It's a Vet's Life: (24 page)

‘Maz,’ he says in a tone that means, back off. ‘Forget it.’ Releasing me, he turns his attention to making his dinner, taking the bread out of the bread-bin. ‘Tell me what you and George have been up to today.’

‘Alex,’ I say, feeling bruised by the row we’ve just had. ‘Have you forgotten? I’ve been at work all day too.’ I gaze at him as he picks up a knife to spread butter on a couple of slices of bread. Why do I feel as if he’s shutting me out? What is biting him to make
him
lose his temper like that? What will life be like when we are married? My gut knots up like tangled string. Is it possible that he is having second thoughts?

Something Old

THIS MORNING, I’M
listening in on the other side of the consulting room door, the one into the corridor, so I’m not too conspicuous. I know I shouldn’t be spying on Will, but I can hear the sound of raised voices. He’s supposed to be admitting a dog for a routine castration, but he’s taking ages.

‘Mrs Taylor, there are always risks involved with anaesthesia and surgery,’ he confirms.

‘What kind of risks?’

‘Of a fatality,’ he says matter-of-factly.

‘So what you’re saying is that he could have his little op and never come home?’

‘Yes, but it’s a remote possibility.’

‘How remote?’

‘It depends on which journals you read for the published figures.’

‘But it isn’t so remote that you can ignore it? Frances didn’t mention this when I booked him in.’

‘That’s because she’s a receptionist, not a vet,’ I hear Will say.

And I think, tone it down … but I can’t do anything. It wouldn’t look good, me going in there to give him a talking-to. I bite my lip.

‘What exactly are the chances of me getting him back home alive tonight, and not in a box?’ She’s upset. I can tell from her voice. ‘No, I’ve changed my mind. I’d rather put up with him shagging everything in sight, thank you.’

‘I can give him an injection instead to bring down his levels of testosterone, the male hormone. It’s a temporary measure.’

‘I’m going to leave him as Nature intended. My other half was right. This is cruel. It’s a mutilation. Simon will be so relieved. He’s spent the past week with his legs crossed.’

After Mrs Taylor and her dog have left the practice, and Will’s admitted the last op for the day, I have a quiet word.

‘I, um, heard Mrs Taylor cancelled the op today.’

‘It was her decision.’ Will frowns.

‘Yes, but she’d decided to have the dog neutered and you worried her so much with the risks that she changed her mind. We have to be straight with clients, but not over the top. It isn’t good for business,’ I say lightly. ‘Emma and I have to pay your wages.’

‘Point taken, Maz,’ he says. ‘I’ll plan what I say more carefully next time.’

‘Good. I’ll catch up with you later, after morning surgery.’

‘I’ll go and scrub up.’

‘How many ops have you actually admitted today?’

‘Three: a cat for X-ray, a dental, and a debride and suture wound, one of Emma’s.’

‘You’re cool with that?’

Will nods. ‘I reckon I know what I’m doing.’

He doesn’t sound convinced, so later I duck out of the consulting room between patients to check up on him. I glance through the porthole in the door to Kennels to make sure it’s safe to go in, and catch sight of Izzy hanging on to a cat I know rather too well. Cleo has striking green eyes, tortoiseshell and white fur, and a ferocious temper.

Will slides a needle into Cleo’s front leg to inject some anaesthetic. I can see her body begin to relax, but before she slips into unconsciousness, she utters one last yowl and sinks her teeth into Will’s thumb.

I go in as Will’s gasping and telling Izzy he’s fine, and she’s apologising at the same time.

‘I told you she was a “care” cat,’ she says.

‘She got me once,’ I observe, while Will, with blood dripping from his thumb, sprays the back of Cleo’s throat with local anaesthetic to relax her vocal cords, so he can slide a tube down her windpipe and connect her up to the anaesthetic machine. ‘I’ll keep an eye on her. Go and wash your hands. Are you okay?’

Will rinses the blood under the tap, and dabs his thumb tentatively with paper towel.

‘It’s just a flesh wound, no harm done,’ he says nobly. ‘Righty-oh, let’s get this wound tidied up.’

