Don't Turn Your Back in the Barn (Adventures of a Country Vet)

by Perrin, Dr. Dave

  He sawed off a piece of fat and tossed it to the floor in front of Jeremy, who gobbled it down. The dog couldn't possibly have tasted it. Suzie's ears perked up. Trotting to the kitchen, she jumped up on the chair next to Hugh and extended her long nose until it rested on the edge of the table.

  "So you think you need some too, do you?" Hugh gibed, tossing her some trimmings from the other side of the steak.

  I attacked my own steak with a vengeance.

  "Well, Mother, this heifer's a lot more useful here than she was out on the pasture. She made darn good steaks!"

  "She sure did." I swallowed a mouthful and chased it with a gulp of wine. "And this hooch of yours is tasting better all the time."

  "It's damned time you developed a taste for good wine." He grabbed the gallon jug from the counter and filled my glass. "You sure you won't have a bit, Mom?" Without waiting for a response, he filled her glass as well.

  Pat took a sip and suppressed an involuntary shiver. "So did you ever play basketball when you were in school?"

  "No. Sort of wish I had now, but I was always a bit klutzy when I was growing up. Living seven miles from town made it difficult to do anything after school. Dad was never much on sports, and I wasn't much on walking home after practices."

  "That's too bad." Hugh swallowed a mouthful of steak, then leaned back and presented a hearty belch. "He'd have soon changed his mind if you'd gotten into the NBA—the kind of money those buggers make."

  "Yeah, I guess so. Just a different era and a different way of thinking. Pop scraped through the Depression and isn't much on taking a chance when it doesn't appear necessary."

  "What did your dad do for a living, Dave?" Pat asked.

  "He worked at the smelter like most of the other guys in Trail. He was a forty-year man this year. He's a millwright now but spent most of his years as a labourer."

  "So he's still in pretty good shape then?"

  "Relatively—he got lead poisoning a few times and God knows what effect that has as you get older. When I was a kid, he had a hell of a time with his back and finally ended up having surgery. I can remember when I was eight or nine coming home from school and finding Dad lying in the middle of the road. He was in so much pain he couldn't walk any farther. Some of the neighbours loaded him up and took him to the hospital. He was in traction for a week before

  they shipped him to Vancouver for surgery."

  "What about your mom, Dave—is she well?"

  "Yeah, actually Mom's in better shape now than she was when she was younger. She had polio right after I was born and was several years getting back to normal. Always seemed to be a bit sickly the whole time I was in school."

  Hugh tossed his bone to Jeremy and speared another steak from the platter. I had just begun to get enough worried off mine to make room for a potato and some salad.

  Leaning back, Hugh belched again and fired a piece of fat to Suzie's waiting beak. Her nose had migrated several inches in from the edge of the table, and she was drooling in anticipation.

  "What about brothers and sisters?" Pat inquired.

  "I've got two sisters. One of them lives in Trail and the other lives back East. I was sort of the afterthought. Audrey is five years older than me and Kay's almost eight."

  "So you were the spoiled one!"

  "That's what Kay's always telling me. She grew up when my parents were really struggling, and things were pretty tough. She claims that she tamed Pop down and made it easier for both Audrey and I. She was a bit of a hellion, so she probably did."

  "I think the first kid in the family probably does have it a bit worse," Pat agreed.

  "Kay was nine or ten when my mother got polio. Dad was so busy with work and running back and forth to the hospital, I don't know how he handled it. For the most part, Kay pretty much ran wild with no one to look after her.

  "When my Aunt Polly finally came to help out, Kay wasn't too happy about it. Polly tells a story about how my sister distracted her long enough to load her sandwich with earthworms. Poor Auntie! She was horrified when the end of one of the critters wriggled from where she had just taken a bite."

  "Your sister sounds like quite a character," Pat chuckled.

  I took a good slug of wine, then went back to paring away at my steak.

  "It's funny how childhood memories are. I can't recall my dad ever hitting us as kids, but we sure lived in fear of the possibility. He never used a straight razor that I can remember, but he always had an old razor strop that he hung on a nail in a prominent spot in the kitchen. All he needed to do to get compliance from us was to walk to that strop and give a bellow, and things strangely went his way.

