All language subtitles for All Creatures Great And Small - 01x13 - Breath Of Life.DVDRip.English

If you'd called sooner, Mr Kitson,
I could've saved the fourth.

Three's a crowd
and four's nowt but a nuisance.

She'd be better off with two.
- That's a matter of opinion.

Thanks.

What's the trouble here?

She had a roughish time
lambing yesterday.

What do you mean, roughish?

Big single lamb, a leg back,
and I couldn't fetch it round.

And you pulled it out
as it was with the leg back?

Nowt else I could do.

Could do with
a bit of attention, Mr Kitson.

No, I want none of that.
There's nowt you can do.

You mean she's dying?
- That's right.

Yes, she is.

Ring Mallock
to come and pick her up.

Thank you.

There's no point in
letting her suffer.

Aye, I'll do that.

How much?
- Oh, half a crown.

I'll have to go to t'house for it.

It doesn't matter now, Mr Kitson.
- It does to me.

I don't want none of your bills,
I'll pay cash.

You wait here, young man.

I'll say this
for you veterinaries -

you don't undercharge a man.
Here y'are.

Thanks.

And I'll say this -
you've got a dying ewe in there.

She was worth a damn sight more
than half a crown to you.

If you'd given me the chance
I could've saved her too.

It's worth thinking about.

What have you got, Mr Farnon?

Both legs back.
They're a long way in, Mr Dowson.

Look at the length of her pelvis.

I've seen longer.

I'm all right,
it's just the uterus contracting.

That's to be expected.

It gets you round the...

Between the calf and the pelvis.

Only natural that it should.

Ahh... Ahhhh!

Hello, Bob.
- Hello, there, Mr Herriot.

Great Scott, Bob - a Jersey!
Don't see many of those round here.

Pedigree long as your arm.

She's a beauty, Bob.
Where'd you get her from?

Joan's dad.
- Huh?

The wife, Mr Herriot.

Her old man's got a prize herd
in Sussex, this were a present.

A very handsome one too.

She looks a bit tucked up.
- Bound to, it's the cold.

I've only just fetched her.

Yes, of course. Well,
it's the cold you'll have to watch.

Never you fear,
I'll nurse her like a baby.

She'll stay inside for now.
- You'll breed from her?

Oh, aye, when time comes.
Shorthorn cross.

Yes, you'll get the shorthorn
yield plus the Jersey cream.

That's what I was thinking.
I'm glad to see you, Mr Herriot.

Best of luck, Bob.
- Thanks.

Young Mr Farnon down the road.
- Oh?

I saw his car at Dowson's place.
- Oh.

Is't thee all right, young man?

Will I get thee summat to drink?

Hiya, Tris, how's it going?

Good grief! You all right, Tris?

Thanks, old chap.

Tha'd best leave us, Mr Herriot.
He needs his rest.

Yes, of course.

What is it, Mr Dowson?

A fine, bold calf.
Charlie's wisping her now.

Get another drop of this brandy
into thee, lad.

I've never seen
anyone work harder.

Gave it all his heart, he did.

That's good stuff.

Wouldn't mind a drop meself.

I don't hold with drinking
for its own sake.

Only when it's needed, Mr Herriot.

You missed the dramatic
part of my performance.

I saw quite enough.
"Gave it all his heart, he did."

No, Tris, to get brandy
out of Dowson the way you did,

I'm just envious, that's all.

Hello. A pint for Mr Farnon, Betty.
- Thank you kindly.

How was Kitson?
- Unchanged.

One good ewe dying
because he didn't call us in time.

Typical.
- Here you are, Mr Farnon.

Good health.
- Cheers.

Tell him to call Mallock?
- Yes.

He won't, you know.
- I know.

So I slipped it 40ccs of Nembutal
when he wasn't looking.

Any luck, he won't wake up.
- Sensible thinking, James.

The Sidlows and the Kitsons of
this world are callous devils.

How was your calving?
- Not easy.

Cow with a back as long as
a cricket pitch.

He may not be qualified
but the boy is learning.

Making great strides.

There's praise for you.
Dowson show you his pedigree bull?

