“That’s right.”
“Good, good…but what’s that on your shoulder?”
“That’s Marilyn.”
“Marilyn?”
“Yes, my badger.”
“Badger!”
He laughed, a carefree laugh. “Sorry, maybe I should have warned you in my letter. She’s my pet. Goes everywhere with me.”
“Everywhere?”
“Absolutely.”
All kinds of apprehensions boiled up in my mind. How did a veterinary assistant carry out his duties with a wild animal hanging from his shoulder at all times? And what sort of man would roll up to a new job not only with a badger but with a giant dog?
Anyway, I’d soon find out. I pushed my misgivings to one side and led him out to the car, running a gauntlet of pop-eyed stares from a booking-clerk, two ladies sitting on the platform seat and from a porter who nearly wheeled a load of packing cases into a wall.
“I see you’ve got a dog, too,” I said.
“Yes, that’s Storm. Lovely, good-natured animal.”
The lurcher waved his tail and gazed up at me with kind eyes. I patted the shaggy head. “He looks it.
“Incidentally,” I said. “With a name like yours I was expecting a Scottish accent and you haven’t got one.”
He smiled. “No, I grew up in Yorkshire, but my ancestry is Scottish.” His eyes gleamed and his chin went up.
“You’re proud of that, eh?”
He nodded gravely. “I am indeed. Very proud.”
At Skeldale House I showed him his car and helped to kit him out with the essential equipment we all carried—the drugs, instruments, obstetric gown and protective clothing—then I took him up to the flat, where his main interest seemed to be directed not at the interior but at the birds and flowers he could see through the window overlooking the long garden.
“By the way,” I said. “I should have asked you earlier. Have you had lunch?”
“Lunch?”
“Yes, have you had something to eat?”
“Eat…eat…?” The black button eyes took on a thoughtful expression. “Yes…I’m sure I had something yesterday.”
“Yesterday! My God, it’s nearly four o’clock in the afternoon. You must be starved!”
“Oh, no, not at all, not in the least.”
“You mean you’re not hungry?”
He seemed to find the question unusual, even irrelevant, and replied with a non-committal shrug of the shoulders.
“Anyway,” I said, “I’ll slip downstairs and see what I can find for you.”
In the office cupboard was a large uncut fruit-cake Helen had just baked to go with the cups of coffee we snatched between visits. I put it on a plate with a knife and took it up to the flat.
“Here you are,” I said, placing the cake on the table. “Help yourself and then you can get a proper meal later.”
As I spoke I heard footsteps on the stair and Siegfried burst into the room.
“Calum Buchanan, Siegfried Farnon,” I said.
They shook hands, then Siegfried pointed a trembling finger at the young man’s shoulder. “What the devil is that?”
Calum smiled his engaging smile. “Marilyn, my badger.”
“And you’re going to keep that animal here?”
“That’s right.”
Siegfried took a long breath and let it out slowly through his nose, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he continued to look fixedly at our new assistant.
The young man was talking easily about his experience in practice, his pleasure at coming to a charming town like Darrowby, and about the things he could see in the garden.
He had started on the cake, but didn’t bother to use the knife. Instead, he crumbled pieces off absently as he spoke. “What a beautiful wistaria! Finest I’ve ever seen. There’s a pretty little bullfinch, and surely that’s a tree-creeper on your apple tree—not many of them about. And my word!”— popping a large chunk of sultana-laden comestible into his mouth—“I can see an albino blackbird over there. What a beauty!”
Siegfried was a keen naturalist and ornithologist and normally this conversation would have been right up his street, but he remained silent, his eyes straying unbelievingly from the badger to the dog and to the steadily disappearing cake.
Finally, Calum swept up the last few crumbs with his fingers—I had the impression that he had no interest in what he had eaten—and turned away from the window.
“Well, thank you very much. I’ll get unpacked now if I may.”
I swallowed. “Right, see you later.”
We went downstairs and Siegfried led me rapidly into the empty office. “What the hell have we got here, James? An assistant with a blasted badger round his neck! And a dog as big as a donkey!”
