Life was surprisingly lonely outside of work for both of us. It wasn’t that we weren’t accepted; it was just that no one was interested. It seemed as if people had just had enough of other people and newcomers. If the imposing gates and alarm systems didn’t drive that home, the guard dogs did. Friday nights were a highlight, with a trip to the grocery store or perhaps a dinner on a café patio. We both missed our families. Time went by slowly outside of work. Both of us knew we had to have a break after the stress of leaving Nova Scotia, and the rest and the new routine were healing. But after a few months of homesickness and dealing with the disappointment of moving 5,000 miles for a job that scarcely existed, I was keeping up a braver façade than I felt. It turned out Elizabeth was doing the same, though she loved her job. We were both Ontario girls.
Breeding season was starting to slow down when I got my first call from Jim. He sounded upset. I hadn’t heard from him in a long while.
“Are you interested in the practice?” he asked. I was blown away. I hadn’t heard from him since last Christmas, as we had kept in touch infrequently over the years. I was up on his life enough to know he had purchased land in Nova Scotia and he and his wife wished to move there. I heard he was selling the practice but didn’t know another vet had just set up in town. Jim now felt his practice was not going to sell easily or for nearly as much as he’d hoped.
“I’ll think about it,” I replied.
“I’ll send out the last two years’ financial statements,” he said, encouraged, adding, “I think you are the only person who could make it work. There are still a lot of people here who remember you.” It had been nine years.
It was exciting food for thought. I knew we would never be able to afford a farm in the Fraser Valley even if I had been released from my contract with Dr. Moore. Both of us were homesick for family and friends in Ontario. Despite my years in Nova Scotia, I deeply felt the Ottawa Valley was home. I took the financial statements to an accountant as soon as they arrived. I was tremendously excited, but did we have the strength to make one more move?
“The price is a bit high,” he said. “I’m not sure the practice profit would support the debt you’d have.”
I still had a nest egg from Nova Scotia to put in, but the figures didn’t work out. I was discouraged. I didn’t have enough to put in to buy the practice. I called Jim with a negative answer. He sounded as disappointed as I was.
Several days later, he called back. “Just come home. I want you to have it. We’ll work something out,” he said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“We’ll make it work,” he assured me. “I want to be out east for Christmas.”
Because it was Jim and only because it was Jim, I believed him. Elizabeth had no trouble agreeing to Ontario as home. We decided to buy a stock trailer, rent a large moving truck, and take the horses and furniture home ourselves, in a convoy. It took only two weeks to organize. It was August. We had been in British Columbia a little over a year when we pulled out.
The trip home was another adventure. I had decided to call ahead and ask vet clinics to recommend overnight digs for the horses in each different city. Usually it was easy to find a stable owner who would permit us to put them out in their ring overnight. We stayed at the track in Regina, at a vet’s stable in Thunder Bay. For each of the six days, we loaded them and drove twelve hours. At night, we looked after ourselves and the two dogs and one cat last. Each day, the horses accommodatingly jumped onto the open-sided trailer with two large box stalls. Our little train of truck, trailer, and the big diesel moving van trekked across the country. Slowly, as a result of one phone call, we were going home.
The end of the trip was the yard at Anne’s farm. The two tired horses moved about the grass paddock slowly, stiff and sore, as we all embraced each other. This time I had no doubt that, thanks to Jim, I really was home. With an overwhelming feeling of relief, I let myself believe I wouldn’t have to try so hard any more. I started work the next day.
SIXTEEN
Home Is Where the Heart Is
AS GOOD AS IT WAS to be back, things were challenging at Brentwood for the first few months. For one thing, most of the staff had jumped ship, unsure how things would go with a new owner. The ones who had known me had long since moved to other jobs, and the few that stayed on were uncertain.
During the first few weeks, I had to staff the hospital with old friends. Elizabeth and I provided a framework of stability and filled in all positions as needed from receptionist to kennel assistant. The computers were old and crashed often, and the clinic had lost something since my first time there in its heyday. There were dustballs in the corners and the windows leaked. It was obvious that Jim had been departing emotionally for a while. It was as if the spark had gone, or perhaps the magic of the place. But then, it could have been rose-coloured glasses that had created the fond, nostalgic aura of magic I believed the old place held.
Kate, the technician who had stayed on, worked very differently than I did, and an unfortunate power struggle ensued. This made surgery days unpleasant. One day we were preparing to anaesthetize a cat for a spay and declaw. When I told her I would like to anaesthetize and intubate the patient, she assured me that she had always done this for Jim and could use the student to hold the animal. When I approached the animal five minutes later, it was indeed intubated and lying on its back, being clipped for the spay. However, it took me only a minute to see its tongue was grey-blue and it wasn’t breathing properly.