No, there was no time
for non-essentials.

Sickness and diarrhoea?
When did it start, Mrs Flaxton?

Only yesterday.
- Has she had a change of food?

Nothing like that.
- Does she scavenge?

Is she inclined to eat rubbish?

I don't think so.
Not as a rule, certainly.

She has a slight temperature.
Seems bright enough.

Let's have a feel
of your tummy, Penny.

Ah.

Touch of gastroenteritis.
- Is that bad?

It can be. This is quite mild.

I'll give you some medicine.

Keep her on a light diet
for a few days.

I'm so grateful.
- There we are.

What is it?
- Our own special medicine.

Usually works very well.
If it doesn't, bring her back.

Thank you again, Mr Herriot.
- Not a bit.

I'm so sorry.

Hello! Mrs Flaxton.
- Yes.

How are you finding Darrowby?
- We love it, Mr Farnon.

Good, excellent. You must bring
your husband for a drink.

Oh, we'd like to very much.

Good. Well done.
- Goodbye.

He looking after you?
- Very well.

Now, then, you two, leave her alone.
Have some manners with the lady!

Nice to see you, Mrs Flaxton.

Thank you, Mr Farnon. Goodbye.
- Goodbye!

My.

She's a ray of sunshine!
Could do with a few more like that.

Yes, she's sweet, isn't she?
- Does Helen think so?

I'm sure she would.
You couldn't help it, could you?

Well, I couldn't,
but you never know with women.

Anyway, what did you say
to Kitson t'other day?

Kitson?
- You made a great impression,

he wants you out again!
- What is it this time?

Another lambing, I believe.
- Oh. Wonders will never cease.

That was no great problem.
- No. Not worth half a crown.

But I'm glad you called me.
- I don't doubt it at that price.

But there's something to see.

Take a look, Mr Herriot.

What's wrong with her?
She looks fine.

Aye, she does.
- Well?

That's t'old lass you told me
to get Mallock to fetch.

What?

But she was dying.
- Aye, that's what you told me.

Said she hadn't long to go,
didn't ya?

It's extraordinary.

Inflammation's gone.

No tumefaction.

I don't understand it, Mr Kitson.

I'll tell you summat -
neither can I.

I spend all me life among sheep
and I've never seen nowt like it.

That ewe just fell asleep.

Is that so?
- Aye, fell asleep, I tell you,

and stayed sleeping for two days.

Two days?
- She did.

I'm not joking nae jesting.

I kept coming in here
and she never altered.

Lay there peaceful as you like
all through t'first day,

all through t'second,

and third morning she was
standing there looking at me,

asking for her grub.

I can't get over it.

Two whole days and never moved.

I'll tell thee what,
you'd just think she'd been drugged.

Good Lord!

I wonder.

James... what is it?

Kitson's ewe.
- Oh, no, darling, not now.

It's been on my mind all day,
darling.

That was yesterday. Look at
the time, it's five past three.

Please, James,
let's go back to sleep.

Sorry, love. This may be important.

I think I've hit on something.

All right.

What is it?
- This may be absolute rubbish.

I'll tell you if it is.

That ewe was dying,
I have no doubt in my mind.

Dying and in pain. Frightened.

So I gave it a damn great shot
of Nembutal.

So?
- It didn't die,

it slept, slept for two whole days
and woke up well.

Now, why, Helen? Ask yourself that.

Go on.
- One thing is obvious,

its life wasn't saved
by medicinal therapy.

I didn't give it any.
So what did I give it?

Sleep?
- Exactly!

Continuous pain. Terror. Shock.

Do you think those things alone
could cause an animal's death?

Yes. Yes, I do, James.

But give it sleep,
deep lasting sleep,

and those three things
cease to exist for it.

While they cease to exist,
you give nature a chance to heal.

Does that sound like rubbish?
- No, it doesn't.

It sounds like a truth.

A very wonderful one.

James, you can't possibly be wrong.

Well...

I think you're wonderful too!

Still diarrhoea and vomiting?
- Yes, it hasn't let up at all.

When did Mr Herriot see her?
- Three days ago.

