Vet on the Loose (9 page)

J
ob interviews in veterinary weren’t quite like those for any normal job. The usual procedures of advertising the job, with applicants sending CVs, followed up by at least one interview, were often dispensed with. In a profession where only fifty or so graduates qualified in
Ireland
each year, the veterinary community was intimate and tight-knit. Everyone knew everyone, or at least
everyone
knew someone who knew everyone. The fact that
students
spent most of their holidays seeing practice with the same vets, often the ones they would later look for work from, ensured that the formalities were usually ignored.

Most jobs were filled without ever having been
advertised
, to the extent that if you saw a job in the papers, it was often an indication that there was something distinctly dodgy about it. At least in that situation, you were always able to log on to the graduate gossip-line and find out exactly what the problem was. Vets who got themselves a bad name as an employer ran into serious problems. Unfortunately, it worked the other way around as well. If you messed up in one job, you might find yourself having trouble finding another placement.

Several practices had a name for being good places to start off. They had had so many new graduates go through them that you were likely to be quickly forgotten. This made an excellent base from which to make all your early mistakes.

A fortnight before Michael was due to return, I met an elderly vet for an interview. This did not take place in his office, but in the local pub. Once we got chatting, we
realised
that the job wouldn’t suit for various reasons, but that was no excuse to miss out on a social occasion. We stayed until closing time.

Shortly afterwards at a wedding, I met a vet to whom I’d been half-thinking of applying for a job. It was the perfect chance to become acquainted. And that we did. By last orders we were in rare old form and having great
craic
discussing
God knows what. I’m sure we were talking great sense too. The only problem arose the next morning – I had absolutely no recollection of whether we had
discussed
a job at all, or if indeed he might have offered me one. If he did, had I accepted? When I met him it was clear that he had even less recollection of what had been said than I had.

I began putting out feelers by ringing around a few friends to see what was on the market. Not a lot. The few vacant jobs were vacant for a reason. I decided to hold on until something a bit more promising came up.

As a trickle of jobs appeared in the
Irish Veterinary 
Journal,
I rang around a few practices.

‘Send me a CV and I’ll get back to you,’ said one.

I did and he didn’t.

‘Come down some evening for a few drinks,’ said another.

I rang to arrange it the next week but he’d already taken someone on.

‘Sorry, I hope you don’t mind,’ he said.

I did, but what could I say?

Initially, I wasn’t keen on doing locum work as I felt too inexperienced to work on my own, but time was passing by with no sign of a job. Joyce, a friend of mine from school days, rang me one morning to say that she had mentioned to her own vet, Bill, in Drogheda, that I was looking for work. He was planning to go away for
Christmas
and as yet had no locum booked. Although I didn’t want to be away from home at Christmas, I thought it was too good an opportunity to miss as he had a busy cattle practice. Being a butcher, Christmas was a busy time for Donal and I knew that he would be working solidly until late on Christmas Eve anyway. We arranged that he would drive to Joyce’s for dinner on Christmas Day and then stay on with me for the remainder of the week in Bill’s house.

The first few days were remarkably quiet as most people who rang, once they heard that Bill was away, decided to hold on until he got back. I decided not to take it too personally. By Christmas morning I was feeling nice and relaxed, and confident that I would be able to manage whatever trivial cases might come in. I was looking
forward
to Donal coming down as we had only managed a few brief phone calls in the preceding days.

It was not the classic picture-postcard Christmas weather, but dull and miserable; not cold enough to feel Christmassy but damp and dark enough to make you want to stay indoors.

By midday, I had gone to Mass in the local church, and I was on my way over to Joyce’s house for dinner where I had arranged to meet Donal. Well and all as we got on, Joyce certainly wasn’t used to veterinary life and I hoped that I wouldn’t get a call while I was with her. In her
regular
nine-to-five job the idea of setting aside the
wine-glasses
on Christmas day to go off on a call to attend a sick animal was just not an option.

‘We’ve planned dinner for one o’clock, so it might be ready for two if we’re lucky,’ she had laughed the week before.

