Vet in Green Pastures by Hugh Lasgarn

Author:Hugh Lasgarn [Hugh Lasgarn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780285642522
Publisher: Souvenir Press
Published: 2013-09-25T04:00:00+00:00

I took on petrol from the handcranked pump in the yard and topped up the radiator which had developed a slight leak, then checked that I had all my equipment.

The late G. R. Hacker had devised a veterinary box that rode on the back seat of the car and was of sturdy wooden construction, not unlike a small cabin trunk. The interior was divided into compartments that accommodated bottles of medicine, tins of tablets and packets of powders from which cattle drenches were prepared. In the boot there was a metal box containing all the requirements for calving cows, such as thick and thin ropes, short sticks to use as handles and eye hooks to control movement of the head. There were also embryotome wires and guarded knives for the grisly task of dismembering dead calves that proved too difficult to deliver normally. The remainder of the tools comprised a brass stirrup pump to irrigate unclean wombs with antiseptic; a probang, a large, long and rather unwieldy leather-bound tube which, when inserted into the throat, could unblock an obstructed gullet or let out wind from an over-inflated gut; a pair of ‘barnacles’ — metal nose tongs to restrain a fractious patient — and a strong rope halter.

The protective clothing was minimal, and stripping to the waist for dirty jobs was the order of the day. Wellington boots and a red rubber apron were provided for messy encounters, but these could be supplemented according to personal taste. A cold rubber apron on a bare chest in the frosty air could be an enlivening experience and even the acclimatised personnel had taken steps to ease the shock.

Bob Hacker had a little sheepskin waistcoat that he wore beneath his red apron, but it was McBean, with his usual Irish ingenuity, who had developed an odd, but very practical regalia. It consisted of one of a number of old flannel shirts with the sleeves removed, which were sent to him regularly in batches from an old uncle in Connemara. To prevent any distasteful matter reaching his uncle’s shirts he was equipped with what appeared to be rubber washers, circles of thin rubber cut from old car inner tubes. These he wore around his biceps, the whole weird ensemble giving him the appearance of being prepared for initiation into a secret society.

‘A wee idea I picked up when I was a student working at Dublin Docks,’ he confided. ‘You’ll see similar designs on ships’ hawsers to prevent rats reaching the decks. Really ought to patent the idea, Hugh,’ he said, when he proudly presented me with a pair of his creations. ‘McBean’s “Mucklets” could make me a fortune!’

My medical bag was similar to that of the late G. R. Hacker, which I had been privileged to use on my first case, but much more battered. However, it served its purpose and in the drawers I kept glass syringes, a thermometer, stethoscope, small drugs and a few instruments.

Finally, having found everything in place and functional, I started on my way.

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