by Gillian Hick
‘McDonald’s: test 120 cattle (with blood test).’ The figures seemed to dance around the page as they mocked me. I started to sweat. My hand trembled as I dialled the office number. Niamh answered after the usual three rings.
‘McDonald’s. Herd test. Where is it?’ I asked her.
‘Oh, hi, Gillian!’ she answered, not seeming not to notice my unusually abrupt manner. ‘He’s in Knockabawn. Just go past the cemetery on the left-hand side, up the hill, turn left at the new buildings and he’s on the right-hand side, next door to the red cottage.’
It was some time before I realised I was still holding the phone to my ear.
‘Are you okay?’ asked a voice in the distance. ‘You sound a million miles away.’
‘I wish I was,’ I whispered forlornly as I hung up.
Much and all as I would love to ‘ring in sick’, there was just too much work to be done by too few vets at that time of year.
In a daze, I made my way to the farm. I stopped off briefly for a bottle of Lucozade but it was no good. My jellied hands couldn’t open the seal on the glowing bottle. I resolved again to write to the manufacturers to complain. Why are so many drinks so hard to open just when you need them most?
Jim McDonald, the stockman, seemed a friendly sort as I half-heartedly introduced myself.
‘You’re very welcome to the area!’ he roared, vigorously pumping my frail hand up and down. I was surprised it didn’t fall off.
‘I hope you’re feeling fit this morning,’ he continued enthusiastically. ‘I’m afraid Kevin that normally works with us is laid up with a bad bout of ’flu.’
I bet he didn’t feel as bad as I did; I didn’t even have the energy to explain.
‘But don’t worry,’ he continued, ‘I’ve set the crush up well. We won’t have any bother getting the cattle through it.’
Where had I heard those words before?
‘Which do you want to start with first?’ he enquired kindly. ‘The cows or the calves?’
He seemed a bit surprised by my subdued answer.
‘Whichever will be quieter.’
‘I suppose we’ll get the cows out of the way first so.’ He was beginning to look at me strangely but, in my weakened state, I was past caring.
He was true to his word when he said that he had set up the pens well. Instead of the usual single gate running the cattle into the crush, Jim had ingeniously fixed one gate on top of another. No beast, no matter how highly strung, would manage to scale that barrier. But there was only one problem – it meant that I would have to get over it.
As we ran each batch of six cows into the crush, I had to climb in and out over the double barrier. With shaking limbs, I hauled myself up over the swaying obstacle, head spinning, cattle roaring, my targets looming in and out of focus. Despite the physical nature of the work, shivering spasms wracked my body in contrast to the beads of sweat that broke out on my brow. After a while, Jim seemed to sense my reluctance to make conversation. He must have thought I was an unfriendly type.
It seemed to go on forever as I wrote down tag numbers, breed, age and skin measurements, and then carefully clipped and injected each animal. For the first time, a job that had hitherto seemed fairly effortless, now required immense concentration on my part in order to insert the needle into the thick skin and feel for the bleb of tuberculin after each injection. Every female over twelve months of age also had to be blood-tested. After I had made two or three laborious attempts at hauling up the swishing tails, Jim, obviously beginning to wonder at my choice of career, stepped in and wordlessly lifted each tail for me. With a fleeting glimpse of hope, I thought that perhaps I could put off doing the blood tests until the day of the reading, but then realised that I had another large herd test booked in for the Monday when I would have to read this test – I wouldn’t have time to do both. There was nothing for it but to carry on.
It seemed to go on forever, but finally the last two cattle ran into the crush, anxious to follow their comrades.
‘I’ll just run the cows back into the field, but you sit down there. You don’t look the best, at all,’ said Jim sympathetically and he headed off with his noisy crew of cattle. I slumped down thankfully on a bale of straw.
If I had thought the cows were bad, the calves defeated me altogether – running up and down the crush in twos and threes, bawling, roaring, disappearing out under the bottom bars. I had to stop and hold on to the edges of the crush every now and again to stop my head spinning as I bent over the shaggy creatures. I laboured methodically to inject each calf, with long pauses in between as I waited for each bucking beast to stand still long enough for me to carry out the procedure effectively, knowing full well that I would not have the mental acumen to hit a moving target under the circumstances. The renewed physical exertion brought on fresh bouts of coughing which seemed like they would never end.
Twice, the testing gun fell out of my hand and I stood staring stupidly as it quickly disappeared into the muck. Each time Jim retrieved it, washed it thoroughly and delicately handed it back to me. Rows of figures, noting breed and tag number and skin measurements, merged into a blur. By now, I could no longer summon the energy to help Jim fill the crush: I knew that gate would defeat me. Between each batch, I returned to collapse on my bale and waited until Jim called out to me, ‘Ready for you now!’ When we had finished the last batch I didn’t even notice and I sat stupidly on my bale, too tired to care.
‘I’m sure we could find a few more for you to do if you wanted, but that’s all ours done anyway!’ Jim joked.
I smiled wanly back at him.
‘Come in for a cup of tea. You look like you could use one.’