‘Perfect!’ I replied, adding on a cautionary note, ‘if I get called out, I’ll let you know and you just go ahead without me.’

‘Called out at dinner-time on Christmas day?’ she exclaimed incredulously. ‘Who’d be mad enough to do that?’

So far so good, I thought, as I took the exit off the roundabout which would bring me to the housing estate where Joyce and her partner, Greg, lived. I was nice and early and I knew they would both be ready and waiting, in festive mood. There had not been so much as a squeak out of the phones since ten o’clock the previous evening, when a highly indignant – and slightly slurred – lady rang to tell me that one of her husband’s friends had thought it would be a good joke to let her prize tropical fish join in the festive spirit and had generously lashed in a good
helping
of Southern Comfort to their aquarium.

‘What,’ she enquired forlornly, ‘should I do?’

Good question, I thought to myself. I tentatively
volunteered
the suggestion that she should try changing the water gradually and adding a bit of Stress Coat – the
multipurpose
supplement for aquarium water.

Great, I thought. So much for a busy cattle practice. I consoled myself that, judging from the sound of her, if the fish were all belly-up in the morning, she probably wouldn’t remember who had given her the advice anyway. In fact, it was quite possible that she wasn’t even a
bona fide
client and had simply picked the practice number at random out of the local business directory, as was all too common at holiday periods.

Bill had advised me of this and left me with a warning to do emergency calls for clients only.

‘If we’re not good enough for them during the rest of the year, then we’re not good enough for them during the holidays,’ he added gruffly, obviously having suffered much from these situations before.

It was almost half-past twelve when I pulled into the corner house, with its coloured fairy lights festooned over the porch and the welcoming glow of lamps in the
windows
. As yet, there was no sign of Donal’s car in the driveway but I knew he wasn’t far away.

As I raised my hand to the doorbell, the mobile rang. Surely, I thought, just a well-wisher replying to one of the many early text messages that I had sent that morning.

The breathless woman’s voice at the other end soon told me otherwise.

‘Is that the vet’s?’ she enquired hurriedly. ‘Thank God!’ she exclaimed when I explained that Bill was on holidays but that I was covering for him. ‘I knew Mr Ryan had gone away but I didn’t know if there would be anyone there in his place.’

‘What can I do for you?’ I asked patiently.

‘Well, I’ve just come out of a friend’s house and as I pulled out, I thought I saw something dart out in front of me. I felt the bump. I got out and couldn’t see a thing, but just as I was about to go again, I caught a glimpse of
something
in the bushes. It’s a little cat and I must have run over it.

‘Oh, I feel so awful!’ she went on. ‘I couldn’t avoid it, really I couldn’t.’

‘These things can happen in an instant,’ I consoled her. ‘The cat may even have been up under your car looking for heat. You had no way of knowing. Does she seem to be badly hurt?’ I questioned, all too keenly aware of the delicious cooking smells wafting out from the front porch.

‘Oh yes, she’s in a terrible state,’ the lady continued, her voice quavering. ‘She’s just lying there and there’s blood coming out of her nose. She doesn’t seem to be moving at all but I’m afraid to touch her.’

‘Do you think she’s still alive?’ I enquired delicately, not wanting to further upset the obviously distraught woman.

‘Oh yes, she is, I can see her little chest moving, all right. Please, can you come out? I know it’s Christmas day and you’re probably just about to start your dinner,’ she said as though reading my thoughts, ‘but I feel so awful. She looks well cared for and some poor child is going to be
brokenhearted
if you don’t do something. I don’t care what it costs. I’ll pay for it myself.’

My only dilemma was how to explain to my host that, having arrived for dinner, I was now leaving again.
Peeping
through the front window, I couldn’t see anyone and quickly decided that if they didn’t know I had arrived yet, I could probably get away and be back again before I was any more than fashionably late.

