"Damn!" Eric grunted. "He's been runnin' out with that bunch in the far fields and I must have missed 'im. I never knew he'd got to this state."

When actinobacillosis affects the tongue it should be treated right at the start, when the first symptoms of salivation and swelling beneath the jaw appear. Otherwise the tongue becomes harder and harder till finally it sticks out of the front of the mouth, as unyielding as the wood which gives the disease its ancient name.

This skinny little creature had reached that stage, so that he not only looked pathetic but also slightly comic as though he were making a derisive gesture at me. But with a tongue like that he just couldn't eat and was literally starving to death. He lay quietly as though he didn't care.

"There's one thing, Eric," I said. "Giving him an intravenous injection won't be any problem. He hasn't the strength to resist."

The great new treatment at that time was sodium iodide into the vein-modern and spectacular. Before that the farmers used to paint the tongue with tincture of iodine, a tedious procedure which sometimes worked and sometimes didn't. The sodium iodide was a magical improvement and showed results within a few days.

I inserted the needle into the jugular and tipped up the bottle of clear fluid. Two drachms of the iodide I used to use, in eight ounces of distilled water and it didn't take long to flow in. In fact the bottle was nearly empty before I noticed Judy.

I had been aware of a big dog sitting near me all the time, but as I neared the end of the injection a black nose moved ever closer till it was almost touching the needle. Then the nose moved along the rubber tube up to the bottle and back again, sniffing with the utmost concentration. When I removed the needle the nose began a careful inspection of the injection site. Then a tongue appeared and began to lick the bullock's neck methodically.

I squatted back on my heels and watched. This was something more than mere curiosity; everything in the dog's attitude suggested intense interest and concern.

"You know, Eric," I said. "I have the impression that this dog isn't just watching me. She's supervising the whole job."

The farmer laughed. "You're right there. She's a funny old bitch is Judy-sort of a nurse. If there's anything amiss she's on duty. You can't keep her away."

Judy looked up quickly at the sound of her name. She was a handsome animal; not the usual colour, but a variegated brindle with waving lines of brown and grey mingling with the normal black and white of the farm collie. Maybe there was a cross somewhere but the result was very attractive and the effect was heightened by her bright-eyed, laughing-mouthed friendliness.

I reached out and tickled the backs of her ears and she wagged mightily-not just her tail but her entire rear end. "I suppose she's just good-natured."

"Oh aye, she is," the farmer said. "But it's not only that. It sounds daft but I think Judy feels a sense of responsibility to all the stock on t'farm."

I nodded. "I believe you. Anyway, let's get this beast on to his chest."

We got down in the straw and with our hands under the back bone, rolled the bullock till he was resting on his sternum. We balanced him there with straw bales on either side then covered him with a horse rug.

In that position he didn't look as moribund as before, but the emaciated head with the useless jutting tongue lolled feebly on his shoulders and the saliva drooled uncontrolled on to the straw. I wondered if I'd ever see him alive again.

Judy however didn't appear to share my pessimism. After a thorough sniffing examination of rug and bales she moved to the front, applied an encouraging tongue to the shaggy forehead then stationed herself comfortably facing the bullock, very like a night nurse keeping an eye on her patient.

"Will she stay there?" I closed the half door and took a last look inside.

"Aye, nothing'll shift her till he's dead or better," Eric replied. "She's in her element now."

"Well, you never know, she may give him an interest in life, just sitting there. He certainly needs some help. You must keep him alive with milk or gruel till the injection starts to work. If he'll drink it it'll do him most good but otherwise you'll have to bottle it into him. But be careful-you can choke a beast that way."

A case like this had more than the usual share of the old fascination because I was using a therapeutic agent which really worked-something that didn't happen too often at that time. So I was eager to get back to see if I bad been able to pull that bullock from the brink of death. But I knew I had to give the drug a chance and kept away for five days.

When I walked across the yard to the box I knew there would be no further doubts. He would either be dead or on the road to recovery.

The sound of my steps on the cobbles hadn't gone unnoticed. Judy's head, ears cocked, appeared above the half door. A little well of triumph brimmed in me. If the nurse was still on duty then the patient must be alive. And I felt even more certain when the big dog disappeared for a second then came soaring effortlessly over the door and capered up to me, working her hind end into convolutions of delight. She seemed to be doing her best to tell me all was well.

Inside the box the bullock was still lying down but he turned to look at me and I noticed a strand of hay hanging from his mouth. The tongue itself had disappeared behind the lips.

"Well, we're winnin', aren't we?" Eric Abbot came in from the yard.

"Without a doubt," I said. "The tongue's much softer and I see he's been trying to eat hay."

"Aye, can't quite manage it yet, but he's suppin' the milk and gruel like a good 'un. He's been up a time or two but he's very wobbly on his pins."