In the warm kitchen, I eyed the cup of steaming tea cautiously, wondering if the razors in my throat would allow me to swallow it. Mrs McDonald, Jim’s elderly mother, tut-tutted in the corner as she eyed me solicitously.
‘Lord above, Jim! Can you not see the girl is sick? I always knew veterinary was no job for a woman. Look at the state of her. She’s just about worn out. Sure, she’s only a scrap of a thing!’
I towered at least a foot and a half over her hunched body but I was too weak to argue.
‘Eat up now and get your strength back,’ she said setting out a dish of sausages, rashers, eggs and fried bread before me. It was the sort of meal I would usually have devoured with relish but today I just couldn’t do it justice. Luckily, Jacko, the little brown and white house dog, had discreetly placed himself under the table beside me and silently took care of most of the sausages and rashers that I smuggled to him from my plate.
Jim saw me off. I tried to hold some sort of a conversation with him as he helped me to carry my blood boxes back to the car.
‘Sorry we were a bit slow getting started this morning. Hopefully I’ll have thrown off this dose by Monday for the reading. We’ll get through them in no time at all.’
‘Don’t you worry about it. I know it’s tough work on a lassie like yourself.’
I cringed inwardly but couldn’t dispute the fact that the procedure had taken over an hour longer than normal.
Somehow, I got through the rest of the day and was thankfully able to finish up early.
‘Don’t even think of going in tomorrow,’ Donal warned me when I dragged myself in the door that evening.
That night and the next, I sweated and shivered and ached and coughed, while Slug kept anxious watch over me from my bedside.
We had planned to go out for a meal with some friends on the Saturday night but, instead, ended up sitting by the fire while Donal squeezed bag after bag of oranges and lemons, adding in a generous measure of honey and whiskey each time.
By Monday morning, I was well on the road to recovery but slightly embarrassed about having to face Jim again. Hopefully, I would be able to convince him that I wasn’t totally anti-social and that, under normal circumstances, I was quite capable of carrying out my job.
But there was one problem. My day book reminded me: rea
d McDonald’s test. But where on earth did they live? I had absolutely no recollection of how I had got there the first day. Hard as I tried, I just couldn’t recall any details of the journey. I tried to imagine myself driving around various parts of Wicklow, hoping to jog my memory, but it was useless. In desperation, I rang Donal to see if I had mentioned to him where I had been.
‘No, you didn’t,’ he replied. ‘Remember, you weren’t able to talk when you got home!’
I had two options: to ring Jim, who already must be thinking that I was a bit dim, or to call the office again. I thought about it for a while and then decided on Jim. I figured that he had already made his mind up that I was useless anyway and that I’d nothing more to lose.
‘Hi Jim. Gillian, the vet, here. Just ringing about this morning’s reading.’ I tried to sound professional.
‘Gillian, how are you? No problem at all here – we’re all set up for you and Kevin is back in action so you won’t have to do any of the heavy work.’
I cringed once more, thinking about how I had slumped helplessly on a bale of hay as Jim had single-handedly herded the cattle into the crush.
‘Oh, don’t worry, Jim. We could have managed fine on our own. Just one thing though; just remind me where you are again.’ I tried to sound casual.
Jim sounded a bit puzzled as he replied. ‘We’re over at the yard – same place as we tested them. I got the cattle in this morning. We’ll have to run them through the crush to read them, won’t we?’
‘Oh, of course we will, of course,’ I laughed, ‘but if you could just remind me where the yard is …’
Silence.
‘But you were here with us on Friday.’
‘Em, yes, that’s right, I was.’
Silence.
‘So, you know how to get here?’
‘Em, no.’
Silence.
‘Oh.’
I was beginning to think he had hung up when he began again, slowly and simply explaining as though to a particularly dim child.
‘Just go into the village, past the cemetery and …’
I interrupted him.
‘Sorry, Jim. Er … which village was that again?’
At least, this time around, the reading was done in record time. I was so embarrassed that I kept my head down and the cattle moving as fast as possible through the crush, concentrating with extra diligence on the top and bottom clippings on the side of the necks.
Jim, although courteously friendly, seemed a little bit distant as we made our way through the herd, which, thankfully, was all clear. His conversation was slightly strained. When the job was completed, we headed into the milking parlour for the customary wash and I tried to engage in some light-hearted banter. I left Jim finishing off the clean-up and went back to the jeep.
‘Gillian!’ he called out after me as I turned on the engine. He thrust a sheet of paper in the window at me. ‘You might need this on the way home.’
I had turned out the driveway when I glanced over at the crumpled piece of paper on the passenger seat. I cringed with embarrassment yet again as I recognised the carefully drawn map, beginning at his yard, and detailing exactly how to get back to the office …
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JILL
It was hard to believe that my first spring as a veterinary surgeon was almost over. Despite the adrenalin rush, I could feel the long weeks of late nights and interrupted sleep starting to take its toll on me. Tonight, the evening surgery was quiet and, so far, there were no calls. I decided to make the most of it and head home.
Passing the local takeaway, I was tempted, and I pulled in to order the usual chicken curry for myself, the roast duck with orange for Donal and a bag of the prawn crackers that Slug was so partial to. She crunched contentedly on the passenger seat all the way home.
