Vet Among the Pigeons (2 page)

Richard said it before I did. ‘That’s him gone, so.’

I nodded numbly, aware of the strain in Richard’s strong face not quite disguised by a scant smile.

‘I can’t believe it, Richard. I’m so sorry,’ I mumbled inadequately.

‘Not your fault,’ he replied, matter of fact. ‘No point in shooting the messenger, I suppose,’ he continued weakly. His next words put a cap on what had turned into a
nightmare. ‘I don’t think he’ll be short of company. I think there’s a few among the heifers that might be joining him.’

He was right. As Greg and the now-subdued batch of farmers ran the heifers through the crush, I tagged one after another of what should have been Richard’s fresh stock with the ominous reactor tag. Not only was I sending
them
to the factory, but also the calves they carried, mostly due that autumn, the progeny of the luckless Harry.

In all, I tagged twenty-two cattle and watched as two of the local farmers herded them into a separate outhouse where they would await collection for the factory. As I put away my testing gear and washed my boots, I noticed Richard was missing from among the group. Feeling I couldn’t just walk away without passing some comment, I looked around the sheds as the other men straggled away.

Making my way into the modern parlour, I could hear Richard before I saw him – greats racks of sobs seemed to tear him apart as he stood, head in hands, leaning up against the bulk tank.

I stood in horror, not knowing whether to leave him to his misery or approach him with futile words of comfort. He saw me before I could make up my mind. Quickly, he tried to pull himself together, and with a few deep gulps, the sobs reduced to an occasional quiver. He turned to me, wiping his face with a piece of the blue paper roll found in every dairy unit. As I came towards him, he offered his hand and I held it. We stood in silence for a few moments, hands clasped.

‘Only those that have them can lose them,’ he said with a watery smile – the oft quoted words that made me feel
such a failure every time I heard them. ‘Don’t you worry about it,’ he offered as we broke apart. ‘Sure, we may as well have the cup of tea.’

Although I would rather have been anywhere else, there was no way I could refuse. It was a quiet threesome as Richard, Greg and I tried to swallow the hot tea.

With Richard’s acute knowledge of his stock and their breeding lines, he knew without checking any tags or paperwork that in one short morning I had effectively wiped out his best breeding line.

By the end of the week, the Department officials were all over the place, offering vague theories as to why this particular outbreak had taken place. Many months later, a laboured report arrived outlining the theory that an infected badger might have contaminated the meal fed to Harry and his harem.

From that day, Richard, an ardent nature lover, has always had an aversion to badgers, taking any necessary steps to eliminate them from his farm.

For me, from that day on, I’ve always had an aversion to making grown men cry.

T
he Irish Blue Cross clinic had served as my
initiation
back to work and I had come to enjoy my weekly jaunt across Dublin city so I decided to continue doing the Blue Cross work for the time being. John was only too delighted to take an extended break!

I always tried to arrive early for the clinic, which took place at seven o’clock every Wednesday evening. There was nothing worse than arriving to more clients than you would usually expect to see in a normal practice in a whole week. It was often difficult to judge the time of the journey there – tonight, when I didn’t get stuck behind any tractors or slurry spreaders in Wicklow, or get caught up in a snarl of Dublin city traffic, I arrived in Ballyfermot at almost twenty to seven. At least that meant I could save a few people queuing if they had only come for advice.

I pulled into my usual parking slot and was relieved to
see that there was only one person waiting. As I examined him more closely, though, my relief waned. He was a small, stout, roughly-shaven man, maybe in his late
thirties
. The clapped-out motorbike was precariously
balanced
against the school gate and on the back carrier was a cardboard box, strapped on with a variety of oddments of rope. A few roughly cut air-holes suggested that my patient was lurking inside.

However, I was more concerned about the client. I watched cautiously in the rear-view mirror as he made his way over to me with a slow shuffle. A quick glance
confirmed
that there was no one else around. His appearance was enhanced by a tattered leather biker’s jacket, under which the string vest did little to hide the tattoos that ran in an irregular pattern across his chest. I thought briefly of pretending that I was another client, but the absence of any animal made that excuse seem unlikely.

My client rapped sharply on my car window and I felt it rude not to wind it down a fraction, although the doors remained firmly locked.

‘Are you de vet?’ he growled in at me, in a menacing voice.

‘Em, yeah. That’s right,’ I replied, cautiously, ‘but the clinic’s not here yet and I’ve no drugs or needles or
anything
…’ I trailed off as I realised how this must have sounded.

‘I don’t want drugs or nothin’ offa ye,’ he replied, not seeming to be in the least bit offended. ‘I have a patient for ye in de box,’ he added.

‘Ah, in the box,’ I confirmed, as though this was an
unusual situation. ‘Well, we’d better not let him out until the mobile clinic gets here,’ I added brightly, ‘in case he gets a fright or something …’

‘Wadever ye say!’ and he paused a moment to eye me speculatively. ‘She’s probably wettin’ ’erself in der, all right,’ he added, matter of factly.

