The Better Part Of Valor

Chapter One

The symptoms were frustratingly vague. Lameness, agalactia or reduction in milk production, and a low grade fever. No obvious diagnosis presented itself, and so there wasn't much I could offer by way of treatment.

“I'm sorry, Paul. There's obviously something amiss, but I can't put my finger on it. It isn't hoof and mouth, thank goodness. But it is awfully strange that several of your cows picked it up at the same time. That leads me to believe it's parasites, or some sort of bacterial infection they've passed among themselves. I'll give them all a stimulant injection, and we'll keep them isolated for a few days. Call me if they start to go down hill.”

I turned it over in my mind all the way back to Darrowby, but nothing seemed to fit. Perhaps discussing it with my colleagues would shed some light on it.

“A crystal ball would certainly benefit us in this profession,” said Siegfried, pouring a drink for me.

“God forbid,” said Tristan dryly, sinking behind his newspaper.

“What?” barked Siegfried.

“I said, 'Oh, my head'. Pasting labels on bottles all afternoon has given me a headache.”

“You mean it's an allergic reaction to work.” Siegfried looked over at me. “Speaking of which, any sign of that sort of thing?”

“I'm afraid not. It really doesn't present as worms or flukes, either. At least, not yet. I hate the idea of waiting until some really spectacular symptom shows up, but sometimes that's all we're left with.” I went over to the bookshelf and pulled out a few volumes to flip through. Tristan sneezed, and Siegfried looked at him sourly.

“Just as I said; allergic to work.” Tristan was about to reply, when the phone rang. Mrs. Hall stuck her head in the door a moment later.

“Call from the Claytons. They've a few cows doing poorly they want looked at.”

“Oh hell!” I said, after she'd left. “I hope we haven't got some mystery epidemic on our hands.”

Siegfried looked concerned, and for a minute I thought he was going to offer to go.

“Well, James, you'd best have a look at them. Since you've already seen Paul's, you'll be able to make a better comparison.”

Tristan arched an eyebrow at me from behind his paper. “It's really a nice evening, James, you'll enjoy the drive. I'd go with you, but....” He held a trembling hand to his brow, then grinned and pulled out a Woodbine.

“Put that filthy thing out! I won't have you constantly polluting these environs!” yelled Siegfried, snatching it from his fingers and snapping it in half.

“Take care of that headache, Tris!” I waved cheerfully on my way out the door. If he didn't have one now, he soon would.

The Claytons' Friesians were generally a glossy, healthy bunch, but these few were in bad shape; they also had something which gave me a clue.

“They're staggering a bit, and running a temperature, but the main thing I'm concerned about is that arching of the back. Now that shows up in at least two conditions that I know of; white muscle disease, and ergot poisoning.”

“Can you cure 'em? Charley Clayton asked me anxiously. He'd put all of his money into the herd, as did most of the farmers in the area, and could not afford to lose any.

“I've got to nail it down, first. White muscle disease is really not a disease, it's a syndrome caused by a selenium deficiency. The remedy is an injection of selenium and vitamin E; but, too much selenium can be toxic, so if it's not white muscle, I'd be putting your cows at further risk. So let's tackle the ergot. That's a fungus which is found on some grains. Can I see your feed?”

“Over there. They get plenty of good grass, but I like to add a bit of grain to 'em.”

I opened one of the bags. “Well, it'll have to be tested, but this looks like the culprit. Where did it come from?”

“Bloke stopped for directions t'other day. Was making a delivery, said he had a bit extra to sell if I wanted it.”

It never ceases to amaze me, how people will spend good money on an animal, and then try and save money on basic things like feed and veterinary services.

“You'll need to get rid of all of this, get some good quality feed from a reputable dealer, and keep a close eye on them for a few weeks. There's really no treatment; we'll just have to hope that the toxins in their systems clear out on their own. In the meantime, give me a description of the man who sold this to you. I can't say if it was malicious or not, but I'll need to file a report with the police, and see if they can pick him up and put a stop to any more sales of this stuff.”

“He's about your size, mustache, drives a big truck.” Fortunately, Darrowby was a small place, where a stranger would stand out, because that wasn't much to go on.

“I've got to get over to Paul Harrington's and have a look at his animals. I suspect he was on the receiving end of some contaminated feed as well.” I was pretty sure I'd found the answer, but I wanted to make sure.

The next morning, I readied some samples to ship out to the lab. Tristan, in an unexpected burst of endeavor, had volunteered to take morning surgery. I watched him checking his reflection in the window.

