that Paul wouldn't jnvariably consult me about his dog in a pub. I
wanted to examine the animal, but I couldn't very well deposit him
among the glasses on the bar.
I was trying to get a better grip with a view to loo king down his
throat when my hand slipped behind his fore leg and my heart gave a
sudden thump as I encountered the axillary gland. It, too, was grossly
enlarged. I whipped my fingers back into his groin and there was the
inguinal gland, prominent as an egg. The pre scapular was the same,
and as I groped feverishly I realised that every superficial lymph
gland was several times its normal size.
Hodgkin's disease. For a few moments I was oblivious of the shouting
and laughter, the muffled blare of music. Then I looked at Paul who
was regarding me calmly as he puffed his pipe. How could I tell him in
these surroundings?
He would ask me what Hodgkin's disease was and I would have to explain
that it was a cancer of the lymphatic system and that his dog was
surely going to die.
As my thoughts raced I stroked the shaggy head and Theo's comic
whiskered face turned towards me. People jostled past, hands reached
out and bore gins and whiskies and beers past my face, a fat man threw
his arm round my neck.
I leaned across.
"Paul," I said.
"Yes, Jim?"
"Will you . . . will you bring Theo round to the surgery tomorrow
morning
It's ten o'clock on a Sunday."
Momentarily the eyebrow twitched upwards, then he nodded.
"Right, old boy."
I didn't bother to finish my drink. I began to push my way towards the
door and as the crush closed around me I glanced back. The little
dog's tail was just disappearing under the stool.
Next day I had one of those early waking mornings when I started
tossing around at six o'clock and finished by staring at the ceiling.
Even after I had got my feet on the ground and brought Helen a cup of
tea the waiting was interminable until the moment arrived which I had
been dread ing when I faced Paul across the surgery table with Theo
stan ding between us.
I told him straight away. I couldn't think of any easy way to lead up
to it.
His expression did not change, but he took his pipe out of his mouth
and looked steadily at me, then at the dog and back again at me.
"Oh," he said at last.
"I see."
I didn't say anything and he slowly ran his hand along the little
animal's back.
"Are you quite sure, Jim?"
"Absolutely. I'm terribly sorry."
"Is there no treatment?"
"There are various palliatives, Paul, but I've never seen any of them
do any good. The end result is al ways the same."
"Yes . . ." He nodded slowly.
"But he doesn't look so bad. What will happen ~f we don't do
anything?"
I paused.
"Well, as the internal glands enlarge, various things will happen.
Ascites dropsy will develop in the abdomen. In fact you see he's a
little bit pot-bellied now."
"Yes . . . I do see, now you mention it. Anything else?"
"As the thoracic glands get bigger he'll begin to pant."
"I've noticed that already. He's breathless after a short walk."
"And all the time he'll get thinner and thinner and more
debilitated."
Paul looked down at his feet for a few moments then faced me.
"So what i' amounts to is that he's going to be pretty miserable for
the rest of his life."
He swallowed.
"And how long is that going to be?"
"A few weeks. It varies. Maybe up to three months." _ "Well, Jim."
He smoothed back his hair.
"I can't let that happen. It's responsibility. You must put him to
sleep now, before he really starts to suffer.
Don't you agree?"
"Yes, Paul, it's the kindest thing to do." ~ E "Will you do it
immediately as soon as I am out of that door?" ~ ~ "I will," I
replied.
"And I promise you he won't know a thing." ,! (_ His face held a
curious fixity of expression. He put his pipe in his mouth, b - ) it
had gone out so he stuffed it into his pocket. Then he leaned forward
a~ patted his dog once on the head. The bushy face with the funny
shock of hair-.;.
round the muzzle turned to him and for a few seconds they looked at
"Goodbye, old chap," he muttered and strode quickly from the room.
I kept my promise. ~,~ "Good lad, good old Theo," I murmured, and
stroked the face and ears again i~~i~ and again as the little creature
slipped peacefully away. Like all vets I hat~-~ doing this, painless
though it was, but to me there has al ways been a comfort:~: in the
knowledge that the last thing these helpless animals knew was the soun~
~ of a friendly voice and the touch of a gentle hand. .: Sentimental,
maybe. Not like Paul. He had been practical and utterly rational :.
in the way he had acted. He had been able to do the right thing
because he was : not at the mercy of his emotions.
Later, over a Sunday lunch which I didn't enjoy as much as usual I told
~.~; Helen about Theo.
I had to say something because she had produced a delicious pot roast
on the~ ..~: gas ring which was our only means of cooking and I wasn't
doing justice to he `~ skill. :' ~ .
Sit ting at our bench I looked down at her. It was my turn for the
high st~l.:': "You know, Helen," I said.
"That was an object lesson for me. The way Pa~:~, ..
acted, I mean. If I'd been in his position I'd have shilly-shallied -
tried to
D~:
off something which was inevitable."
She thought for a moment.
"Well, a lot of people would." ~ ' Yes, but he didn't." I put down my
knife apd fork and stared at the wall.
