By the time we got back to the office, I had decided that the forty-watt desk lamp would probably be adequate. It was just a matter of running an extension cord to the kennel and setting it up. I placed a woolen blanket in the bottom of a cardboard box, transferred the now mobile piglet, and lowered the flexible head of the lamp until it was directly over the edge.
"That looks like it should do the job, Doris. She probably would have been just fine, but I feel better now that we've rigged this up."
Dinner at the Club Cafe was every bit as good as we had come to expect. Doris was playing out as the meal progressed, and I was forced to finish off the rest of the fried rice and sweet and sour pork. It was almost two hours later that we wandered back to the office. Both as stuffed as ticks, we were certainly in no rush to get back to cleaning up the clinic. We plunked ourselves on the benches in the reception area.
"Boy, Mae and her husband certainly know how to put on a spread of Chinese food," I muttered, laying my head back against the wall and patting my belly. "I'm so stuffed, I don't think I'll be able to eat for a week."
"Me too," groaned Doris. "All I want to do now is go to sleep."
It was an afterthought that pulled me from my repose. I wandered into the surgery, casually opened the surgery kennel, and bent down over the box to check the piglet.
"Oh nooo! Doris, she's dead!"
I couldn't believe my eyes; there as rigid as a board lay the victory that just a few hours earlier had been so sweet. It hardly looked like a victory of any sorts now!
"What could have happened? She looked so good when we left."
"I killed her!" I felt numb.
"Oh, don't be silly," Doris rebuked. "You weren't even here, and you did everything you could possibly have done to help her."
"You're right, I wasn't here and, because I wasn't here, she died! I fried her, Doris! I put her in that bloody cardboard box, and she couldn't get away from the heat. I told you about how piglets can't regulate their body temperature, then I went ahead and fried the poor thing! I rushed back up the street to kill her with kindness!"
We stood staring at one another for several minutes. What could we say to lend meaning to this travesty? What could we do to reverse the situation and breathe life back into this pathetic blob of flesh?
"I can't believe I could have done anything that foolish," I moaned, picking up the remains of the little creature and setting her on the surgery table. "I'm having enough trouble trying to justify this to myself. How am I going to tell Verna?"
The look of concern on Doris's face was far from reassuring as I dialed the phone and held my breath. The very thought of telling Verna sent shivers up my spine. Delaying the inevitable was not going to make it any easier.
I was imagining the dressing-down and the four-letter words about to be hurled in my direction. The telephone had rung a fourth time and I was telling myself to hang up, when the same boyish voice answered.
"Hello."
"Yes," I blurted. "Is your mother in?"
"Maaaaa! Yeah, just a second. She was goin' to bed."
I shifted the receiver away from my ear just in time.
"Maaaaaa! It's the phone. Sounds like that new vet again!"
"Hello," came the gruff voice that I'd been dreading.
"Yes, Mrs. Levett, I am afraid I have some bad news—the piglet is dead."
"Well, son of a b..., anyway! After all that work you put into her, I was looking forward to see how she grew out."
"So was I, Mrs. Levett."
Verna seemed satisfied that the piglet had died from complications of the surgery and, for a brief moment, I was tempted to say no more.
"I'm afraid I did a very stupid thing. We went out for supper, and I left a lightbulb over her to keep her from getting chilled. She overheated and died as a result of exposure. I should've left her enough room to get away from it. I just didn't think that a little bulb like that could possibly generate enough heat to cause her problems."
There was a long silence, and I waited for the inevitable explosion. I had no way to defend myself for my stupidity and could only fall back on a plea of ignorance!
"That poor little bugger," she muttered quietly. "That's sure too bad!"
"I'm certainly sorry, Mrs. Levett. I wish I had it to do over."
The silence resumed. I could think of nothing sensible to add.
"Well, Doc, you tried. It's a hell of a lot better this way than if I had to take her out and knock her on the head!"
