Every Living Thing (28 page)

Siegfried spoke gravely. “Very strange indeed. No scour, no pneumonia, yet the little thing’s flat out like this.”

Carefully and methodically he went over the little body with his stethoscope, auscultating heart, lungs and abdomen. He took the temperature, opened the mouth and peered at the tongue and throat, examined the eyes and ran his hand over the roan hairs of the coat. Then slowly he straightened up. His face was expressionless as he looked down at the motionless form.

Suddenly he turned to the old man.

“William,” he said. “Would you be so kind as to fetch me a piece of string?”

“Eh?”

“A piece of string, please.”

“String?”

“Yes, about this length.” Siegfried spread his arms wide. “And quickly, please.”

“Right, right… I’ll get ye some. Now where can I lay me hands on a bit that length?” Flustered, he turned to me. “Can ye come and give me a hand, Mr. Herriot?”

“Certainly.” I followed him as he hurried from the cow house. Outside he clutched at my arm. It was clear he had only asked me to come with him to enlighten him.

“What does ’e want a piece of string for?” he asked in baffled anticipation.

I shrugged. “I really have no idea, Mr. Hawley.”

He nodded gleefully as though that was only what he expected. An ordinary vet couldn’t possibly know what was in the mind of Mr. Farnon, a man of legendary skill who was known to employ many strange things in the practice of his art—puffs of purple smoke to cure lame horses, making holes in jugular veins and drawing off buckets of blood to cure laminitis. Old William had heard all the stories and he was in no doubt that if anybody could restore his animal to health by means of a piece of string, it would be Mr. Farnon.

But the maddening thing was that as we trotted round the buildings he couldn’t find such a thing.

“Dang it,” he said. “There’s allus a coil of binder twine hangin’ there, but it isn’t there now! And I’m allus trippin’ ower bits o’ string all ower t’place, but not today. What’ll he think of a farmer wi’ no string?”

In a growing panic he rushed around and he was almost in tears when he saw a piece lying across a heap of sacks. “How about this, Mr. Herriot? Is it t’right length?”

“Just about right, I’d say.”

He grabbed it and ran as fast as his elderly limbs would carry him back to Siegfried.

“Here y’are, Mr. Farnon,” he panted. “Ah’m not too late, am I? He’s still alive?”

“Oh, yes, yes.” Siegfried took the string and held it dangling for a moment as he measured the length with his eye. Then, as we watched, wide-eyed, he quickly tied it round his waist.

“Thank you so much, William,” he murmured. “That’s much better. I couldn’t work with that damned coat flapping open as I bent over. I lost a couple of buttons yesterday. Cow got her horn underneath them and tore them off—it’s always happening to me.”

“But…but…” The old man’s face was a picture of woe. “The string…ah thought ye’d…Ye can’t do anything for my calf, then?”

“Of course I can. Whatever makes you think that?”

“Well…do ye know what ails him?”

“Yes, I do. He’s got C.C.N.”

“What’s that?”

“Cerebrocortical necrosis. It’s a brain disease.”

“It’s a terrible big name. And his brain? It’ll be a hopeless case?”

“Not a bit. I’m going to inject vitamin B into his vein. It usually works like a charm. Just hold his head for a moment. You see how it’s bent over his back? That’s called opisthotonos—typical of this condition.”

Siegfried quickly carried out the injection and got to his feet. “One of us will be passing your door tomorrow, so we’ll look in. I’d like to bet he’ll be a lot better.”

It was I who called next day and indeed the calf was up and eating. William Hawley was pleased.

“Must have been wonderful stuff Mr. Farnon gave ’im,” he said.

To him it was another miracle, but in his manner I sensed something of the deflation I had seen the day before when Siegfried fixed up his coat. His favourite vet had done the trick again, but I knew that in his heart there was still the wistful regret that he hadn’t done it with that piece of string.

S
IEGFRIED, LOUNGING BY THE
fireside, was at his most expansive. “Nice of you to drop in, James. Good to see you at any time—we don’t get much chance to talk during the day, eh?”

I had called in at his home after an evening call nearby. He had pressed a drink on me and flopped down in the armchair, exuding
bonhomie.
“Any problems?”

“No, no. I’ve just been to a milk fever at John Lancaster’s. The cow was up when I left.”

“Ah, splendid, splendid. He’s a nice chap, is John.”

