I don't think I have ever seen anybody leave a room as quickly as that
man His chair overturned, there was a scurry, a scrapjng of hobnails,
the clattering of fieeing feet in the passage then the banging of the
outside door.
He was gone, never to return .. .
I don't think there is much doubt that we held an earthy fascination for
our medical colleagues. They were constantly drifting in to watch us at
work, particularly my own doctor, Harry Allinson, whose bald head often
hovered over me as I operated on the small animals.
"I've got to hand it to you boys,' he used to say. "When we come up
against a surgical case we write a note to the hospital but you just
switch on the steriliser.'
He was interested, too, in our work with the microscope. It intrigued
him that we should spend so much time peering down at skin scrapings for
mange, blood films for anthrax milk and sputum smears for tuberculosis.
"Sometimes I think you are a really scientific chap, Jim,' he would
laugh. "Then I see you with your instruments.'
He was referring to the occasions when he met me coming out of the
surgery in the morning carrying my kit for the round; the grisly docking
knives, firing tools, tooth forceps and dehorning shears which are now
mercifully consigned to the museum. He would lift them from my arms and
examine them wonderingly. ' You put the horse's tail in there, do you?
And you bring the blade down like this .. . bang .. . just like a
guillotine .. . my God!'
I felt the same way myself.
Harry Allinson's towering, wide-shouldered frame was part of the scenery
of Darrowby. He was a Scot, like so many of the doctors in Yorkshire, a
great athlete in his youth, a scratch golfer and an ebullient
personality. One of his main characteristics was sheer noisiness and it
was his habit to march into his patients' homes shouting and banging
about. He was to deliver both my children and years later when one or
the other was ill I have heard him come hollering into the house .. .
"Anybody in? Who's there? Come on, let's be having you!' And it was
wonderful how the little measles-ridden form revived and began to shout
back at him.
It was rewarding, too, to discover the gentleness and understanding
behind the uproar Those qualities were always there when people needed
them.
Although he saw so much of my own work I was unable, naturally enough,
to see him in action apart from when he was attending my own family.
There was one time, however, when I did have a peep behind the curtain.
I was called to see a lame cart horse and as I walked on to the farm I
was surprised to see the vast form of Gobber Newhouse almost obscuring
the view. The entire twenty stones of him was leaning on a shovel and he
appeared to be part of a gang of building workers putting up a new barn.
"Nah then, Herriot,' he said affably, 'what've ye been killin' this
morning'?' He followed this typical sally with a throaty chuckle and
looked round at his colleagues for applause.
I gave him a nod and passed by. Fortunately I didn't often see Gobber
but 4/4
Vet In llarness when I did he always addressed me as "Herriot' and he
invariably got in some little dig. And incidentally this was the first
time I had ever observed him going through the motions of work; the
Labour Exchange must have put some pressure on him because normally his
life consisted of drinking, gambling, fighting and knocking his
long-suffering little wife about.
I spent some time with the horse's hind foot resting on my knee as I
pared away at the sole. But there was no sign of pus and the only
abnormality was a smelly disintegration of the horn around the frog.
"He's got thrush,' I said to the farmer. "This doesn't often make them
lame but he has shed quite a lot of horn and some of the sensitive
tissues are exposed. I'll leave you some lotion for him.'
I was walking back to get the bottle from the car when I saw there was
some kind of commotion among the builder's men. They were standing in a
group around Gobber who was seated on an upturned milk pail. He had his
boot off and was anxiously examining his foot.
The foreman called over to me. "Are you going straight back to Darrowby,
Mr Herriot?'
"Yes, I am.'
"Well maybe you wouldn't mind givin' this feller a lift. He's stood on a
nail - went clean through his boot. Could you take him to a doctor?'
"Yes, of course.' I went over and viewed the fat man whose mates seemed
to be enjoying the situation.
"Here's the vet come to see ye, Gobber,' one of them cried. "He'll soon
we haud 'im down for ye, Mr Herriot?'
Another peered gloomily at the punctured wound on the foot. "By Gaw,
this is a 'elf of a farm for lockjaw, Gobber. Ah'm afraid ye'll die a
'orrible death.'
The big man was not amused. His face was a tragic mask and the eflort of
hauling his foot into view above his enormous belly made him shake
uncontrollably.
I opened the car door and, supported by a man on either side, he limped
with many facial contortions across the farmyard. At first I thought
we'd never be able to get him into the little vehicle and he groaned
piteously as we pushed, pulled and finally wedged him into the passenger
seat.
As we headed along the road to Darrowby he cl~eared his throat
nervously.
"Mr Herriot,' he said. It was the first time he had ever accorded me
a'mister'. "Is it true that where there's a lot of 'osses there's more
lockjaw?'
"Yes, I should say so,' I replied.
He swallowed. "There's allus been a lot of 'osses at that farm, hasn't
there?'
"There has indeed.'
"And what .. .' He passed a hand across his forehead. "What kind of . ..
_ .. . cuts gets lockjaw in them?'
I saw no reason to be merciful. "Oh, deep punctured wounds like you
have. Especially in the feet.'