He told me to come back
if the medicine didn't work.

It plainly hasn't.
What did he prescribe?

He did tell me.
Oh, I've got the bottle.

Oh. I see.
- Wasn't it the right stuff?

Oh, no, this is a good,
old-fashioned remedy.

I do wish you'd seen me
in the first place.

Surely Mr Herriot...
- An excellent vet, first class,

in his own line of country.

Put it like this -
Siegfried is an expert with horses.

Cattle, sheep, pigs, you won't
find better than Mr Herriot.

In this partnership,
domestic pets are my province.

But he seemed so reassuring.

Of course he did, he was
on duty here, I'd been called out,

and it looked like a simple case
of gastroenteritis.

It still is, but I'm going to
hit it on the head in one.

Oh, that would be marvellous.

She's still eating?
- Yes, her appetite's good.

This stuff looks messy but
I've had splendid results with it.

Just mix it with her food.

Thank you, Mr Farnon.
I was really getting quite worried.

I don't think you need any more.

Goodbye, Mr Farnon.

Goodbye, Mrs Flaxton.
- Goodbye. Thank you again.

Oh, Mrs Flaxton?
- Yes?

I don't anticipate any trouble

but if you are concerned,
don't hesitate to call me.

Day or night.
- Oh, I won't.

How very kind.
- All part of the service.

Thank you.

Goodbye!

Was that Mrs Flaxton I heard?
- Yes, it was!

And, er... what's up with you?

Me? Nothing, nothing,
just my usual joie de vivre.

Yes, she does have that effect.

How's Penny?
- No better. Much the same.

And why didn't you call me?
- I didn't know you were back.

Both ladies seemed happy
with my bedside manner.

I'm sure they did.
What did you prescribe?

I remembered you saying this
mixture is pretty hot stuff.

Oh, you didn't give her that?
- Yes.

It couldn't do any harm, could it?

On the contrary,
it's just what the doctor ordered.

This doctor, anyway.
- There you are.

There I am. Where's Siegfried?

Haven't seen him. He left a note,
called out to Bob Rigby.

Bob Rigby?

When did you notice
something wrong, Bob?

Hard to say, Mr Farnon.

She had a roughish trip up
with the calf, long and cold.

Like Mr Herriot said,
she seemed a bit tucked up.

Just a chill, I reckoned,
so I brought her in here.

She's been well bedded down.

Thank you.

Did you notice her going lame?

No. Well, there's not much space.

When did she start the salivating?

She were dribbling a bit yesterday.

I see.

I've got hard news, Bob,
the hardest a farmer has to bear,

it's foot-and-mouth disease.

Oh, no, Mr Farnon, don't say that.

Not foot-and-mouth.
- I'm afraid so.

All the symptoms are there.

The blisters between
the cleats of her hooves,

the high temperature, the salivation.

Look here.

See the vesicles on her tongue?

Now, then,
what stock do you carry here?

20 sheep, lambing's just started.

Six pigs, two sows due to farrow.

Cattle?
- 12 head.

Not counting her and the calf.
- You know what this means.

This is a notifiable disease,
I have to tell the authorities.

Your farm's in quarantine from now,

all cloven-footed beasts
have to be slaughtered and burned.

I'm a ruined man, Mr Farnon.

Oh, Bob, you'll get compensation
from the government.

Ha! That? Don't mean a thing
and you know it.

No insurance?

A present from Joan's dad.

It were an act of kindness.

Didn't know what he was sending me.

She was one of his?
- Yeah.

Then he's in trouble too.

Oh, my God, Mr Farnon!
That lovely herd?

Yes.
- Where does it end?

More to the point,
if we knew where it began, Bob.

Where does it end?

The cattle.

The cattle, Mr Farnon.
- What?

I only bought 'em ten days ago,
that was before this one come.

Makes no difference,
this is infected land.

But they aren't on this land.
- Where are they?

In a meadow I rent on Dowson's farm.

But you've been milking them?
- No, they're all youngsters.

But you've been among them?
- No.

Just as far as the gate,
there was no need to go in.

