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« on: March 29, 2010, 04:16:10 PM »
Sure, the scalpel's sharp, but it's the man who's got to be sharper. My ol' man was the finest surgeon in Boston, never mind that that other feller could amputate twice as fast; Pa got it right, and there weren't nobody died on his table 'fore 'is time was due.
Me? Well, they say I got his hand, but I could never stand t'be cuttin' on folk. Think Pa was a little 'shamed of that, t'tell the truth, though he tried not to show it. Horses, though, I never had no problem with horses. They understands what I'm doin', y'see, better than folks do, crazy as that might sound. 'Course, city folks don't know one horse from another, even without them fancy motor cars they's makin' a fuss about nowadays. But, place like this, folks really appreciate a good horse, so after Pa died I sold up and headed for the country. Wound up here in Marbury, last town before the mountains. I like it here, it's... real peaceful like, and the folks're friendly without needin' t'... y'know, pry, the way city folks would.
Anyways, I gotta head up to Percy's farm. Feller wants me t' see about 'is cow.
Count me in, though I'll be away over Easter until the 5th or possibly 6th of April. Samuel Hargreaves, Veterinarian.