"I just have to get an X-ray machine, Doris! There's no way I can keep going without it! I'm sure Muppet's got a broken pelvis, and there's something going on with her left hind leg. If I put even a little pressure below the knee, she squeals and squirms to get away from me."
"What're you going to do with her? Mrs. Morris phoned a few minutes ago wondering when she could take her home."
"Isn't this great! We have a client who's willing to pay for whatever's required for her pet, and all I can do is guess at what's wrong. I'm sure there's a problem with that tibia, but I hate to splint it if it isn't necessary."
"What should I tell her?"
"That I've taken Muppet to Nelson for X-rays! I'll give her a call as soon as I get back. Hugh Croxall told me to come over whenever I needed anything. I'll give him a ring right now."
The trip over the Salmo-Creston highway was a breathtaking experience at any time of year but now, with the fall colours in full blaze, it was spectacular. Lining the gorge that confined Summit Creek, poplar and birch trees sporting orange and yellow leaves were everywhere. Their colours mingled with the yellows of the larches and the greens of spruce, cedar, pine, and fir. Further up the pass, the mountains grew more sheer and their rock faces more prominent. The drop was ominous in places and, often, not even tree tops were evident at the edge of the highway.
The incline steepened and I shifted to a lower gear. Muppet sat stoically staring out the car window. A Thunderbird overtook us and quickly left us in the distance. Muppet swiveled to watch the vehicle as it barreled by and stared after it until the car disappeared. We overtook a transport truck laden with lumber. Discharging a plume of thick, black smoke, it lugged its way up the steep incline. I swung into the passing lane, jammed the gas pedal to the floor, and ground on towards the summit. Several big rigs were parked at the rest stop next to Summit Lake, the drivers wandering around the perimeter of their vehicles checking tires and brakes.
The car accelerated rapidly the moment we reached the crest of the climb, and we were soon freewheeling down the other side. Before I realized it, the speedometer read over seventy, and I braked. A half mile ahead a transport truck burdened with wood chips descended slowly down the mountain, its Jake brake metering out a constant rattle. I slowed to a crawl until we rounded the corner, then swung into the opposite lane to pass.
I was halfway to Salmo. Rounding a gentle sweeping curve, I noticed something move near the edge of the road. I slowed and pulled to the far lane. A Dall sheep with massive curling horns hopped onto the highway and sauntered in front of the car. Several more stood hesitantly below the shoulder waiting for me to pass. I came to a complete stop and watched as the sheep grabbed a mouthful of grass. Unconcerned, he glanced in my direction and munched contentedly.
Passing through the village of Salmo, I followed the winding highway to Nelson. Hugh's clinic was on the north end of town, on the same highway that I had come in on. The door was locked and a closed sign was prominently displayed in the window of the waiting room. I rapped sharply on the door.
A powerfully built man in his early thirties strode jauntily to the door and unlocked the bolt. "Well, you made it, did you?" His voice was bold and forthright, his British accent almost lyrical. "I've got the machine all set up; just bring her on in."
We used large plates and took radiographs of Muppet's entire back end from the abdomen to her feet. Metal lids clanked and clattered in the darkroom, as Hugh shifted the films from the tank containing the developer to t
he one with the fixer.
"She has to have something wrong with that left hind leg," I hollered through the door. "She sure resents it when it's handled. My money's on a greenstick fracture."
"Could be. We'll soon know...So you were from the Trail area then? Is that how you started visiting at Pete's clinic?"
"Yeah, I was born in Trail and grew up in a little place called Casino. Pete started his practice my last year of high school."
"I went out there with Pete to castrate a couple of horses when I first arrived in the area," said Hugh. "Casino's way up the mountain the other side of the river, isn't it?"
"Yeah, that's it. My dad and a handful of other guys started it as a sort of co-operative back in the forties. They bought up land at the end of an old logging road and started building."
"Seems a bit isolated. I know Pete hated going out there in the winter. That's one heck of a climb up the final stretch."
"Isn't it ever! We loved taking toboggans down that hill and getting the snow so polished that the bus couldn't make it. It was a good way to get a day off school."