The grazing's still good,

there's water from the beck
and they can help themselves to hay.

I was gonna take some today.
- But you haven't?

Not yet.
- Then don't!

They need the feed.
- Leave that to me.

You're in quarantine too, Bob.

Now, no promises, but I think
we might save your cattle.

Poor old Bob.
- Yes, James, it's horrid.

Horrid.
- Mmm.

Well?
- I've hosed down the car,

smothered your tyres with carbolic.

Can I do the same for you, Brother?

Mrs Hall is disinfecting my clothes,

I've disinfected my body
and this is not a laughing matter!

Sorry. No, of course it's not.

What about your gumboots?

On the back doorstep,
disinfected too.

Good man.
Get a drink if you want.

What are the chances?
- Of it not spreading?

Yes.
- Nil.

He brought them
straight from the station,

put them straight in the stall.

James, where's your college teaching?

He received them
before any symptoms showed,

the most infectious period.

He's been out in his cart,
Mrs Rigby's been out and about,

all intermediate means
of contamination.

Like your tyres.
- My tyres, James's tyres,

his clothes, the cattle truck,
the loading bay in Sussex,

the unloading here, why go on?!

What about the Sussex end? Any news?

Yes. Yes.

Confirmed, and spreading.

That's their concern, poor devils.

Here we've one case and the Ministry
boys are taking prompt action.

What about Bob's heifers?
- I'll come to those.

It's just conceivable
this won't spread beyond Rigby's

but it's so unlikely that
we have to prepare for the worst.

There's a standstill order
on every farm

within a 15-mile radius
of the infected premises.

That means no movements of any
animals except under licence.

Which means
no market day in Darrowby.

Or any other market town here.
- But we carry on as usual?

Well, no, James, not quite.

For the moment, I'm going to
put myself into quarantine too.

I'm not going outside this house.

I'll take surgeries
and answer the telephone.

You two will take outside calls.
- Day and night?

I'm afraid so.
- Surely...

It seems hard on the pair of you
but I think it's sensible.

Honestly,
I can't see the reason for...

Listen. You should know
the Dales farmers by now.

I was the one who went to
Bob Rigby's and word's got around.

If I went out on a call and,
by some horrid mischance,

foot-and-mouth then
broke out on that farm,

they'd swear I was the carrier.

Nonsense, of course, but I'm not
going to risk having it said.

Of course, if the outbreak extends,

then I will end
my self-imposed purdah.

Oh, that's comforting.
- Come on, Tris, he's right.

If there's no epidemic,
quarantine only lasts a month.

All right, I haven't spoken.

Bob's heifers?

Ah, yes, I mentioned them
to Judson at the Ministry.

Took a bit of persuading
but they're not for the chop yet.

Dowson's going to love that.

He doesn't know it yet

but he's going to play
good neighbour to Bob Rigby.

James, I want you to go and see him.

I won't have it, Mr Herriot.
Those beasts are a risk.

The Ministry don't think so.
- The Ministry!

Pen-pushing ignoramuses.
What do they know?

I've spent a lifetime
building up this farm.

I'm in it big now.
Think I'm gonna risk everything

because that stupid Bob Rigby
brings a sick cow from the South?

It was sent to him as a gift.

Devil I care how he come by it.

How did you come by
your Hereford bull, Mr Dowson?

Bought it, didn't I?

Paid good brass for it -
�60, young man, �60!

I know. But where did it come from?

One of the finest herds
in the country! Chap from Cheshire.

Not quite as far as Sussex,
Mr Dowson.

There but for the grace of God?

It could just as easily have been
your bull that brought the infection.

Aye. But it wasn't.

Look, Mr Dowson.
You can smell the stench from here.

That's the last of all the stock
Bob Rigby had on his farm.

Maybe your luck won't hold either.

If it doesn't,
the men from the Ministry

won't light a little bonfire
like that.

Your beasts'll burn for two weeks.

What are tha' saying?
- Simply this -

while your luck lasts,
and I truly hope it does,

you can help
a fellow farmer in distress.

Save those heifers for him,
Mr Dowson.

It's the risk, Mr Herriot.

