Farm Friends

by Rebecca Johnson

  I start to make myself a timetable.

  I am going to be a very busy, very happy trainee vet.

  Max and Harry come rushing into the shed looking very pleased with themselves. Their pockets are bulging with biscuits and they’re holding glasses of milk. ‘We’re going to make a dinosaur barricade around the hay and the lambs to keep the snake out,’ announces Harry proudly. ‘And we’ve brought extra supplies back here while we keep guard.’

  I don’t have the heart to tell the boys that snakes only notice things when they smell them, or sense their heat or movement, none of which their plastic dinosaurs can do.

  I’m pretty good at putting up with bad smells. I work with Mum in her surgery and that means I usually clean out the animals cages, and trust me, that can get pretty nasty on the nose.

  ‘Are you sure you’re happy to do this, Juliet?’ says Mrs Brown.

  We are walking down to the pigsty so she can show me how to feed the pigs. I’m so excited because I don’t have a page in my Vet Diary about pigs and now I can start one.

  ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘A vet needs to know about all sorts of animals.’

  The first thing that surprises me is the size of the pigs. In farm books and stuff they usually look about the same size as sheep, but I am telling you now, they are HUGE! They are almost as high as my chest and nearly as long as two bales of hay.

  I’m starting to understand what Chelsea was trying to warn me about. The smell. Oh, the smell. It is so thick you can almost see it swirling around the pen. And the flies. They are everywhere. As soon as I brush them off, they are back, buzzing around my head as if they’re looking for a way in.

  Mrs Brown must have sensed my shock. ‘How about I do the pigs . . .’

  ‘No!’ I gasp, removing my hand from my mouth for just a second. ‘I can do this. I have to do this. Pigs need vets too.’

  We walk up to the side of the pen and the pigs charge towards us, making loud grunting sounds. The biggest one pushes his huge, snotty snout through the fence. He is covered with patches of stinky mud that has flies clinging to it like freckles on a cupcake.

  ‘Look out, Fido,’ laughs Mrs Brown. She taps the huge boar (that’s what a male pig is called) on the neck with the slops bucket before she pours it into the trough.

  Fido is so impatient he has his head in the trough before she’s even finished pouring it in. He doesn’t even flinch as the sticky goo runs down between his ears and over his fat cheeks. He stamps his trotter (that’s a pig’s foot) excitedly in the oozing mud and a large clump of it flies up and hits me on the leg.

  ‘Gross,’ is all I can say as the sow (that’s a female pig) rushes forward to join the party.

  ‘Hello, Pinky,’ says Mrs Brown.

  In the trough I can see the leftovers from what looks like breakfast and dinner, mixed with a heap of pellets. The pigs snuffle and grunt and squeal as they chase chunks of scrambled eggs, potato skins, soggy toast and mushy peas around the trough with their snouts as though it’s ice-cream.

  ‘They grow on you after a while,’ laughs Mrs Brown when she sees my face.

  ‘Well, now I know why Chelsea says her brothers eat like pigs,’ I reply, holding my nose.

  It’s amazing how time goes by when you’re busy and having fun. Chelsea, Maisy and I wash and groom the horses, and in no time at all I’m back mixing up the lamb’s milk and warming it up. Mrs Brown says I can do it myself this time. She can obviously see I’m nearly a vet.

  As I enter the hay shed I’m a little surprised to see the extent to which the boys have gone to guard the ewe and her lambs. There are plastic dinosaurs all over the floor and the hay, and there are even some hanging from ropes. The boys are wearing black clothes and have hay stuck to their hats and coming out of their pockets. They are lying on their stomachs pointing water pistols in my direction.

  ‘We’ve got you covered, Juliet. It’s safe to come in.’

  ‘Thank goodness,’ I say, rolling my eyes.

  The lamb is happy for me to pick her up and settles comfortably on my lap for her feeding. She sucks greedily on the warm bottle and closes her eyes as she drinks.

  Her mother watches but doesn’t interfere. She seems to trust me.

  ‘Can you keep an eye on things for a while, Juliet?’ says Max. ‘We really need a swim. It’s so hot in here.’

  ‘And it stinks!’ adds Harry. ‘I think the snake might have got a fright from the dinosaurs and had an accident!’