"Oh bloody 'elf!' moaned Gobber. Like many bullies he was a big baby
when his own hide was in danger.
Watching him sweating there I relented a little.
"Don't worry,' I said. "The doctor will give you a little shot and
you'll have nothing to worry about.'
The big man squirmed and wrung his hands. "Ah but I don't like
"'needle.'
"It's nothing, really,' I said, with only the slightest touch of sadism.
"Just a quick jab.'
"Oh bloody 'ell!'
: 1
. 1
1
. 1
~" At the surgery Harry Allinson gave us a cold look as we staggered in.
He had attended a few of Mrs Newhouse's black eyes and he didn't approve
of Gobber.
"Right, Jim,' he grunted. "Leave him to me.'
I was about to go when Gobber caught at my sleeve.
"Stay with me, Mr Herriot!' he whimpered. The man was in a pitiable
state of fright and I looked questioningly at the doctor.
Harry shrugged. "OK, you can stay and hold his hand if that's what he
wants.
'
He produced a phial of tetanus antitoxin and a syringe.
"Drop your trousers and bend over, Newhouse,' he ordered curtly.
Gobber complied, exposing flaccid acres of the biggest backside, horses
included, which I had ever seen.
"You know, Newhouse,' Harry said conversationally as he filled the
syringe before the big man's terrified eyes. "Your wife tells me you
have no feelings.' He laughed gently. "Yes, that's what she says .. .
you have absolutely no feelings.'
He stepped quickly to the rear, rammed the needle deep into the
quivering buttock, then, as a shrill howl shook the windows, he looked
into Gobber's face with a wolfish grin.
"But you bloody well felt that, didn't you!'
Chapter Seventeen.
You often see dogs running along a road but there was something about
this one which made me slow down and take a second look.
It was a small brown animal and it was approaching on the other side;
and it wasn't just ambling by the grass verge but galloping all out on
its short legs, head extended forward as though in desperate pursuit of
something unseen beyond the long empty curve of tarmac ahead. As the dog
passed I had a brief glimpse of two staring eyes and a lolling tongue,
then he was gone.
My car stalled and lurched to a halt but I sat unheeding, still gazing
into the mirror at the small form receding rapidly until it was almost
invisible against the browns and greens of the surrounding moor. As I
the job in hand; because I had seen something chilling there, a
momentary but vivid impression of frantic effort, despair, blind terror.
And driving away, the image stayed with me. Where had that dog come
from? There were no roadside farms on this high, lonely by-way, not a
parked car anywhere. And in any case he wasn't just casually going
somewhere; there was a frenzied urgency in his every movement.
It was no good I had to find out. I backed off the unfenced road among
the spare tufts of heather and turned back in the direction I had come.
I had to drive a surprisingly long way before I saw the little animal,
still beating his solitary way, and at the sound of the approaching car
he halted, stared for a moment then trotted on again. But his labouring
limbs told me he was near exhaustion and I pulled up twenty yards ahead
of him, got out and waited.
He made no protest as I knelt on the roadside turf and caught him gently
as he came up to me. He was a Border terrier and after another quick
glance at the car his eyes took on their terrified light as he looked
again at the empty road ahead.
He wasn't wearing a collar but there was a ring of flattened hair on his
neck as though one had recently been removed. I opened his mouth and
looked at his teeth; he wasn't very old - probably around two or three.
There were rolls of fat along his ribs so he hadn't been starved. I was
examining his skin when suddenly the wide panting mouth closed and the
whole body stiffened as another car approached. For a moment he stared
at it with fierce hope but when the vehicle flashed by he sagged and
began to pant again.
So that was it. He had been dumped. Some time ago the humans he had
loved and trusted had opened their car door, hurled him out into an
unknown world and driven merrily away. I began to feel sick physically
sick - and a murderous rage flowed through me. Had they laughed, I
wondered, these people at the idea of the bewildered little creature
toiling vainly behind them?
I passed my hand over the rough hairs of the head. I could forgive
anybody for robbing a bank but never for this, "Come on, fella,' I said,
lifting him gently, 'you're coming home with me.'
Sam was used to strange dogs in the car and he sniffed incuriously at
the newcomer. The terrier huddled on the passenger seat trembling
violently and I kept my hand on him as I drove.
Back in our bed-sitter Helen pushed a bowl of meat and biscuit under his
nose but the little animal showed no interest.
"How could anybody do this?' she murmured. "And anyway, why? What reason
could they have?'
I stroked the head again. "Oh you'd be surprised at some of the reasons.
Sometimes they do it because a dog turns savage, but that can't be so in
this case.' I had seen enough of dogs to interpret the warm friendly
light behind the fear in those eyes. And the way the terrier had
submitted unquestioningly as I had prised his mouth open, lifted him,
handled him, all pointed to one thing; he was a docile little creature.