  "It was always a mystery where that strop suddenly disappeared to. One day, it just wasn't there anymore. Years later, my father pulled its charred remains from the chimney clean-out. All of us knew that it was Kay's doing. She never admitted, until after she left home, that she climbed up on the roof and dropped it down the chimney."

  "Well, what's for dessert, Ma?" Hugh handed the remains of his T-bone to Suzie and leaned back with his hands on his tummy. Suzie peered around for the whereabouts of Jeremy, then retreated to the far end of the living room with her prize. "Drink up, Dr. Perrin. There's lots more here."

  I had to admit the wine was getting easier and easier to swallow. I took another good draught and hardly noticed the lumps. Pat pushed herself from the table and grabbed some pot holders. She opened the oven door to retrieve the most delightful-looking apple pie.

  "That looks good, Mom." Hugh perked up as the pie, still sizzling juice through the slits in the pastry topping, made its way past him to the kitchen counter.

  Only seconds before, I would have sworn I couldn't eat another bite. As I watched the mound of vanilla ice cream slowly melt into the top of a massive piece of pie, I realized that simply wasn't so.

  "How did you ever pick Creston to start a practice?" Hugh maneuvered a forkful of pie and ice cream towards his mouth. "I mean Creston's a beautiful place and I think it'd be a fantastic area to live in, but it's small and Keith Marling is already well established there."

  I fiddled with my fork for a few minutes before I answered him. Driving it through the crust, I watched as the pastry crumbled and juice oozed onto the plate. I dragged some ice cream to the top, then scooped some up and popped it into my mouth. I lolled it around, savoring the tart of the apples and the sweetness of the ice cream.

  "My grandparents retired to Creston when I was two or three. Every summer our family would go over for a couple of weeks to visit and help them keep the place from falling apart. I suppose the fond memories of those days had something to do with the choice.

  "I made a quick trip home to Casino after my summer job in Saint Paul and, as soon as I drove into the valley, I got the urge to stop at Marling's clinic and feel things out. I hadn't really started looking for a job yet, but the time with George convinced me that I wanted to live in a rural community. I wanted a small farm where I could have a few critters of my own.

  "As it turned out, Keith hadn't been in the best of health and was considering selling the practice. He seemed happy enough that I'd stopped, and I hung around the clinic as he finished off his day's work. The longer I stayed, the more I started conniving about somehow managing to buy his place.

  "At first it was just a neat idea. I mentioned it to my parents, but never made a big deal about it. My dad thought it a bit ambitious for someone who hadn't even graduated from college yet. I can remember lying awake in my room at home with all the things of my childhood surrounding me. From there it seemed too much to hope for—just too high a mountain to climb."

  "I know you sure wouldn't have been able to do it in Britain," Hugh mused. "There's no way anyone in our class would have even thought about it."

  I sat staring at the glass in my hand. I was finding it more and more difficult to focus. I looked into the murky liquid and reflected on the past year. After returning to college, I found myself looking at everything fr
om the point of view of working in Creston. I focused on learning more about dairy because it was a big industry there. I was constantly toying with different ideas to swing the purchase of Keith's practice. I called him several times during the term and made arrangements to meet with him over the Christmas break to see if we'd be able to finalize a deal.

  "Hello...Dave!" said Hugh. "What happened with Marling's clinic?"

  "Oh, sorry...I talked with him several times and thought we had a ballpark figure for the purchase. I met with representatives of both the dairymen and the beefgrowers' associations—got really excited about finally being able to put some of the material I was learning into practical use on farms that I had actually set foot on.

  "Negotiations with Keith continued off and on until graduation. By then, his health had rebounded, and his incentive to sell had all but vanished. When it was obvious that we weren't going to make a deal, I just couldn't let go of the notion of living and working in Creston."

  I drained the remainder of my glass, took a deep breath, and emitted a heartfelt groan. I had toyed with the pie and ice cream until nothing remained but a shallow puddle of milk that refused to be scooped up with my fork.

