The Village Vet (22 page)

‘Hey, Dolly, that’s enough,’ Libby croons. ‘I’m not hurting you.’ She gives her a rub behind the ear and offers her a Polo mint, which she has no hesitation in accepting. With utmost patience and quiet movements Libby starts brushing again, repeating the process
seven
times in all, after which Dolly decides it isn’t worth arguing any more. She relents, allowing Libby to brush her all over, even her feathers. ‘Good girl.’ Libby gives her another Polo. ‘That’s enough for today. We want to end on a good note, don’t we? Tomorrow, we’ll see if you’ll let me pick up your feet to practise for the farrier.’

The blacksmith has been out to trim Dolly’s feet, but he managed only one before he took umbrage and decided he’d deal with her only under sedation. Even with Dolly under the influence, both Libby and the blacksmith looked as if they could do with sedation themselves by the time they had finished all four.

Jack and I move towards her, Jack keeping back, perhaps remembering the kick up the backside that Dolly delivered when he was trying to lead her across the field to the railway line.

‘Wow, Libby,’ I say. ‘What did you say to her?’

Libby grins. ‘Sweet nothings. Whispering is definitely more effective than shouting as far as Dolly’s concerned.’ She scratches the pony’s withers, and, in response, Dolly arches her neck and nibbles at Libby’s sweatshirt with her top lip as if Libby is another pony, indulging in some mutual grooming. ‘I think she’s going to be all right in the end. Do you think we’ll be able to ride her one day?’

‘I don’t know,’ Jack says. ‘I doubt Frank Maddocks would have broken her to ride – her knees would buckle under his weight. Besides, I doubt she’ll be here long enough for you to find out.’

‘What do you mean?’ Libby’s face falls. ‘Oh, I know you talked about her being sold … I suppose I’d hoped she might have to stay. If Mr Maddocks appeals against the police’s decision to seize her, it will slow
everything
down. She could be here for the winter.’

‘Wishful thinking, sis,’ Jack says. ‘How many times have I warned you against falling in love with unsuitable or unavailable …’ He pauses.

‘Ponies,’ Libby finishes for him, a small smile on her lips. ‘Never. You’ve often mentioned unsuitable men though.’

I wish someone had warned me against Nathan, I think, gazing at the soft light in Jack’s eyes as he goes on to suggest that she shouldn’t grow too attached to the animals at the Sanctuary.

‘You can care about them, but you have to be prepared to let them go,’ Jack says. ‘By all means spend as much time as you like training her. If you can tame Dolly, she’ll have a good chance of going to a great home. As she is, I’m not sure anyone will want her.’

‘I know that,’ Libby says, sounding exasperated now. ‘You are so patronising sometimes. I’m not ten. You really don’t have to treat me like a child any more. I don’t need your constant protection, Jack. It’s suffocating.’ She stamps her foot, much like Dolly does when she isn’t happy. She turns to me as she unties the pony and walks away with Dolly ambling along next to her, calling back over her shoulder, ‘I’m sorry, Tessa, but it really pisses me off.’

‘Tess, did you see?’ Jack says. ‘How did she manage that?’

She has a way with animals, I think, as does her brother. A delicious quiver of longing darts along my spine. Jack has a way with women too …

Chapter Ten

Lonely Hearts

I’M BACK AT
Otter House one morning with Tia and Teddy, beginning to feel as if I’m spending more time at the vet’s than I did when I worked as a vet nurse.

‘Hi, Tessa. Can’t you keep away?’ Maz jokes, as she calls me into the consulting room. ‘I hear the Fun Day was a success. I’ve had several clients talking about it.’

‘We raised some money, but we didn’t rehome any of the animals. Mind you, who would want to rehome Teddy and poor old Tia here?’ She has a second ear infection now, on top of everything else, and whenever she shakes her head, she leaves a trail of brown spatters – at first I thought it was gravy – across the freshly painted walls. Cuddling up with her is like snuggling up with a well-loved yet musty teddy bear.

‘I don’t know what to do with her.’ I stroke her as she stands trembling on the consulting-room table.

‘We’ll get that ear cleared up. Somebody will come along. Give it time.’ Maz kisses the top of Tia’s head. ‘Does she mind being in a kennel?’