`~2;:"i'~'4'~ behaved in a mature way. I suppose Paul has one of those
personalities you r~d r< about. Well-adjusted, completely adequate."
~Z=f."
"Come on, Jim, eat your lunch. I know it was a sad thing but it had to
- t.:done and you mustn't start criticising yourself. Paul is Paul and
you are you." : I started again on the meat but I couldn't repress the
rising sense of my o~ - '.
inadequacy. Then as I glanced to one side I saw that my wife was
smiling : at me.
I felt suddenly reassured. It seemed that she at least didn't seem to
mind t - ) ..~ That was on the Sunday, and on Tuesday morning I was
handing out wart lotion to Mr Sangster who kept a few dairy cows down
by the station: "Dab that on the udder night and morning after
milking," I said.
"I thi~ ~'11 find that the warts will start to drop off after a week or
two."
'hank ye." He handed over half a crown and I was dropping it into thc
d~..
- when he spoke again.
.....~b about Paul Cotter ell, wasn't it?"
..... 'o you mean?"
.....conjurebt you'd have heard," he said.
"He's dead."
"Dead!" I stared at him stupidly.
"How . . . what . . .?"
"Pound 'im this morn in'. He did away with 'is self."
I leaned with both hands on the desk.
"Do you mean . . . suicide?"
"Aye, that's what they say. Took a lot o' pills. It's all ower
t'town' I found myself hunching over the day book, sightlessly scanning
the list of calls while the farmer's voice seemed to come from far
away.
"It's a bad job, right enough. He were a nice feller. Reckon
everybody liked 'im."
Later that day I was passing Paul's lodgings when I saw his landlady,
Mrs Clayton' in the doorway. I pulled up and got out of the car.
"Mrs Clayton," I said.
"I still can't believe this."
"Nor can I, Mr Herriot, it's terrible." Her face was pale, her eyes
red.
"He was with me six years, you know he was like a son."
"But why on earth . . .?"
"Oh, it was rosin' his dog that did it. He just couldn't stand it."
A great wave of misery rose and engulfed me and she put her hand on my
arm.
"Don't look like that, Mr Herriot. It wasn't your fault. Paul told
me all about it and nobody could have saved Theo. People die of that,
never mind dogs."
I nodded dumbly and she went on.
"But I'll tell you something in confidence, Mr Herriot. Paul wasn't
able to stand things like you or me. It was the way he was made you
see he suffered from depression."
"Depression! Paul...?"
"Oh yes, he's been under the doctor for a long time and takin' pills
regular.
for years."
"Nervous trouble . .. I'd never have dreamed. . ."
"No, nobody would, but that's how it was. He had an unhappy childhood
from what I made out. Maybe that's why he was so fond of his dog. He
got too attached to him, really."
"Yes . .. yes..."
She took out a screwed up handkerchief and blew her nose.
"Well, as I said, the poor lad had a rough time most of his life, but
he was brave."
There didn't seem anything else to say. I drove away out of the town
and the calm green hills offered a quiet contrast to the turmoil which
can fill a man's mind. So much for Herriot as a judge of character.
I couldn't have been more wrong, but Paul had fought his secret battle
with a courage which had deceived everybody.
I reflected on the object lesson which I thought he had given me, but
in fact it was a lesson of another kind and one which I have never
forgotten; that there are countless people like Paul who are not what
they seem.
:'3'::~ !
v~z zn a opzn Chapter Thirteen The shock of Paul Cotter ell's death
stayed with me for a long time, and in fact I know I have never quite
got over it because even now when the company in the bar of the
Drovers' has changed and I am one of the few old faces left from~
thirty-five years ago I can still see the jaunty figure on the corner
stool and the~] bushy face peeping from beneath. ~ It was the kind of
experience I didn't want repeated in my lifetime. uncannily, I ran
into the same sort of thing almost immediately afterwards.
It couldn't have been more than a week after Paul's funeral that Andre
Vine brought his fox terrier to the surgery.
I put the little dog on the table and examined each of his eyes
carefully iD."
turn.
"I'm afraid he's get ting worse," I said. ~ Without warning the man
slumped across the table and buried his face in his hands. ~ ~ ~ hand
on his shoulder.
"What is it, Andrew? What on earth's the :: At first he did not answer
but stayed there, huddled grotesquely by the side;~ of his dog as great
sobs shook his body. ~) When he spoke at last it was into his hands
and his voice was hoarse and'~ .
desperate.
"I can't stand it! If Digger goes blind I'll kill myself!" ~ ,i, I
looked down at the bowed head in horrified disbelief. It couldn't be
happening: again. Not so soon after Paul. And yet there were
similarities. Andrew was$^ another bachelor in his thirties and the
terrier was his constant companion.
Hi!~lived in lodgings and appeared to have no worries though he was a
shy, diffident man with a fragile look about his tall stoop in, frame
and pallid face. :~ He had first consulted me about Digger several
months ago. - .ifi~.
"I call him that because he's dug large holes in the garden ever since
his -':~ puppy days," he said with a half smile, loo king at me almost
apprehensively' :~ from large dark eyes. .
I laughed.