“This patient is in trouble — get the tube out, I’ll re-intubate,” I barked. Kate paled and quickly deflated and pulled out the cuffed endotracheal tube. A quick look told me it was full of bile-stained saliva and had been in the esophagus. Blowing it out quickly, I reinserted it into the trachea and started ventilating the little animal with the re-breathing bag. Within seconds its colour returned to pink and within a minute its heart strengthened. I decided to carry on with surgery when all the vital signs were normal, and, because the kitten was young and strong, it did well. It was embarrassing and traumatic for Kate, who definitely learned that day, the hard way, the futility of a power struggle. Things were more peaceful after that, but we were still uncomfortable working together.
The computer system was starting to crash more and more often and at critical times. Sometimes on Saturday mornings when we would have many people lined up to buy pet food, words and numbers would start rolling randomly across the screen as if to say “too much!” Other times, deposits were printed out reversed or with missing transactions — causing confusion and frustration at the end of a long day. Within two months, I knew I would have to spend unexpected thousands on a new computer system.
Another challenge was the lack of equipment to do horse work. In the years since I had been away, the equine business had been let go, and the tools had suffered similar attrition over the ten years. I had left all of my equipment in Nova Scotia. There were a few rusty tooth floats, an ancient, broken, portable x-ray, and a mouldy stomach tube, but not much else. It was a far cry from the equipment I had to work with in the Fraser Valley. Supplies could be immediately ordered, and within two weeks, I had a rudimentary equine set-up. Unfortunately, the two most expensive items would have to wait. Both a portable x-ray machine and an ultrasound machine cost thousands. How could I get going without them? After I had been back a few weeks, inundated with horse work, I decided I had to find a way and managed to find both machines, used. Luckily I found out I could lease even used equipment, a practice quite common in the medical field. It provided me with a way to buy them over time and in addition would create full payment write-offs for my business. This was a great new management tool for me. There was so much still to learn about running a business. Even after my experience in Nova Scotia, I still felt like a novice.
Cattlemen wandered in all fall asking for products they had always bought at Brentwood. With regret,
we sheepishly had to tell them we had discontinued carrying their medicines, as we could no longer look after their livestock. After many years with Jim, it was a difficult adjustment for them, and as it turned out, created some resentment in the farm community.
One Saturday, I attended a local auction, very much enjoying the outing and the popular Lanark fall ritual. It was partly bargain shopping and partly a celebration of the end of harvest season and a good opportunity to visit with friends. I was always looking for antiques, although my house was already too full of them. It turned out to be a perfect Thanksgiving weekend with a blue sky, warm breeze, and brilliant orange leaves complementing the brown hues of the harvested fields. Lines of pickup trucks signalled the spot. The secretary’s booth and hot chocolate stand were busy, and the lines of farm machinery were gleaming. It was an excellent auction with wonderful, well-maintained farm equipment. As I walked along a display of tools lined up on the lawn, I saw one of my favourite farmers. I had done a lot of work and many calvings for him in my first career at Brentwood. Expecting a warm response, I greeted him. “Beautiful day to be out, Moe.”
“Funny to see you here — I thought you’d given up on the farmers,” he muttered.
“It’s been good to be back in the Valley,” I stammered, trying again.
“Guess you’re pretty busy, then, looking after horses and horse people,” he said.
I did not know how to respond. After a pause I said, “I did not feel I could help you properly, as I haven’t done cattle for so long. I’m really sorry.”
We both looked away at the same time, but it was hard for me to accept that the goodwill I had had with these fantastic, salt of the earth, Lanark farm people was tarnished and our relationship damaged.
By late fall, Elizabeth and I still had not found a place to live. We were renting a tiny, non-winterized cottage on a lake near town and the many drafts were becoming evident in the bitter cold. Our horses, in a field nearby with not much but a water trough and sparse fall grass, were starting to feel sorry for themselves, despite two daily feeds and weatherproof blankets. Now, a skim of ice had to be broken at the trough each morning when we showed up to placate them and apologize for their rough accommodations. I was starting to feel desperate, as I had anticipated finding a hobby farm to rent long before this.
One morning in late November, we woke up to find that winter had started early. Ten inches of fluffy snow had fallen overnight. The trees and beautiful split-rail fences were decorated in pristine white coats. Although it melted quickly, it gave us a taste of the Valley winter that was to come. That day brought a much-needed break on the housing front through the visit of an old friend.
Gracie McLeod had been a client with Brentwood for years, but she and her husband had given up horses. She appeared at the clinic with no animal that day and asked to speak to me.
“I have been thinking about it, and I think our farm would be perfect for you,” she said. My heart leapt. Their special, very private property was within ten minutes of the clinic. Even better, it had a wonderful, eclectic house with personality and potential and a classic Lanark log barn, well set up for five or six horses.
“Come for dinner tonight and we’ll talk about it,” she said.
I tried not to be too optimistic, but I knew it felt right. It seemed as if fate had once again intervened at a critical time. I was prepared to act fast. Mrs. McLeod had explained that they had purchased a winterized cottage on the Rideau River and wanted to move quickly.
