of Farnon and Herriot."

He laughed. "Really? That makes me sound very important. But when I was here as a student you had people working for you?"

"Yes, that's right. Tristan, of course, but he's one of the family and we never thought of him as an a.s.sistant. And there were one or two temporary people, but you are the first official man."

"Well, that's nice. And now I'm here I'd better start earning my keep."

"Okay, we'll get your car kitted out and then you'd better report to your digs. You're lodging with Mrs. Barrier aren't you?"

As the young man filled the car boot with the drugs and instruments he was going to need I could see that he was keen to pitch into the unpredictable world of practice, but I wondered just how nervous he was at the prospect of confronting the tough Yorks.h.i.+re farmers on his own. Would he make the grade? Some new graduates just couldn't do it, and as he drove away in his Ford 8 with his bag of tricks rattling behind him I found myself crossing my fingers.

I have a big streak of old hen in me, as my family will testify, and throughout the day I was almost wringing my hands. How was the poor lad getting on? We were so busy that I didn't see him to talk to, and I kept hoping he hadn't come up against any awkward situations. Our farmers were nearly all no-nonsense but kindly men, but there was the odd very difficult client.

I recalled my session with Major Sykes a few days ago. The fierce little man barked at me as I treated his horse. "Herriot, good G.o.d, man! Can't you do better than this? You don't seem to have much idea how to treat this blasted animal!" Then he shouted at his groom, "No, don't put the bucket down there, you b.l.o.o.d.y fool!" He was impossible to please and verbally steamrollered people into the ground, treating everybody, especially, it seemed, vets, like the more dim-witted private soldiers of his army days. In fact, despite myself I often found my thumbs edging into line with the seams of my trousers, taking me back to the RAF.

It was late afternoon when I came into the surgery and looked at the day-book, and the words seemed to jump out at me. "Major Sykes, Hunting horse, laminitis." John had ticked it-he'd be there now.

My eyes popped. One of those adored and valuable hunters-and laminitis, a condition with so many nasty possibilities. No job for a newly qualified young chap. The Major would eat him alive. I had to check up and I hurried out to Roova Grange.

As I got out of the car I could hear the Major's aggressive tones coming from a loose box and I feared John was already going through it.

I peeped over the half-door of the box. A fine bay mare was standing there in the painful, crouching position of laminitis, her hind feet drawn under her body. A foal, obviously only a few days old, was close by her side. The Major, hands on hips, was almost shouting up into John's face.

"Now look here, er...er...what d'ye say your name is? Crooks, yes, now look here, dammit, Crooks, you say this mare has a bad laminitis. b.l.o.o.d.y great temperature, all crippled up, and you're trying to tell me that she'll be all right. Well, I bought her in foal and I bought her in good faith, is she always going to be subject to this, eh, eh? I've heard about horses that are always getting it. Have I been sold a pup, d'ye think? D'you know enough about the job to tell me that, eh, eh?"

The young man, however, did not seem at all put out. He spoke soothingly. "Now, Major Sykes, I've told you the cause of the trouble. Your mare retained her afterbirth when she foaled and she developed metritis. Laminitis is a common complication of this, and what you have here is an isolated case. I've given her a shot of antibiotic and I'll repeat it over the next day or two. That will clear the metritis."

Still bristling, the little man stuck out his chin. "And how about the b.l.o.o.d.y laminitis, what're you going to do about that, eh, eh?"

"Well, as you saw, she's had an injection for that, too." John gave him a serene smile. "And if you'll keep her on bran for a few days and stand her in your pond to cool the feet as I directed, I'm sure she'll soon be back to normal."

"And d'you think she's had it before?"

"No, no, no."

"How the h.e.l.l d'ye know that?"

"Well, now, she's got no lines round her hooves, and look here." He lifted one of the mare's forefeet. "A lovely concave sole. She's never had laminitis before."

"And it won't come back, eh?"

"No likelihood of a recurrence."

"Just hope you're right," the Major grunted.

"I'm sure I am. You'll see. You worry too much, you know." I shuddered and closed my eyes as John reached out and gave the little man a comforting pat on the shoulder. For a moment I thought the Major would erupt, then, to my amazement, his face broke into something like a shy smile. "You think so, eh?"

