Trust Me, I'm a Vet (30 page)

‘I am, which is why I can’t stand by and watch things get any worse.’

‘You’re planning to take them all away from me, aren’t you? I’ll never let them go,’ Gloria says, pushing her way between me and Ugli-dog. ‘Over my dead body.’

‘All I’m going to do today is take Ugli-dog for treatment and call Fifi to get you some help,’ I continue firmly. ‘You need someone to help fix your roof, walk the dogs and clean up in here.’

Gloria opens her mouth to argue with me, but I interrupt her.

‘You’re an intelligent woman. Surely you can see you aren’t coping?’

She stares at me. Mute. Humiliated. Defeated. In fact, I don’t like to leave her on her own.

‘Is there someone who can come and sit with you?’

‘There’s no one left,’ she says weakly. ‘All I have is my animals.’

‘Why don’t I help you feed this lot and tidy up a bit, then I’ll be back tomorrow.’ I reach out my hand, but she shrinks away from my touch. ‘I promise you, we’ll sort this out.’ I leave my stethoscope behind, deliberately this time.

‘You’ve been hours,’ Izzy says when I return to Otter House with Ugli-dog in tow. I sat him in the footwell of the passenger seat in my car – he didn’t seem to mind.

Izzy looks at the dog. ‘What have we here?’

‘A bit of a crisis, I think. I’m going to take some skin scrapings, hair pluckings, a biopsy and blood, and then he’ll need a bath.’ Ugli-dog wags his stump of a tail. ‘I’m going to need a bath too. I stink.’

I describe the situation at Gloria’s to Izzy, as I take skin scrapings from various parts of Ugli-dog’s anatomy: his thickened, crusted ears; his greasy, spotty back; and the red-raw webs between his toes.

‘I didn’t even get to see Ginge. Gloria says he’s always out in the fields which means he only gets his medication when he turns up, and then she gives him extra to make up for the doses he’s missed. I can’t see how he’s ever going to get better.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Izzy takes the microscope out of the cupboard under the bench and sets it up on top. ‘I can call Andrea if you like – she’s our local RSPCA inspector.’

‘No, not yet. I’m going to call Fifi first.’ It might be a little awkward seeing I wouldn’t give her a better discount than Talyton Manor Vets, and I’m sure she’s heard every detail of Blueboy’s bad hair day and Cadbury’s demise. But it’s Gloria’s best hope of help without losing all her animals.

‘Are you sure that’s wise?’

‘She and Talyton Animal Rescue must take some of the responsibility. They can’t let their personal differences take precedence over the welfare of those animals.’ I pop Ugli-dog in a cage. ‘I’ve done what I can for now. None of them is in immediate danger. I’ll arrange to meet Fifi and as many volunteers as she can round up tomorrow at Gloria’s. That way, we can decide together which of the rescues can be rehomed, and make arrangements to look after the rest.’

‘You mean you’re going to leave some of them with Gloria?’

‘One or two of the cats, maybe three, no more than she can care for properly.’

‘Maz, you’re too soft.’ Suddenly, Izzy’s face falls. ‘How on earth will she choose which ones to keep?’

‘I want to give Gloria a chance, like she gave those rescues. I think it would kill her to lose them all.’

‘Look at poor Ugli-dog,’ Izzy says. ‘What kind of life has she given him?’

‘What kind of life does Gloria have?’ I counter. ‘She has no relatives, no friends, no one who cares whether she lives or dies. Imagine ending up like that.’ I have a quick look at Ugli-dog’s skin and hair under the microscope, finding the mites which are causing his skin problem. ‘Ugh, it’s mange. And I kissed him. I’m sure I kissed him.’

‘I’ll get him started on the washes,’ Izzy says. ‘You go and phone Fifi.’

‘I don’t see what I can do about it,’ is Fifi’s immediate reaction. ‘Gloria’s made it perfectly clear that I’m not welcome at Buttercross Cottage any more.’

‘I’d hoped that Talyton Animal Rescue would be able to help out, but if it’s that difficult, I’ll have to speak to the RSPCA . . .’

‘Oh?’

‘It could reflect badly on you and your committee, but I’ve run out of options.’

‘Oh no, there’s no need to involve any other organisation,’ Fifi says quickly. ‘We’re more than able to handle any situation.’

