Vet in a Spin Read online

  "How are the eyes?" I asked.

  He shrugged.

  "Sometimes good, sometimes not so good. Much the same as before. But

  I must say he seems easier whenever I put the drops in."

  "But he still has days when he looks unhappy?"

  "Yes . . . I have to say yes. Some days they bother him a lot."

  Again the frustration welled in me.

  "Let's walk back to the car," I said.

  "I

  might as well have a look at him." - .

  I lifted Digger on to the bonnet and examined him again. There wasn't

  a single abnormality in the eyelids I had wondered if I had missed

  something last time but as the bright sunshine slanted across the

  eyeballs I could ju~ IA (~ A~ ~IA~BA;AOC.~ in tho .^.^rno~ There was a

  slieht keratitis there ...................Ul~! I] LIl~ ,~""~, ~,~",~ ~

  ~ o '.,hi,.h h~An,~ hoon `'iciLlo hof.A'r~o B~lt why . . . why?

  , ~ ~" . ~ . _ , "He'd better have some stronger lotion." I rummaged

  in the car boot.

  "I've got.

  some here. We'll try silver nitrate this time."

  Andrew brought him in about a week later. The corneal discoloration

  had gone probably the silver nitrate had moved it but the underlying

  trouble w" ,: unchanged. There was still something sadly wrong.

  Something I couldnlt ~: diagnose ~ 'ii.

  That was when I started to get really worried. As the weeks passed I

  ~e bombarded those eyes with every thing in the book; oxide of mercury,

  chino sd; ~ zinc sulphide, ichthyol and a host of other things which

  are now buried in: history.

  I had none of the modern sophisticated antibiotic and steroid

  applications but -~ .

  it would have made no difference if I had. I know that now. s~ The

  real nightmare started when I saw the first of the pigment cells

  beginnin6 ;~ to invade the cornea. Sinister brown specks gather ing at

  the limbus and pushi~ out dark tendrils into the smooth membrane which

  was Digger's window on thc : world. I had seen cells like them before.

  When they came they usually sta - > And they were opaque. ~ the next

  month I fought them with my pathetic remedies, but they c~ .

  '. slowly but inexorably, blurring and narrowing Digger's field of

  vision noticed them too, and when he brought the little dog into the

  surgery, he ~ ~ ~ unclasped his hands anxiously.

  i~ ~ ~A - ,S seeing less all the time, Mr Herriot. I can tell. He

  still 1 at S~." >~, ~.ows but he used to bark at all sorts of things

  he didn't Ill should hl~Q ~, ~'ce - and now he just doesn't spot them.

  He's - he's lo~ row of lashes rt~- x '~

  ~ G. `~. ~ - ~/'

  I felt like screaming or kicking the table, but since that wouldn't

  have helped I just looked at him.

  "It's that brown stuff isn't it?" he said.

  "What is it?"

  ~It's called pigmentary keratitis, Andrew. It sometimes happens when

  the cornea the front of the eyeball has been inflamed over a long

  period, and it is very difficult to treat. I'll do the best I can."

  My best wasn't enough. That slow, creeping tide was pitiless, and as

  the pigment cells were laid down thicker and thicker the resulting

  layer was almost blaCk, lowering a dingy curtain between Digger and all

  the things he had gazed at so eagerly.

  And all the time I suffered a long gnawing worry, a helpless

  wretchedness as I contemplated the inevitable.

  It was when I examined the eyes five months after I had first seen them

  that Andrew broke down. There was hardly anything to be seen of the

  original corneal structure now; just a brown-black opacity which left

  only minute chinks for moments of sight. Blindness was not far away.

  I patted the man's shoulder again.

  "Come on, Andrew. Come over here and sit down." I pulled over the

  single wooden chair in the consulting room.

  He staggered across the floor and almost collapsed on the seat. He sat

  there head in hands, for some time then raised a tearstained face to

  me. His expression was distraught.

  j ~"I can't bear the thought of it," he gasped.

  "A friendly little thing like Digger - he loves everybody. What has he

  ever done to deserve this?"

  "No thing, Andrew. It's just one of the sad things which happen. I'm

  terribly sorry."

  He rolled his head from side to side.

  "Oh God, but it's worse for him. You've seen him in the car he's so

  interested in every thing. Life wouldn't be worth living for him if he

  lost his sight. And I don't want to live any more either!"

  "You mustn't talk like that, Andrew," I said.

  "That's going too far." I hesitated.

  "Please don't be offended, but you ought to see your doctor."

  "Oh I'm al ways at the doctor," he replied dully.

  "I'm full of pills right now.

  He tells me I have a depression."

  The word was like a mournful knell. Coming so soon after Paul it sent

  a wave of panic through me.

  "How long have you been like this?"

  "Oh, weeks. I seem to be get ting worse."

  "Have you ever had it before?"

  "No, never." He wrung his hands and looked at the floor.

  "The doctor says that if I keep on taking the pills I'll get over it,

  but I'm reaching the end of my tether now."

  "But the doctor is right, Andrew. You've got to stick it and you'll be

  as good as new."

  "I don't believe it," he muttered.

  "Every day lasts a year. I never enjoy anything.

  And every morning when I wake up I dread having to face the world

  again."

  I didn't know what to say or how to help.

  "Can I get you a glass of water?"

  "No . . . no thanks."

  He turned his deathly pale face up to me again and the dark eyes held a

  terrible blankness.

  "What's the use of going on? I know I'm going to be miserable for the

  rest of my life."

  I am no psychiatrist but I knew better than to tell somebody in

  Andrew's Condition to snap out of it. And I had a flash of

  intuition.

  "All right," I said.

  "Be miserable for the rest of your life, but while you're about it

  you've got to look after this dog."

  ; : "Look after him? What can I do? He's going blind. There's

  nothing anybodi can do for him now." I "You're wrong, Andrew. This is

  where you start doing things for him. He's going to be lost without

  your help."

  "How do you mean?"

  "Well, you know all those walks you take him you've got to get him use~

  to the same tracks and paths so that he can trot along on familiar

  ground wit ho.4 fear. Keep him clear of holes and ditches."

  He screwed up his face.

  "Yes, but he won't enjoy the walks any more." ~ "He will," I said.

  "You'll be surprised." .` "Oh, but . . ." i~l "And that nice big

  lawn at the back of your house where he runs. You'll ha~j.

  to be on the lookout all the time in case there are things left Iying

  around on the~ grass that he might bump into. And the eye drops you

  say they make him more comfortable. Who's going to put them in if you

  don't?"

  "But Mr Herriot . . .