‘She hates it – I’ve never seen a dog so depressed.
I’ve
taken pity on her, and she’s living in the bungalow with Buster, who seems happy to coexist with her as she’s no threat to him whatsoever.’ I grin. ‘I’ll have to put a limit on my compassion though, otherwise there’ll be so many dogs indoors I’ll have to move into one of the kennels myself.’

‘Have you thought about doing a golden oldie offer? You could say that Talyton Animal Rescue would pay a contribution to her vet bills once she was in a new home, because they’re only going to escalate. That might tempt someone to take her on,’ Maz says as she looks down Tia’s ear and gently cleans it out.

‘It’s worth a try. I’ll work out the relative costs of keeping her long-term at the Sanctuary or paying towards her bills later on.’

Maz squirts ear drops down Tia’s ear and massages it for a moment. When she lets go, Tia shakes her head, covering Maz’s paw-print top with yellow splashes

‘Spot the deliberate mistake.’ Maz chuckles. ‘I should have held on to her head for a bit longer. Keep those drops going in for a few days and bring her back on Monday.’

I lift Tia gently down to the floor.

‘Who’s next?’ Maz asks.

‘Teddy.’ I let go of Tia’s lead and let her wander around the consulting room, sniffing at the cupboards – searching for food, I imagine – and bumping into table legs, while Maz takes a look at Teddy, who, since the abscess cleared up, has acquired a skin infection under his neck.

‘That’s nasty,’ Maz comments. ‘I’m going to prescribe more antibiotics, but I’d like to take some blood to test for the feline leukaemia virus and the feline immunodeficiency virus if that’s all right with you.
Hopefully
he’s negative, but I think we need to know what we’re up against. As you know, either of those viruses can damage the immune system and make him prone to bacterial infections, among other things.

‘You can’t rehome him with other cats if he’s positive for either virus because both are transmitted by biting and close contact – mutual grooming, for example. I’m not saying he’ll have to be put down though,’ Maz says quickly. ‘I’ve rehomed positive cats very successfully.’ She pauses. ‘Can I ask you a favour, Tessa?’

‘Of course,’ I say, tickling Teddy’s chin.

‘Izzy’s tied up in theatre with an emergency and our other nurse is off today. Are you happy to hang on to him while I take the blood?’

‘As long as I can wrap him in a towel. He’s prone to hissy fits.’

‘I’ve noticed,’ Maz says wryly. She shows me a scar on her forearm. ‘He did that the last time he was in to have that abscess drained. I should have been more careful. He isn’t a bad cat though.’

‘You’ll be trying to tell me he does it because he’s misunderstood next. No excuses, Teddy.’ I go on to wrap him particularly carefully, pinning him down on the consulting room table, while leaving one front leg free for Maz to access for the blood sample. As if intent on proving us both wrong, Teddy doesn’t put a paw out of place.

‘I’ll let you know the results as soon as I get them.’

‘Thanks, Maz.’

I take Tia and Teddy back to the Sanctuary, wondering if we’ll ever manage to rehome any of the rescues. It hadn’t occurred to me before that it wouldn’t be anything but straightforward. However, the animals
arrive
with the problems that turned them into unwanted pets in the first place: Buster’s aggression towards other dogs, Tia’s age-related conditions, and potentially for Teddy an incurable infection that could shorten his life.

I lift him out of the van and return him to the cattery where he jumps up onto his shelf as if there’s nothing wrong with him, and, instead of hiding under his bed, he sits there, blinking at me. I bite my lip. I can’t advertise him until we know the outcome of the blood tests, but I need to take steps to advertise the others.

‘How about “single black male”?’ I say, writing notes on the back of an envelope while Libby and I take a break in the office with coffee and biscuits, and a kitten, later on. Libby is hand-rearing a feral that a member of the public handed in the other day. She’s about four weeks old, tortoiseshell and white, cute but fairly wild and highly infectious to our other cats because she has a nasty bout of cat flu, hence the reason for keeping her isolated in a cage in the bungalow. It’s debatable whether I should have agreed to take her in at all – she’s going to cost a fortune in vet’s bills and probably end up back out in the wild, but the other option was … well, you can probably guess, and I couldn’t contemplate that.