‘It’s a pity you didn’t get a handle on this one sooner,’ I point out.

‘I admit that I should have kept an eye on her. I should have insisted.’ Fifi pauses for a millisecond. ‘I tell you what I’ll do.’

‘No,’ I cut in, ‘I’ll tell you what I want you to do. Come over to Otter House tomorrow at eleven, and we’ll go up to Gloria’s with Izzy and any other helpers you can rustle up.’

‘I’ll go up there now,’ Fifi says.

‘Please don’t rush in. Promise me . . .’

‘All right. I’ll wait.’ Her voice brightens a little. ‘What about Talyton Manor Vets? I’m sure they’d help us.’

‘No, there’s no need to involve the Fox-Giffords,’ I say. ‘There’s plenty of room here at Otter House.’

‘Oh? All right then. Well, I’ll concentrate on rallying the troops and organising supplies.’

‘Thanks, Fifi.’ I return the phone to Reception, where Tripod joins me, winding himself around my calves.

‘You had a lucky escape ending up here, not at Gloria’s,’ I tell him, at which my demons come howling back, reminding me that Cadbury wasn’t so lucky.

I promise myself that I’ll make up for my perceived failures and make the pet owners of Talyton St George proud to have me as their vet until Emma gets back. I’ll ensure all those animals at Gloria’s so-called sanctuary are found good homes and treated well. To do that, there can be no more thoughts of closing Otter House down. Emma has still not returned my frantic calls, so like it or not I’m going to have to stay on in Talyton for a while longer, which means I’ll have to get hold of the bank and sort out the payments on the X-ray machine at least.

Chapter Sixteen

It Really Really Shouldn’t Happen to a Vet

‘I’m running out of time, so I’ll cut to the chase. I’ve got a horse with colic, and I need to refer it to a hospital asap.’

‘I’m sorry, you’ve lost me . . .’

‘Yeah, I guessed that some time ago. Listen, I need to ask you an enormous favour. I wouldn’t normally dream of bothering you, but this is an emergency.’

‘I can take your calls for you,’ I offer grudgingly, ‘but I can’t remember anything useful about cows and sheep.’

I’m not sure Alex is really listening to me, because he continues, ‘My parents are up in London, I can’t get hold of Lisa, my groom, and old Dickie Pommel is much the worse for wear in the Coach and Horses.’

‘Well, can’t Eloise help? She is your girlfriend after all,’ I interrupt.

‘Eloise? My girlfriend?’ I hear Alex make a half-choke, half-laugh snorting sound. ‘No way. It’s nothing like that. She isn’t my type at all and anyway we’re just good friends. We go back years. She’s more like a sister. Now, I’m looking – no, begging – for someone to give me a hand getting Liberty over to the referral clinic at Westleigh.’

‘Liberty?’

‘My horse.’

‘The showjumper?’

‘Please, Maz. You’re the only person left. You’re my last resort.’

I make up my mind. ‘OK, put your phones through to us – Izzy will take the calls.’ At least, I’m pretty sure she will. She might not be mine and Alex’s biggest fan, but she’ll do anything for an animal in distress.

‘I’m up at the Manor, in the yard.’

‘I’ll be there in ten minutes.’

‘Thanks, Maz.’ Alex’s voice seems to catch in his throat. ‘I owe you.’

I park in the yard beside the lorry which has ‘Talyton Manor Horses’ and a logo of a jumping horse printed in gold across its purple bodywork. The rear ramp is down and there are lights on inside, in spite of the fact that it’s only eight o’clock in the evening and the sun has yet to sink completely behind the hills behind the house.

I find Alex by the stable closest to the house. As I lean over the stable door to peer in, my hand brushes against his – it’s the slightest touch, but it raises goosebumps over my skin and sends a tiny shiver of longing down my spine.

‘How is she?’ I ask.

‘Not good.’ Alex opens the stable door and whistles quietly. ‘Steady there, girl,’ he murmurs, but the mare continues to pace tight circles in the straw, her coat dark with sweat, her nostrils flared with anxiety. She stops to paw at the ground and kick at her belly. ‘She’s been down twice already – I can hardly bear to watch.’

‘What’s the plan?’ I ask.

‘I’ll stick some boots on her and load her up. As soon as she’s in the lorry, you shut the gates behind her and fasten them quick. I don’t want her throwing herself backwards down the ramp.’