"I hope you haven't brought him to me to cure that, because I've
never read anything in the books about it." ~. ~: "No, no, it's about
something else his eyes. And he's had that trouble sine.
~~ he was a pup, too."
"Really? Tell me."
~UL Illy matter ?"
"Well, when I first got him he had sort of mastery eyes, but the
breeder : r he'd probably just got some irritant in them and it would
soon clear up. And:: in fact it did. But he's never been quite right.
He al ways seems to have a littl~9 discomfort in his eyes."
"How do you mean?"
"He rubs the side of his face along the carpet and he blinks in bright
ligh~ "I see." I pulled the little animal's face round towards me and
looked intentl at the eyelids. My mind had been busy as he spoke and I
was fairly sure I should find either entropion (inversion of the
eyelids) or distichiasis (an e~ row of lashes rubbing against the
eyeball) but there was no sign of either~ (,...... . .
/o) Surface of the cornea, too, looked normal, except perhaps that the
deeper structure of lens and iris were not as easy to define as
usual.
I moved over to a cupboard for the ophthalmoscope.
"How old is he now?"
"About a year."
"So he's had this for about ten months?"
"Yes, about that. But it varies a lot. Most of the time he seems
normal then there are days when he goes and lies in his basket with his
eyes half closed and you can tell there's something wrong. Not pain,
really. More like discomfort, as I said."
I nodded and hoped I was loo king wise but none of this added up to
anything familiar. I switched on the little light on the
ophthalmoscope and peered into the depths of that most magical and
delicate of all organs, down through the lens to the brilliant tapestry
of the retina with its optic papilla and branching blood vessels. I
couldn't find a thing wrong.
"Does he still dig holes?" I asked. When baffled I often snatch at
straws and I wondered if the dog was suffering from a soil
irritation.
Andrew shook his head.
"No, very seldom now, and anyway, his bad days are never associated
with his digging."
"Is that so?" I rubbed my chin. The man was obviously ahead of me
with his thinking and I had an uncomfortable feeling of bewilderment.
People were al ways bringing their dogs in with 'b
ad eyes' and there
was invariably something to be seen, some cause to be found.
"And would you say that this was one of his bad days?"
"Well I thought so this morning, but he seems a bit better now. Still,
he's a bit blinky, don't you think?"
"Yes . . . maybe so." Digger did appear to be reluctant to open his
eyes fully to the sunshine streaming through the surgery window. And
occasionally he kept them closed for a second or two as though he
wasn't very happy. But damn it, nothing gave me the slightest clue.
I didn't tell the owner that I hadn't the faintest idea what was wrong
with his dog. Such remarks do not inspire confidence. Instead, I took
refuge in businesslike activity.
"I'm going to give you some lotion," I said briskly.
"Put a few drops into his eyes three times daily. And let me know how
he goes on. It's possible he has some long-stan ding infection in
there."
I handed over a bottle of 2% boric acid solution and patted Digger's
head.
"I hope that will clear things up for you, lad," I said, and the stumpy
tail wagged in reply. He was a sharp loo king little animal,
attractive and good-natured and a fine specimen of the smooth-haired
breed with his long head and neck, pointed nose and beautifully
straight limbs.
He jumped from the table and leaped excitedly around his master's
legs.
I laughed.
"He's eager to go, like most of my patients." I bent and slapped him
playfully on the rump.
"My word, doesn't he look fit!"
"He is fit." Andrew smiled proudly.
"In fact I often think that apart from those eyes he's a perfect little
physical machine. You should see him out in the fields - he can run
like a whippet."
"I'll bet he can. Keep in touch, will you?" I waved them out of the
door and turned to my other work, mercifully unaware that I had just
embarked on one of the most frustrating and traumatic cases of my
career.
After that first time I took special notice of Digger and his owner.
Andrew, a sensitive likeable man, was a representative for a firm of
agricultural chemists and, like myself, spent most of his time driving
around the Darrow by district.
His dog was al ways with him and I had been perfunctorily amused by the
fact that the little animal was invariably peering intently through the
windscreen, ;: 7f~f~ Vet zn a ~t>zn . ~ ~ .
his paws either on the dash or balanced on his master's hand as he
operated the gear lever.
But now that I was personally interested I could discern the obvious
deligh which the little animal derived from taking in every detail of
his surrounding~ He missed nothing in his daily journeys. The road
ahead, the houses and people trees and fields which flashed by the
windows these made up his world.
I met him one day when I was exercising Sam up on the high moors whidl
crown the windy summits of the fells. But this was May, the air was
soft an.
a week's hot sunshine had dried the green paths which wandered among
the.
heather. I saw Digger flashing like a white streak over the velvet
turf and when he spotted Sam he darted up to him, set himself teasingly
for a moment thee shot back to Andrew who was stan ding in a natural
circular glade among t harsh brown growth.
Here gorse bushes blazed in full yellow glory and the little dog
hurtled round and round the arena, exulting in his health and speed.
"That's what I'd call sheer joy of living," I said.
Andrew smiled shyly.
"Yes, isn't he beautiful," he murmured.