Let Sleeping Vets Lie by James Herriot

Author:James Herriot [Herriot, James]
Format: epub
Tags: Animals
Published: 2009-12-26T16:00:00+00:00

"Really?" I was a bit taken aback. I didn't mind students discussing the pros and cons of my diagnoses as long as they didn't do it in front of the farmer, but I had never had one tell me bluntly that I was wrong. I made a mental note to try to keep this fellow away from Siegfried; one remark like that and Siegfried would hurl him unhesitatingly out of the car, big as he was.

"How do you make that out, then?" I asked him.

"Well there was only the one joint involved and the navel was perfectly dry. No pain or swelling there. I should say he just sprained that knee."

"You may be right, but wouldn't you say the temperature was a bit high for a sprain?"

Carmody grunted and shook his head slightly. Apparently he had no doubts.

A few gates cropped up in the course of our next batch of calls and Carmody got out and opened them just like any ordinary being except that he did it with a certain leisurely elegance. Watching his tall figure as he paced across, his head held high, the smart hat set at just the right angle, I had to admit again that he had enormous presence. It was remarkable at his age.

Shortly before lunch I saw a cow that the farmer had said on the phone might have To. "She's gone down t'nick ever since she calved, guvnor. I doubt she's a screw, but you'd better have a look at her, anyroad."

As soon as I walked into the byre I knew what the trouble was. I have been blessed with an unusually sensitive nose and the sickly sweet smell of ketone hit me right away. It has always afforded me a childish pleasure to be able to say suddenly in the middle of a tuberculin test "There's a cow in here about three weeks calved that isn't doing very well," and watch the farmer scratch his head and ask me how I knew.

I had another little triumph today. "Started going off her cake first didn't she?" and the farmer nodded assent. "And the flesh has just melted off her since then ?"

"That's right," the farmer said, "I've never seen a cow go down as quick."

"Well you can stop worrying, Mr. Smith. She hasn't got TB, she's got slow fever and we'll be able to put her right for you."

Slow fever is the local term for acetonaemia and the farmer smiled in relief. "Damn. I'm glad! I thowt she was dog meat. I nearly rang Mallock this morning."

I couldn't reach for the steroids which we use today, but I injected six ounces of glucose and 100 units of insulin intravenously - it was one of my pet remedies and might make modern vets laugh. But it used to work. The cow, dead-eyed and gaunt, was too weak to struggle as the farmer held her nose.

When I had finished I ran my hand over the jutting bones, covered, it seemed, only by skin.

"She'll soon fatten up now," I said.

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