Hugh sauntered out, the X-rays dangling from one hand. "Well, you're right!" He glanced at the film against the light from the view box. "There it is running all the way down from the tibial crest. Doesn't look like there's any displacement though." He lowered the ventral-dorsal view and held up the lateral view.
"A Thomas splint should handle that nicely," I opined. "Let's just have another look at the ventral-dorsal view. That pelvis doesn't look bad enough to need repairs, does it?"
Hugh held up the other X-ray. A crack ran through the right shaft of the ileum, and there was a jagged line where it had pushed back and separated the pubis.
"Got to hurt like hell," Hugh observed. "But give her a few weeks and she'll be as good as new."
"Well, that sure eliminates the guesswork. I just have to get my own machine. I've called a few distributors to try and locate a used one, but haven't found anything in my price range yet."
"They're out there. This one came from the Nelson hospital—just happened to be there when they were taking it out."
I gathered Muppet in my arms and headed for the exit.
"You'll stop at the house," Hugh pronounced. "Pat's expecting you for supper."
I had planned on heading right back but, being a bachelor, I rarely rejected the offer of a home-cooked meal.
"Sounds good to me." I took Muppet outside, set her down on the lawn, and held my hand under her tummy. She balanced awkwardly on her right hind leg for a few minutes, then gingerly squatted for a pee. By the time I had her settled in the back seat of my vehicle, Hugh was waiting behind the wheel of his car.
I followed him towards Nelson, a picturesque old city on the west arm of Kootenay Lake. I was looking forward to a view of the elegant stone buildings that lined the main street but, before we entered the city, Hugh veered west towards Castlegar.
The highway followed the rocky banks of Kootenay River for several miles. We had just crossed a bridge at Taghum, when Hugh turned right into a high rock cut and swung onto a dirt road. I bounced along in his wake as he raced through an outcrop of massive fir trees. I could see clear blue water through the vegetation and slowed to gaze with appreciation across a rocky point that jutted out over the river. Hugh bombed on ahead.
I continued in the direction of the dust that hung lazily over the constricted roadway. It grew narrower, and I slowed my pace. Squeezing the car between a huge fir tree and a jagged rock wall, I stopped. Surely this wasn't Hugh's driveway! Had I missed a turnoff when I was sightseeing? Couldn't have.
Putting the car in gear, I advanced slowly, hugging the rock face in fear of dropping a wheel over the edge. The road veered sharply to the left, and it was necessary to back up and maneuver further towards the river. I had no sooner negotiated the corner than the trail narrowed drastically. A rough-sawn two-by-twelve had been laid down to span a gap that fell off twenty feet to the river below.
I gingerly opened the door. It bumped against the rock face and I pushed with my feet to squeeze out the crack. Walking to the edge of the road, I shook my head in disbelief. The bank had sloughed into the river leaving a drop-off that was almost vertical. I ventured onto the plank and jumped up and down. Several beams had been wedged against rocks below to support the wooden crutch. It seemed solid enough but, man, that drop!
I climbed over the console via the passenger side to get back to my seat. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the stick into low gear and engaged the clutch. The front wheel climbed onto the plank, and I idled across it.
I rounded the corner into a huge open meadow and a driveway that passed through a grove of cottonwoods into a barnyard. A massive Chesapeake retriever and a pair of Jack Russell terriers suddenly materialized. Barking madly, the terriers ran on either side of the vehicle. I watched uneasily as they darted back and forth in front of me, dutifully announcing my presence. Muppet whined anxiously and strained to peek out the window. The road curved gently away from the river and abruptly ended in front of the Croxalls' house. The rustic stone building had been erected in the meadow to overlook the river below—a picturesque home in a postcard setting.
"So you made it, did you?" Hugh stood in front of the kitchen door, his hands planted on his hips, a mischievous grin on his face. "What kept you? I was about ready to start draggin' the river for you."
"What kept me? I had myself convinced that I'd taken a wrong turn. I wasn't looking forward to backing out. No one in his right mind would live at the end of a road like this!"
