Pets in Prospect - Malcolm D. Welshman [92]
She could be in the kennels housing her greyhounds and beagles or in the stables with her three Welsh ponies. Failing that, there were the hen houses and duck quarters; and, if not in there, then in the pig sties tending to Gert and Daisy, her Yorkshire Saddleback pigs.
Central to this conglomeration of buildings, adjoining the tack room, was a small shed which she called her ‘brain centre’. An office of sorts, it was littered with paper. Charts of pig growth curves hung, faded and lopsided from the walls. A curling, year-at-a-glance calendar given to her by a veterinary drug company, its logo emblazoned across the top, was festooned with multi-coloured pins and scribbled names. Bessie, Babs, Clarence and many more, signalled the dates that bitches were mated, dates they were due, intermingled with farrowing sows, calving cows and dates booked for the farrier and horse dentist. It looked like some coded battle plan from World War II with Miss Millichip the Commander-in-Chief, the only person capable of unscrambling it all.
Along the opposite wall ranged a series of shelves, bowed down under the weight of a motley collection of ancient books and journals: Hodder’s Guide to Animal Husbandry was one title I picked out – 1961, second edition. Another was General Principles of Animal Nursing. Its sepia pages could have proudly graced the shelves of the Science Museum’s library. But one book above all – a book that Mildred Millichip constantly referred to – was an old veterinary dictionary, long since superseded by later editions. The binding was cracked, pages Sellotaped in, others dog-eared from constant use. And that was the problem – the constant use. Miss Millichip was always quoting this dictionary, always looking up medical conditions, always trying the suggested remedies.
‘My bible,’ she’d say, forgetting her bible was an edition more appropriate for treating the ailments of the animals as they emerged from the ark rather than administering to the needs of modern livestock. The greyhounds with the ear problems were a good example.
‘Canker,’ declared Miss Millichip in a no-nonsense, don’t-challenge-me tone of voice. She’d hoisted one of the greyhounds on to a table in what she called her ‘inspection shed’ where the poor creature sat trembling, head tilted to one side. When the dog’s hind leg came up in an attempt to dig at her ear, Miss Millichip’s hand shot out to ram the leg down.
‘Stop that, Gemima,’ she boomed. Both dog and I flinched.
Besides my usual black bag, I’d brought a small leather case containing a set of instruments for looking at eyes and ears. I was particularly proud of this set – precision-made in Germany, expensive and brand new. Time spent peering unclearly into the murky depths of dogs’ ears was now a thing of the past. With the aid of my gleaming auriscope, I could scan those canals, now sufficiently well illuminated and magnified, to make diagnosis of any ear problem an easy task.
Well, in theory anyway.
Aware that Miss Millichip’s torpedo eyes were trained on me, I made a show of snapping open the case, picking out the auriscope base and clipping on the head containing the bulb and magnifying lens. I now had to attach a cone from a choice of four, varying in size according to the size of the ear canal being examined.
‘Now let’s see,’ I said aloud, ‘which one would be most suitable for Gemima?’ My fingers hovered over the cones. I felt like a little schoolboy deciding on which sweetie to choose. Will I ever grow up?
There was a loud sniff from Miss Millichip.
‘This one I think,’ I continued, lifting out the largest with an exaggerated flourish. Boy, was I showing off.
There was another disapproving sniff from Miss Millichip. ‘Haven’t got time for all that fancy gadgetry,’ she said.
‘Ah, but having the proper equipment does help one reach the correct diagnosis,’ I replied (pompous prat) and waved the auriscope at her like a magician about to perform some wonderful trick.
‘No need. I’ve already told you what it is – canker.’
‘We