A tour of the hobby farm confirmed my feeling that Lady Luck had smiled on us yet again. The long laneway led to a secluded, park-like enclave, and the perennial beds just peeking out from beneath the new snow promised a beautiful spring display. The shingled house had a Maritime feel, and I could see immediately how it could feel like home.
Mr. McLeod had just done extensive barn renovations, and the structure was sound, with only some chinking to finish in the log barn. The horses could be moved right in. A long walk out to the back half of the property revealed first a mature oak and maple forest with winding trails, then cedar groves with a large beaver pond at the far end of the path.
“We ski and skate out here,” Mrs. McLeod said. It all seemed too good to be true. It only took a week to arrange a price and private mortgage. December first was decided on as the closing date. On that day, many friends showed up to help paint the entire house from top to bottom, and the move was easy on the second.
I found myself hoping, as I took things out of boxes and unpacked them, that my rambling days were over for a while. Although she didn’t have the same memories of Brentwood or the Valley, Elizabeth seemed to be falling in love with Lanark, too. This move might signal the end of a long path home.
My first real test with the horse community came in early December. The work was difficult and dramatic, and for people I did not know. I had never had a problem such as the one presented to me this bitter, cold day. The emergency call came in on a Saturday afternoon. Three Percherons had fallen through the ice of a swamp half a mile behind the horse farm of a young horseman, and the whole local community had gotten involved in trying to rescue them. Would it be possible for me to come and help?
I took the icy trail to the back property on the back of an ATV with my gear on my lap. A distressing sight greeted me. Though one horse had been rescued, two remained trapped in the shallow, icy pond. They had struggled so much that one lay exhausted with its head and neck on the ice and the rest of its body submerged. The sky was charcoal grey and foreboding with the threat of snow and cold wind. One of the huge, grey beasts stood, but broke the surface of the ice with each attempt at a step forward. There were fifteen men, a tractor, hay bales, and rope scattered about. Some neighbours left with the walking animal and promised to come back with hot coffee and reinforcements.
The first prone horse finally had a rope girth secured over its withers and behind its front legs, at great sacrifice to the farmer who had carried the rope under and around the animal in the cold water. The rope was attached through the halter to the tractor and the pull to solid ground began. After much bucking and thrashing and more broken ice, the frozen swamp finally held. The horse skidded on its knees a dozen feet before it got its footing and stood. It was dried with hay, covered with a blanket, and led slowly back.
The last mare was losing strength, and hypothermia and muscle cramps were getting the best of it. She was getting too weak to fight. I knew that we didn’t have too much longer to save her from the terrible cold. Again, a second man managed to get ropes under and around her mid-section, with a separate one tied around the neck and halter. A bed of hay was laid forty feet along on the ice and the tractor once again attached to the horse. With nothing to lose, the animal was pulled forward until the ice held and it slipped along over the bed of hay. Occasionally fighting to stand, she finally reached shore, but could not get up. I administered a mild sedative to stop her from thrashing, and the weak but still magnificent Percheron was trussed and rolled onto a stone boat for the ride home. The tractor rolled slowly down the now dark path in the gathering snow with its precious cargo in tow. On reaching the barn, the man backed the tractor into a shed, and she was rolled onto a bed of straw.
Frantic attempts to warm and revive the mare were working. Heating blankets and blow dryers, brandy and sugar were all used. I hooked up an iv and ran warm fluids into her. Six hours later, she stood, but the down side and leg were obviously severely damaged and painful. She lived, though two weeks later all the skin sloughed off her left hind leg and haunches. Rick, the owner, did the long months of nursing faithfully, and I did not see her again for a long while. I was gratified to hear she was in foal the next summer.
Around this time, the sole staff member I had inherited from Jim announced she was going back to school in January. Our rapport had never been great though we had achieved a reasonable peace once our power struggle
had resolved. It seemed the best for both of us. I needed another technician desperately. A veterinarian I was speaking to said, “You might try Erin Smith; she has recently stopped working at Dempster’s clinic — tired of the drive, I guess. She lives near Brentwood and I think you two would get along. I told her you were looking.”
An interview of this obviously competent woman revealed extensive experience and more than a little spark. After many questions back and forth about skills and responsibilities, I offered her a job. There was no doubt in my mind she was of the old school, both in work ethic and sensibilities, having worked in a farm practice.
“Dr. Martin told me we would be a great match,” she said, “as I generally don’t have to be told anything twice!”
I laughed, my reputation for liking people quick on the uptake having obviously preceded me. Perhaps, alternatively, it was a reputation for a certain lack of patience. Whatever the case, I felt Erin and I already had a certain understanding, and with her country background and mixed practice experience she seemed a logical part of the team. We rolled into the New Year setting up our new computer system together. I was constantly impressed with what Erin could do, juggling the front and back and sorting out glitches in technology at the same time. With both the home and business fronts getting sorted out nicely, I could breathe a sigh of relief. At least it seemed okay to breathe and just enjoy Christmas with family and friends.
William's Gift Page 19