The little cat lay crumpled in the ditch. A few people had gathered around with the usual morbid fascination. I could immediately see that it was hopeless. Her rapid, shallow breathing was almost imperceptible. I gently checked her gums and the blanched colour, in stark
contrast
to the deep red blood pooled in front of her,
confirmed
that the tiny creature was not far from death. A shocked gasp arose from those close enough to see, as, having quickly checked for fractures, I rolled her over to see an eye protruding from its socket. This, and the
awkward
angle of the fractured leg drew the attention of the onlookers but, although they did not necessarily worry me unduly, the faint heartbeat and the unresponsive pupils made my mind up. There was no option but to put the little cat to sleep.

As yet, no owner had been found and while I went through the motions of further examining the shattered little body, I was trying to work out the best way of doing it. Looking up at the hopeful young faces of the children all dressed up in their Christmas best, I quickly made up my mind. Gently wrapping the cat in the blanket that one thoughtful onlooker had brought out, I turned to the lady who had phoned and told her that it would be best if I brought the cat back to the surgery. I assured her that I would let her know later how we had got on. She
hurriedly
scribbled down her name and number. I felt slightly guilty about the deception, even more so when I noticed one small girl clutching her big sister’s hand with tears in her eyes. ‘Please make her better,’ she whispered as I turned away.

What a start to the day! I thought to myself, as I headed back to the surgery, in a direction that was taking me still further from my Christmas dinner. At least if I had been able to do something I wouldn’t have minded, but looking at the motionless body beside me, I was quite sure that there was nothing I could do to save the animal.

The spirit of peace and goodwill evoked by the
Christmas
Mass had entirely evaporated as I dejectedly opened the surgery door, knowing that some child was going to have a very unhappy Christmas. I felt such a failure that I could do nothing for the little black cat on this of all days in the year.

I rang Donal to let him know I was delayed, but wouldn’t be much longer.

‘Oh well,’ he sighed philosophically, ‘why would today be any different to any other day?’

The surgery was eerily still and quiet. I carried the little bundle to the consulting table and went into the back room to fill a syringe full of the lethal agent. Gently, I unwrapped the blanket, half expecting to find the cat dead already. She was still breathing, although only just. I ran my hand down along the sleek coat, noticing the velvety red collar which, judging by its newness, might only have been put on that very morning. For a second time I took it off and examined it, hoping against hope that I might have missed a name or phone number. I don’t know why I decided to put it back on her again – somehow it just seemed right. For the last time, I stroked the sleek body as I reached to pick up the syringe. I paused for a moment. And looked again. I gently laid my hand back on her chest. No! I must be imagining it. For a moment, I thought I had felt a purr from deep within. I waited for the next faint breath but there it was again. A deep rumble. Again, I ran my hand along her body and with each exhalation came the purr, growing ever so slightly louder with each breath. Quickly, I racked my brains to see was there some innate physiological reflex that caused purring with imminent death – a sort of a feline swan song – but it didn’t make sense to me. I pulled out a stethoscope and placed it over the ribcage and listened intently to the faint but regular heartbeat, and, in between, the deep, throbbing rumble. As it was by now well after one o’clock, I reckoned I was most unfashionably late for dinner anyway and, somehow, I just couldn’t give up on this little creature now.

It was worth a try, I decided.

I moistened a gauze swab with saline and placed it
carefully
over the prolapsed eyeball, having lubricated it with a viscous eye ointment. After a quick root in the surgery drawers, I pulled out the narrowest intravenous cannula I could find and clipped up the forearm. This cat desperately needed fluids – and probably lots, lots more, too, than I with my scant six months’ experience could offer. Holding my breath, I clamped the leg with one hand and rapidly pumped the paw. I poked hopelessly at the shaved limb, waiting to find even a hint of a vein. Nothing. I inserted the point of the cannula, eyes fixed on the hub, hoping to see a drop of blood. Still nothing. Again, I
redirected
the needle. Still no blood. The little cat lay
motionless
. The purring had stopped now. Repeated attempts failed to locate anything that might in any way resemble a vein through which to administer the fluids which now lay heating in a sink full of hot tap water. With renewed enthusiasm, I tried the other leg. Still nothing. I tried to convince myself that it was due to the state of shock the cat was in, and that her delicate little veins had totally
collapsed
, but I still wondered if it was just me.