There is no more risk from them
than from anywhere else.

Good God, man, it's not much to ask!

What are thee asking, then?

To feed them hay. No need to go in,
just fork it over the fence.

Is that all?

Yes, and I promise you this -

I'll come up every morning
to see them,

first sign of a symptom,
they'll be slaughtered that day.

Well, I've... nothing against
young Rigby, he's a good lad.

I'm right sorry
for what's happened to him.

All right, Mr Herriot,
I'll do what thee asks.

Oh, Penny, you're proving
quite a problem, aren't you?

I'm so sorry to give you
all this bother.

Dear Mrs Flaxton,
that's what we're here for.

I didn't want to bother you.
I tried to get your brother.

Really?
- He's your expert on pets,

and he was very kind
and concerned when I was here,

begged me to call him
day or night if I was anxious.

Yes, I can well imagine.
That's my brother Tristan all over.

The only trouble is, I haven't
been able to get hold of him.

It's this foot-and-mouth scare.

There've been no further cases
but it has kept us very busy.

Yes, I do understand.

Now, then, there's nothing wrong
with the treatment

but she's not responding.
- Not at all.

Your brother was so confident.
- Yes.

Is she still eating?
- Not any more.

Whatever she does eat
goes straight through.

She's always drinking
and then she brings it back.

That's because of
the inflammation of her insides.

It really does give them
a raging thirst

and the more she drinks
the more she vomits.

It is very weakening.
- She's not going to die?

You love her very much, don't you?
- Mike and I adore her.

Don't worry, we'll pull her through.
Just the weakening worries me.

It's certainly gastroenteritis

but I don't understand
why she's not responding.

But we'll find a way.

Now, I want you to put her
on a very light diet -

arrowroot and boiled milk.
- Yes.

And I think I'm going to change
the medication

just because she is weak.

Day calls, night calls.

Six hours sleep in 24 if I'm lucky.

I'm completely worn out.

I need a society for the
prevention of cruelty to vets.

I can't pretend
I'm bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

It's the longest month ever.
- And two weeks left.

Don't rub it in.
I shan't last the course.

Yes, you will. We both will.

It is astonishing, though.
Not another case since Rigby's.

Touch wood.

It shows how much work Siegfried
does when he's on the scene.

He's having a comfortable
holiday at our expense.

Rubbish!

He gave his reasons, Tris,
and I think he was right.

Oh, do you?
All that nonsense about quarantine.

Two surgeries
and answering the telephone,

while we drive ourselves
towards an early grave.

What does he do the rest of the time?

Puts his feet up,
listens to the wireless and reads.

Dorothy Sayers.

You're getting worked up!
- You bet.

I've been on the boil for two days.

You're an idiot. Cool off!
- I'm doing so, visibly.

You could've fooled me.

You see, I've always nourished
a strong sense of poetic justice.

With any luck, I've now put
a spoke in Siegfried's wheel.

No, not a spoke. Wrong metaphor.

It's more subtle, like setting
a bowl of cool, clear water

just beyond the reach
of a man dying of thirst.

That's very subtle. Go on.

It was chance.
I bumped into Sue Beresford -

gorgeous, always been potty
about my brother.

I never understood why. That's women.

Anyway, she asked after him.

I was just about to tell her
when I had an inspired flash.

So I said he was very
down in the dumps.

I expressed my brotherly concern

and suggested it would be
pure Christian charity

if she invited him round for a drink.

I made her swear
not to mention my name.

Naturally.
- She jumped at it, James!

So?
- Well, improving on a good idea

I rang up two other beauties,

Bunty Farquhar
and Jennifer Selby!

I spun them the same yarn
and they fell for it!

I'm not quite with you.

Where does this get you
your poetic justice?

Oh, James, you can be
a bit dense at times.

It's obvious - he receives
three tantalising invitations

which his self-imposed purdah makes
it impossible for him to accept!

For him, one could hardly devise
a more exquisite form of torture.

There's going to be a gnashing
of teeth tonight at Skeldale House.

Let's get back.
- What's the rush?