I produced another bottle of sodium iodide and repeated the injection with Judy's nose again almost touching the needle as she sniffed avidly. Her eyes were focused on the injection site with fierce concentration and so intent was she on extracting the full savour that she occasionally blew out her nostrils with a sharp blast before recommencing her inspection.

When I had finished she took up her position at the head and as I prepared to leave I noticed a voluptuous swaying of her hips which were embedded in the straw. I was a little puzzled until I realised she was wagging in the sitting position.

"Well, Judy's happy at the way things are going," I said.

The farmer nodded. "Yes, she is. She likes to be in charge. Do you know, she gives every new-born calf a good lick over as soon as it comes into t'world and it's the same whenever one of our cats 'as kittens."

"Bit of a midwife, too, eh?"

"You could say that. And another funny thing about 'er-she lives with the livestock in the buildings. She's got a nice warm kennel but she never bothers with it-sleeps with the beasts in the straw every night."

I revisited the bullock a week later and this time he galloped round the box like a racehorse when I approached him. When I finally trapped him in a corner and caught his nose I was breathless but happy. I slipped my fingers into his mouth; the tongue was pliable and almost normal.

"One more shot Eric," I said. "Wooden tongue is the very devil for recurring if you don't get it cleared up thoroughly." I began to unwind the rubber tube. "By the way, I don't see Judy around."

"Oh, I reckon she feels he's cured now, and anyway, she has summat else on her plate this mornin'. Can you see her over there?"

I looked through the doorway. Judy was stalking importantly across the yard. She had something in her mouth-a yellow, fluffy object.

I craned out further. "What is she carrying?"

"It's a chicken."

"A chicken?"

"Aye, there's a brood of them runnin' around just now. They're only a month old and t'awd bitch seems to think they'd be better off in the stable. She's made a bed for them in there and she keeps tryin' to curl herself round them. But the little things won't 'ave it."

I watched Judy disappear into the stable. Very soon she came out trotted after a group of tiny chicks which were pecking happily among the cobbles and gently scooped one up. Busily she made her way back to the stable but as she entered the previous chick reappeared in the doorway and pottered over to rejoin his friends.

She was having a frustrating time but I knew she would keep at it because that was the way she was. Judy the nurse dog was still on duty.

CHAPTER 41.

MY EXPERIENCE IN THE RAF hospital made me think. As a veterinary surgeon I had become used to being on the other end of the knife and I preferred it that way.

As I remembered, I was quite happy that morning a couple of years ago as I poised my knife over a swollen ear. Tristan, one elbow leaning wearily on the table, was holding an anaesthetic mask over the nose of the sleeping dog when Siegfried came into the room.

He glanced briefly at the patient. "Ah yes, that haematoma you were telling me about, James." Then he looked across the table at his brother. "Good God, you're a lovely sight this morning! When did you get in last night?"

Tristan raised a pallid countenance. His eyes were bloodshot slits between puffy lids. "Oh, I don't quite know. Fairly late, I should think."

"Fairly late! I got back from a farrowing at four o'clock and you hadn't arrived then. Where the hell were you, anyway?"

"I was at the Licensed Victuallers' Ball. Very good do, actually."

"I bet it was!" Siegfried snorted. "You don't miss a thing, do you? Darts Team Dinner, Bellringers' Outing, Pigeon Club Dance and now it's the Licensed Victuallers' Ball. If there's a good booze-up going on anywhere you'll find it."

When under fire Tristan always retained his dignity and he drew it around him now like a threadbare cloak.

"As a matter of fact," he said, "many of the Licensed Victuallers are my friends."

His brother flushed. "I believe you. I should think you're the best bloody customer they've ever had!"

Tristan made no reply but began to make a careful check of the flow of oxygen into the ether bottle.

"And another thing," Siegfried continued. "I keep seeing you slinking around with about a dozen different women. And you're supposed to be studying for an exam."

"That's an exaggeration." The young man gave him a pained look. "I admit I enjoy a little female company now and then-just like yourself."

Tristan believed in attack as the best form of defence, and it was a telling blow because there was a constant stream of attractive girls laying siege to Siegfried at Skeldale House.

But the elder brother was only temporarily halted. "Never mind me!" he shouted. "I've passed all my exams. I'm talking about you! Didn't I see you with that new barmaid from the Drovers' the other night? You dodged rapidly into a shop doorway but I'm bloody sure it was you."

Tristan cleared his throat. It quite possibly was. I have recently become friendly with Lydia-she's a very nice girl."

I'm not saying she isn't. What I am saying is that I want to see you indoors at night with your books instead of boozing and chasing women. Is that clear?"

"Quite." The young man inclined his head gracefully and turned down the knob on the anaesthetic machine.