‘Have you given her anything?’

‘An antispasmodic and a painkiller, but they aren’t touching her.’

I follow Alex into the stable. He clips a rope onto the mare’s head collar and passes the other end to me. It feels odd to be holding a horse again – I’d forgotten how powerful they are.

‘Keep her head up if you can,’ Alex says. ‘I don’t want her going down again.’

I hang on to the head collar. Gradually, she lowers her head until her nose touches the straw. I lean against her shoulder, trying to haul her head up, and just as I think that I’m beaten, that she’s going to go down, she tenses. A spasm grips her belly and her front legs come up in a half rear, knocking me momentarily off balance.

‘Take care, Maz,’ Alex says, his voice gruff with concern.

‘I’m OK.’ I stroke Liberty’s neck, noting the dull expression in her eyes, and she calms down again, long enough for Alex to throw a set of travel boots – purple ones to match the livery of the horsebox, I notice – on to protect her legs.

‘I’ll take her now.’ I pass Alex the rope and he leads Liberty out of the stable and straight up into the lorry. Quickly, I shut the gates and the ramp behind her. So far, so good. I find myself able to breathe again until all hell breaks loose as Liberty starts throwing herself around and kicking out at the side of the lorry. I don’t know what she’s doing in there, but she manages to put a dent in the panel.

‘I’d better get going before she demolishes the box,’ Alex says.

There’s silence followed by another bang which makes the whole lorry shake.

‘I’m coming with you.’ I check the fastenings on the ramp. ‘I’ll ride in the back.’

‘You shouldn’t . . .’ Alex says hopefully.

‘I know, but I can try to stop her going down and getting cast in the box,’ I point out. I gaze at him. His brow is furrowed with anxiety. I can see he’s torn between protecting me and giving his horse the best chance of survival. He obviously cares for her very much, and I want to do this, because I care for him – and I can admit that now I know there’s no Eloise. ‘Please, Alex.’

‘All right then, but make sure you keep the partition between you and the mare,’ he says. ‘I’ll take it very slowly.’

The journey seems to take for ever, not only because I’m with a horse that’s manic with fear and pain, but also because I can’t see out to get an idea of how far we’ve gone, how much longer it’ll be until we get there.

Liberty leans back against the rope, which is fastened via a piece of baling twine to a metal ring set in the fabric of the lorry. Her head and neck are outstretched, as if one lurch of the vehicle might dislocate them and tear them apart. The veins stand proud of her skin with the effort of bracing herself, front legs forward and hind legs underneath her belly.

I can see pools of sweat glistening on the rubber mats under her hooves. Her expression is wild, desperate. She rolls her eyes, the whites gleaming in the artificial light, then utters a long, drawn-out groan.

‘Hang on in there,’ I murmur, as I try to keep my feet. I touch her ears – they’re freezing – and make a quick check on her pulse. ‘It can’t be far now.’

The lorry slows right down and swings left. Liberty leaps forwards in a panic, and bashes her face against the partition.

‘Steady there!’ I’m all churned up inside. What if she goes down? Don’t go there, I tell myself, dismissing an image of a dead horse being hoisted from the back of a lorry. Liberty pulls back on the rope again, blood pouring from her nostrils. Her limbs start to fold. Her back begins to sink.

‘No! Get up, you stupid horse!’ I bellow at her. ‘You have to stay up.’ I untie the rope and pull with all my weight on it to keep her head high. I pinch her nose and slap her neck. ‘You have to!’

Liberty rolls her eye in my direction. That’s good. She knows I’m here.

It might have been only ten more minutes, but it felt like ten hours before the lorry finally stopped moving.

‘Let’s get her out of here,’ I hear Alex shout as he lowers the ramp. Two men, in jeans and green sweatshirts, open the gates and guide her out with Alex at her head. I follow, my legs weak from the exertion of the journey, finding myself in a yard outside a modern building with a sign reading ‘Westleigh Equine Hospital’.

Immediately, we are surrounded. There are the two grooms, the vet with his stethoscope around his neck, his anaesthetist, his houseman and two nurses. Alex introduces me to the vet – he’s called John and he’s worked at Westleigh for the past four years. He has a firm, steady handshake, hopefully the sign of a good surgeon.