First, I want to stew my aching bones

in the hottest, deepest bath
in Darrowby,

then I'm going to sit back
and watch the frenzy grow.

You don't know your brother
as well as I do.

Hello.
- Hello, darling, you're back.

How lovely. Hard day?
- Not too bad.

No, I can smell the beer.
- Tris and I had a pint.

Mm-hm.
- Hello, Siegfried. All well?

Better than that,
your wife is an angel of mercy.

We've been doing the accounts.
- Good Lord.

No joking. When I think
of the tyranny we suffered

at the hands of that abominable
woman - what was her name?

Harbottle.
- Harbottle!

Never to be forgotten!

But Helen... Words fail me.
- He's talking rubbish.

I never really thought
I'd enjoy totting up figures

and what's more,
we're making a handsome profit.

Which is why, at my expense,

you will take this sweet girl
out to dinner tonight,

and that's an order.
- Siegfried, that's very kind.

But if the poor old thing
is too whacked...

What? I certainly
am not too whacked.

You sure that's all right?
- Why not?

Thanks most awfully.
- Well, thank your wife.

And stop being so conscientious,
Tristan can hold the fort.

Tristan?

All right,
who pinched all the hot water?

I'm afraid I did.
- What do you want a bath for?

Why are you dressed like that?
- It's been an exceptional day.

I must say, I'm no recluse,
I've found this fortnight irksome,

but it turns out
I'm not a forgotten man.

The invitations
have been pouring in

and I am off to cocktails
at Broughton Manor.

But you can't.
- Why do you say that?

You're in quarantine.
- Oh, my poor, dear child.

Sue Beresford
has not got cloven hooves,

so I shan't be giving her
foot-and-mouth.

I must dash. Goodbye, my dear,
make sure he gives you...

a lovely dinner. Bye.
- Who's taking surgery?

You are, Tristan.
- Me?

Well, you're our pet expert,
are you not?

Au revoir, mes amis.
Amusez-vous bien.

Ooh-ooh.

Morning, James.

Why the sad and pensive air?

What? I'm worried, James,
very worried.

Our luck's held out so far.
- No, not the pestilence,

I mean that nice little bitch
of Mrs Flaxton's.

Penny the poodle?
- Yeah.

She's not still sick, is she?

I simply don't understand it.

You kicked off with the classic
treatment for gastroenteritis,

then Tristan changed the medication
accidentally correctly.

No improvement.
At that point I took over.

James, I've exhausted
our entire repertoire of drugs.

That wretched creature
has been subjected to

powdered ipecacuanha and opium,

sodium salicylate
and tincture of camphor.

I've even tried
decoctions of haematoxylin

and infusions of caryophyllum.

I feel like
a third-rate witch doctor.

What, no improvement?
- Worse. She's getting weaker.

I've just seen her,
she's hardly fit to come here.

Simple gastroenteritis. What's
gone wrong? What don't we know?

Have you got to go out?
- I expect so.

You go back to sleep, darling.

Quiet, dogs, you'll wake up
the whole house! Quiet!

Hello.

We're so sorry to...
- Come in, come in.

So sorry to bother you
at this time of night.

It's Penny. She's really bad.

Bring her through,
I'll take a look at her.

I know it's late
but there's nothing we can do.

I'm on duty tonight anyway.
There we are, Penny.

She's really suffering now.

Just lies in her basket
crying all the time.

Mmm.
- One thing, Mr Herriot...

We both agree that she...

Are you prepared to put her down?

It really would be
the kindest thing.

Yes, I suppose it would.
But it shouldn't be, it shouldn't be.

She's just two years old, you say?

Next month.
- Hmm.

Mrs Flaxton,
I'm going to put Penny to sleep.

No, not the way you think.

I don't quite understand.
- I want to anaesthetise her.

What possible good will that do?

I can't be certain it'll do any good.
It's an idea I've got.

But a rest from this continual
drinking and vomiting

may give nature a chance.
- She's been through enough.

Of course she has but this
won't cause her any more distress.

She won't know a thing about it,
I promise.

This is a last resort but I'd be
very grateful if you let me try.

All right. Go ahead.

Thanks.