His brother regarded him balefully for a few moments, breathing deeply. These remonstrations always took it out of him. Then he turned away quickly and left.

Tristan's facade crumbled as soon as the door closed.

"Watch the anaesthetic for a minute, Jim," he croaked. He went over to the basin in the corner, filled a measuring jar with cold water and drank it at a long gulp. Then he soaked some cotton wool under the tap and applied it to his brow.

"I wish he hadn't come in just then. I'm in no mood for the raised voices and angry words." He reached up to a large bottle of aspirins, swallowed a few and washed them down with another gargantuan draught. "All right then, Jim," he murmured as he returned to the table and took over the mask again. "Let's go."

I bent once more over the sleeping dog. He was a Scottie called Hamish and his mistress, Miss Westerman, had brought him in two days ago.

She was a retired school teacher and I always used to think she must have had little trouble in keeping her class in order. The chilly pale eyes looking straight into mine reminded me that she was as tall as I was and the square jaw between the muscular shoulders completed a redoubtable presence.

"Mr. Herriot," she barked. "I want you to have a look at Hamish. I do hope it's nothing serious but his ear has become very swollen and painful. They don't get-er-cancer there, do they?" For a moment the steady gaze wavered.

"Oh that's most unlikely." I lifted the little animal's chin and looked at the left ear which was drooping over the side of his face. His whole head, in fact, was askew as though dragged down by pain.

Carefully I lifted the ear and touched the tense swelling with a forefinger. Hamish looked round at me and whimpered.

"Yes, I know, old chap. It's tender, isn't it?" As I turned to Miss Westerman I almost bumped into the close-cropped iron-grey head which was hovering close over the little dog.

"He's got an aural haematoma," I said.

"What on earth is that?"

"It's when the little blood vessels between the skin and cartilage of the ear rupture and the blood flows out and causes this acute distension."

She patted the jet black shaggy coat. "But what causes it?"

"Canker, usually. Has he been shaking his head lately?"

"Yes, now you mention it, he has. Just as though he had got something in his ear and was trying to get rid of it."

"Well that's what bursts the blood vessels. I can see he has a touch of canker though it isn't common in this breed."

She nodded. "I see. And how can you cure it?"

"Only by an operation, I'm afraid."

"Oh dear!" She put her hand to her mouth. "I'm not keen on that."

"There's nothing to worry about," I said. "It's just a case of letting the blood out and stitching the layers of the ear together. If we don't do this soon he'll suffer a lot of pain and finish up with a cauliflower ear, and we don't want that because he's a bonny little chap."

I meant it, too. Hamish was a proud-strutting, trim little dog. The Scottish terrier is an attractive creature and I often lament that there are so few around in these modern days. After some hesitation Miss Westerman agreed and we fixed a date two days from then. When she brought him in for the operation she deposited Hamish in my arms, stroked his head again and again then looked from Tristan to me and back again.

"You'll take care of him, won't you," she said, and the jaw jutted and the pale blue eyes stabbed. For a moment I felt like a little boy caught in mischief, and I think my colleague felt the same because he blew out his breath as the lady departed.

"By gum, Jim, that's a tough baby," he muttered. "I wouldn't like to get on the wrong side of her."

I nodded. "Yes, and she thinks all the world of this dog, so let's make a good job of him."

After Siegfried's departure I lifted the ear which was now a turgid cone and made an incision along the inner skin. As the pent-up blood gushed forth I caught it in an enamel dish, then I squeezed several big clots through the wound.

"No wonder the poor little chap was in pain," I said softly. "He'll feel a lot better when he wakes up."

I filled the cavity between skin and cartilage with sulphanilamide then began to stitch the layers together, using a row of buttons. You had to do something like this or the thing filled up again within a few days. When I first began to operate on aural haematomata I used to pack the interior with gauze then bandage the ear to the head. The owners often made little granny-hats to try to keep the bandage in place, but a frisky dog usually had it off very soon.

The buttons were a far better idea and kept the layers in close contact, lessening the chance of distortion.

By lunch time Hamish had come round from the anaesthetic and though still slightly dopey he already seemed to be relieved that his bulging ear had been deflated. Miss Westerman had gone away for the day and was due to pick him up in the evening. The little dog, curled in his basket, waited philosophically.

At tea time, Siegfried glanced across the table at his brother. "I'm going off to Brawton for a few hours, Tristan," he said. "I want you to stay in the house and give Miss Westerman her dog when she arrives. I don't know just when she'll come." He scooped out a spoonful of jam. "You can keep an eye on the patient and do a bit of studying, too. It's about time you had a night at home."

Tristan nodded. "Right, I'll do that." But I could see he wasn't enthusiastic.

When Siegfried had driven away Tristan rubbed his chin and gazed reflectively through the french window into the darkening garden. "This is distinctly awkward, Jim."

"Why?"