Pets in Prospect - Malcolm D. Welshman [89]
I remember Eric telling me over a drink at the Woolpack that, when unduly stressed, Beryl’s false eye was liable to drop out. Had the sight of the snake precipitated such a fallout? Was her glass eye at that moment rolling round the kitchen? Or worse still, had it fallen in the milk and was now rattling round the bottom of the carton?
Crystal had also noticed and was staring slack-jawed.
I leaned forward and studied Beryl’s face more intently, deciding that the eyeball was still in situ after all. Only it had swivelled back to front.
‘What are you gawping at?’ she snapped, jerking her head back. It was an action that caused the glass eye to rotate back into partial view. It gave Beryl a severe sharp-angled squint as if she was attempting to peer up her right nostril.
‘Err … nothing … nothing …’ I muttered, ‘just seeing if you were OK.’ I hadn’t the courage to look her in the eye – her good one – and tell her. She’d have to see for herself later.
‘OK then,’ said Crystal, looking at her watch, ‘let’s get cracking on that snake before appointments start.’
The anaconda was half out of the basket, draped across a couple of packs of dog food; but the coolness of the fridge had quickly brought it to a halt. Between us we hoiked out the coils of snake and arranged them in a heap on the X-ray table.
‘This is going to be a bit of guesswork,’ said Crystal, stretching Sid out and pushing an X-ray plate under him, sliding it up and down. ‘Any ideas, Paul?’
Hey. What was this? Crystal asking me? Snakes alive. This was a first. I put a hand on either side of the snake’s flanks, starting at the neck end, gradually working my way down, gently squeezing as I went. Two thirds of the way down I felt what I thought was some resistance. Could have been the heating pad. Whatever, it was a starting point for X-raying. It took three plates before the pad was eventually highlighted.
Crystal stood in front of the X-ray clipped to the viewing screen, finger and thumb under her chin. ‘So what do you think? Do you want to operate?’
Hey. She was at it again. Crystal Sharpe, veterinary surgeon par excellence, asking me for my views. Me – an assistant who had barely progressed from expressing anal glands, was now being asked to express his opinions. I was tempted to say, ‘Yes. Let’s operate.’ After all, it would have been fascinating to carry out surgery on a snake – especially one of this size. But I hesitated. Could that just be self-interest? What about the interests of Sid? It would be much better for him if we could avoid operating. ‘Liquid paraffin often works wonders,’ I found myself saying.
Crystal swung round and looked at me. Oh, those cornflower blue eyes again. That delicate scent which filled my nostrils. I recoiled – much as the anaconda was starting to do as he warmed up.
‘You reckon it’s worth a try then?’ she said. ‘Uhm … OK, fair enough. Now where are those nurses? Never around when you want them.’ She strode out into the corridor and called, ‘Mandy?’
There was a faint reply from the direction of the dispensary. ‘Coming.’
When Mandy appeared, Crystal ordered her to help carry the anaconda into the operating theatre. I was flabbergasted when she uttered a meek ‘Certainly’, and picked up a length of Sid without batting one of those long, dark eyelashes of hers. And to think she’d been so squeamish about the tree frog and skink. Moreover, she didn’t flinch when Crystal asked her to prise open the snake’s jaw while I was shown how to insert a stomach tube down Sid’s oesophagus and syringe in ten millilitres