  They laugh themselves stupid and run out of the barn.

  I can smell something really revolting too. I look around, trying to work out what it is, and then I realise it is me! I smell like the pig pen!

  I really am going to have to do something about those pigs. I decide I’ll get started on a plan . . . as soon as I’ve had a swim.

  That night after dinner I talk to Chelsea and Maisy about the ‘pig pong’ problem.

  ‘Oh, I know,’ Maisy agrees. ‘Mum usually feeds them in the morning before she has her shower. I don’t know how she does it. I can’t stand to be near them, especially when it’s been raining because the mud’s always worse then.’

  ‘Maybe what we need to do is find some sort of pig-proof clothing we can wear when we feed them,’ says Chelsea, horrified. ‘Any ideas?’

  ‘Raincoats would help. And gumboots,’ says Maisy.

  ‘What if I ask Mum to bring us some of the face masks she wears in surgery when she comes tomorrow to check Bella and the lamb?’

  ‘And Mum’s got rubber gloves under the sink. They’re fluoro so they’ll look great with the packet of polka dot shower caps my auntie bought me for my birthday!’ adds Maisy.

  ‘Perfect.’ Chelsea smiles as we snuggle down into our sleeping bags.

  I am asleep in minutes.

  The next morning I am up earlier than everyone else because I have to feed Flossy. That’s what I have named my little lamb. As I am making up her bottle I start to think about how busy I am going to be today with feeding all of the animals.

  I decide that to save time what I should do is make up all Flossy’s formula now so that I just have to fill a bottle when she needs it. I search around in the cupboards (I have to be quiet so I don’t wake everyone else up) until I find a big plastic jug. That should do the trick nicely.

  I mix up the formula to the line in the bottle and pour it into the jug. I do it five times so there will be enough milk in there until tomorrow morning. I make up some for her bottle now and put the rest in the fridge. That will make my day (and Mrs Brown’s) a whole lot easier.

  I head down to the shed. As I am sitting feeding Flossy, her mum feeds her other two babies. Shredder, Maisy’s cat, sits purring on the bale of hay right next to me. She likes me because I bring her a saucer of milk. I think that feeding first thing in the morning is going to be my favourite time of the day. All of the animals are really calm, and if I’m very quiet they move about me like I’m not here.

  I look up to see the large white duck come out from her nest behind the barrel. She must be off for her morning swim. As I am watching, four sunshine-yellow ducklings appear behind her. I gasp with delight. Suddenly a tiny hen chick pops out. It races to catch up with the ducklings, then another, then another. The whole procession is followed by a very proud mother hen.

  Mrs Brown will be very pleased. She has four new ducklings and eight new chicks, with two mothers to look after them.

  They disappear down to the pond and I start to panic. What if the chicks think they can swim like the ducklings? I look at Flossy’s half-drained bottle and make a quick decision.

  ‘Sorry, Flossy, I have to go and check on some other babies.’

  I race out the shed door, and even from the top of the hill I can see my suspicions were correct. The duck is on the water, the ducklings are with her and the chook is frantically running up and down beside the pond. I can’t see the chicks anywhere.

  ‘Oh no, oh no,’ is all I can cry as I run towards the pond. My worst fears are
coming true. As I get closer I can see three chicks running along the edge with their mother. But where are the others?

  Then I see them. They’re in the dam. They’re drowning. I plunge into the freezing water and scoop them out, counting as I go. Four, five, six, seven. I put their little wet bodies up on the bank next to the frantic mother hen. They sit, shaking all over. The duck is swimming at me, trying to peck me. She thinks I am stealing her babies.

  ‘Stop it, stop it.’ I’m blubbering like a baby. Suddenly I see the last chick. It isn’t moving. I scoop it up and do what I’ve seen Mum do with puppies that aren’t breathing. I hold it gently between my hands and swing it downwards. Then I rub its little body between my hands. It moves. Just a little, but it moves.

  I have to get the chicks somewhere warm. My clothes are soaking. I see an old ice-cream tub lying on the ground and grab it, dropping the wet chicks inside. I run for the house. The hen is chasing me, the duck is chasing me. The ducklings and three chicks that aren’t wet are chasing the duck.