Thankfully, at that moment a little old lady arrived with her geriatric Yorkshire Terrier. I decided it would be
gallant
of me to get out of the car to keep an eye on her.

As my biker swung his leg over the Honda, he kicked the starter and the old bike spluttered into life. The tiny Yorkshire yapped shrilly and her owner let out a yell: ‘Will ye turn dat bleedin’ racket off, ye big edjit, ye!’ I was
obviously
redundant.

The engine died instantly and my biker client threw a ‘Sorry ’bout dat, Missis,’ over his shoulder to where the stooped old lady stood, fuming.

Within minutes, the scene was transformed as the
pavements
filled with every type of pet, adult and child
imaginable
. Soon afterwards, the mobile clinic arrived, with Gordon driving as usual. I was never brave enough to try to sort out the queue. I usually left that to Eamon, the
assistant
, who had over forty years’ experience at the clinic. Usually the crowd was relatively calm, and he would just open up the doors and called out, ‘Who’s first, please?’, and hope not to start a riot.

Tonight, the little old lady came first. ‘That big lout can wait,’ she declared as she made her way up the steep steps of the van with the tiny dog hugged tightly to her chest.

Tiny, as she was called, squealed as though she was
being murdered as I clipped each one of her nails, hoping not to raise blood in the black, overgrown claws, under the beady eye of her owner.

‘Ah, ye poor little pet,’ crooned the owner as the tiny terrier sank one of her rotten teeth into Eamon’s cuffs. He held the dog firmly, and I knew I could work in relative safety.

‘Is dey hurtin’ me poor little luv?’ she asked the dog, who was much too busy trying to wrestle her teeth through the thankfully thick material.

Eamon pursed his lips and grinned at me over the shaggy demon while I clipped as fast as I dared before nodding at him to release the patient.

‘They should be okay for a good long time now,’ I assured the ungrateful old lady as she left without a word.

‘I don’t know what to make of your man,’ I muttered to Eamon as my biker appeared next.

‘How are yis!’ he said, nodding briefly at Eamon and Gordon before turning to face me.

‘She’s in der,’ he told me, handing me the box.

With tremulous hands, I gingerly untied the loose string, wondering what ‘she’ was going to be. Mentally, I
conjured
up an image of a python or two, complete with
tattoos
and studded collar. Gordon and Eamon watched.

Holding three edges firmly in place, I cautiously peeled open the fourth before peering inside from a safe distance. An expectant hush fell as my eyes became accustomed to the shadowy figure in the furthest corner of the box – the shadowy figure of a small, fluffy rabbit.

I looked from the biker to Eamon, to Gordon, and tried
to suppress a giggle. Eamon and Gordon continued to stare as I reached my hand in to capture the patient. Eamon was holding a pair of protective gloves.

Jed, the biker, finally introduced himself, then he glared menacingly as though daring me to laugh. ‘Is it broke or wha’?’

The ‘it’, I soon realised, referred to the hind leg that hung at an awkward angle from the shivering, furry creature.

Although the answer was obvious, I carefully rotated the ends of the fractured tibia, noticing that the tiny fibula had shattered into multiple fragments, which floated freely underneath the fine skin.

Snake food, was my initial reaction. Obviously, Jed was keeping rabbits to feed his snakes – Jed, the Head, with his studded pythons. But then, why would he be concerned about the broken leg? I felt sorry for the fawnish-brown creature with her floppy ears, but at least I could put her to sleep humanely and put an end to her worries and pain. The fracture itself was a nasty one.

‘Yes. I’m afraid it is broken. We’ll have to put her to sleep,’ I replied firmly, in case he had any notions of taking her home the way she was.

I looked up at him, determined to fight my case, and was totally astounded to see the bulky frame dissolve into a quivering mass as tears started to flow freely down his toughened face.

‘Ah Jayney, no!’ he wailed, throwing his arms down on the tiny examination table.

The tension was electric, as we all stood, immobilised, not knowing what to make of his reaction.

‘Can yez do nuthin’ at all for ’er?’ he implored, looking up at me.

The tiny rabbit sat quietly in my arms, nose twitching impatiently, totally indifferent to the scene that she had created.

‘Well, there is a possibility,’ I began slowly, ‘that we could refer you to a private clinic and maybe they could do something with it.’

‘D’ye tink so?’ he asked, suddenly hopeful, but then added with resignation, ‘I suppose dat’ll cost me a bleedin’ stack o’ dosh?’

‘Well, it certainly won’t be cheap,’ I confirmed.

‘Ah sure, Jayney, I’ve no bleedin’ money.’ He dug his hands into the torn leather pocket and pulled out an assortment of coppers and coins, about enough for a Big Mac on the way home.

‘Dat’s all I have. Been on de labour since I did me back in. Can yez not do nuttin’?’

I glanced outside at the impatient queue and over to our bandage cupboard, stocked to deal with minor injuries only.

Jed looked around at each one of us and made one last desperate attempt: ‘Ye see, it’s me little girl’s rabbi’. Tinks the world of it, she does.’ His eyes fixed on mine, as though aware of my hesitation. He knew he had me.