“Well, yes…but he seems to be a nice bloke.”
“Maybe so, but very strange. Did you see—he ate that whole bloody cake!”
“Yes, I saw. But he was very hungry; he hadn’t eaten since yesterday.”
Siegfried stared at me. “Not since yesterday! Are you sure?”
“Sure as I can be. He didn’t seem to know himself.”
My partner groaned and slapped a hand against his forehead. “Oh, God, we should have had an interview before we took this chap on. But he had such glowing references from the university. They said he was outstanding—I thought we couldn’t go wrong.”
“You never know. He may be good at the job—that’s what really counts.”
“Well, we’ll have to hope so, but he’s a bloody oddball and I sense trouble.”
I didn’t say anything, but I had my own misgivings. John Crooks with all his great qualities was, at bottom, just an ordinary nice guy, but there was nothing ordinary about that dark-eyed young man upstairs.
The telephone interrupted my musings. I took the call and turned to Siegfried. “That’s Miles Horsley. He’s got a heifer calving.”
My partner nodded, then pursed his lips thoughtfully. After a few moments he raised a decisive finger. “Right, we’ll send the new man. We’ve been wondering if he can do the job. This is our chance to find out.”
“Wait a minute, Siegfried,” I said. “The young chap’s newly qualified and this is Miles Horsley. He’s an expert—you never get an easy calving there, and it’s a heifer, too. It could be very tough. Maybe I’d better go.”
Siegfried shook his head vigorously. “No, I want to find out what this fellow’s made of and the sooner the better. Shout him down, will you?”
Calum received the instructions calmly, whistling softly as we pointed out the farm on the map. As he turned to go, Siegfried fired a parting shot. “This could be a difficult job, but don’t come back till you have calved that heifer. Do you understand?”
My blood froze but Calum didn’t seem in the least put out. He nodded, gave us a casual wave of the hand and went out to his car.
After he had left, Siegfried turned to me with a grim smile. “You may think I’m hard, James, but I don’t want him coming back here in half an hour with the story that it’s an unusual presentation and would we take over. No, in at the deep end, I say. It’s the best way.”
I shrugged. I just hoped the new young man could swim.
That was around five thirty and by half past seven I was suffering from almost unbearable tension. Pictures of the hapless rookie rolling around on a byre floor, covered in blood and muck, swam through my mind and I found myself looking at my watch every five minutes. I had almost reached the stage of pacing the floor when Siegfried came in, carrying a little dog that had torn its flank and needed stitching. “How did Buchanan get on?” he asked.
“I don’t know. He’s not back yet.”
“Not back!” My partner gave me a level stare. “Something’s wrong, then. Let’s get this dog stitched, then one of us had better get out there and see what’s going on.”
We were both silent as I anaesthetised the little animal and Siegfried began to clean out the wound. I knew we were thinking
the same thing: it had been a mistake to send the new man out there.
As Siegfried inserted the sutures I noticed that he, too, kept glancing at his watch and it was just after eight o’clock when the operating room door opened and Calum Buchanan walked in.
My partner, needle poised, looked at him. “Well…?”
“I’m afraid it was an impossible presentation,” Calum replied. “Small heifer, huge calf with lateral deviation of the head. Right away back, out of reach. No way I could possibly calve her.”
Siegfried flushed and a dangerous light glinted in his eyes. “So…?”
“So I did a Caesarean.”
“You did what?”
Calum smiled calmly. “A Caesarean. It was the only thing to do. The calf was alive, so embryotomy was out of the question.”
Siegfried looked at him open-mouthed. “And tell me…what…what happened?”
“Oh, pretty straightforward, really. The heifer was up and looking fine when I left, and we got a lovely live calf.”
“Well…well…” My partner seemed lost for words—the Caesarean operation on cows was a rare undertaking in the fifties—but finally his natural sense of justice reasserted itself. “Well, my boy, you’ve done a splendid job and I do congratulate you. It was your very first call as a qualified man, too. Well done indeed.”