  "That was one heck of a feast, Pat!" I squirmed at the uncomfortable feeling in my gut and leaned back in an attempt to get some relief. Hugh lifted the jug and refilled my glass before I had a chance to protest.

  "You keep that up and not only will I not be able to drive, but I won't be able to walk." I stood up with the intention of easing my way to the door, but my head was swimming. I was in no condition to drive!

  "Drink up! Can't let all those good plums go to waste."

  "I'm half cut already! The last thing I need is more plums." I couldn't believe it—I was plastered! "This is ridiculous, I didn't think this stuff was so potent."

  "Maybe you better think about staying over, Dave," Pat chuckled. My ears felt warm; I was sure the rosy glow to my face was very evident. "After all, that is your third tumbler."

  "I planned on being back tonight," I sniveled. "The owner of this dog was hoping to pick her up today or early tomorrow. I better make a call over and make sure there's nothing urgent going on."

  As it turned out, the only call had been from Mrs. Morris. She left a message for me to contact her in the morning.

  "Maybe it would be best to stay over. I'd better see to Muppet though; she's probably ready to pee and is bound to be getting hungry."

  The little dog polished off a half can of dog food, and we soon had her settled in a portable kennel that Hugh kept at home for just such occasions.

  Hugh grabbed his glass in one hand and the gallon jug of hooch in the other and headed for the living room. "May as well be comfortable." Plunking himself in a large overstuffed chair that moulded to his body, he set the jug beside him within easy reach. I settled onto the old high-backed sofa next to the fireplace. Taking another draught of wine, I leaned back and took a deep breath.

  "So, are you as busy as you hoped?" Hugh pulled a footstool a bit closer, then propped up his feet.

  "Seems like I'm always on the run." I was finding my tongue a bit more difficult to manipulate. "Can't say I've seen much correlation between how busy I am and how much money I have to spread around at the end of the month though."

  "Yeah, isn't that the case. It's tough getting used to actually charging for what you do—even harder to try and get something for all the information that goes over the counter in the course of the day."

  "I know, it's hard to charge for my advice. Some days, if I didn't make a few bucks selling medication, there'd be nothing at all."

  "Are you doing a lot of large animal work? Dad still runs a dairy farm back in England and I sort of miss working with the cows."

  "Yeah, working with the dairies is good. Really have something to offer those guys and feel good when I can help them improve their bottom lines. I can see a difference already on some farms! A few of the guys think I'm wet behind the ears though."

  Suzie jumped up from the footstool to the end of the sofa. Walking casually over my knees to the arm, she hopped onto the back and slowly circled. Giving me a disinterested look, she yawned and stretched out. Within a few minutes she was fast asleep, her head laid back, her feet in the air.

  The rest of the evening is lost to recollection. Our conversation became more and more disjointed until Hugh's head finally began bobbing. I vaguely remember his showing me to a room at the top of the stairs and my drifting off to sleep while the walls slowly rotated around me.

  Roosters were crowing in the distance, when the cry of a peacock brought me into the moment. I reluctantly opened my eyes to see a torsoless moose with a massive rack staring down on me from the opposite wall. The room was bright with sunlight that streamed in through the window. My head was throbbing. My mouth was dry and my tongue felt furry. I closed my eyes, hoping that I could drift off and awaken with a clearer head, but morning was nigh.

  I swung my feet to the floor. The room seemed reluctant to stay in focus. I'd never be able to look at plums again! There was a rattling sound below in the kitchen, and I could hear Hugh's and Pat's voices somewhere off in the fog.

  I staggered to the bathroom and stared with disinterest at the shaggy-looking face that peered back from the mirror. I turned on the shower and opened my mouth to let the water flow through in a desperate attempt to remove the vile, stagnant taste.

  "Oh my, aren't we looking chipper!" sang Pat. I had my eye on the chair at the end of the kitchen table and paid attention to nothing else until I had plunked myself on it.

  "Your eyes look like pissholes in a snowbank!" Hugh added cheerfully. I watched as he bit the end off a sausage and sawed away at the steak that perched on his plate next to a pair of eggs.

