Page 13 of Christmas at the Home Farm Vets
Once Oli had completed the castration and sutured the blood vessels, he administered another drug to reverse the anaesthetic and they waited while the donkey came to, legs unsteady as he climbed groggily to his feet. He tottered meekly alongside the owner into a stable and, satisfied after a short while that he was fine and recovering well, Oli and Erin tidied up and returned to her vehicle to disinfect and strip off outer layers once again.
‘Well done.’ Wincing – even to her that had sounded patronising – she reached for her flask to gulp a welcome mouthful of hot tea before setting off.
‘I know what I’m doing, Erin,’ he said flatly, staring at his phone before shoving it back into the glove box. ‘I’m not still some student straight out of uni with everything to prove. Gil gets that I’m qualified to do this work, and I spent as much time on farm animal rotations as you did, even if I do have less experience in practice.’
She knew she was falling into the trap of judging him on their history. She couldn’t fault his diagnoses or treatments; he’d been warm and friendly with the clients, and he’d handled the animals with a gentleness and sympathy she remembered. She was also uncomfortably aware that it was her own attitude making her unprofessional right now, and she couldn’t allow that to cloud her opinion of his experience and skill.
‘You’re right, and I’m sorry.’
‘So who’s Dorothy then? Gabi showed me the diary before we left.’
Erin was looking forward to their next visit. ‘She’s Gil’s great aunt, a bit eccentric. You’ll see.’
Dorothy was Gil’s only relative in the village, with his eldest son managing a vineyard in Australia and his youngest at university in Portsmouth. She’d lived in Hartfell all her life and was well known for her preference of animals over humans. The farm she’d inherited from her father had been a sanctuary for animals for over fifty years and she wouldn’t refuse anything with four legs or feathers a good home.
At first Erin had found her general disdain for people, booming voice and near six-foot frame alarming, but they got on well, especially since she’d turned out at six a.m. one harsh November morning and surgically reversed a twisted stomach in Dorothy’s favourite cow after an unexpectedly early calving. Dorothy had been so grateful to Erin for saving its life that she’d invited her into the farmhouse for breakfast, and they’d happily discussed foot rot in sheep and the merits of Swaledale tups versus Rough Fell ones over doorstep bacon sandwiches and coffee so strong that Erin hadn’t been able to face another cup for weeks.
The farm stood half a mile up the dale and was accessed by a rutted track. A driveway swung left in front of the house, and Erin pulled up beside a muddy quad bike connected to a trailer laden with empty feed bags. Weathered barns, roof tiles green with moss matching the shade of the windows, were attached to either end of the large square house built of the same stone, a wide front door standing firmly in the centre.
A wild garden edged with a low wall was compact, given over to grazing sheep. She got out, prepared for the pack of dogs swarming to meet them. She was wary of the small terrier – the reason why post was left at the end of the drive and delivery drivers honked their horns in the yard. The silky red setter loved a cuddle and was more polite than a three-legged lurcher already stuffing his nose into Erin’s pockets. The latest addition to the pack, an elderly working collie whose owner had passed away, hung back, still cautious with strangers.
Oli jumped out and she watched as he crouched down to greet the dogs, laughing as the setter tried to clamber onto his lap. She wondered if he still missed his own dog, the one that had been put down when he’d been away at school. Had he ever got another, or was his travelling the reason why not? His arm was around the setter as he tried to persuade the lurcher to abandon its search of his pockets while apologising for his lack of treats. The lurcher licked his chin and even the terrier had ceased yapping as the collie edged a little closer.
‘Morning, Erin.’ Dorothy’s roar was apparent before she emerged from a barn along the track, a low mooing accompanying her. ‘I see you’ve brought your latest. Hope he’s up to your standard.’ Dorothy wouldn’t allow one of their previous locums to set foot on the farm after she discovered he wasn’t a fan of goats and had once suggested she might consider rehoming a couple of kids after a billy had run amok amongst the nannies and the birth rate had shot up.
Erin’s chin rose a fraction and she registered Oli’s surprise at such a welcome. His waterproofs were filthy after the escapade with the donkey, and she hadn’t noticed the splash of mud on his left cheek until now.
‘Get orf,’ Dorothy bellowed as she strode towards them, and he leaped to his feet as though he’d been jabbed with a cattle prod. The dogs slunk away, and Erin was still grinning as she went to the boot to fetch equipment. She knew the patient they were booked in to see but it never hurt to be prepared for anything where Dorothy was concerned.
Gil and Pippa had recently hosted a lunch for Dorothy’s eighty-third birthday, and she saw no reason why age should attempt to slow her down. The prehistoric green waxed coat she wore all year round was fastened with orange baling twine above the usual men’s suit trousers and a pair of fancy green wellies. The boots had been a gift from Gil and Pippa when he’d discovered that her previous ones were stuffed with carrier bags to keep out the wet. Grey hair was piled on top of her head, spilling from a messy bun, and sharp blue eyes were narrowed on Oli.
‘Ruddy dogs,’ she muttered in a tone which suggested she meant something else entirely. She stared at him above glasses perched halfway along her nose and held together with tape. He shot Erin a nervous glance and she didn’t dare offer a reassuring smile for fear she’d laugh again.
Dorothy sniffed. ‘Come on then, let’s see what you know about goats. Can’t be any worse than the last chap, I s’pose.’
Chapter Six
‘You said eccentric,’ Oli hissed at Erin, following Dorothy as she set off towards the barn, the dogs falling obediently into line at her heels. ‘Not raving mad.’
‘You’d better not let Dorothy hear you say that,’ Erin replied loudly. ‘She let the geese out when she took a dislike to our last locum and informed him it might be her shotgun next time. It was a fortnight before the bruising on his leg disappeared.’
‘You’re not serious? How does she get away with it?’
‘Probably because she hasn’t actually shot anyone yet, at least not to my knowledge. I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes if you fancy testing that theory. Apparently she did take a pot shot at someone she found trying to steal her quad bike, but Gil said as the bloke was already legging it from the dogs and the geese and was halfway up the track by the time she’d loaded it, he was quite safe. She doesn’t leave the keys in the ignition now, just in case.’
‘Let me guess.’ Oli shot Erin a wry look as he tugged his collar higher, trying to keep driving rain from sliding down his neck. ‘She keeps them under her pillow?’
‘Nope. Wears them on string around her neck, so I’d say they’re pretty secure.’
‘Right. Gabi told me to watch out for the bull. Apparently he likes to roam.’
‘Oh yeah, I’d forgotten about that. He’s fine really, just not that keen on fences. Don’t try and stare him down, though. Gil did that once and ripped his trousers when he had to jump over a gate to get out of the way.’
‘And just think,’ Oli muttered. ‘I could be in a nice city surgery somewhere, vaccinating kittens and delivering puppies.’
‘Why would you want to do that when you could be here?’ Erin gestured to the farm and the fells beyond it. She loved the ancient barns and buildings, built by hands that spoke of the history of this land and its people, their stories crafted in stones laid together and standing firm for centuries. She felt the view settle inside her, grounding her senses, fixing her too to this land. She was at home here and a rush of pleasure brought a smile.
‘I really can’t think,’ he shot back, grimacing at the state of his waterproofs as he took off his hat to run a hand through damp hair.