But this will be the last?
- Yes, it will.

What are you giving her?
- Nembutal, just a small shot.

She'll sleep till late afternoon,

then I'll give her another dose,
or Mr Farnon will.

If I can't make it,
I'll tell him what I'm trying.

I want to keep her sedated
for 48 hours.

In you go, good dog.

Hello, James.
- Hello, Siegfried.

How went the day?
- Oh, pretty easily.

A few simple cases,
one case of mastitis.

Things are slacking off.
- Good.

Did you see Rigby's heifers?
- I do every day.

Clean as a whistle.
- Very satisfactory.

Er, Siegfried.
Did my eyes deceive me?

Is there or is there not
a crate of champagne in the hall?

They did not, and there is.

Throwing a party?
- Oh, no, no, not quite yet, James.

But I have
a sudden warm conviction.

The miracle is going to happen -

there won't be an outbreak
of foot-and-mouth.

The moment the Min of Ag gives
us the all-clear, we celebrate.

So... be prepared.
- How perfectly splendid.

On the other hand,
isn't it tempting providence?

Course it is, outrageously.

I had that well in mind.

If the thing flares up,
we don't celebrate,

we get drunk instead.

Any complaints?
- None.

Cheers.

That brings me, James,
to another small miracle.

Mm?

Oh, my hat, you don't...?
Not Penny the poodle?

Absolutely, I was there when
she woke up. Nice 48-hour nap.

Go on.

She's very weak, of course,
wobbly on her legs,

but she didn't make a beeline
for the water bowl,

she tottered into the garden,
did a neat little job,

then she watered the flowers
for half an hour.

That's fantastic.
- Isn't it?

I felt a fraud getting hugs
and kisses from Mrs Flaxton.

They were yours by rights.
- Don't worry about that!

Is Penny really on the mend?
- I'm sure she is.

I'm equally sure you've...

No, Tris'll get it. Go on.

I think we need a few more cases
to satisfy the profession

but after that
you've got to write a paper

about sedation as an adjunct

to the ordinary treatment
of certain animal ailments.

Well...
- No, I really mean it, James.

Well, what is it?
- It's Dowson.

Was he burning up the line.

What's wrong?
- His prize bull's got it.

Do I have to spell it out?
Foot-and-mouth disease.

I should never have listened
to thee in t'first place.

All that soft soap
about helping Bob Rigby.

Nowt but a bloody tinker.

I know what tha's done!

Brought his filthy disease
onto my healthy land and my beasts.

Well, tha's ruined a life's work.

I'm a hard man to cross, Mr Herriot,

as you'll find out to your cost.

It weren't impotence,

that were culpable negligence,
that's what it were!

Ignorance and culpable negligence!

Well, I'll sue, never fear.
I'll take thee to court,

the highest court in the land
if necessary!

I'll take thee and thy blasted
practice for every penny!

And I'll have thee struck off
for good measure!

Walk him round again, will you?

All right, bring him back.

Right, hold his head up.
Have another look at that tongue.

Mr Dowson.

Now, you listen to me.

Your anxiety is quite natural

but if you ever speak to me
like that again

I will almost certainly
punch you hard on the nose.

Then you can take me to court
for assault.

But get this clear, I will not have
my competence questioned

by an incompetent farmer.

What the hell are...?
- Shut up and listen.

That bull isn't lame.

There are no vesicles between
the cleats or on the tongue.

The tongue is swollen and painful,

he's salivating
and has a fairly high temperature.

Well, young man?

So would you be -
running a temperature, salivating,

and your tongue would be swollen

if you had three inches of rusty wire
stuck in it.

Are you saying...?
- It is not foot-and-mouth.

It's just a simple infection...

caused by this.

All right.

You are no more
an incompetent farmer

than I am a negligent vet.

You're a very good farmer.

But I'll lay you any odds you like

that that piece of wire
came from a badly cut bale of hay.

If you buy prize bulls,
it's worth watching the fodder.

Tha's right, young man.

I'm sorry for what I said.

Shh, don't bite it.

That should do you, old chap.

How old are they, Mr Skipton?
- You're t'vet, you tell me.

