The Lord God Made Them All Read online

  “Aye, we came up here after Ron’s accident, eight years ago.”

  “What was that?”

  “I were a miner,” Ron said. “Roof fell in on me. I got a broken back, crushed liver and a lot o’ other internal injuries, but two of me mates were killed in the same fall, so ah’m lucky to be ’ere.” He sipped his beer. “I’ve survived, but Doctor says I’ll never walk no more.”

  “I’m terribly sorry.”

  “Nay, nay,” the husky voice went on. “I count me blessings, and I’ve got a lot to be thankful for. Ah suffer very little, and I’ve got t’best wife in the world.”

  Mrs. Cundall laughed. “Oh, listen to ’im. But I’m right glad we came to Gilthorpe. We used to spend all our holidays in the Dales. We were great walkers, and it was lovely to get away from the smoke and the chimneys. The bedroom in our old house just looked out on a lot o’ brick walls, but Ron has this big window right by ’im and he can see for miles.”

  “Yes, of course,” I said. “This is a lovely situation.” The village was perched on a high ridge on the fell-side, and that window would command a wide view of the green slopes running down to the river and climbing high to the wildness of the moor on the other side. This sight had beguiled me so often on my rounds, and the grassy paths climbing among the airy tops seemed to beckon to me. But they would beckon in vain to Ron Cundall.

  “Gettin’ Hermann was a good idea, too,” he said. “Ah used to feel a bit lonely when t’missus went into Darrowby for shoppin’, but the little feller’s made all the difference. You’re never alone when you’ve got a dog.”

  I smiled. “How right you are. What is his age now, by the way?”

  “He’s six,” Ron replied. “Right in the prime o’ life, aren’t you, old lad?” He let his arm fall by the bedside, and his hand fondled the sleek ears.

  “That seems to be his favourite place.”

  “Aye, it’s a funny thing, but ’e allus sits there. T’missus is the one who has to take ’im for walks and feeds ’im, but he’s very faithful to me. He has a basket over there but this is ’is place. I only have to reach down and he’s there.”

  This was something that I had seen on many occasions with disabled people: that their pets stayed close by them as if conscious of their role of comforter and friend.

  I finished my beer and got to my feet. Ron looked up at me. “Reckon I’ll spin mine out a bit longer.” He glanced at his half-full glass. “Ah used to shift about six pints some nights when I went out wi’ the lads but you know, I enjoy this one bottle just as much. Strange how things turn out.”

  His wife bent over him, mock-scolding, “Yes, you’ve had to right your ways. You’re a reformed character, aren’t you?”

  They both laughed as though it were a stock joke between them.

  “Well, thank you for the drink, Mrs. Cundall. I’ll look in to see Hermann on Tuesday.” I moved towards the door.

  As I left I waved to the man in the bed, and his wife put her hand on my arm. “We’re very grateful to you for comin’ out at this time on a Sunday night, Mr. Herriot. We felt awful about callin’ you, but you understand it was only today that the little chap started going off his legs like that.”

  “Oh, of course, of course, please don’t worry. I didn’t mind in the least.”

  And as I drove through the darkness I knew that I didn’t mind —now. My petty irritation had evaporated within two minutes of my entering that house, and I was left only with a feeling of humility. If that man back there had a lot to be thankful for, how about me? I had everything. I only wished I could dispel the foreboding I felt about his dog. There was a hint of doom about those symptoms of Hermann’s, and yet I knew I just had to get him right. …

  On Tuesday he looked much the same, possibly a little worse.

  “I think I’d better take him back to the surgery for X-ray,” I said to Mrs. Cundall. “He doesn’t seem to be improving with the treatment.”

  In the car Hermann curled up happily on Rosie’s knee, submitting with good grace to her petting.

  I had no need to anaesthetise him or sedate him when I placed him on our newly acquired X-ray machine. Those hind quarters stayed still all by themselves—a lot too still for my liking.

  I was no expert at interpreting X-ray pictures, but at least I could be sure there was no fracture of the vertebrae. Also, there was no sign of bony extoses, but I thought I could detect a narrowing of the space between a couple of the vertebrae, which would confirm my suspicions of a protrusion of a disc.

  Laminectomy or fenestration had not even been heard of in those days, so I could do nothing more than continue with my treatment, and hope.

  By the end of the week, hope had grown very dim. I had supplemented the salycilates with long-standing remedies like tincture of nux vomica and other ancient stimulant drugs, but when I saw Hermann on the Saturday he was unable to rise. I tweaked the toes of his hind limbs and was rewarded by a faint reflex movement, but with a sick certainty I knew that complete posterior paralysis was not far away.

  A week later, I had the unhappy experience of seeing my prognosis confirmed in the most classical way. When I entered the door of the Cundalls’ cottage, Hermann came to meet me, happy and welcoming in his front end but dragging his hind limbs helplessly behind him.

  “Hello, Mr. Herriot.” Mrs. Cundall gave me a wan smile and looked down at the little creature stretched frog-like on the carpet. “What d’you think of him now?”

  I bent and tried the reflexes. Nothing. I shrugged my shoulders, unable to think of anything to say. I looked at the gaunt figure in the bed, the arm outstretched as always on the quilt.

  “Good morning, Ron,” I said as cheerfully as I could, but there was no reply. The face was averted, looking out of the window. I walked over to the bed. Ron’s eyes were staring fixedly at the glorious panorama of moor and fell, at the pebbles of the river, white in the early sunshine, at the criss-cross of the grey walls against the green. His face was expressionless. It was as though he did not know I was there.

  I went back to his wife. I don’t think I have ever felt more miserable.

  “Is he annoyed with me?” I whispered.

  “No, no, no, it’s this.” She held out a newspaper. “It’s upset him something awful.”

  I looked at the printed page. There was a large picture at the top, a picture of a dachshund exactly like Hermann. This dog, too, was paralysed, but its hind end was supported by a little four-wheeled bogie. In the picture it appeared to be sporting with its mistress. In fact, it looked quite happy and normal, except for those wheels.

  Ron seemed to hear the rustle of the paper because his head came round quickly. “What d’ye think of that, Mr. Herriot? D’ye agree with it?”

  “Well … I don’t really know, Ron. I don’t like the look of it, but I suppose the lady in the picture thought it was the only thing to do.”

  “Aye, maybe.” The husky voice trembled. “But ah don’t want Hermann to finish up like that.” The arm dropped by the side of the bed and his fingers felt around on the carpet, but the little dog was still splayed out near the door. “It’s ’opeless now, Mr. Herriot, isn’t it?”

  “Well, it was a black lookout from the beginning,” I said. “These cases are so difficult. I’m very sorry.”

  “Nay, I’m not blamin’ you,” he said. “You’ve done what ye could, same as the vet for that dog in the picture did what ’e could. But it was no good, was it? What do we do now—put ’im down?”

  “No, Ron, forget about that just now. Sometimes paralysis cases just recover on their own after many weeks. We must carry on. At this moment I honestly cannot say there is no hope.”

  I paused, then turned to Mrs. Cundall. “One of the problems is the dog’s natural functions. You’ll have to carry him out into the garden for that. If you gently squeeze each side of his abdomen, you’ll encourage him to pass water. I’m sure you’ll soon learn how to do that.”

  “Oh, of course, of course,”