When Libby cleans the kitten’s eyes and nose, she mewls and wriggles in protest.

‘Ouch! You’re a feisty little thing,’ Libby says, glancing at the scratches on her hand. ‘I’m sorry, Tessa, what were you saying?’

‘I was wondering if I could start the ad with “single black male”?’

‘Can you say that?’ Libby asks.

‘It’s a true statement,’ I point out.

‘Okay, go on.’ Libby pops the kitten back into its basket. ‘I’ve had no experience of Lonely Hearts columns or internet dating, I’m afraid, so I’m not much help.’

‘Hey, hang on a moment,’ I chide. ‘I haven’t either, and I don’t intend to.’

‘Maybe I should give it a go,’ Libby says mournfully. ‘My friends are in serious relationships and getting engaged, one is pregnant, and I feel as if I’m being left behind. There aren’t many eligible bachelors left in Talyton St George.’

There’s Nathan, I think, but I wouldn’t suggest him as potential boyfriend material to my worst enemy.

‘What about Kevin, the policeman?’ I say to Libby. ‘I don’t know if he’s attached or not, but he seems okay.’

‘For a man in uniform, I don’t find him a particularly arresting sight,’ she says with a grin. ‘No, we used to go to school with him, if you remember.’

‘I don’t,’ I say, racking my brain.

‘You see, he wasn’t that memorable then.’

‘Libby, you have plenty of time. Don’t rush it.’ I pause. ‘Now, where was I?’

‘You were composing an ad for Buster, our special needs dog.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I say protectively. ‘He’s amazing: loyal, sensitive. I’ll put that in. How about “single black male, good-looking and affectionate, gsoh, seeks one-on-one forever relationship with lady (preferably), no children, no pets”? Should I add an age group?’

‘Does age matter?’

‘A more mature lady might not be able to keep Buster under control out walking on the lead.’

‘That will depend on her build as much as her age,’
Libby
says, laughing. ‘Are you going to add that this lady needs to be in possession of a fuller figure? Tessa, I think you need to make it less specific.’

‘What about Tia?’ I go on. ‘How do I make her sound really appealing? “Overweight, elderly female with her own teeth (just seven remaining), looking for that special someone …”’

‘I think you have to emphasise what she’s been through to gain the sympathy vote, so people can’t resist offering her a home for her twilight years.’

‘It’s sad, isn’t it? No one ever picks Tia out when they come to look for a dog, because she’s always the one cowering at the back of the kennel. She hates it in there.’

‘Which is why you’re always taking her over to the bungalow with Buster,’ Libby points out, her expression one of amusement. ‘You should take them both on, Tessa.’

‘I can’t have one dog, let alone two. It isn’t a good time for me. I haven’t got the money to pay for food and vet’s bills at the moment. I’m going to be paying my debts for a very long time, years at this rate, probably decades.’ I change the subject. ‘So, do you want me to put an ad in the
Chronicle
for you too? They might have a preferential rate, a three-for-two deal.’

‘No way, Tessa.’ Libby pretends to look appalled.

‘So are you looking for love, or not?’

‘I’m not looking as such.’ She blushes. ‘I was hoping love would come to me.’

‘You mean, as a special delivery?’

‘I might do.’

‘You could do a lot worse than Ash,’ I say, thinking of Nathan.

‘What about Dolly?’ Libby changes the subject quickly. ‘Do you know what’s happening to her, officially, I mean?’

‘There’s some dispute between Jack and Mr Maddocks, who’s appealing against the seizure.’

‘How can that be right?’ Libby’s eyes grow moist and her lip trembles. ‘How can you rescue her and then throw her back into a situation where anybody with enough money can take her?’

‘It isn’t my decision, Libby. The court has to decide whether she was legally seized, or if Jack has enough evidence to take Mr Maddocks to court for breaking the Animal Welfare Act.’

Jack didn’t follow protocol, which is partly my fault, I think with a twinge of guilt. If I hadn’t made my feelings about the pony so clear, perhaps he would have taken the time to get the paperwork right.