"You've got that right," came a voice from behind us.
"Oh, hi Pat! Never noticed you. I was a bit distracted by that road. All I could think of was how cold that water was likely to be."
"Isn't that the truth; I see myself tumbling into the river every time I drive over that horrible plank. But you know Hughie!"
Pat was a slender, shapely woman with delicate features. With her lilting English accent, I had always pictured her as the lady of a manor, but today she was dressed in a baggy cotton shirt and jeans that tucked loosely into a pair of well-worn black rubber boots.
"That road's the only reason we could afford to buy this property," Hugh chirped. "Everyone loved the place from across the river, but not even the Realtor wanted to come down here to show it."
"I can understand why." I shivered instinctively as I looked back down the road.
"So is supper ready, Mom?" Hugh queried.
"Not yet! I've got the cow milked and the calves fed. That old ewe's limping as bad as ever tonight, and I better have another look at her. The chickens need to be locked in, too—we don't want to lose any more. Damned skunk's looking to get popped off one of these nights!"
"Well, you get along with your chores then, Mom. Dave 'n I'll rustle ourselves up a beer."
I ducked my head and stepped into the kitchen.
"Sit yourself down." Hugh pointed to a chair at the head of a long table and opened the refrigerator. "Bloody hell!" he hooted, getting down on one knee and rummaging through the bottom shelves. "There's only one left."
"That's no problem, Hughie, I have to drive home tonight and better not be drinking anyway."
He plunked down a water glass, poured half a dark ale into it, and pushed it across the table to me. "Still can't call this Canadian stuff ale. Haven't found one with enough body to it."
I nodded and sipped at my glass. Hugh tipped back the bottle and drained a good portion of what remained in the first go.
"So, you're starting out all on your own over there, are you?"
"Yeah, there are some days I really wonder what I'm doing but, for the most part, things are going well."
"You know, back home that's almost unheard of. There are so many established practices around that it's hard to make room for another one. Besides, new graduates in Britain need to work under someone to get enough experience to learn the ropes. When I graduated, I had never done surgery on a live dog, what with the SPCA and
all."
"I guess I was lucky. Graduates from Saskatoon had a fair amount of practical experience; I had a job after third year in a busy practice in Alberta. I worked in Saint Paul with George Bosniak. He was a good vet. By the time the summer was out, I had gotten a pretty good taste of practice."
"You went right there fresh out of third year, and he let you start working up cases?"
"Not exactly," I chuckled. "When I got there, George had been working alone for months, and he was about bagged. I'm sure he wished I was more useful than I was. I started out handing him things and cleaning up but, as the summer went by, I got more and more opportunity to get my hands dirty—hooked up lots of IVs on scouring calves, repaired a load of hernias on pigs, and did some calvings.
"I still remember showing up for work that first morning. There was a lineup of vehicles outside his clinic that stretched halfway down the block. It just amazed me—the volume of work he was expected to put through. What a hodgepodge! There were heifers laid out and straining, cows trying to calve, a prolapsed vagina hanging out here, a prolapsed rectum there—all kinds of sick calves, some barely breathing. There were even a few pigs thrown in for good measure.
"I had never met George before that morning. I found him in the back of a pickup wrestling with a huge, bloody mess protruding from the rear end of a heifer. How he got through the work that day was beyond me. He just plugged away on one case after the other until finally the last vehicle was gone and the final phone call was answered."
Hugh wagged his head as I talked, then drained the rest of his beer. "A lot of guys out there on the prairies have a pretty tough go in the spring."
"That's for sure; that's why I decided to come to B.C. Being around a guy like George was a fantastic experience for a rookie. He was a real diplomat with clients and patients and never seemed to lose his temper. I think what had the greatest impact on me, though, was watching the battle between his dedication to the practice and his desire to have some time to himself. After watching George, I made a vow that I would never allow myself to be overwhelmed by my practice."
Don't Turn Your Back in the Barn (Adventures of a Country Vet) Page 18