‘Yours, or Cleo’s?’ Izzy says lightly, disconnecting Cleo from the anaesthetic and carrying her into theatre to reconnect her there.

‘Will, you should get some antibiotics for that.’ I recall the agony I went through because I tried to ignore it. ‘We have a tame medic in town – Emma’s husband, Ben.’

‘I’ll see how I feel later on.’

I open my mouth to argue that he has to go, but
change
my mind. I spend too much time with George. I really must stop talking to Will as if he’s a child.

As it turns out, it’s rather convenient that one of the ops was cancelled because, not long after I’ve seen my last appointment, Frances turns up in the staffroom.

‘Maz, I have a young man in Reception.’

‘Lucky you, Frances,’ I tease. ‘What does he want?’

‘I thought I’d ask you rather than Will. I’m not sure he’ll cope.’ I can see a strip of white skin between Frances’s mask of orange foundation and her wig, the ash-blonde one that’s been set into unmovable waves. ‘It’s about a goat.’

‘A goat? Tell him to call Talyton Manor.’

‘He has the goat with him,’ says Frances.

‘Well, he can take it straight up there.’

‘He won’t do that,’ Frances says. ‘I’ve explained that we don’t do goats, but he refuses to have anything to do with Talyton Manor Vets. Your Alex is out on a call, and Old Fox-Gifford is at the surgery, but he won’t see him because he lost the last goat he took up there.’

‘Lost it?’

‘It escaped, Maz. They never found it. In fact, they reckon someone probably shot and ate it, because it disappeared without a trace.’

‘I didn’t hear about that,’ I say, frowning. Alex and his father are getting rather good at keeping things quiet. ‘What can I do though? I don’t know anything about goats, and if I did, I can’t remember.’

‘I imagine you know more than you think.’

‘That doesn’t mean I should rush in and look at it,’ I counter. ‘Perhaps Will should see it – he’s keen on exotics, and a goat is pretty exotic for us.’ I decide to have a chat with the young man in question, heading
out
to Reception where I find him standing there, with a black and white pygmy goat on a harness and lead.

‘Hi, I’m Maz. How can I help, Mr – er?’

‘Russ Jackson from Oakmore Farm. This is Ella. She’s kidding. The water bag burst half an hour ago and she’s no further forward.’

Russ looks at me hopefully. He’s in his late twenties, and about six foot three. He has white-blond hair and a light fuzz on his chin. His eyes are the palest blue, the pupils dark and expanded, as if he’s slightly stoned. He’s dressed in jeans and a tweed jacket, a silver chain around his neck. The goat strains and drops a few pellets on the floor.

‘She needs a Caesarean,’ he says.

‘All I can do here, Russ, is give first aid, emergency treatment to relieve pain, while you make arrangements to get Ella to a large animal vet. This is a small animal practice. We specialise in cats and dogs.’

‘Ella is a small goat,’ he insists, ‘and now we’re here, you have to see her.’

‘I’ll call Talyton Manor for you.’ I move around the desk and grab the phone. ‘Excuse me for a minute.’ I take it outside to the car park and call Alex. ‘I have one of your clients on the doorstep.’ I relay the message through Stewart because Alex has his arm inside one of the cows at Barton Farm. ‘Russ Jackson.’

‘Oh, the odd chap, the singer-songwriter from which band was it, Alex?’ says Stewart. ‘Some Indie group. We can’t remember the name, but he made a shed-load of cash and moved here to play the farmer.’ Stewart chuckles. ‘He hasn’t got a bloody clue.’

‘Stewart, can we cut the chat, please? He has a goat with him that needs a Caesarean, urgently. Tell Alex to get himself back to the Manor asap to deal with it. Or,
at
a push, he can get down here and do it at Otter House.’

‘Alex, your fiancée wants you,’ I hear Stewart say, then his voice cuts out.

I dial again.

‘Alex says you’ll have to do it,’ Stewart tells me. ‘He says that Russ, more often than not, has his goat on a lead, so strictly it’s more of a pet than farm livestock.’

I’m angry that they are not taking it seriously.

‘Tell my fiancé that I’m not happy about being dropped into this situation like this, and if I get sued, I’ll make sure he suffers for it.’

