James Herriot's Dog Stories Read online

  ‘Yes, you have. He had a wonderful life, Mrs Donovan. And let me give you a bit of advice – you must get another dog. You’d be lost without one.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I couldn’t. That little dog meant too much to me. I couldn’t let another take his place.’

  ‘Well I know that’s how you feel just now but I wish you’d think about it. I don’t want to seem callous – I tell everybody this when they lose an animal and I know it’s good advice.’

  ‘Mr Herriot, I’ll never have another one.’ She shook her head again, very decisively. ‘Rex was my faithful friend for many years and I just want to remember him. He’s the last dog I’ll ever have.’

  I often saw Mrs Donovan around the town after this and I was glad to see she was still as active as ever, though she looked strangely incomplete without the little dog on its lead. But it must have been over a month before I had the chance to speak to her.

  It was on the afternoon that Inspector Halliday of the RSPCA rang me.

  ‘Mr Herriot,’ he said, ‘I’d like you to come and see an animal with me. A cruelty case.’

  ‘Right, what is it?’

  ‘A dog, and it’s pretty grim. A dreadful case of neglect.’ He gave me the name of a row of old brick cottages down by the river and said he’d meet me there.

  Halliday was waiting for me, smart and business-like in his dark uniform, as I pulled up in the back lane behind the houses. He was a big, blond man with cheerful blue eyes but he didn’t smile as he came over to the car.

  ‘He’s in here,’ he said, and led the way towards one of the doors in the long, crumbling wall. A few curious people were hanging around and with a feeling of inevitability I recognised a gnome-like brown face. Trust Mrs Donovan, I thought, to be among those present at a time like this.

  We went through the door into the long garden. I had found that even the lowliest dwellings in Darrowby had long strips of land at the back as though the builders had taken it for granted that the country people who were going to live in them would want to occupy themselves with the pursuits of the soil; with vegetable and fruit growing, even stock keeping in a small way. You usually found a pig there, a few hens, often pretty beds of flowers.

  But this garden was a wilderness. A chilling air of desolation hung over the few gnarled apple and plum trees standing among a tangle of rank grass as though the place had been forsaken by all living creatures.

  Halliday went over to a ramshackle wooden shed with peeling paint and a rusted corrugated iron roof. He produced a key, unlocked the padlock and dragged the door partly open. There was no window and it wasn’t easy to identify the jumble inside: broken gardening tools, an ancient mangle, rows of flower pots and partly used paint tins. And right at the back, a dog sitting quietly.

  I didn’t notice him immediately because of the gloom and because the smell in the shed started me coughing, but as I drew closer I saw that he was a big animal, sitting very upright, his collar secured by a chain to a ring in the wall. I had seen some thin dogs but this advanced emaciation reminded me of my text books on anatomy; nowhere else did the bones of pelvis, face and rib cage stand out with such horrifying clarity. A deep, smoothed-out hollow in the earth floor showed where he had lain, moved about, in fact lived for a very long time.

  The sight of the animal had a stupefying effect on me; I only half took in the rest of the scene – the filthy shreds of sacking scattered nearby, the bowl of scummy water.

  ‘Look at his back end,’ Halliday muttered.

  I carefully raised the dog from his sitting position and realised that the stench in the place was not entirely due to the piles of excrement. The hindquarters were a welter of pressure sores which had turned gangrenous, and strips of sloughing tissue hung down from them. There were similar sores along the sternum and ribs. The coat, which seemed to be a dull yellow, was matted and caked with dirt.

  The Inspector spoke again. ‘I don’t think he’s ever been out of here. He’s only a young dog – about a year old – but I understand he’s been in this shed since he was an eight-week-old pup. Somebody out in the lane heard a whimper or he’d never have been found.’

  I felt a tightening of the throat and a sudden nausea which wasn’t due to the smell. It was the thought of this patient animal sitting starved and forgotten in the darkness and filth for a year. I looked again at the dog and saw in his eyes only a calm trust. Some dogs would have barked their heads off and soon been discovered, some would have become terrified and vicious, but this was one of the totally undemanding kind, the kind which had complete faith in people and accepted all their actions without complaint. Just an occasional whimper perhaps as he sat interminably in the empty blackness which had been his world and at times wondered what it was all about.

  ‘Well, Inspector, I hope you’re going to throw the book at whoever’s responsible,’ I said.

  Halliday grunted. ‘Oh, there won’t be much done. It’s a case of diminished responsibility. The owner’s definitely simple. Lives with an aged mother who hardly knows what’s going on either. I’ve seen the fellow and it seems he threw in a bit of food when he felt like it and that’s about all he did. They’ll fine him and stop him keeping an animal in the future but nothing more than that.’

  ‘I see.’ I reached out and stroked the dog’s head and he immediately responded by resting a paw on my wrist. There was a pathetic dignity about the way he held himself erect, the calm eyes regarding me, friendly and unafraid. ‘Well, you’ll let me know if you want me in court.’

  ‘Of course, and thank you for coming along.’ Halliday hesitated for a moment. ‘And now I expect you’ll want to put this poor thing out of his misery right away.’

  I continued to run my hand over the head and ears while I thought for a moment. ‘Yes . . . yes, I suppose so. We’d never find a home for him in this state. It’s the kindest thing to do. Anyway, push the door wide open will you so that I can get a proper look at him.’

  In the improved light I examined him more thoroughly. Perfect teeth, well-proportioned limbs with a fringe of yellow hair. I put my stethoscope on his chest and as I listened to the slow, strong thudding of the heart the dog again put his paw on my hand.

  I turned to Halliday. ‘You know, Inspector, inside this bag of bones there’s a lovely healthy Golden Retriever. I wish there was some way of letting him out.’

  As I spoke I noticed there was more than one figure in the door opening. A pair of black pebble eyes were peering intently at the big dog from behind the Inspector’s broad back. The other spectators had remained in the lane but Mrs Donovan’s curiosity had been too much for her. I continued conversationally as though I hadn’t seen her.

  ‘You know, what this dog needs first of all is a good shampoo to clean up his matted coat.’

  ‘Huh?’ said Halliday.

  ‘Yes. And then he wants a long course of some really strong condition powders.’

  ‘What’s that?’ The Inspector looked startled.

  ‘There’s no doubt about it,’ I said. ‘It’s the only hope for him, but where are you going to find such things? Really powerful enough, I mean.’ I sighed and straightened up. ‘Ah well, I suppose there’s nothing else for it. I’d better put him to sleep right away. I’ll get the things from my car.’

  When I got back to the shed Mrs Donovan was already inside examining the dog despite the feeble remonstrances of the big man.

  ‘Look!’ she said excitedly, pointing to a name roughly scratched on the collar. ‘His name’s Roy.’ She smiled up at me. ‘It’s a bit like Rex, isn’t it, that name?’

  ‘You know, Mrs Donovan, now you mention it, it is. It’s very like Rex, the way it comes off your tongue.’ I nodded seriously.

  She stood silent for a few moments, obviously in the grip of a deep emotion, then she burst out.

  ‘Can I have ’im? I can make him better, I know I can. Please, please let me have ’im!’

  ‘Well I don’t know,’ I said. ‘It’s really up