So the deadline for the copy edit of book 2 has just passed and unbelievably I've made it by the skin of my teeth. Quite a process writing a book, I always imagined the hard bit would be the writing, but in all truth - that's just the beginning. Teams of hardcore literary wizards then pour over your cherished material and point out you've used the same name to describe every animal you mention, or suggest that character development might involve a little more than saying a person was wearing a jumper. Chapter titles, page breaks, jacket copy excerpts, cover notes, dedications, illustrations and grammatical slip ups all need sorting - it's a mission - and it all needs to hit a deadline or you get blacklisted and banished to hell. Well almost. Literary hell at least. In fact, writing a book is a bit like being a vet, all about the team and without the team checking all the errors then it would be a pretty poor read. Much like trying to do an operation without a nurse - bit touch and go.

Talking of which, had a bit of touch and go this week. Not the best confession to put on a public blog, but it involved a feral cat so hopefully that makes it ok. The issue was that it was supposed to be a castrated male and turned out to be an entire female. That in itself wasn't a problem, and I doubt the cat minded. The problem was that the cat was as wild as the hills, I had sedated it to check it over and then realised it needed to be neutered. All turned out well, the cat was fine, just that you could arguably say the situation in which I spayed it was a bit more VetAdventure than Pilgrims Veterinary Practice. What can you do? Needs must and the cat wasn't going to get caught and sedated twice. 

On other news, it's been a busy one at work. Just finished 26 nights out of 35 on call - pay back for extended time away - ideal for book writing though so every cloud and all that. I also had an interview with Graham Norton on radio 2. High five with Boy George on the way to the studio and there I was, in the seat of power. Boy George didn't really give me a high five, though he did cast a cursory glance in my direction - not doubt noting my distinct sense of dress style, as he exited the building to a crowd of fans waiting for signatures. It was quite hard to push through them and get in through the doors actually. Security took some persuading as well. Graham, however, was great and really nice of him to have me on the show - we had a big surge of interest in the charity so all good news and I'm indebted to him.

The title to this blog relates to the fact I have become a small furry vet. Not literally - that would be difficult given my size, but whereas last month I saw a chicken a day, these last few weeks it's all been rats, rabbits and guinea pigs. What's going on there? So far, fingers intact, but we all know it's only a matter of time... 

"Did they pay?" Cords asked me.

I looked across the room to see the back of the huge man I had just been chatting to, disappear round the corner.

My face dropped - this was my whole purpose, my total mission was threatened with abject failure. There I was, standing by the counter, lamenting the pitiful first half performance of a hopeless England Rugby team when I should have been tackling £1.50 off each person who decided to sample some chocolate chip cake and have a cup of tea.

Last saturday was a big morning, I wasn't on call and so family Gamble were tearing it up at the local village hall hosting a tea and cake fundraiser for Worldwide Veterinary Service. It was about time. I mean the hardcore WVS team, Linda, Tess and James work their socks off doing cake stands, book fairs and jumble sales every other weekend in the year, surely I should do one event, in my own village, with my wife to help run it, for a couple of hours, about 200m from my house.

Awareness was everything, I had been told. It wasn’t about the money, we weren’t going to get the charity rich with tea and cakes at £1.50 but it was all about people knowing we were there and what we were up to.  I had to admit, I was being as useful to the cause as a proverbial chocolate teapot. 

"I'll get the money," I said resolutely, knowing I should have been talking about orphan puppies in paper bags, rabies outbreaks in outer Mongolia or sick baby elephants in need of expensive medicine.

"They'll come back, don't worry, people know why we are here" Cords said calmly.

“But what if they don’t?” I said.

Noah and Sheba looked up at me.

"What are you going to get Daddy?"

"The money for the tea and cake that family had just now - they forgot to pay," I said. A hint of steel in my voice.

"We'll come and help," Noah said with absolute determination.

And so it was decided. We weren’t even halfway through the morning and there I was, leaving Cords to dish out teas, cakes and manage everything entirely by herself, while I headed into the adjoining farm shop to chase down the perpetrators. 

I do occasionally visit clients who have forgotten to pay their bills. It's always a bit awkward, can be quite embarrassing - especially if they are in their dressing gowns - but I get the bucks paid and I felt confident I could handle this.

Noah and Sheba were going for a flanking move, never underestimate the stealth of a 3 and a half year old and a 19month year old in any given situation. They seemed to be circling round the back of the family as I coughed and hesitantly looked up at the 6ft 6 Dad who I had just been discussing the rugby with. He didn’t stand a chance.

"I need your bucks for the tea and cakes, I'm afraid" I said with a slightly embarrassed grin.

"No problem, we haven't forgotten, just grabbing some cabbages and we're coming back through,"

"Oh, brilliant." I stumbled, momentarily off guard.

"Well, we can pay you now if you'd like?" the man's wife said, flashing me a sympathetic smile.

"Ok, it's £1.50 please,' I said, willing the ground to swallow me up but knowing I had to stand firm, seize the moment and get the hard readies. 

"No, it's more, we had two cups of tea," she said.

"Right," my eyes lighting up, "£2.50."

The money passed hands, a big weight of responsibility lifted from my shoulders. As the huge man and his family bid me a cheery goodbye and headed off, I thought I would get Noah and Sheba a small bag of sweeties in celebration of our success.

Reaching across to a large jar of skittles, I picked it up as Noah and Sheba excitedly watched. Then the lid came off. Not in a planned way, more in a disastrously messy way.

