Part 19 (2/2)
”Anyway, I don't need to take her temperature, she's got mast.i.tis. Her udder's very hot and swollen. I'll give her a shot of antibiotic and I'm sure she'll be okay.” I was trying to be brisk and business-like, but I wasn't impressing anybody.
Josh spoke again. ”So you don't 'ave to take the temperature?”
”That's right, there's no need.”
”Of course, there's no need,” he said, and they both nodded. ”Don't you worry, Mr. Herriot. It doesn't matter.”
I felt my toes curling. They were trying to humour me. That was the worst part.
Mechanically, I gave the sow her antibiotic injection, hurried through my hand-was.h.i.+ng and declined a cup of tea.
As I drove away, Seb and Josh, side by side on the cobbles of the yard, raised their hands gravely in farewell and I saw the young women watching from the kitchen window. I could read their thoughts.
Poor old Herriot. Not a bad chap, really. It was so sad to see him losing his mind like this.
Chapter 28.
AS I Pa.s.sED MY stethoscope over the old dog's ribs I wondered how much longer he could last.
”Don's heart isn't any better,” I said to old Mr. Chandler, who sat hunched in the armchair by the kitchen fire.
I was doing my best to avoid being gloomy. The heart was definitely worse, in fact I couldn't remember when I had listened to such a heart. It wasn't just the ordinary murmur of valvular incompetence, it was a swis.h.i.+ng, squirting cacophony, filling me with amazement that the life-giving blood could possibly be driven round the organs of the old dog's body.
Don was fourteen, a s.h.a.ggy collie cross, and with the heart weakness there was the inevitable chronic bronchitis adding its own bubblings and gurglings to the symphony within the chest.
”Aye, maybe so.” Mr. Chandler leaned forward in his chair. ”But he's not so bad in other ways. Eats right well, 'e does.”
I nodded. ”Oh yes, he's happy enough, there's no doubt about that.” I patted the old dog's head as he lay on the fireside rug and the tail thumped vigorously as though to prove my words. ”He's not in any pain and still enjoying life.”
”If only it wasn't for that danged cough.” His master grunted. ”He's allus got it and it was worse than ever today. That's why I called ye out.”
”Ah, well, he'll never get rid of that now, but I can help him when it gets really bad. I'll give him a shot now and leave some tablets for him.”
After the injection I counted out a supply of the faithful oxytets.
”Thank ye, Mr. Herriot.” The old man took the packet and placed it on the mantelpiece. ”And really, what do you think his chances are?”
”It's very difficult to say, Mr. Chandler.” I hesitated. ”I've seen dogs with bad hearts go on for years, but then- you never know. Anything could happen any time.”
”Aye...aye... I understand. I'll hope for the best. But it's a bit depressin' when you're an awd widower like me.” He scratched his head and smiled ruefully. ”I've 'ad a rotten night. The television's good company but even that's not workin'.” He pointed to the blank screen in the corner of the room. ”It started goin' funny at tea-time. I've twiddled all the flippin' k.n.o.bs, but it's no good. Do you know anythin' about these things?”
”Afraid not, Mr. Chandler, I've only just bought a set myself.” Television was a new wonder in the early fifties and an impenetrable miracle to a non-mechanical mind like mine. However, I went over and switched on the set. I began to play with the various dials and k.n.o.bs, pus.h.i.+ng in wires, flicking switches off and on.
I heard a sudden cry from the old man. ”Hey, it's back! The picture's back again!”
I stared unbelievingly at the screen. Sure enough, there was a posse thundering over the Texan plain. Somehow, I had done the trick.
”Eee, that's champion, Mr. Herriot!” The old man's face was transfigured. ”That's really cheered me up.”
I felt an unaccustomed flush of triumph. ”Well, I'm glad I was able to help.” But I didn't feel so cheerful as I looked at the dog stretched out on the rug.
”You'll let me know if he gets any worse,” I said, and as I left the cottage I had a nasty feeling that I'd soon be hearing bad news from Mr. Chandler. It would be the end of something, because I had become attached to old Don, one of my good-natured patients, a friendly tail-wagger I had treated for years.
I didn't have long to wait. It was seven o'clock in the evening, three days later, when the phone rang.
”It's Chandler 'ere, Mr. Herriot.”
The voice was strained and anxious, and I steeled myself for what was coming next.
”I don't want to bother ye, Mr. Herriot, but I wonder if ye'd slip out to my place?”
”Yes, of course, Mr. Chandler, I'll come straight away. I can hear how distressed you are.”
”Aye, it's a terrible thing but I know you can fix it.”
I remembered the sounds that had come through my stethoscope, and felt I had to be honest. ”Mr. Chandler, fourteen years is a long time. The old valves do wear out, you know.”
”Fourteen? Dang thing's n.o.bbut two!”
”Two?” Was the old man going soft? ”Don? Two?”
”Don? Ah didn't say Don. T'awd dog's fine since the tablets. It's that flippin' TV, gone off again. Do ye think ye could come and put it right for me?”
Chapter 29.
FARMER WHITEHEAD RUBBED HIS chin doubtfully.
”I don't really know what to make of this feller,” he said. ”He doesn't seem like a farm man, in fact he says he used to be a schoolteacher, but you can tell he knows something about stock-keeping. Anyway, I'm givin' him a trial. It's a heck of a business finding men who'll work up here in this isolated spot, and I can't be too choosy. Let me know what you think about him.”
I nodded. ”Right, I will. Married man, is he?”
”Not half!” The farmer laughed. ”Seven kids, too.”
”Seven! That's quite a family.”
”Aye, it is. And I suppose it's one reason why I took him on. He seemed desperate for a place to live and we've got a good big cottage here. I felt a bit sorry for the chap.” He paused and looked thoughtfully across the yard. ”As I said, he's out of the ordinary.”
I was walking away when he called after me. ”By the way, his name's Basil Courtenay. That's a bit different, too, isn't it?”
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