All Creatures Great and Small Read Online Free PDF Page B

the ribs with my elbow and, though it made him change his position for a second, he was soon leaning on again.
    The mark was growing fainter and, after a final gouge with the knife, it disappeared altogether. I swore quietly and started on another mark. With my back at breaking point and the sweat trickling into my eyes, I knew that if this one petered out, too, I would have to let the foot go and take a rest. And with Farnon’s eye on me I didn’t want to do that.
    Agonisingly, I hacked away and, as the hole deepened, my knees began an uncontrollable trembling. The horse rested happily, his fifteen hundredweight cradled by this thoughtful human. I was wondering how it would look when I finally fell flat on my face when, under the knife blade, I saw a thin spurt of pus followed by a steady trickle.
    “There it goes,” the farmer grunted. “He’ll get relief now.”
    I enlarged the drainage hole and dropped the foot. It took me a long time to straighten up and when I stepped back, my shirt clung to my back.
    “Well done, Herriot.” Farnon took the knife from me and slipped it into his pocket. “It just isn’t funny when the horn is as hard as that.”
    He gave the horse a shot of tetanus antitoxin then turned to the farmer. “I wonder if you’d hold up the foot for a second while I disinfect the cavity.” The stocky little man gripped the foot between his knees and looked down with interest as Farnon filled the hole with iodine crystals and added some turpentine. Then he disappeared behind a billowing purple curtain.
    I watched, fascinated, as the thick pall mounted and spread. I could locate the little man only by the spluttering noises from somewhere in the middle.
    As the smoke began to clear, a pair of round, startled eyes came into view. “By gaw, Mr. Farnon, I wondered what the ’ell had happened for a minute,” the farmer said between coughs. He looked down again at the blackened hole in the hoof and spoke reverently: “It’s wonderful what science can do nowadays.”
    We did two more visits, one to a calf with a cut leg which I stitched, dressed and bandaged, then to the cow with the blocked teat.
    Mr. Sharpe was waiting, still looking eager. He led us into the byre and Farnon gestured towards the cow. “See what you can make of it.”
    I squatted down and palpated the teat, feeling the mass of thickened tissue half up. It would have to be broken down by a Hudson’s instrument and I began to work the thin metal spiral up the teat. One second later, I was sitting gasping in the dung channel with the neat imprint of a cloven hoof on my shirt front, just over the solar plexus.
    It was embarrassing, but there was nothing I could do but sit there fighting for breath, my mouth opening and shutting like a stranded fish.
    Mr. Sharpe held his hand over his mouth, his innate politeness at war with his natural amusement at seeing the vet come to grief. “I’m sorry, young man, but I owt to ’ave told you that this is a very friendly cow. She allus likes to shake hands.” Then, overcome by his own wit, he rested his forehead on the cow’s back and went into a long paroxysm of silent mirth.
    I took my time to recover, then rose with dignity from the channel. With Mr. Sharpe holding the nose and Farnon lifting up the tail, I managed to get the instrument past the fibrous mass and by a few downward tugs I cleared the obstruction; but, though the precautions cramped the cow’s style a little, she still got in several telling blows on my arms and legs.
    When it was over, the farmer grasped the teat and sent a long white jet frothing on the floor. “Capital! She’s going on four cylinders now!”

FOUR
    “W E’LL GO HOME A different way.” Farnon leaned over the driving wheel and wiped the cracked windscreen with his sleeve. “Over the Brenkstone Pass and down Sildale. It’s not much further and I’d like you to see it.”
    We took a steep, winding road, climbing higher and still higher with the hillside