The jar didn’t smash, but fair to say, the sweeties came out. I lurched forward, hopelessly scrabbling around to put things right. Noah and Sheba joined in and there we were, the whole shop stopping to watch us as we cavorted about the floor - Sheba was laughing hysterically, Noah was loving the drama , sweets were everywhere. To say people were looking at us would have been an understatement. It took me twenty minutes to sort it out, pay for an unknown quantity of damaged goods and then finally I returned to my wife, red faced but triumphant.

I held out my £2.50.

“Not much is it,” I said.

“It’s ok. The chap just came back and gave us an extra 50p for another slice of cake so that’s £3, and we had two other people come up and donate £10 each! You must have made an impression out there.” Cords replied with a smile.

I thought for a moment, slightly dumfounded.

“It would be fair to say," I paused, trying to figure out how best to explain recent events. "I think people know we are here now....."

p.s. this weeks picture shows a New Forest pony. Absolutely no relation to a tea and cake morning but I met him the other morning and he was very friendly!

"Luke, how are you?" Big Trevor said to me the other day,

"7/10 Trev," I said quickly. Bit of a strange response and Big Trev seized on it like a rabid bear.

"7/10? Where are the other 3?" he demanded immediately.

"Well, that's a tough one Trev, I've got a nervous sense of anticipation brewing about having to blood sample a 250kg boar with no handling facility - that's taking the edge of a bit," I replied.

"That only counts as 1," Big Trev said in all seriousness.

"I've got to blood sample a bearded dragon, that's a challenge" I said.

"Bit pathetic Luke, I'm not having that, two blood samples, that's your job - half a point each tops."

"Fair enough Trev, how about a lame horse that's a 17HH chestnut filly, mad as a box of snakes and the chap I have to see it with has a bad wrist and can't hold it,"

Big Trev thought for a moment. "You're whining Luke,"

"No, I'm pointing out some points explaining why I'm 7 out of 10 rather than 10."

"Lot of people would like to see a horse on a day like this, blue skies, outdoors, all that sort of stuff"

"True," I replied, grappling to explain myself.

"Have you got a wonderful family Luke?" Big Trev asked.

"Yes,"

"You have a house, a very dirty landrover, a big dog, a job and hair," Big Trev said.

"You have me there, I definitely have hair," I replied, looking at Big Trev's shiny pate.

"You're a 9 out of 10," Big Trev said pointedly. "Stop complaining,"

I shrugged apologetically.

"How about you Trev?"

"4 out of 10,"

"4?!" I said aghast.

"No milk at work, sock has a hole in it, car is in for a service, England are looking shaky in the world cup and the wife wants a new car."

"That's only 5 bad points, where's the other one?" I asked.

"This conversation Luke, I'm now worried about your blood samples. It's dropped me below par."

"I'm worried about your sock." I said.

"Focus on the positives; family, friends and beer." Big Trev said.

I nodded sagely, he had a point. I felt the surge of three extra points bring me up to a 10. Carrying that through the boar blood sample went well, I even managed the dragon and against the odds, the horse didn't kill me.  Doesn't change the fact though, next time I get asked how I am, I'm going to say I'm okay.

Went to the circus this week. No - I wasn't visiting relatives, heading back

to my birth place or running away from home, I was taking Team Gamble on an

afternoon trip of power. By circus we're not talking dancing elephants,

seals chained in bathtubs, or juggling ferrets - we're talking one of

Britains voted best small circuses where the only animal they had was a well

built collie dog who was having the time of his life!

It was brilliant - great family fun. The clown was funny with a must have pair of giant red shoes, the rope acts good and the chap juggling knives on the back of a motorbike definitely added some spice to things - especially when he started dropping them.

The animal issue did come into it though - but from unexpected quarters. At the interval, I lumbered to the toilet. Not a great fact to tell you but

whilst queueing a lady shouted "Are you Luke Gamble?", I turned, nodded and

gave what I like to consider a winning smile.

She said in a really loud high pitched voice, "You do all those things with

animals!" 

Now, this in context, that was pretty accurate but then I could hear the

message fiiter down the queue.

"That guy over there - he does things with animals",

"Who is he?"

"What sort of things?",

"I don't know, but that lady says he does stuff with them in remote places,"

"How can you bring yourself to  all those things? I just can't believe what you get up to," the lady continued.

People started to crane their heads wondering what the heck she was talking

about, I shifted uncomfortably, willing the queue to get a move on and

cursing the fact I didn't have a bigger bladder.

"Is it legal in all those places you go?"

It was my turn next - if only the toilet door had locked. She was there,

outside the toilet door, chatting away. Difficult to say the least. I was

troubled by the time I got back to the family, people were looking at me

strangely, luckily the incident was soon forgotten due to more pressing

concerns by Noah that the trapeze lady wasn't wearing any trousers.

On other news, I was supposed to be taking a team to the dadaab refuggee camp in Kenya but unfortunately it's been pulled due at the moment due to a flair up in area, just nailed 18 nights on call out of the last 26 at the practice to keep me off the streets, and there has been an outbreak of sick pigs, a spate of surgeries on really old dogs and I saw my birthday in doing a caesarian on a cow with a twisted uterus and a breech calf. Not bad a way to do it, bed could have been slightly better, but both cow and calf lived so result all round. Onward we go... another year under the belt and for anyone reading this who sent me a happy birthday message via twitter, facebook or mail - thanks a million, was great to get them.

P.s. Rob is a local farmer and this is his new bike - just in case you see it and wonder who it belongs to...