‘I’m sure you will, Maz,’ Stewart says, laughing. ‘I’ll let him know.’

‘One more thing, get him to text me with details of what he uses to knock out a goat.’

‘Will do. Good luck.’

I return inside. Although I’m apprehensive, my heart beats faster, anticipating this fresh challenge.

‘Please,’ says Russ. ‘She’s in real trouble.’ The goat bleats plaintively, as if to say, do something, making up my mind. If the water bag ruptured half an hour ago, there’s a risk she’s already lost her kid, or kids, and she’s in danger too.

‘I’m telling you that I have never done a Caesar on a goat, so this decision is yours, and it’s at your own risk.’ I give him a rough estimate of the cost.

‘I don’t want to pay any silly small animal prices,’ he says, but I stick to my guns. ‘It’s strange how you’re so much more expensive than Talyton Manor Vets. It’s a bit of a rip-off in my opinion.’

‘Talyton Manor don’t have much in the way of overheads,’ I point out, ‘and they don’t have support staff.’

Having asked Russ to complete a consent form, and sent him on his way, leaving the goat with me, I call Izzy through and ask her to set up for a goat Caesar, at which she says, ‘Do you need anything special for that?’

‘The bitch spay kit? Some extra artery forceps? Retractors?’

‘I’ll throw a couple of kits together,’ she says, smiling. ‘A goat. How exciting.’ She holds the doors open for me as, having weighed Ella on the scales, I lead her through to Kennels. ‘When Frances said there was a goat in Reception, I thought she was kidding. Get it, Maz!’

‘Ha, ha. Very funny, Izzy. You ought to go for a new career in stand-up. You could offer an evening’s entertainment at the Talymill Inn.’ I check my mobile and draw up a dose of sedative, according to Alex’s texted instructions: sedation, epidural and a local nerve block for a left flank approach. ‘Where’s Will? He might be able to help with this.’

‘He’s upstairs in the flat. I’ll buzz him,’ says Izzy. ‘Do you think we’ll need more back-up?’

‘Shannon’s having a late lunch – she’s gone home to play with Seven. It’s Emma’s afternoon off. I don’t think she’ll want to see it, but it would be good for Shannon.’

‘I’ll get Frances to call her then.’

Within ten minutes, the goat is in theatre, surrounded by vets and nurses. Frances hovers at the door. Will and I assure each other that the principles are the same as dealing with a cat or dog, but Izzy stresses about sterility, so we cover Ella’s feet with theatre caps.

‘I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss,’ says
Will
. ‘The goat’s cleaner than some of the dogs that come in wet and muddy after a walk.’

Will and I operate together, while Izzy monitors the goat with Shannon in support.

‘You know I went home to let the dogs out,’ Shannon begins. ‘Well, I picked up my exam results at the same time.’

‘And?’ I glance up from the goat. ‘Don’t keep us in suspense. I don’t think I can take much more.’

‘I passed,’ she says with a squeal of delight. ‘I can’t believe it.’

‘I can,’ I say. ‘I had every faith in you.’

‘One more year to go before I qualify,’ she says, as Frances, Will and Izzy join with me in offering Shannon our congratulations.

It isn’t long before Shannon is rubbing down a single black and white kid that was simply too large to emerge from its mother by the natural route. It is very cute.

‘It’s a girl,’ Shannon says. ‘This is great. I can’t wait to tell the others at college.’ She pauses as the kid utters a bleat. ‘Should I get the large kennel ready for them?’

‘I’m going to send them home as soon as mum is up and about,’ I say. ‘We haven’t got the facilities to keep them.’

‘We could set up a pen on the lawn out the back,’ Izzy suggests.

‘I don’t think so …’

‘You’re probably right, Maz,’ she says. ‘The smell’s getting on my goat.’

‘And your jokes are getting on mine.’ I chuckle aloud behind my surgical mask. ‘That’s enough of the goat jokes now.’

‘All right, I’ll butt out.’

‘Izzy!’ I turn to Will. ‘Should we sew or staple?’

‘It’s no use asking Will,’ Izzy sighs. ‘By the time he makes up his mind, that kid will be someone’s dinner.’