  I have to warm them up. I try to think of where I’ve seen a lamp. In Mr Brown’s office! I race into the house. I’ll clean the mess later. This is a matter of life and death. The hen follows me in but I am able to shut the door before the duck can join us. I put the tub on the kitchen table and race to the study to get the lamp. There’s a large cardboard box on the floor next to the desk. It’s full of papers and stuff but I have no choice. I tip it all out and run and grab a towel.

  By the time I get back to the kitchen, the hen is on the table, trying to get into the tub. I put the towel in the box and place the chicks on top of it. I find the nearest power point and plug in the lamp and drag the box towards it. Then I grab the squawking hen under one arm, and put her in the box too. Most of the chicks run to her. She sits on them and fusses over them. Except the last one I found. It’s sitting now, but it’s too weak to stand and is shaking all over. Its little eyes are closed and it keeps falling to one side.

  ‘Please don’t die,’ I sob. ‘Not on your birthday.’

  The lamp is warm. I make a little nest out of the towel to support the chicks and ring Mum. She’d know what to do.

  Dad answers and I blurt out, ‘Dad, can you get Mum?’

  ‘Don’t I even get a “Good morning, Dad”? Even when I get out of bed at six-thirty in the morning to answer the phone? Don’t tell me, some animal has just had five thousand babies?’

  I start to cry again.

  ‘Dad, please, get Mum.’

  Dad drops the phone and races for Mum. I finally hear her voice.

  ‘Juliet, what is it?’

  I tell Mum the whole story. She understands why I am so upset but tells me I have done everything I can for the little chicks. She says I should go and wake Mrs Brown and that she will get dressed and come to the dairy straightaway.

  I tiptoe down the hallway. I’ve taken my wet jeans and shoes off and have a towel wrapped around my waist. The bedroom door is closed. I’m too scared to knock. I’m not sure Mr Brown likes seeing me all that much when he’s wide awake. How would he feel about me at this hour of the morning?

  I go back to the kitchen. Mum will be here in a minute. I’ll wait for her.

  When I look back in the box the smallest chick’s fluff is starting to dry, but it still has its eyes closed and looks wobbly. There is nothing else I can do except wait for Mum.

  I remember Flossy’s unfinished bottle and decide to do that while I wait for Mum. She is very pleased to see me again and makes a little ‘baa’ at me and butts her head against my leg. I hug her close.

  Flossy finishes the bottle just as Mum arrives and we sneak into the kitchen to look at the chicks. The duck is still at the door with the ducklings and the other three chicks. Mum helps me catch the last of the chicks to put in with their mother.

  ‘Juliet, did you put all this mud on the floor?’ she gasps.

  ‘I’ll clean it up, Mum. I had no choice.’

  ‘Maybe it was lucky you didn’t wake Mrs Brown.’

  We lean over and look at the chicks. The little one isn’t in the corner. I can’t see it anywhere. I panic, but Mum says it’s a good sign as the best place for her is under her mother.

  Sure enough, we see a little body nestled under the hen’s wing.

  ‘Let’s turn the light off and cover the box to let them get some rest,’ says Mum gently. ‘Nature often has a way of solving problems.’ She gives me a hug and together we clean up the floor.

  Mrs Brown comes into the kitchen in her dressing gown.

  ‘I thought I heard voices! Hello, Rachel. Is everything all right?’

  Mum tells Mrs Brown the whole story. She gives me a big hug too. She is very grateful that the chicks are safe now. She can’t believe the duck thinks it’s the mother too – until she sees it still waiting by the kitchen door with its four little ducklings.

  ‘I’ll have to put them in different pens so they learn who their mother is,’ she laughs.

  Mr Brown comes in from outside. After all that he hadn’t even been in bed. I should have remembered farmers get up really early. He’s also a little surprised to see Mum, but even more surprised to see his desk lamp and his cardboard box on the floor. He smiles at Mum and eyes me suspiciously.

  Mrs Brown comes to my rescue. ‘Sit down and have a cup of tea with us and Rachel will tell you what Juliet, who really is nearly a vet, has done for us already this morning!’

