Vet Among the Pigeons by Gillian Hick

inserted a carefully lubricated hand into her vagina, I realised why. Although she was a big ewe for her breed, the pair of cloven hooves that lay, side by side in the vaginal passage, seemed more suited to a large, roomy Texel. I was just about able to get my hand far back enough to feel the tip of the nose, all perfectly aligned and in normal presentation, but I knew without a doubt that there was no way this lamb would be delivered in the normal fashion. Tom and Mary waited anxiously as I squeezed hard between the digits of the hoof to ascertain if the lamb was still alive. Eventually, I felt the reflex jerk, as the leg pulled back assuring me that, at least for the moment, all was well with the lamb.
    A caesarean is a relatively expensive option, especially on a small hill farm, but I had a good feeling, even before I discussed the options, that Edel’s guardians would want to give it a go.
    In a few minutes, the operation table was prepared and Edel lay, carefully restrained by Tom’s huge and capable hands, on a bed of golden straw. Having prepared the surgical site, I injected local anaesthetic into the skin andunderlying muscle, where I would make my incision. We chatted for a few minutes as I continued to scrub the site while waiting for the area to be numbed. Once I was happy that Edel had no feeling, I incised the taut skin, stained brown from the disinfectant with which I had carefully scrubbed her flank. The combined smells of the surgical spirit and the clear, fresh air around us made the place smell as clean as any sterile theatre. Once through the muscle layers, it wasn’t difficult to locate the glistening uterus as it seemed to take up the entire abdomen. Within minutes, I had located the joint of the hind leg of the lamb, but I had to extend my usual incision within the uterus to allow for the enormous, well-filled rump of the lamb to pull through. Apart from being covered in placental fluid, with the give-away floppy ears still clinging to the head, the lamb was so big he could have been mistaken for a two-month-old. By the time I had finished stitching the rapidly contracting uterus, he was up on his feet and butting hard at his mother who encouraged him with a deep-throated voice, accepting all.
    ‘Well, that’s a first for the family,’ said Tom, gently tossing the heavyweight upside-down. ‘That’s the first ram lamb in that line for two generations.’
    ‘But still only the single as always,’ added Mary.
    Reluctantly declining the offer of a cup of tea, I was soon scrubbed and packed. As I drove away, I was delighted to see mother and lamb settling down for a good feed, although Gulliver (promptly named after the giant in Gulliver’s Travels ) almost had to stoop to reach his mother’s udder.
    Although prior to Gulliver’s dramatic entrance I hadn’t visited the Mc Fadden’s in many months, as usual, bad luck comes in threes. It was only two weeks before I was to return, this time to a collapsed suckler. The long, winding road held no charm for me today as, in the race against time, it seemed to get longer with each twist and bend. The history of the cow worried me. ‘She’s a scrawny little one,’ Tom had told me over the phone. ‘She had her calf there a while back and hasn’t picked up too well since. I thought she was a bit stiff in herself yesterday, but she seemed agitated when I tried to have a look at her. I found her down this morning, over beyond the gorse bushes. I don’t know if I’ll manage it, but if ye like I can go up with the dog and try and get her up and into the shed for you,’ he added eagerly.
    ‘Thanks, Tom, but no. Not this time,’ I assured him. ‘Leave her where she is until I get there.’
    As we made our way slowly up the hill against the biting cold wind, I could see where she lay, her limbs paddling, with the sod worn off under her. A quick listen to the booming, rapid heartbeat confirmed my suspicions of grass tetany – a metabolic condition