“Yes, a good bloke. He was really pleased when I poked that beast in the rump and she staggered to her feet.”

“Excellent. The little triumphs of veterinary practice. I’ve had that sort of day, too—everything going well, and my word, isn’t it grand to settle down by the fire on a cold night and relax with a quiet mind. What time is it?” He glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece. “Half past seven. Nice feeling to be off duty and looking forward to a few hours of peace.”

“That’s right, Siegfried. I’m on. You’re in the clear till tomorrow.” I sipped my drink and regarded him with affection.

He reached a long leg towards the fire and poked a log into place with a slippered toe. “And there’s another thing—it adds to the pleasure to have that television to look at.” He pointed to the new TV set flickering across at the other side of the hearth with the sound turned down. “There’s a lot of inverted snobbery going around—people talking about the goggle box and the idiot’s lantern but I enjoy a lot of the programmes. I know it’s a new-fangled thing in the Dales, but I tell you I’ve just been sitting here watching an interesting programme and I find it very soothing.”

He sank lower in his chair and stretched his legs to the blaze. “I was at Derek Mattock’s place this afternoon. They’d had a pig killing and they gave me a great pile of cuttings—spare-rib, liver, fillet—they are the most generous people.”

“Yes, you could say that about the Dales farmers in general. I’m always getting presents. Butter, eggs, vegetables from their gardens.”

Siegfried nodded. “How true. I had a long talk with Derek and he mentioned something I’d better tell you about. You promised to do some dehornings for him about a fortnight ago and he hasn’t heard from you.” He gave me a quizzical look.

“Oh, damn, yes! I’ll get on to him tomorrow. The beasts aren’t taking any harm, anyway.”

He smiled again from down among the cushions. “Yes, my boy. But you forgot, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I suppose I did. But I’ll put it right.”

“I’m sure you will, James.” He nodded gravely and was silent for a few moments. “Strangely enough, there was something else in the same vein. Bob Hardy told me his tuberculin test was overdue. You said you’d do it last month.”

I shrugged. “Oh, hell, that’s right. But it’s only a week or two overdue. Not serious. I’ll see to it.”

Siegfried gave me the smile again and wagged a finger. “But you forgot, didn’t you?”

“Okay, okay, but as I say…”

“If you’ll excuse me, James, for just a moment.” He held up a hand. “You are inclined to forget things quite frequently. It is a tiny flaw in an otherwise excellent character. There is no more conscientious and capable veterinary surgeon than yourself and yet being forgetful can project quite a different image. People can think you’re not concerned about their animals, that you don’t care.”

“Wait a minute…”

“Let me finish, James. This is for your own good.” He put his fingertips together. “Forgetfulness is a trait that can be easily cured if you know how to go about it. These unfortunate incidents can be prevented if you simply impress on your mind right at the beginning what it is you want to remember.”

“My God, this is really rich…what about…?”

“One moment more, my dear chap. As I say, whenever you make an appointment, make a definite conscious effort to imprint that promise strongly on your mind. It’s perfectly easy—I use this method regularly myself. You’ll always remember that way.”

I was about to raise my strong objections to being lectured on forgetfulness by the most forgetful man in Yorkshire when the phone rang.

Siegfried extended a languid arm and picked up the receiver. “Ah, how are you, Wilf, my old friend?” His eyes were half closed as he burrowed deeper in the cushions.

“I’m awright, Mr. Farnon,” came the full-throated reply. It was Wilf Bramley, president of the local farmers’ discussion group. He was one of the old school who considered it helped the voice to carry across the miles if they shouted, and I could hear him clearly from where I sat. “But I just ’ope you’re awright, too.”

“I’m absolutely grand, Wilf,” Siegfried murmured, holding the receiver well away from his ear.

“Ah well, that’s good. We just thowt something had happened to you.”

“Happened…? Why is that?”

“Well, the hall’s full—packed to t’doors, and we were expectin’ you half an hour ago. We worried you might have had an accident on your rounds.”

Siegfried snapped suddenly upright and his mouth fell open. “Hall…?”

“Aye, there must be two hundred of us ’ere. You gave us such a grand talk last year I knew there’d be a lot wantin’ to hear you again and they’re all waitin’ patiently. We can’t start without t’speaker, tha knows! Heh-heh-heh!”

