Read Online Vet Among the Pigeons by Gillian Hick - Free Book Online
Authors: Gillian Hick
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day dawned. The event was to be held in one of the most prestigious hotels in County Kildare â a country manor, steeped in the tradition of all things equine.
Registration and coffee were scheduled for eight-thirty the next morning, so I planned to leave before seven. The night before, as though knowing that something unusual was going on, Mollyâs normally peaceful bedtime routine ended in tears and I ended up lying crouched in the corner of her cot for over an hour before she reluctantly fell into a restless sleep. She woke several times during the night as though to check if I had left.
The next morning, I was up early and having quickly showered, I dressed myself in what I felt was suitable for the occasion. I strapped Molly into her highchair to feed her with her usual favourite of porridge and apple, but she was having none of it. What didnât hit the far wall or slopdown the side of her tray managed to make its way into my still damp hair and (uniquely) ironed top. Even Slug was soon sporting several spoonfuls, which she did her best to lick greedily off her shaggy coat.
Not having time to change, I brushed out my hair and wiped my top clean as best I could with a damp cloth. Despite the promising-looking September morning, I hoped it would be cold enough to leave my jacket on to hide the stains. I finally left just after seven, with both Molly and Slug sulking in the kitchen, while Donal resigned himself to what was going to be a troublesome day off.
It was after half-eight by the time I arrived at my destination . I pulled into the long, railed driveway, and admired the array of mares and foals grazing lazily in the last rays of the summer sun.
I was almost feeling optimistic until I got to the delegates â parking lot and wedged my grubby Opel Corsa in between a brand new BMW on one side and an equally gleaming Land Cruiser on the other. The whole parking area was taken up with similar vehicles, one or two of which were sign-written with logos of exclusive equine hospitals.
The reception itself was intimidating to an impostor like myself, with rows and rows of framed photographs of winning horses hung along the lengthy entrance hall, many of which were bred by the owners of the hotel.
It didnât help when I arrived into the foyer to find that the expensively clad delegates were almost exclusively male. I quickly detoured to the toilets to give myself timeto mentally regroup. Reappearing back out, I slid in behind a coffee table and busied myself pouring a coffee, frantically trying to look like part of the group.
âExcuse me!â a cry came towards me from one of the suits.
Maybe theyâre not as bad as Iâm making them out to be, I thought to myself, making my way over to join the group at the table.
âExcuse me,â he continued, âfour coffees over here and more milk.â
âWhat?â I replied, stupidly.
âFour coffees, please. And another jug of milk,â he repeated and he looked away before I could reply.
Fuming, I picked up one of the sets of lecture notes and made my way into the conference hall where the lectures were to be held. The scattering of colleagues ignored me as I tried to pick out a friendly eye. Eventually, I sat down in the middle of a row and waited as the others filed in. The meeting was well attended and by nine oâ clock every seat in the house was full â apart from one on either side of me and a couple in the front row.
Although I knew that equine veterinary practice was at that time primarily a male-dominated area, I was still surprised to see that of the twenty-four delegates, only three were female. One, not much older than me, I later discovered had been sent to take notes for her boss. The other was a hardened-looking horsey type who seemed to be well in with the rest of the delegates.
The usual format for such meetings, that would carry on over a number of days, was that everyone would have to introduce
Registration and coffee were scheduled for eight-thirty the next morning, so I planned to leave before seven. The night before, as though knowing that something unusual was going on, Mollyâs normally peaceful bedtime routine ended in tears and I ended up lying crouched in the corner of her cot for over an hour before she reluctantly fell into a restless sleep. She woke several times during the night as though to check if I had left.
The next morning, I was up early and having quickly showered, I dressed myself in what I felt was suitable for the occasion. I strapped Molly into her highchair to feed her with her usual favourite of porridge and apple, but she was having none of it. What didnât hit the far wall or slopdown the side of her tray managed to make its way into my still damp hair and (uniquely) ironed top. Even Slug was soon sporting several spoonfuls, which she did her best to lick greedily off her shaggy coat.
Not having time to change, I brushed out my hair and wiped my top clean as best I could with a damp cloth. Despite the promising-looking September morning, I hoped it would be cold enough to leave my jacket on to hide the stains. I finally left just after seven, with both Molly and Slug sulking in the kitchen, while Donal resigned himself to what was going to be a troublesome day off.
It was after half-eight by the time I arrived at my destination . I pulled into the long, railed driveway, and admired the array of mares and foals grazing lazily in the last rays of the summer sun.
I was almost feeling optimistic until I got to the delegates â parking lot and wedged my grubby Opel Corsa in between a brand new BMW on one side and an equally gleaming Land Cruiser on the other. The whole parking area was taken up with similar vehicles, one or two of which were sign-written with logos of exclusive equine hospitals.
The reception itself was intimidating to an impostor like myself, with rows and rows of framed photographs of winning horses hung along the lengthy entrance hall, many of which were bred by the owners of the hotel.
It didnât help when I arrived into the foyer to find that the expensively clad delegates were almost exclusively male. I quickly detoured to the toilets to give myself timeto mentally regroup. Reappearing back out, I slid in behind a coffee table and busied myself pouring a coffee, frantically trying to look like part of the group.
âExcuse me!â a cry came towards me from one of the suits.
Maybe theyâre not as bad as Iâm making them out to be, I thought to myself, making my way over to join the group at the table.
âExcuse me,â he continued, âfour coffees over here and more milk.â
âWhat?â I replied, stupidly.
âFour coffees, please. And another jug of milk,â he repeated and he looked away before I could reply.
Fuming, I picked up one of the sets of lecture notes and made my way into the conference hall where the lectures were to be held. The scattering of colleagues ignored me as I tried to pick out a friendly eye. Eventually, I sat down in the middle of a row and waited as the others filed in. The meeting was well attended and by nine oâ clock every seat in the house was full â apart from one on either side of me and a couple in the front row.
Although I knew that equine veterinary practice was at that time primarily a male-dominated area, I was still surprised to see that of the twenty-four delegates, only three were female. One, not much older than me, I later discovered had been sent to take notes for her boss. The other was a hardened-looking horsey type who seemed to be well in with the rest of the delegates.
The usual format for such meetings, that would carry on over a number of days, was that everyone would have to introduce
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