The young man flashed his dark-eyed smile. “Thank you very much.” He looked down at his hands. “I could do with a bath now if you don’t mind.”
“My dear chap, by all means. And get something to eat, too.”
As the door closed behind our new assistant my partner gave me a wide-eyed look. “Well, what do you make of that?”
“Absolutely great!” I said. “Anybody who can tackle a job like that when he’s only just arrived must be good. My God, he’s hardly had time to get his instruments sorted out in his car!”
“Yes… yes…” Siegfried’s expression was preoccupied as he finished his stitching and he didn’t say anything as he put down his needle and went over to the basin against the wall to wash his hands. Then he turned to me suddenly. “You know, I still can’t quite believe it, James! Do you think he’s having us on?”
I laughed. “Oh, no, of course not. He wouldn’t dare.”
“I don’t know,” grunted Siegfried. “There’s something very odd about that chap. I don’t know where I am with him somehow.” He finished drying his hands and then his face broke into a slow smile. “Tell you what. When we’ve cleared up here we’ll slip out to Miles Horsley’s place. It’s only a ten minutes’ drive and we can have a beer in the village pub. It’s nearly opposite the farm. I won’t be satisfied till I’ve had a look for myself.”
Miles Horsley was a rangy, six-foot Dalesman—a decent man but not one to cross. An advanced dairy farmer, a perfectionist. His granite features relaxed as he answered the door.
“Now then, gentlemen, we’re seeing a lot o’ vets this evening.”
“Ah yes, Miles,” Siegfried said airily. “James and I were having a drink over at the Blacksmith’s Arms and we thought we’d just check on your heifer.”
The farmer nodded. “Aye, right. Come and see.” He led the way over the dark yard, opened a loose box at the far end and switched on the light.
A fine roan heifer was nibbling casually at a rackful of hay while a strapping calf sucked at her udder. On the heifer’s left flank an almost perfect oblong of hair had been shaved away, and running down the middle was as neat a row of stitches as I had ever seen.
“That’s a good young feller you’ve got,” said the farmer. “But, mind you, I wondered who was comin’ when I saw that badger on his shoulder!”
Siegfried was still staring bemusedly at the operation site. “Yes…yes, indeed.”
“Aye, very confident was t’lad,” continued the farmer. “And I liked the way he went about the job. Careful and very clean. Brought all ’is instruments into the house and boiled them up thoroughly before he started. There’ll be no infection after this job, I’ll warrant. And I’ve got a smashin’ calf into the bargain.”
Siegfried ran his hand over the heifer’s back and rubbed the calf’s head. “I’m so pleased things have turned out well. Many thanks, Miles, for letting us have a look.”
In the Blacksmith’s Arms my partner took a thoughtful pull at his glass. “Beautifully tidy work, James, but it’s a funny thing—I can’t help feeling there’s a catch somewhere.”
“Why, whatever do you mean? We’ve got a first-class vet in the practice—that’s obvious.”
“Oh, yes, so it seems. But he’s very peculiar. I keep thinking about that damn badger. And that funny big walrus moustache. And that cake! I’ve never seen anybody demolish an enormous bloody fruit-cake at one go—and he didn’t seem to notice what he was doing.”
I laughed. “Oh yes, I know. There’s no doubt he’s a very unusual young man. But he looks to me like a nice fellow—there’s something very likeable about him—and he’s good at the job. That’s the main thing.”
“I agree, I agree.” Siegfried ran his hand through his hair and churned it about a bit. “I’m probably worrying needlessly, but…time will tell…?
Chapter 16
“NICE DOG,” I SAID, as I evacuated the anal glands of the big animal on the table. He was making a grumbling sound up front, but it was good to see the waving, friendly tail even though he couldn’t have been enjoying my squeezing at his bottom. “I’m glad his tail is wagging.”
“Aye, but…” old Mrs. Coates began, but she was too late. As I moved forward to take a look at his eyes, the dog, to my astonishment, turned on me, all teeth and snarling lips, and made a ferocious grab at my face. My evasive technique has become polished over the years, but I only just avoided a nasty wound.
