Etiquette for a Dinner Party Read Online Free Page A

disagreeing with her. He didn't have to call in the proper vet. She was as right as rain the next day, and as a matter of fact she lived to a ripe old age.
    But it was something to see, how he handled her that first time. It was hot, actually — I mean really sexy to see the power he had in his hands when he was with sick animals. Don't take this the wrong way, but it was almost like he was a lover, a strong, powerful lover, and the animals gave themselves over to him completely, knowing that he would work magic.
    I'd see it over and over again, as I spent more time with him. Didn't seem to matter what the animal was. Dogs, cats, horses, the lot. They'd calm right down. I used to think that he had some sort of connection with them, some extra sense that most humans don't have.
    So, yeah. A hell of a lot of animals ended up in our front paddocks, recovering from illnesses of some kind or another. I'd be cycling or jogging home from doing the delivery and hello, there'd be another one there.
    Jesus, you should have seen some of them. Goats with those funny bucket things around their heads to stop them getting at their wounds. Horses and ponies with bandaged legs. Dogs all shaven and stitched in the big open-run kennels Jack had bought. I'd be laughing away, shouting out Welcome to these animals. They'd stay there a few days, then Charlie Boyd (that's the vet) would arrive out with the truck and the horse float and pick them up and take them away.
    I wondered, in those early days, why Jack had never bothered to finish vet school. Once, just after he had calmed and treated some poor animal, I asked him.
    He just said it wasn't for him, the whole university thing. You wouldn't believe what it was like, he said, unless you'd been there yourself. He said he couldn't handle the pressure of exams, everyone competing. And he was quite happy as a vet's assistant, even if he couldn't do everything.
    I knew one thing for sure — Charlie Boyd was rapt to get him. Charlie was forever whinging how he couldn't get a vet to come and work in Tokoroa. He reckoned the vet school graduates got too much of a taste for the city life while they were at university, then they'd go soft and want to stay in town. Treating small animals, Charlie used to say: rats and hamsters and gerbils and other fucking rodents. When Jack applied for the job, Charlie was grateful. More than happy to do the big stuff on his own, let Jack do what he could manage. Charlie told me this himself. .

    Velocity turned up on Jack's birthday.
    It was about five in the evening; there was a northerly breeze blowing the stink from the mill away from the town. It was cold, but a big red sun was going down over the back of the pine forest. That's a sight worth staying outside for, no matter how cold it is.
    Jack was sitting on our back steps, picking mud off his boots with a stick. I'd brought us out birthday beers and settled down on the steps with him.
    Roly Smythe came up the driveway in his new red Rodeo truck. Roly is Jack's mate. He's farmed all his life next door. We've never got on, me and Roly. He's one of those guys who hates women because they steal a man's friends. Consequently, Roly is a bachelor and a lonely soul.
    He slowed to a stop and the driver's window went down. 'Happy birthday, mate. Gotcha something,' he said to Jack.
    'New truck. Thanks, Roly.' Jack raised his bottle. 'Come and have a beer.'
    'Na, mate. Something else.' Roly jumped out of the truck and walked around to the back. He lifted a cane hamper, just a bit smaller than a washing basket, off the deck and carried it over to where we were sitting. He put it on the ground at Jack's feet.
    'What's this?' said Jack.
    'Open it, see for yourself.'
    Jack lifted the latch and opened the lid. Sitting inside was a grey bird, slightly smaller than a seagull. It had iridescent green feathers around its neck — the colour you see inside paua shells sometimes. The wings had a frill of black feathers near the