  "Grab some sausages and bacon there, Dave. Do you want me to fry you up a couple of eggs?"

  "Oh, no thanks, Pat. I don't think my stomach is up to anything. I still feel like I'm half cut."

  "I wondered how you'd feel this morning. When I went to bed, the two of you were still out there swapping lies, and Hughie had brought out another jug so you didn't have to walk across the room for a refill."

  I closed my eyes to the sight of Hugh loading his plate with more bacon. "I'll have just one more egg, Mom," he said.

  The drive up to the Salmo-Creston summit was torture! I squinted continuously and nodded off several times as I struggled to focus on the road. I pulled over to the lake and looked with disinterest at the shining waters and the vibrant blue skies. Muppet sat contentedly on the back seat staring up at me. Her eyes were bright and her tongue lolled happily from her mouth.

  "Maybe just a few minutes of shut-eye will do it, girl!" Maybe....

  "Oh no," I groaned. "There goes another Sunday!"

  The phone was beginning to rule my life far more than I ever thought possible. I felt like letting it ring until the person on the other end gave up, but I knew from experience how guilty I'd feel.

  "Hello," I answered hesitantly, half hoping someone had dialed a wrong number.

  "Dr. Perrin, please. We have a person-to-person call for Dr. Perrin."

  "Dr. Perrin speaking."

  "Go ahead and deposit your money, sir."

  I heard the metallic sound of coins striking a bell, then, "Hallo, Herr Doktor?"

  "Yes, this is Dr. Perrin speaking."

  "Heidi, she no gut...English no gut."

  "What's wrong with Heidi?"

  "Heidi sick!" He ran on for a good minute in German, leaving me no wiser than before.

  "Heidi sick. How she sick?" I addressed him as if speaking to a child.

  "Not eat for days. Very skinny! Not stand up."

  "Is Heidi a dog?"

  "Ja, dog!" His tone was indignant.

  "Would you like to bring her in?"

  "Ja, gut."

  It was now nine o'clock and I'd hoped to get away from the office for at least a short while today.

  "Can you bring her to the clinic right n
ow?"

  "Ja, gut. I come Gray Creek—no car."

  "I'd appreciate it if you could get in as soon as possible."

  I could see my day off melting before my eyes. I hung up the phone, realizing that I wouldn't be seeing him for some time; even if he could load the dog into his own vehicle, he'd be at least an hour getting here.

  Gray Creek was forty-three miles from Creston on one of the most winding stretches of highway in British Columbia. To the sightseer on his way to the Kootenay Lake Ferry, it was little more than a road sign on a very curvy and narrow section of Highway 3A. If he happened to be driving slowly enough, he might notice the quaint store and marina sandwiched between the roadway and the lake.

  To the locals, Gray Creek was a community with a character and a history all its own. Until 1947, it had been the landing for the paddlewheel ferries and an integral part of the Trans-Canada Highway. It had been the hub for miners who scoured the surrounding mountains for minerals and farmers who took advantage of the mild climate and shipping access to grow vegetables and fruit.

  Now, it was a community, with a store and a network of dirt roads, that wound its way along the creek and through the rugged mountain terrain. The residents of Gray Creek were an eclectic group of persistent farmers, loggers, retirees, draft dodgers, hippies, and people who just plain wanted to get away from it all. I wondered how Mr. Schmidt fit into this picture.

  I had been prowling around the office for hours waiting for his arrival. Here it was two o'clock in the afternoon, and I had still heard nothing from him—surely he'd have to show up soon. He could've walked to town by now!

  I finally perched myself on the bench in the waiting room and stared out the window. John Shean, the tall, thin man who owned the Creston Hotel, was busily sweeping down the steps to the hotel entrance. Almost every day since I had moved across the street from him, I'd watched him push that same broom over those stairs. If this was a typical afternoon he'd finish the stairs, lean the broom against the building, then wander into the adjacent garden to prune back the fading roses. I watched intently as he worked his way down the steps, curious to see if he already had the pruner in his pocket. He had almost reached the bottom tier when a taxi pulled up in front of my building.