By the time we got home, Spook and Judy, with their Labrador instinct for food, were waiting patiently for us, and they stared with rapt concentration at the brown paper bag as though willing it to open.
‘Sorry, Judy, you know what happened last time,’ I said, pushing the three sorrowful-looking dogs out the door and closing it firmly behind them. Despite her breeding, Judy had a sensitive stomach and I had already discovered that it didn’t mix well with chicken curry.
Deciding to be civilised, we opened a bottle of wine with the meal and I was feeling slightly more human as I ran a hot bath. By ten o’clock I was in bed, enjoying a rare early night. I picked up a book that I’d started reading over three months previously and lazily flicked through a few pages. Without noticing, I passed from wakefulness to sleep. I was back at a college reunion, in the local from our student days. We were all busy discussing our new jobs until, suddenly, the barman turned into the dean. He told us that we all had to re-sit our Leaving Certificate exams as it had come to light that we had never passed it in the first place; maths – paper one, was at nine o’clock the next morning. I was in a panic because I knew that I had to read a herd test at the same time. I was trying to ring Donal to ask him if he would read the test for me when the phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket and knocked the off button but still it rang. It rang four or five times, until, with a start, I awoke from my dream. I looked in surprise to see Donal lying in the bed beside me and then saw the flashing light on the phone.
The anxious voice on the other end of the phone quickly brought me back to reality with a jolt.
‘It’s Kevin Ryan here. I’m really sorry to ring you at this hour but I’m a bit worried about Jill. She’s been off form for the last few days and she won’t get out of her bed now. It’s not at all like her.’
Jill was the farm collie and I had often admired her, though only from a distance. She was a typical working dog and lived only for her job. She had no interest in the usual comforts of life or in the silly antics of the other yard dogs; remaining aloof from them, she waited only for the command to work. Although I had often seen her slinking around in the distance or disappearing at speed after some rebel sheep, until now, I had never come into close contact with her. My presence was of absolutely no interest to her and I always felt that she was somewhat dismissive of Slug, refusing to join in any of the frenzied barking matches that usually accompanied my arrival.
Kevin had first expressed his concerns to me a few weeks previously as I’d struggled to deliver an oversized calf from a nervous and resentful heifer. Jill was ten years old and had never had pups. But during her last heat, she had escaped for a few minutes one day and, six weeks later, the telltale signs of pregnancy were all too obvious. Tonight, it seemed that Kevin’s fears were justified. According to him, she was now four days overdue, a delay which was very significant in dog terms. Apparently, they had tried to leave her in the yard to rest as her time approached but, in her desperation to get on with her job and the life that she knew, she had managed to scale a high wall and escape.
The first the Ryans knew of it was when a shaggy form came hurtling across the fields towards them, although they had had a fifteen-minute drive to the out-farm. Because Jill was so determined, they had decided she would be happier working and so she had spent a blissful day doing what she knew best. Although she seemed tired that evening, she was equally determined to join in again on the two following days and reluctantly they allowed her, fearing the worst if they left her behind. Now, at the end of the third day, Jill had returned and then collapsed in a corner of the shed.
I lay back on the warm pillows and closed my eyes for just a couple of moments before hauling myself out and throwing on some clothes. There is an art with night calls which, with practice, allows you to time perfectly the moment at which you come out of automatic pilot mode and actually wake up. When perfected, it allows you to dress and drive to the call while still feeling like you are actually in bed.
‘Will you be long?’ muttered Donal drowsily as I dressed.
‘Not sure,’ I replied. ‘Maybe not.’ It doesn’t take long to put a dog to sleep.
Slug ey
ed me balefully as I picked up the car keys and with a martyred look made her way down the stairs. Spook and Judy awoke from where they slumbered in front of the warm stove. They gallantly escorted us to the door, nails clicking on the tiled floor, but weren’t in any way anxious to join us. When I opened the jeep door for Slug, instead of jumping in as she usually does, she just stood there. Obviously she was good at automatic pilot mode too. I picked her up and deposited her on the passenger seat where she slumped into a ball and never stirred for the rest of the journey.
I was very worried. Dogs like Jill can be incredibly difficult to treat because they often refuse to acknowledge pain. It is not unknown for a tough collie to work the day out on a broken leg and only show signs of lameness when the job is finished. If Jill had collapsed, something was very seriously amiss.
Despite my best efforts to stay asleep, my mind buzzed as I drove the thirty miles to the surgery where I had arranged to meet Kevin. There was no point in going directly to the farm as I was sure that Jill would need drastic treatment if she was to pull through this crisis. Minutes of delay could prove fatal.
Kevin was waiting for me when I got there. I was shocked to see Jill lying collapsed in a bundle. The towel in which she was wrapped was stained with a mixture of fresh and clotted blood. When I probed deep in her tense abdomen, shrill yelps interrupted her gasping breath. I shuddered when I saw the ghostly white of the mucous membranes in her mouth. Jill was clearly dying.
I shook my head sadly at Kevin. ‘I’m sorry, but she’s in big trouble. I think she should have had those pups a couple of days ago. Something’s gone drastically wrong.’
