Herriot - It Shouldnt Happen to a Vet

To

E DDIE S TRAITON

With gratitude and affection

I COULD SEE THAT Mr Handshaw didnt believe a word I was saying. He looked down at his cow and his mouth tightened into a stubborn line.

Broken pelvis? Youre trying to tell me shell never get up nmore? Why, look at her chewing her cud! Ill tell you this, young man me dad wouldve soon got her up if hed been alive today.

I had been a veterinary surgeon for a year now and I had learned a few things. One of them was that farmers werent easy men to convince especially Yorkshire Dalesmen.

And that bit about his dad. Mr Handshaw was in his fifties and I suppose there was something touching about his faith in his late fathers skill and judgement. But I could have done very nicely without it.

It had acted as an additional irritant in a case in which I felt I had troubles enough. Because there are few things which get more deeply under a vets skin than a cow which wont get up. To the layman it may seem strange that an animal can be apparently cured of its original ailment and yet be unable to rise from the floor, but it happens. And it can be appreciated that a completely recumbent milk cow has no future.

The case had started when my boss, Siegfried Farnon, who owned the practice in the little Dales market town of Darrowby, sent me to a milk fever. This suddenly occurring calcium deficiency attacks high yielding animals just after calving and causes collapse and progressive coma. When I first saw Mr Handshaws cow she was stretched out motionless on her side, and I had to look carefully to make sure she wasnt dead.

But I got out my bottles of calcium with an airy confidence because I had been lucky enough to qualify just about the time when the profession had finally got on top of this hitherto fatal condition. The breakthrough had come many years earlier with inflation of the udder and I still carried a little blowing-up outfit around with me (the farmers used bicycle pumps), but with the advent of calcium therapy one could bask in cheap glory by jerking an animal back from imminent death within minutes. The skill required was minimal but it looked very very good.

By the time I had injected the two bottles one into the vein, the other under the skin and Mr Handshaw had helped me roll the cow onto her chest the improvement was already obvious; she was looking about her and shaking her head as if wondering where she had been for the last few hours. I felt sure that if I had had the time to hang about for a bit I could see her on her feet. But other jobs were waiting.

Give me a ring if she isnt up by dinner time, I said, but it was a formality. I was pretty sure I wouldnt be seeing her again.

When the farmer rang at midday to say she was still down it was just a pinprick. Some cases needed an extra bottle it would be all right. I went out and injected her again.

I wasnt really worried when I learned she hadnt got up the following day, but Mr Handshaw, hands deep in pockets, shoulders hunched as he stood over his cow, was grievously disappointed at my lack of success.

Its time tawd bitch was up. Shes doin no good laid there. Surely theres summat you can do. I poured a bottle of water into her lug this morning but even that hasnt shifted her.

You what?

Poured some cold water down her lug ole. Me dad used to get em up that way and he was a very clever man with stock was me dad.

Ive no doubt he was, I said primly. But I really think another injection is more likely to help her.

The farmer watched glumly as I ran yet another bottle of calcium under the skin. The procedure had lost its magic for him.

As I put the apparatus away I did my best to be hearty. I shouldnt worry. A lot of them stay down for a day or two youll probably find her walking about in the morning.

The phone rang just before breakfast and my stomach contracted sharply as I heard Mr Handshaws voice. It was heavy with gloom. Well, shes no different. Lyin there eating her ead off, but never offers to rise. What are you going to do now?

What indeed, I thought as I drove out to the farm. The cow had been down for forty-eight hours now I didnt like it a bit.

The farmer went into the attack immediately. Me dad allus used to say they had a worm in the tail when they stayed down like this. He said if you cut tail end off it did the trick.

My spirits sagged lower. I had had trouble with this myth before. The insidious thing was that the people who still practised this relic of barbarism could often claim that it worked because, after the end of the tail had been chopped off, the pain of the stump touching the ground forced many a sulky cow to scramble to her feet.

Theres no such thing as worm in the tail, Mr Handshaw, I said. And dont you think its a cruel business, cutting off a cows tail? I hear the RSPCA had a man in court last week over a job like that.

The farmer narrowed his eyes. Clearly he thought I was hedging. Well, if you wont do that, what the hangment are you going to do? Weve got to get this cow up somehow.

I took a deep breath. Well, Im sure shes got over the milk fever because shes eating well and looks quite happy. It must be a touch of posterior paralysis thats keeping her down. Theres no point in giving her any more calcium so Im going to try the stimulant injection. I filled the syringe with a feeling of doom. I hadnt a scrap of faith in the stimulant injection but I couldnt just do nothing. I was scraping the barrel out now.

I was turning to go when Mr Handshaw called after me. Hey, Mister, I remember summat else me dad used to do. Shout in their lugs. He got many a cow up that way. Im not very strong in the voice how about you having a go?

It was a bit late to stand on my dignity. I went over to the animal and seized her by the ear. Inflating my lungs to the utmost I bent down and bawled wildly into the hairy depths. The cow stopped chewing for a moment and looked at me enquiringly, then her eyes drooped and she returned contentedly to her cudding. Well give her another day, I said wearily. And if shes still down tomorrow well have a go at lifting her. Could you get a few of your neighbours to give us a hand?

Driving round my other cases that day I felt tied up inside with sheer frustration. Damn and blast the thing! What the hell was keeping her down? And what else could I do? This was 1938 and my resources were limited. Thirty years later there are still milk fever cows which wont get up but the vet has a much wider armoury if the calcium has failed to do the job. The excellent Bagshaw hoist, which clamps onto the pelvis and raises the animal in a natural manner, the phosphorus injections, even the electric goad which administers a swift shock when applied to the rump and sends many a comfortably ensconced cow leaping to her feet with an offended bellow.

As I expected, the following day brought no change and as I got out of the car in Mr Handshaws yard I was surrounded by a group of his neighbours. They were in festive mood, grinning, confident, full of helpful advice as farmers always are with somebody elses animals.

There was much laughter and leg-pulling as we drew sacks under the cows body and a flood of weird suggestions to which I tried to close my ears. When we all finally gave a concerted heave and lifted her up, the result was predictable; she just hung there placidly with her legs dangling whilst her owner leaned against the wall watching us with deepening gloom.

After a lot of puffing and grunting we lowered the inert body and everybody looked at me for the next move. I was hunting round desperately in my mind when Mr Handshaw piped up again.