"I do indeed. You really oughtn't to let things upset you so much."

This was something new in the little man's experience and for a few seconds he looked up into John's face, then he took off his cap and scratched his head. "Well, maybe you're right. Maybe you're right, young man. Heh-heh-heh!"

I couldn't believe it. He was laughing. John threw back his head and laughed, too. It was like a reunion between two old college chums. And suddenly I realised that that wasn't little John Crooks, our student, in there, it was a tall, good-looking, self-a.s.sured veterinary surgeon with a fine big voice that lent authority to everything he said. I slunk away to my car and drove off with a resolution already formed in my mind. I wasn't going to worry about John any more.

He had been with us for a few weeks when I answered the phone one morning. "h.e.l.lo, is that Mr. Herriot?" a cheerful voice enquired. I recognised one of our farmer clients.

"Yes, Mr. Gates," I replied. "What can I do for you?"

"Nay, it's awright. Ah want to speak to t'yoong man."

A pang, unexpectedly deep and piercing, shot through me. What was this? I was the "yoong man," always had been. That was how the clients had invariably referred to me even though I was only six years younger than Siegfried. There was some mistake here.

"Whom did you say you wanted?" I asked.

"T'yoong man-Mr. Crooks."

Ah, well, there it was. I hadn't realised that I had become attached to my t.i.tle and, walking along the pa.s.sage to fetch John, I felt strangely wistful as I faced the fact that, although I was still in my early thirties, I wasn't the young man any more.

From then on, I had to live with an ever-increasing flood of requests for the services of a young man who wasn't me. However, it was only depressing for a short time, because the compensations were enormous. As John settled in to the practice I found a miraculous easing of my life. It was rather wonderful to have an a.s.sistant, especially a good one like him. I had always liked him, but when I got a call to a calving heifer at three o'clock in the morning and was able to pa.s.s it on to him and turn over and go to sleep, I could feel the liking deepening into a warm affection.

He had his own ideas about treatment and wasn't afraid to express them. One day Siegfried found the two of us in the operating room.

"I've been reading about this Inductotherm. Revolutionary new treatment for strained tendons in horses. You just wrap this electric cable round the leg for a certain time every day and the heat clears up the strain."

I gave a non-committal grunt. I seldom had any ideas and, in fact, was const.i.tutionally opposed to any change, any innovation. This trait, I knew, irritated my partner intensely, so I remained silent.

John, however, spoke up. "I've read about it, too, but I don't fancy it."

"Why not?" Siegfried's eyebrows went up.

"Smacks of witchcraft to me," John said.

"Oh, rubbish." Siegfried frowned at him. "I think it sounds perfectly rational. Anyway, I've ordered one of the things and I'd like to bet it'll be a big help to us."

Siegfried was the horse specialist, so I didn't argue, but I was very interested to see how the thing worked, and we soon had the opportunity to find out. The Lord of the Manor of Darrowby, usually called the Squire, kept his horses in some stables at the foot of our street, a mere hundred yards away, and it seemed like fate when he reported a case of strained tendons.

Siegfried rubbed his hands. "Just what we wanted. I've got to go over to Whitby to inspect a stallion, so I'll leave it to you to handle this case, John. I've got a feeling you'll think the treatment is a great advance."

I know my partner was looking forward to saying "I told you so" to the young man, but after a week of the treatment, John still wasn't impressed.

"I've been winding this thing round the horse's leg every day and hanging about, but I can't see any difference. I'm having another session this afternoon, but if it still isn't any better I'm going to suggest a return to the old treatment."

Around five o'clock that afternoon, with heavy rain sweeping along on the wind, I was drawing up outside the surgery when I froze in my seat. I was looking out at something terrible. Several of the Squire's men were carrying a body down the street. It was John. As I got out of the car they bore him into the house and deposited him at the foot of the stairs. He seemed to be unconscious.

"What on earth's happened?" I gasped, looking down in horror at the p.r.o.ne form of my colleague draped over the lower steps.

"T'yoong man's electrocuted 'isself," one of the men said.

"What!"