“Stop it, Wolfie! You naughty bad dog!” screamed the old lady. “Just behave, or I’ll give you such a smackin’, that I will!”
The big animal subsided under his mistress’s scolding and I took a step back out of harm’s way. “You know, this is remarkable,” I said, looking at him, wide-eyed. “His tail is still wagging like mad and yet he’s growling and showing his teeth as if he’d like to tear me to bits.”
“Aye, that’s t’trouble, Mr. Herriot. He’s allus givin’ people the wrong impression. They think he’s that good-natured when they see ’im waggin’, then they get a shock.”
“Well, he certainly had me fooled, Mrs. Coates. He’s the only dog I’ve ever seen that wags and growls at the same time. Depends which end you look at, doesn’t it?”
Mrs. Coates lived in a row of council bungalows for old people. Some time after my visit I called on an elderly couple, Mr. and Mrs. Hart, farther along the same row.
Their cat, quite old like themselves, was losing its hair and going bald in places. As I parted the hair and examined the skin I could see the obvious signs of miliary eczema.
“This is a condition that often affects neutered toms like your Peter. I’ll be able to clear it up with a hormone injection and a course of tablets.” Peter didn’t stop purring as I inserted the needle under his skin—he was a cat who appreciated any kind of attention—but I noticed that his owners looked a little uneasy. They seemed even more unhappy when I tipped some tablets into a box and began to write the instructions.
“We’re a bit worried, Mr. Herriot,” the old man said suddenly. “This treatment will cost a bit and we can’t pay you. Not today, any road.”
“That’s right,” his wife broke in. “We allus like to pay on the dot, but we ’aven’t any money right now. We’ve been robbed.”
“Robbed?”
“Aye, unfortunately. My husband hasn’t been well lately and the garden’s got a bit untidy. Two men came in and said they’d do the garden up for us, but when we were talkin’ to one of them here in the parlour the other ’un was in the kitchen stealin’ our pension money and a bit o’ ready cash we kept on the mantelpiece.”
“Well, what a dirty trick!” I said. “But please don’t w
orry about paying me. Any time will do. I’m really very sorry—this must have upset you terribly.” As I left the house it was difficult to believe that there were such people who would come into the homes of decent old folks and rob them of their precious few pounds. But sadly I had heard this story before. These two men had been going around Darrowby lately, getting into houses on any pretext and carrying out their despicable actions. They specialised in robbing elderly people. They weren’t very brave.
A few days later I was passing Mrs. Coates’s bungalow when I thought I had better check on Wolfie. The old lady let me in and I looked at the big dog lashing his tail vigorously and snarling at the same time.
“He’s champion,” Mrs. Coates said. “Never shuffles round on ’is bottom now.”
“Oh, that’s good,” I said. “It’s an unpleasant thing for a dog.”
She caught my arm. “Ah’ve got summat else to tell you. Ah’ve had the thieves in!”
“Oh no, those two men? Not you, too! I’m so sorry.”
“Aye, but listen!” she said excitedly. “One of them fellers was talkin’ to me and t’other was in the kitchen with Wolfie. I heard ’im saying, ‘Nice doggie, nice doggie,’ then there was a terrible yell and a scuffle and the feller went past the parlour door screamin’, with Wolfie hangin’ on to ’is backside. The other ’un ran out, too, but Wolfie caught ’im just as he was going through the door and he didn’t half holler out! Last thing I saw was the two of them runnin’ for their lives down t’street with Wolfie after them.”
She reached into the corner of the fireplace and handed me a jagged piece of blood-stained cloth, obviously from the seat of a man’s trousers. “Wolfie brought that back with ’im.”
I laughed so much that I had to lean against the mantelpiece. “Oh, what a lovely story. I bet we’ll never see those two around here again.”
“Nay, nay, that we won’t.” The old lady put her head in her hands and giggled. “Eee, I can’t help laughin’ when I think of that feller saying, ‘Nice doggie, nice doggie.’ ?
“Yes, it’s very funny,” I said. “He must have been looking at the wrong end.”
Every Living Thing Page 12