Siegfried’s expression was haggard. He seemed to have aged several years in those few moments. “I really am frightfully sorry, Wilf, I…”

“Nay, nay, Mr. Farnon, there’s no need for you to apologise. A busy feller like you. You’ll never know what’s goin’ to happen from one minute to the next. Rushed off your feet all the time. You can’t help bein’ a bit late now and again.” Wilf’s voice swelled even more in volume. “After all, we know you’re not just sitting watchin’ television! Heh, heh, heh, heh!”

Siegfried’s eyes bulged. “Yes, Wilf, yes, that’s right …of course. Ha-ha-ha. What an idea. Ha-ha-ha.” The strangled laughter emerged with difficulty from the distraught face. “I’m nearly ready—I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

My partner crashed the receiver down and catapulted from his chair. “Got to go, James. See you in the morning.”

As he galloped towards the door an unworthy impulse welled in me.

“Siegfried!” I called.

He stopped at the door and glared at me, wild-eyed.

I wagged a finger at him, feeling my features creasing into a leer. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

S
IEGFRIED CAUGHT MY ARM
as I passed him coming out of the dispensary. He looked harassed.

“James,” he burst out. “Calum wants another dog now! Has he mentioned it to you?”

“He did say something. Said he was going to speak to you about it. Apparently it’s a dog he’s had for some time. It’s with his mother and he just wants to bring it to Darrowby. It’s okay for him to do that, isn’t it?”

My colleague stuck out his chin. “I don’t think it is. He started with a badger and a dog, now he’s got two badgers and a dog, and on top of that he wants two badgers and two dogs up in that little flat. Anyway, I’ve told him it’s not on.”

“Oh, I think you’re being a bit hard, Siegfried. He’s probably lonely, living on his own. He just wants his animals for company.”

Siegfried took a sharp breath. “That’s what he says, of course, but to me, it’s only the thin edge of the wedge. I feel it in my bones—if we give in now he’s going to have a bloody menagerie up there!”

“Oh, come on,” I said, laughing. “You’re exaggerating. There’s absolutely no fear of that. He’s a good lad, as you know, and an asset to the practice. I think we should help him to feel settled and happy and it’s only natural that he should want to be reunited with his dog.”

My partner did some more rapid breathing as he stared at me. “I thought you’d say that. You’re too easily swayed. But I know I’m right—I’m not going to have it, and that’s final.” He stuffed a couple of bottles of calcium into his pockets and strode away.

Over the next few days, Calum made several appeals to me and his request seemed perfectly reasonable, but Siegfried had dug his toes in. He refused to be moved.

When I raised the question yet again over a beer at the Drovers’ he flushed, but he heard me out.

“I wish you’d change your mind,” I said. “I can’t see what possible harm there is in his having his dog. And as I said, he’s doing well and I think he should be encouraged. I’m sure you’ve just got a thing about him—your worries are absolutely groundless.”

“Groundless, eh?” He choked a little in mid-swallow, then put down his glass. “I don’t think so. I’ve got this feeling and it won’t go away.” He paused and looked round the bar for a few moments. “But you’re beginning to wear me down and I’m tired tonight. I see you’re going to go on and on about this, so you can tell him to go ahead and do as he likes.”

I clapped him on the shoulder and laughed. “Oh, thanks, Siegfried. I know it’s the right thing. You’ll never regret it.”

He gave me a weary smile. “You may laugh, but I tell you, we’ll be making a big mistake.” He waved a finger in my face. “I’ll regret it, all right. Mark my words!”

Next morning, Calum was delighted when I gave him the news and I felt a glow of satisfaction when, a few days later, I heard the sound of fresh barking from the flat.

Siegfried was opening some letters in the office and I turned to him with a smile. “Nice to hear that,” I said. “Calum will be happy now.”

He gave me a cold look in return and just then our assistant walked into the office. By his side were two enormous Dobermann pinschers.

“What the hell’s this?” Siegfried enquired, rising to his feet.

“Oh, just my other dogs,” Calum replied with a light laugh. “Meet Maggie and Anna.”

“Dogs!” Siegfried exploded. “You said
dog
before!”

“Oh, I know. That was my intention. I was just going to bring Maggie, but poor Anna looked so pathetic, I hadn’t the heart to leave her. They’re such friends, and really, they’re as gentle as old sheep.”

“They don’t look so bloody gentle to me!” My partner’s voice rose to a shout. “You get round me to bring an extra dog here, then you walk in with these two killers!”