Retreating to Badger’s Holt…

Retired vet and author of ‘Pets Aplenty’ MALCOLM D.

WELSHMAN reflects on finding a haven of peace and quiet on his busy veterinary rounds.

By MALCOLM D. WELSHMAN

There were days at the veterinary hospital when it felt I was in the middle of some violent sandstorm…

Not that I imagined myself as Lawrence of Arabia, mounted on a camel, charging through the sand dunes on a mission to save a distressed pet. If anything, I was more likely to be the dromedary. One with a perpetual hump.

So, whenever my receptionist booked a slot for me to go over to Badgers Holt, I relished the prospect. It was like an oasis of calm beckoning. Its centre was a circular log cabin with a turf roof standing in a patch of broadleaf woodland. Its owners were Nesta and Callum Summers, who had ditched the day job and the stresses of a consumerist society for the tranquillity of this woodland wonder.

Sharing that retreat and its three acres were Primrose the goat, Bluebell, a Shetland pony, two wheaten terriers – Petal and Blossom - and a deer hound by the name of Willow.

As soon as I hit the chalky track that wound down to Badgers Holt I could feel the tensions of the day also winding away. None more so than on a late spring morning. The beech and birches through which I drove had now unfurled their soft mantles of green to the full.

The steep banks of the track were still swathed with buttercup-yellow celandines and dotted clumps of primroses. I found myself plunging through shaded tunnels peppered with sunlight. Intoxicating. Then to emerge, blinking, from the last tunnel, into the sun-dappled glade in which Badgers Holt nestled. Sheer magic.

Today the Summers’ stock was due for its annual check up. Annual booster vaccinations given; and give me a chance to relish time, however short, in this wondrous place.

Nesta was a lady of medium stature, ruddy complexion, hair a tangle of heavy curls. Nothing striking in her appearance. Not so her partner, Callum. He had a frizz of black and grey hair that cascaded to his waist matched by a beard of equal length. But both exuded an air of tranquillity. Calm. Unruffled. Never rushed.

They approached as I got out of the car. Nesta embraced me and smiled. ‘So, Malcolm, how are you?’

‘No doubt stressed as ever,’ said Callum, also giving me a hug.

But one that was more bearlike.

Was it that obvious?

I wondered as I snatched my black bag out of the car boot and followed them round to their collection of sheds and pens, feeling with every step I took, a lessening in my tension, Badger Holt beginning to exert its effect. Before we’d reached the yard, Blossom, Petal and Willow had joined us, quietly trotting alongside, as calm as their owners. The magic of Badger Holt had long since permeated their paws.