When officials first noticed all of Harold’s animals were missing, it didn’t take them long to point the finger at the new vet.
Arriving in the dead of night two years ago from a backwater suspiciously close to France, villagers were initially excited to find out that they now had ‘nurses for animals’.
But 24 months on there are no pets or livestock left, and the vet owns a new Bentley with a personalised plate.
At first, regulators assumed Arthur Wolseley was just unlucky to have the survival rate of an aromatherapist in a field hospital. But with the skip at the back of the practice having to be emptied four times a week, it wasn’t long before his techniques came into question.
“When I took the class tortoise in for its 6-monthly service, I discovered that he charged prices that would make a dentist blush”, complained teacher Alison Lee.
“If that wasn’t enough, he somehow managed to get his hand stuck in it. I know James Herriot used to fist the odd cow, but never to check on their teeth. If you ask me, Wolseley’s not right in the head.”
In fact, the majority of complaints against Wolesely cited ‘unnecessary anal examinations’, on anything from baby bunny rabbits to an ageing macaw.
“What can I say? I became a vet to keep my hands warm”, claimed Wolseley. “If I really gave a shit about animal welfare, I’d have opened a free-range abattoir.”