‘Well, okay,’ I said wearily. ‘But there’s no guarantee. I’ll put a cast on it, but it’s an awkward fracture to cast and there are a lot of broken ends. It’s only a small chance that it may work,’ I said firmly, watching as his eyes took on new hope.

Ignoring the fact that we would be there until well after the appointed clinic time, I ran out to my car to get a roll of plaster of Paris, avoiding the nice fibreglass cast, as there was no electricity in the clinic, essential to operate the cast cutters when the time came to remove a
fibreglass
cast.

Gordon held the tiny rabbit as I carefully realigned the broken pieces. I could hear Eamon bargaining with the increasingly agitated crowd outside. I concentrated on placing the casting material in such a way that it would not rub the thin, almost hairless skin on the inside of the thigh and yet would support the mush of bones underneath.

‘I suppose we’d better call ’er Lucky, now,’ declared Jed, clearly delighted with the turn of events.

The cast set almost uneventfully, with only one dodgy moment when ‘Lucky’ tried to buck out of Gordon’s
careful
restraint, but, thankfully, didn’t upset the bandaging. Having double-checked the padding, I sent Jed off with a list of instructions and a dire prognosis.

It seemed a long week until the following Wednesday night when I met Jed for a recheck. Again, we met alone, but this time I got out of the car to check on my patient, who seemed bright and alert, and unperturbed by the great mass of plaster-encumbered leg which dangled
awkwardly
beneath.

‘Have you told your daughter it might not work? Does she know we may still have to put the rabbit to sleep?’ I hounded him, not wanting to be responsible for a little girl’s heartbreak.

‘Ah yeah, she knows dat, an’ all,’ he assured me before I sent him on his way with an arrangement to see him the following Wednesday.

I tried not to think what was happening underneath the cast, which at least hadn’t fallen off yet but was probably concealing a massive wound slough or the beginnings of a gangrenous leg.

When Jed didn’t turn up for our rendezvous the
following
week, or the week after that, I assumed the worst. I berated myself for my poor judgement in prolonging the pain for both the helpless rabbit and the heartbroken child.

I didn’t know how to react when I saw the battered Honda the week after, though. Either the rabbit was still alive, or Jed had come looking for trouble.

Miraculously, the rabbit looked well as she poked her dainty head out of the top of the box, obviously becoming accustomed to her regular motorbike rides. The tissue above and below the cast seemed fine and there was no obvious smell, but the cast had slipped a little bit.

‘Right,’ I said decisively. ‘Let’s take it off.’

I knew the van wouldn’t arrive for at least another
fifteen
minutes and removing a cast is a notoriously tedious job. Ignoring my better sense, I opened the passenger door of the car and indicated to Jed, ‘Right so. Hop in!’

Once inside, despite the unusually sweltering weather, we had to close all the windows in case Lucky, who wasn’t quite so manageable in Jed’s hands, escaped. The sweat poured down my face and onto the cast as I alternately cut and sawed at the now-grimy material. Soon the front seat
was covered in a fine sprinkling of white powder which could have made our meeting look even more suspicious had anyone cared to notice.

With one side cut open, I could wait no longer. I
carefully
manipulated the length of the limb and there it was – an admittedly large, but nonetheless supporting callus, indicating that the fracure had healed.

‘It’s looking good,’ I said, trying to restrain my
enthusiasm
as I glanced up at Jed and tried not to laugh at the rapturous smile that lit up his face. ‘Still, wait until we get the whole lot of it off,’ I cautioned as I carefully peeled the other side off, terrified of re-breaking what would still be a very fragile repair. I gently probed my finger in
underneath
the other side and was dismayed when I saw the trickle of discharge. I cursed myself for my hopeful
prognosis
when the tip of my finger ran into a piece of bone, clearly palpable, sticking out though the skin, creating an open wound.

‘No! I’m sorry, Jed. It’s not as good as I thought. Look you can see the open wound here,’ and I pulled off the remaining bandage to reveal a tiny splinter of bone
sticking
out. But as I examined it, the fragment popped right out, leaving the remaining repair looking almost passable. Clearly, a small fragment had been separated from its blood supply and the healthy tissue had literally spat it out from the otherwise healthy repair.

A quick swab revealed that the remaining tissue was fine and the tiny wound would close over in a matter of days.

‘Well, is she knackered or wha’?’ asked Jed, anxiously studying my face.

‘No. It’s okay. I actually think it’s going to be okay,’ I replied incredulously, carefully manipulating the limb through an admittedly somewhat limited range of motion.

‘It’s fine. Not a bother on her,’ I confirmed, looking with delight at my ecstatic client. ‘With a little bit of light
exercise
the leg will loosen out. You can tell your little girl that Lucky is going to be as good as new.’

There was no time left as already a curious queue had gathered and appeared to be engrossed at the sight of myself and Jed squashed in my little Opel Corsa, behind steamed-up windows. My face was flushed with heat, and sweat poured off me as I hastily grabbed my clinic coat to pull on over my sweat-soaked T-shirt. My little lady from the first night was standing close by, scandalised at the vision.