All Creatures Great and Small by James Herriot Read Free Book Online

hovered in front of me, phantom-like, as I drove.
    This would probably be a mild impaction or a bit of spasm. Might have had a change of food or too much rich grass. Yes, that would be it; most colics were like that. A quick shot of arecoline and maybe some chlorodyne to relieve the discomfort and all would be well. My mind went back to the cases I had met while seeing practice. The horse standing quietly except that it occasionally eased a hind leg or looked round at its side. There was nothing to it, really.
    I was elaborating this happy picture when I arrived. I drove into a spotless, gravelled yard surrounded on three sides by substantial loose boxes. A man was standing there, a broad-shouldered, thick-set figure, very trim in check cap and jacket, well-cut breeches and shiny leggings.
    The car drew up about thirty yards away and, as I got out, the man slowly and deliberately turned his back on me. I walked across the yard, taking my time, waiting for the other to turn round, but he stood motionless, hands in pockets, looking in the other direction.
    I stopped a few feet away but still the man did not turn. After a long time, and when I had got tired of looking at the back, I spoke.
    “Mr. Soames?”
    At first the man did not move, then he turned very slowly. He had a thick, red neck, a ruddy face and small, fiery eyes. He made no answer but looked me over carefully from head to foot, taking in the worn raincoat, my youth, my air of inexperience. When he had completed his examination he looked away again.
    “Yes, I am Mr. Soames.” He stressed the “Mr.” as though it meant a lot to him. “I am a very great friend of Mr. Farnon.”
    “My name is Herriot.”
    Soames didn’t appear to have heard. “Yes, a clever man is Mr. Farnon. We are great friends.”
    “I understand you have a horse with colic.” I wished my voice didn’t sound so high and unsteady.
    Soames’ gaze was still directed somewhere into the sky. He whistled a little tune softly to himself before replying. “In there,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of one of the boxes. “One of his lordship’s best hunters. In need of expert assistance, I think.” He put a bit of emphasis on the “expert.”
    I opened the door and went inside. And I stopped as though I had walked into a wall. It was a very large box, deeply bedded with peat moss. A bay horse was staggering round and round the perimeter where he had worn a deep path in the peat. He was lathered in sweat from nose to tail, his nostrils were dilated and his eyes stared blankly in front of him. His head rolled about at every step and, through his clenched teeth, gobbets of foam dripped to the floor. A rank steam rose from his body as though he had been galloping.
    My mouth had gone dry. I found it difficult to speak and when I did, it was almost in a whisper. “How long has he been like this?”
    “Oh, he started with a bit of belly ache this morning. I’ve been giving him black draughts all day, or at least this fellow has. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s made a bloody mess of it like he does everything.”
    I saw that there was somebody standing in the shadows in the corner; a large, fat man with a head collar in his hand.
    “Oh, I got the draughts down him, right enough, Mr. Soames, but they haven’t done ’im no good.” The big man looked scared.
    “You call yourself a horseman,” Soames said, “but I should have done the damn job myself. I reckon he’d have been better by now.”
    “It would take more than a black draught to help him,” I said. “This is no ordinary colic.”
    “What the hell is it, then?”
    “Well, I can’t say till I’ve examined him, but severe, continuous pain like that could mean a torsion—a twisted bowel.”
    “Twisted bowel, my foot! He’s got a bit of belly ache, that’s all. He hasn’t passed anything all day and he wants something to shift him. Have you got the arecoline with you?”
    “If this is a torsion, arecoline