  Mrs Brown makes the tea whilst Mum tells him the whole story again. He seems very appreciative and nods at me with a smile.

  As they take their first sips of tea I realise with horror that I must have put the lamb formula in their normal milk jug and Mrs Brown has just used it in the tea!

  I decide now is a great time to go and wake up Chelsea and Maisy.

  As we all get dressed (and I realise I probably should have packed more than one shirt) I tell the girls all about my exciting morning. I grab my PJ top because it is the only thing left that is clean and dry and put my jumper on over the top. Hopefully it won’t get too hot today. Mum says we can’t disturb the chicks, so we head to the shed to look for some pig-proof gear. Luckily Mum has heaps of face masks in her car.

  ‘There are lots of gumboots over here and this is where Dad hangs all his wet weather coats,’ says Maisy, lifting down the large brown raincoats.

  I realise Chelsea is still standing at the shed door.

  ‘Are you coming, Chelsea?’ I say.

  ‘Um, I might just wait out here. I’d hate to wake the snake so early in the morning.’

  Maisy and I laugh and grab all the stuff and lug it outside. The gumboots are going to be huge and very heavy on our feet, but at least they’ll be poo proof!

  Chelsea picks up a boot. ‘I won’t be able to walk in these. They are so heavy!’ she says as she peers inside. The scream that escapes from her lungs is enough to bring the entire family out to the shed.

  ‘Don’t kill the dinosaur,’ says Max as we all peer into the boot at the snake coiled tightly inside.

  Chelsea is now on top of the fence. ‘I can’t do this,’ she says. ‘I don’t want to be a farm person.’

  ‘How about I relocate my friend to the cow shed?’ laughs Mr Brown, lifting the gumboot. ‘There are plenty of rats down there he can get rid of for me.’

  ‘Can we go with you?’ Harry says, and he and Max race off to get some dinosaurs for protection.

  Chelsea doesn’t move from the fence as Maisy and I check the rest of the boots and coats. Finally we convince her it’s all clear. It takes a long time to get all the gear on. Then we just stand there giggling. We look a bit like a cross between brain surgeons and astronauts.

  As we walk towards the pigsty the smell hits us. Chelsea suggests we wear a couple more face masks each. It almost works.

  The cows are all staring at us and looking a bit anxious. They start milling around and mooing. Mr Brown comes out of the milking shed to see what’s stirring them up. I wave at him but he just sha
kes his head.

  Fido is waiting for us. He stomps his foot impatiently. Revolting, stinky mud splats up around him, but because we are pig proofed we stay nice and clean.

  ‘Why do they have to do that?’ groans Chelsea through her thick mask. Fido has finished his slops and is now rolling in the mud.

  ‘The mud keeps the sun and flies off them. They can actually get quite sunburnt,’ Maisy answers.

  I must remember to write that in my pig notes.

  When we all troop back up to the dairy, Mum’s back. She starts to laugh at our outf its but then realises Mr Brown is a bit flustered. We start peeling off our layers as they speak.

  ‘I’m really sorry to have you out twice in one day, Rachel,’ he says to Mum. ‘But I can’t find her anywhere and if she’s in trouble I need you to be here.’

  I listen closely. I think he’s talking about the pregnant cow, Bella.

  ‘I put her in the top paddock so I could keep an eye on her, but she’s pushed her way through the gate and I can’t see her.’

  ‘It sounds like she might have taken herself off to have the calf. Where could she have gone?’ Mum looks across the huge expanse of paddocks.

  This is terrible. If poor Bella is having trouble there will be no one there to help her. I hate the thought of her being all alone.

  ‘I was just about to take the ute out again to see if she’s gone down over the ridge. It’s fenced off but you never know. Will you come for a ride?’ Mr Brown asks Mum.

  ‘Yes, of course. You girls stay here. We’ll find her. Okay?’ Mum rubs the top of my head and smiles, but it’s a half smile. The smile she uses when she’s trying to break something to you gently. I know she is preparing me for the worst. Mum grabs her vet bag and they both bundle into the ute. I can see she’s worried.

  I pop over to the hay shed while the others check on the horses. I have something I want to do. The other day when I was up here with the boys, I noticed that from the very top of the hay bale pile you can pretty much see the whole farm.