“I'm sure our patients will find you most attractive, Tris. Particularly with that lovely spot of bacon grease on your lab coat.” Tristan craned his head, trying to see the back of his coat.

“Examining your backside, Little Brother?” said Siegfried, making his usual energetic entrance.

“Perhaps he's wondering if your shoe is lodged there,” I volunteered.

I heard the outer door to the waiting room open. Tristan heard it at the same time, and bounded to the door.

“Ah, good morning Beatrice. Come right on in.”

Of course, it was a fetching young lady. If it had been my surgery, Mr. Biggins would have been lurking out there, waiting to engage me in an endless game of 'guess what's wrong with my cow.' Tristan was the luckiest man I knew. Well, one of the luckiest; there was always his brother to even things out.

“Good morning!” said Siegfried enthusiastically, homing in on her immediately. “What can we do for you and your lovely little spaniel this morning?” He had very smoothly moved between Beatrice and Tristan, and was giving her the full benefit of his charm.

She smiled brightly. “Oh, you must be the senior Mr. Farnon. Tristan's told me all about you. I hope you're feeling better.” Tristan was looking a little panicky.

“Really?” said Siegfried, with just a hint of brittleness. The word senior seemed to have let some air out of his balloon.

''Yes, and I'm sure Tristan can fix Goldie's tummy problem, so please, go right ahead and have a seat if you need to. I know my father likes to sit down and rest more often these days. You must be awfully glad that Tris is here to help you shoulder the burden.”

I had to give Siegfried credit; he contained himself, but just barely. And only because there was a woman present. I thought I'd better jump in though, just in case.

“Siegfried, you do have that steer to stitch up this morning.”

“Right.” He yanked opened his bag, and began stuffing supplies into it. “Also, a castration job out at Summerdale.” He snapped the bag closed. “Tristan. Dear brother. There's a delivery of wood down in the cellar to chop. Also, Mrs. Hall asked that the furniture upstairs be moved, so that she can do the floors. I was planning to do it myself, but it appears I'm a bit past that sort of thing. Oh, and my lumbago is acting up, so...,” he scribbled furiously for a minute or two, and handed him a piece of paper, “I'll need you to take care of these little jobs.” He put on a pained expression, and rubbed the small of his back. “A good long soak in the tub is what I'll need after dinner.”

“But this'll take all evening! And I...,” he started.

Siegfried waggled his fingers. “Ta ta, little brother. You are such a good chap.” He hunched over and, giving a fair imitation of a 100 year old man on his last legs, made his way out the door.

“Poor thing!” said Beatrice. A few seconds later came the squeal of tires and grinding of gears as Siegfried tore off with his usual alacrity. “Should he be driving?” she asked.

I couldn't help but laugh. “He's actually improved lately. Yesterday he took the dip on the other side of the main road without becoming airborne.”

I looked over the list of rounds for the day. Nothing exciting, just a bunch of vaccinations, wormings, and a diabetic cat to check on. “Well, Tris, I'll leave you to it,” I said, checking the waiting room, and seeing that it was filling up quite nicely. “Be sure and bring some wood up for the fire, you know how we elderly gents like to keep warm.”

I was on my way home around dinner time, when I saw an unfamiliar delivery truck sitting by an old, disused warehouse at the edge of town. I wondered if it was the 'bloke' responsible for the bad feed which had poisoned the cows. Pulling up behind, I saw a man come to the door of the building, squint at me, and disappear back inside. Looking back, it wasn't the most intelligent decision I'd ever made, but I got out of the car to take a peek in the back of the truck.

“That's not your business, mister.” The voice was a low growl in my ear. I stepped away from the truck, but not before I had seen sacks identical to the ones at the Claytons.

“I'm afraid it might be. Someone's been selling contaminated grain to some of the local farmers, and several animals have become very sick.”

He looked me up and down. “You look like too much of a panty-waist to be a farmer.”

“And you don't exactly look like my idea of a businessman.” It was out of my mouth before I could stop it.

“It's not your business,” he repeated, walking back into the building.

Why on earth I followed him, I'll never know, but follow him I did. “I'm the local vet, and that makes it my business. If you'll kindly just let me have a look, I can ascertain whether the grain has gone bad. If it has, we can have it destroyed, and you can certainly make the case that it was unintentional.”

“I don't like your tone. I don't like your fancy words. I don't like you. Maybe I'll just shut your gob for you, and make the case that it was unintentional.” He took off his jacket, and I could see by his physique that he could easily pound me into jelly. I felt sweat prickling on the back of my neck.

“Problem, James?” came a voice.