leaps and bounds after that. I never saw Mr Molloy again but it took a long time before my heart didn’t stop every time the doorbell rang. After ten days, with no further contact from the owner, Justin decided that she had been officially abandoned and, with a bit of persuasion, agreed to spay her as there was no way I was going to do it myself so early in my surgical career.
I was right in my early assessment: with a bit of time and patience, Slug became a very friendly dog. I was wrong, though, in thinking that I would find a nice home for her; Slug picked me.
As the days went by and we travelled in and out to work together, she became increasingly devoted to me. I got used to my little shadow and she would often lie unnoticed at my feet as I consulted or carried out operations. I eventually gave up telling Donal every day that she would be going soon – and he had long since given up listening anyway! Gradually, her health improved and before long she was unrecognisable. Her ears now point upwards, her coat is glossy and only the crooked legs remain as a testimony to those early days of ill-treatment. After the five months, when Michael returned to work and I left to find my next job, Slug came with me. I couldn’t imagine life without her now and I laugh when I remember that my initial reaction to her was ‘What an ugly dog’. How very wrong I was!
CHAPTER FIVE
GETTING STUCK IN
I paused, and closed my fingers around the large, soft mass at the angle of the horse’s jaw. With an air of brave decisiveness that I certainly didn’t feel, I plunged the sharpened blade deep into the softest point and jumped sideways as an arc of bloody pus spewed out of my incision.
An enthusiastic roar from the assembled onlookers, with exclamations of ‘Jaysus, Missus, ye’ll bleedin’ kill ’im!’ and ‘I think I’m gonna puke!’ rewarded my efforts, as the crowd scattered to avoid the discharge which had by now reduced to a trickle. I gently massaged the area with a swab to ensure that the last of the discharge had drained. An abscess is not uncommon in a horse and in most cases poses no great threat to the animal. In this case, however, it was located in the deadliest of positions, between a maze of major nerves and arteries; the slightest slip of the blade and I would have been making arrangements to have the body taken away.
The piebald shook himself and looked around as though wondering what all the fuss was about. Bursting the abscess had brought about instant relief from pain and he happily lowered his head to pick at the grass.
I was delighted with myself to have brought about such a spectacular improvement with a minimum of input. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Justin was already out calving a cow when this call had come in, I undoubtedly would have shied away from going out to what had sounded like a very sick horse.
Johnny, the sixteen-year old who owned the piebald, turned to me with an earnest look on his face. ‘Thanks very much, Missus! Me Da gave me Charlo de nigh’ before ’e was kilt. ’E means a lot te me, ’e does.’
Johnny’s father had been found dead one night, in the rough waste ground at the back of the estate, in what was probably a drugs-related crime.
As we walked back across the fields, I noted with relief that my car was still where I had left it and nothing appeared to have been tampered with. During my first week in the practice, I had spent over an hour in a neighbouring estate, painstakingly stitching a horse that had got caught on the railway line, only to be rewarded by finding my car-radio ripped out. Justin was sympathetic, but warned me that if I got the name of being a soft touch in the area, I wouldn’t last long. With this in mind, I had left Johnny’s older brother minding the car with the threat that if anything was missing on my return, they could find another vet to do their work. All was in order.
I was surprised when Johnny pulled a wad of
I was right in my early assessment: with a bit of time and patience, Slug became a very friendly dog. I was wrong, though, in thinking that I would find a nice home for her; Slug picked me.
As the days went by and we travelled in and out to work together, she became increasingly devoted to me. I got used to my little shadow and she would often lie unnoticed at my feet as I consulted or carried out operations. I eventually gave up telling Donal every day that she would be going soon – and he had long since given up listening anyway! Gradually, her health improved and before long she was unrecognisable. Her ears now point upwards, her coat is glossy and only the crooked legs remain as a testimony to those early days of ill-treatment. After the five months, when Michael returned to work and I left to find my next job, Slug came with me. I couldn’t imagine life without her now and I laugh when I remember that my initial reaction to her was ‘What an ugly dog’. How very wrong I was!
CHAPTER FIVE
GETTING STUCK IN
I paused, and closed my fingers around the large, soft mass at the angle of the horse’s jaw. With an air of brave decisiveness that I certainly didn’t feel, I plunged the sharpened blade deep into the softest point and jumped sideways as an arc of bloody pus spewed out of my incision.
An enthusiastic roar from the assembled onlookers, with exclamations of ‘Jaysus, Missus, ye’ll bleedin’ kill ’im!’ and ‘I think I’m gonna puke!’ rewarded my efforts, as the crowd scattered to avoid the discharge which had by now reduced to a trickle. I gently massaged the area with a swab to ensure that the last of the discharge had drained. An abscess is not uncommon in a horse and in most cases poses no great threat to the animal. In this case, however, it was located in the deadliest of positions, between a maze of major nerves and arteries; the slightest slip of the blade and I would have been making arrangements to have the body taken away.
The piebald shook himself and looked around as though wondering what all the fuss was about. Bursting the abscess had brought about instant relief from pain and he happily lowered his head to pick at the grass.
I was delighted with myself to have brought about such a spectacular improvement with a minimum of input. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Justin was already out calving a cow when this call had come in, I undoubtedly would have shied away from going out to what had sounded like a very sick horse.
Johnny, the sixteen-year old who owned the piebald, turned to me with an earnest look on his face. ‘Thanks very much, Missus! Me Da gave me Charlo de nigh’ before ’e was kilt. ’E means a lot te me, ’e does.’
Johnny’s father had been found dead one night, in the rough waste ground at the back of the estate, in what was probably a drugs-related crime.
As we walked back across the fields, I noted with relief that my car was still where I had left it and nothing appeared to have been tampered with. During my first week in the practice, I had spent over an hour in a neighbouring estate, painstakingly stitching a horse that had got caught on the railway line, only to be rewarded by finding my car-radio ripped out. Justin was sympathetic, but warned me that if I got the name of being a soft touch in the area, I wouldn’t last long. With this in mind, I had left Johnny’s older brother minding the car with the threat that if anything was missing on my return, they could find another vet to do their work. All was in order.
I was surprised when Johnny pulled a wad of
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