They're very old.
I can see that from their teeth.

But I'd only be guessing.

Well, the mare's about, er, 30

and the gelding's
a year or two younger.

She's had 15 grand foals.

Neither of 'em ailed owt,
except a bit of teeth trouble now.

When did they last do any work?

About 12 year ago, I reckon.

They've been here
all that time?

Aye, just laking about down here,
retired like.

It's sheltered in winter
and grand grazing in summer.

Oh, they've earned it.

They were two slaves
when I were a slave meself.

And do you come and see them often?

Every day God sends, Mr Herriot.

Rain, blow or snow, I never miss it.

But it's two miles to your house,
Mr Skipton.

They're old friends, aren't they?

Anyway, everything's under control.

Mrs Hall's been having
a field day in the kitchen.

Honestly, darling,
she is a wonderful woman.

The only trouble is,
she does get carried away -

there's enough to feed a regiment.

But not army cooking -
strictly Yorkshire cordon bleu.

You haven't been listening
to a word I've said.

James.
- What?

Are you with me?
- Sorry, I was thinking.

What about?
- John Skipton.

What about him?
- Those two ancient horses.

Skipton started life
as a farm labourer.

Never married, drove himself
hard all his life, made money.

You'd never think it
to look at him -

he's one of the biggest
landowners in the Dales

and he walks four miles a day
to see those horses.

Four miles!

That's been going on for 12 years.

Any other farmer would have
sold them to the knackers yard

as soon as their usefulness expired,
but not Skipton.

They've got a comfort in their
old age he never gave himself.

But why, darling? You tell me that.

It's not difficult, you old silly.

He loves them, that's why.

Right, Mrs Hall, do these,
then we can get the baked potatoes.

Are we allowed in yet?!

Yes, you can come in now,
we're ready for you!

By Jove! What a sight for sore eyes!

Mrs Hall, I have always held you
in the very highest regard

but you're a true artist,
a queen of the cuisine.

Get along. I'd never have managed
without Mrs Herriot.

Ah.
- She's as fine a cook as I am.

I'll have to kiss you both.

Great work, darling. Bravo, Mrs Hall.

I'm beyond empty rhetoric -
empty bellied.

No, you don't!
- Brother.

Contain your gluttony.
I have other plans.

Now, before our guests arrive,

we're going to have
a private ceremony of our own.

Please note, brother dear,
that when opening champagne

I do not follow the vulgar habit
of bombing the ceiling...

..with the cork.

Oh! Well done!

Spilt a bit. Never mind.

It seems to me that some sort
of toast is appropriate.

Give me your advice -
to what or to whom shall we drink?

Well, ourselves, of course.
- Yes.

Ourselves, why not?

Where in Darrowby could one hope
to encounter - come, Mrs Hall -

such a combination of beauty...

Hear, hear.

Ah, ah.

Thank you, Siegfried.
- Ah.

..industry...
- Ah, thank you.

..and wit?

Ladies and gentlemen,
I give you the toast -

ourselves!
- Ourselves.

Someone's a bit early.

I'll go, Mrs Herriot.
- Thank you.

Who do you suppose...?
- Penny and the Flaxtons.

They live nearby.
- Or my Rosebud.

Your Rosebud? Tris!

From the hospital.
Absolute little charmer.

It's Sue Beresford.

And how do you know?

Girl of handsome appetite,
I warned her of this feast.

Mark my words, Sue Beresford...

Mr Farnon, sir.
- What is it?

Or who is it?
- Jess Rowbotham, sir.

What on earth does he want?
- Oh, I'm that sorry.

He says could someone
come at once, it's...

it's a misplaced calf bed.

Oh!
- Oh, no.

Not now, it can't be.

Oh. How unfair!

Life, my dear Helen,
is beastly unfair

but we among ourselves are not.

Just now and then.

Gentlemen...

The short match wins the job.

Tristan?

James.

As Helen remarked a moment ago,
beastly unfair on one of us.

Well, at least let's drink
a glass of champagne first.

Hear, hear.
- Come, Mrs Hall.

Bring your glasses.