"Aye, it's right. He were soaked wi' rain and when 'e went to connect up the machine to the plug 'e must have got his fingers on the live metal. He started to yell, but 'e couldn't let go. He went on yellin', but I were hangin' on to the horse's head and I couldn't help 'im. He sort of staggered about, like, and at t'finish he fell over the horse's hind leg and that broke 'is grip on the thing or I think he'd have been a goner!"

"My G.o.d! What can we do?" I turned to Helen, who had appeared from the kitchen. "Could you phone the doctor," I cried. "But wait a minute. I think he's coming round."

John, stretched out on the stairs, had begun to stir, and as he peered up at us through half-closed eyes an amazing flow of colourful language began to pour from him. He went on and on and on.

Helen stared at me, open-mouthed. "Just listen to that! And he's such a nice young man, too!"

I could understand her astonishment, because John was an upright, very correct lad who, unlike most vets, did not swear. However, he had a wonderful store within him, because some of the words were new even to me, which was surprising, considering that I grew up in Glasgow.

After a while the torrent slowed down to an unintelligible mumble, and Siegfried, who had just come in from his rounds, began to ply him with neat gin, which, I believe, is contra-indicated in these cases.

There is no doubt that John could have lost his life, but, mercifully, as the minutes pa.s.sed he recovered steadily till he was able to sit up on the stairs. At last, we adjured him to take it easy and stay where he was, he shook himself, got up, drew himself up to his considerable height and faced Siegfried.

"Mr. Farnon," he said with great dignity. "If you ask me to operate that b.l.o.o.d.y apparatus again I shall tender my resignation."

That was the end of the short career of the Inductotherm.

It was a few days later and as always I felt a little wary when I saw the formidable figure of Sep Craggs bearing down on me in the pa.s.sage at Skeldale House.

"Hey, Herriot," he barked, "I want a word wi' you!"

He was a rude man and I was used to his mode of address, but I put up with it, because he was a valuable client with a large farm that he ran with four grown sons whom he bullied and terrorised.

"Well, Mr. Craggs, what's the trouble?" I asked peaceably.

He glared down at me from his six-foot-four bulk and pushed his face close to mine. "Ah'll tell ye what the trouble is! You've been wastin' ma time!"

"Oh, really? In what way?"

"Remember them mast.i.tis powders you were goin' to put out for me?"

Oh, G.o.d, those sulphanilamide powders. I'd forgotten about them. "I'm terribly sorry, I-"

"You forgot 'em, didn't you! 'Come down this afternoon,' you said. 'They'll be in the box at the door for you.' Well, I came down at three o'clock, but there was nowt in the box and n.o.body knew a thing about it. Ah'm b.l.o.o.d.y cross, I tell ye!"

"Well, as I say, Mr. Craggs, I'm very sorry..."

"Aye, it's awright, bein' sorry, but that doesn't help me. It's a b.l.o.o.d.y long way to Darrowby from ma place and I had to leave me haymakin'. And all for nowt. I'm a busy feller, tha knows, and I can't afford to have ma time wasted like this!"

Oh, h.e.l.l, he was rubbing it in, but he had me cold. I picked up the powders from the dispensary and handed them to him.

He was still grumbling. "I don't want any more of this in the future, so think on. If ye ask me to come here for anything just think on and 'ave it ready for me."

I nodded dumbly, but he wasn't finished yet.

"It's you that needs powders," he grunted. "Thinkin' on powders!" He gave me a final glare and left.

I took a few deep breaths and hoped fervently that I would never transgress again in that quarter.

The incident was still fresh in my mind the following week when I again found Sep Craggs waiting for me at the surgery as I returned from a round.

His face was inscrutable but I felt a twinge of apprehension as he towered over me.

"Ah came this mornin' to pick up a bottle of liniment, but it wasn't in the box," he muttered.

Oh no! Please not again! Was I losing my mind? I dug my nails into my palms. "I'm so sorry... I...I really can't remember arranging this."

But there was no outburst this time. The man was strangely subdued. "It wasn't you, it was t'yoong man."

So it was poor John's turn to fall under the lash. How could I divert the wrath from him? I gave a light laugh. "Oh...I see...Well, Mr. Crooks is a splendid chap but he hasn't the best of memories."

"Nay, nay-don't criticise t'yoong man! He's got enough on 'is mind without botherin' about a little thing like a bottle of liniment."

"Eh?"