"Or sometimes,' I continued, 'they dump dogs just because they're tired
of them. They got them when they were charming puppies and have no
interest in them when they grow up. Or maybe the licence is due to be
paid - that's a good enough reason for some people to take a drive into
the country and push their pets out into the unknown.' I didn't say any
more. There was quite a long list and why should I depress Helen with
tales of the other times when I had seen it happen?
People moving to another house where they couldn't keep a dog. A baby
arriving and claiming all the attention and affection. And dogs were
occasionally abandoned when a more glamorous pet superseded them.
I looked at the little terrier. This was the sort of thing which could
have happened to him. A big dashing Alsatian, an eye-catching Saluki
anything like that would take over effortlessly from a rather roly-poly
Border terrier with some people. I had seen it in the past. The little
fellow was definitely running to fat despite his comparative youth; in
fact when he had been running back there his legs had splayed out from
his shoulders. That was another clue; it was possible he had spent most
of his time indoors without exercise.
Anyway I was only guessing. I rang the police. No reports of a lost dog
in the district. I hadn't really expected any.
During the evening we did our best to comfort the terrier but he lay
trembling, his head on his paws, his eyes closed. The only time he
showed interest was when a car passed along the street outside, then he
would raise his head and listen, ears pricked, for a few seconds till
the sound died away. Helen hoisted him on to her lap and held him there
for over an hour, but he was too deeply sunk in his misery to respond to
her caresses and soft words.
I finally decided it would be the best thing to sedate him and gave him
a shot of morphine. When we went to bed he was stretched out sound
asleep in Sam's basket with Sam himself curled up philosophically on the
rug by his side.
Next morning he was still unhappy but sufficiently recovered to look
around him and take stock. When I went up and spoke to him he rolled
over on his back, not playfully but almost automatically as though it
was a normal mannerism. I bent and rubbed his chest while he looked up
at me non-commitally. I liked dogs which rolled over like this; they
were usually good-natured and it was a gesture of trust.
&n
bsp; "That's better, old lad,' I said. "Come on, cheer up!'
For a moment his mouth opened wide. He had a comical little monkey face
and briefly it seemed to be split in two by a huge grin, making him look
extraordinarily attractive.
Helen spoke over my shoulder. "He's a lovely little dog, Jim! He's so
appealing - I could get really fond of him.'
Yes, that was the trouble. So could I. I could get too fond of all the
unwanted animals which passed through our hands; not just the abandoned
ones but the dogs which came in for euthanasia with the traumatic
addendum 'unless you can find him a home'. That put the pressure on me.
Putting an animal to sleep when he was incurably ill, in pain, or so old
that life had lost its savour was something I could tolerate. In fact
often it seemed as though I were doing the suffering creature a favour.
But when a young, healthy, charming animal was involved then it was a
harrowing business.
What does a vet do in these circumstances. Refuse and send the owner
away with the lurking knowledge that the man might go round to the
chemist and buy a dose of posion? That was far worse than our humane,
painless barbiturate. One thing a vet can't do is take in all those
animals himself. If I had given way to all my impulses I would have
accumulated a positive menagerie by now.
It was a hell of a problem which had always troubled me and now I had a
soft hearted wife which made the pull twice as strong.
I turned to her now and voiced my thoughts.
"Helen, we can't keep him, you know. One dog in a bed-sitter is enough.'
I didn't add that we ourselves probably would not be in the bed-sitter
much longer; that was another thing I didn't want to bring up.
She nodded. "I suppose so. But I have the feeling that this is one of
the sweetest little dogs I've seen for a long time. When he gets over
his fear, I mean. What on earth can we do with him?'
"Well, he's a stray.' I bent again and rubbed the rough hair over the
chest. "So he should really go to the kennels at the police station. But
if he isn't claimed in ten days we are back where we started.' I put my
hand under the terrier's body and lifted him, limp and unresisting, into
the crook of my arm. He liked people, this one; liked and trusted them.
"I could ask around the practice, of course, but nobody seems to want a
dog when there's one going spare.' I thought for a moment or two. "Maybe
an advert in the local paper.'
"Wait a minute,' Helen said. "Talking about the paper - didn't I read
something about an animal shelter last week?'
I looked at her uncomprehendingly then I remembered.
"That's right. Sister Rose from the Topley Banks hospital. They were
interviewing her about the stray animals she had taken in. It would be
worth a try' I replaced the terrier in Sam's basket. "We'll keep this
little chap today and I'll ring Sister Rose when I finish work tonight.'
At teatime I could see that things were getting out of hand. When I came
in the little dog was on Helen's knee and it looked as though he had
been there for a long time. She was stroking his head and looking
definitely broody.
Not only that, but as I looked down at him I could feel myself
weakening.
Little phrases were creeping unbidden into my mind .. . "I wonder if we
could ~ find room for him ... ' ... "Not much extra trouble ... ' ...
"Perhaps if .) we .. .'
I had to act quickly or I was sunk. Reaching for the phone I dialled the
hospital number. They soon found Sister Rose and I listened to a
cheerful, businesslike voice. She didn't seem to find anything unusual
in the situation and the matter-of fact way she asked questions about
the terrier's age, appearance, temperament etc. gave the impression that