James Herriot's Dog Stories Read online

  ‘Ah, good morning to you, Mr Bailes,’ I said expansively. ‘Rose looks fine today, doesn’t she?’

  The farmer took off his cap and wiped his brow. ‘Aye, she’s a different cow, all right.’

  ‘I don’t think she needs any more treatment,’ I said. I hesitated. Perhaps one little dig would do no harm. ‘But it’s a good thing I gave her that extra lavage yesterday.’

  ‘Yon pumpin’ job?’ Mr Bailes raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh that had nowt to do with it.’

  ‘What . . . what do you mean? It cured her, surely.’

  ‘Nay, lad, nay, Jim Oakley cured her.’

  ‘Jim . . . what on earth . . . ?’

  ‘Aye, Jim was round ’ere last night. He often comes in of an evenin’ and he took one look at the cow and told me what to do. Ah’ll tell you she was like dyin’ – that pumpin’ job hadn’t done no good at all. He told me to give her a bloody good gallop round t’field.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Aye, that’s what he said. He’d seen ’em like that afore and a good gallop put ’em right. So we got Rose out here and did as he said and by gaw it did the trick. She looked better right away.’

  I drew myself up. ‘And who,’ I asked frigidly, ’is Jim Oakley?’

  ‘He’s t’postman, of course.’

  ‘The postman!’

  ‘Aye, but he used to keep a few beasts years ago. He’s a very clever man wi’ stock, is Jim.’

  ‘No doubt, but I assure you, Mr Bailes . . .’

  The farmer raised a hand. ‘Say no more, lad. Jim put ’er right and there’s no denyin’ it. I wish you’d seen ’im chasin’ ’er round. He’s as awd as me, but by gaw ’e did go. He can run like ’ell, can Jim.’ He chuckled reminiscently.

  I had had about enough. During the farmer’s eulogy I had been distractedly scratching the cow’s tail and had soiled my hand in the process. Mustering the remains of my dignity I nodded to Mr Bailes.

  ‘Well, I must be on my way. Do you mind if I go into the house to wash my hands?’

  ‘You go right in,’ he replied. ‘T’missus will get you some hot water.’

  It seemed to take a long time to reach the end of the wall and I was about to turn right towards the door of the farm kitchen when from my left I heard the sudden rattle of a chain, then a roaring creature launched itself at me, bayed once, mightily, into my face and was gone.

  This time I thought my heart would stop. With my defences at their lowest I was in no state to withstand Shep. I had quite forgotten that Mrs Bailes occasionally tethered him in the kennel at the entrance to discourage unwelcome visitors, and as I half lay against the wall, the blood thundering in my ears, I looked dully at the long coil of chain on the cobbles.

  I have no time for people who lose their temper with animals but something snapped in my mind then. All my frustration burst from me in a torrent of incoherent shouts and I grabbed the chain and began to pull on it frenziedly. That dog which had tortured me was there in that kennel. For once I knew where to get at him and this time I was going to have the matter out with him. The kennel would be about ten feet away and at first I saw nothing. There was only the dead weight on the end of the chain. Then as I hauled inexorably a nose appeared, then a head, then all of the big animal hanging limply by his collar. He showed no desire to get up and greet me but I was merciless and dragged him inch by inch over the cobbles till he was lying at my feet.

  Beside myself with rage, I crouched, shook my fist under his nose and yelled at him from a few inches’ range.

  ‘You big bugger! If you do that to me again I’ll knock your bloody head off! Do you hear me, I’ll knock your bloody head clean off!’

  Shep rolled frightened eyes at me and his tail flickered apologetically between his legs. When I continued to scream at him he bared his upper teeth in an ingratiating grin and finally rolled on his back where he lay inert with half-closed eyes.

  So now I knew. He was a softie. All his ferocious attacks were just a game. I began to calm down but for all that I wanted him to get the message.

  ‘Right, mate,’ I said in a menacing whisper. ‘Remember what I’ve said!’ I let go the chain and gave a final shout. ‘Now get back in there!’

  Shep, almost on his knees, tail tucked well in, shot back into his kennel and I turned toward the farmhouse to wash my hands.

  I was surprised when, about a month later, I received another call to one of Mr Bailes’s cows. I felt that after my performance with Rose he would have called on the services of Jim Oakley for any further trouble. But no, his voice on the phone was as polite and friendly as ever, with not a hint that he had lost faith. It was strange . . .

  Leaving my car outside the farm I looked warily into the front garden before venturing between the walls. A faint tinkle of metal told me that Shep was lurking there in his kennel and I slowed my steps; I wasn’t going to be caught again. At the end of the alley I paused, waiting, but all I saw was the end of a nose which quietly withdrew as I stood there. So my outburst had got through to the big dog – he knew I wasn’t going to stand any more nonsense from him.

  And yet, as I drove away after the visit, I didn’t feel good about it. A victory over an animal is a hollow one and I had the uncomfortable feeling that I had deprived, him of his chief pleasure. After all, every creature is entitled to some form of recreation and though Shep’s hobby could result in the occasional heart failure it was, after all, his thing and part of him. The thought that I had crushed something out of his life was a disquieting one. I wasn’t proud.

  So that when, later that summer, I was driving through Highburn, I paused in anticipation outside the Bailes’s farm. The village street, white and dusty, slumbered under the afternoon sun. In the blanketing silence nothing moved – except for one small man strolling towards the opening between the walls. He was fat and very dark – one of the tinkers from a camp outside the village – and he carried an armful of pots and pans.

  From my vantage point I could see through the railings into the front garden where Shep was slinking noiselessly into position beneath the stones. Fascinated, I watched as the man turned unhurriedly into the opening and the dog followed the course of the disembodied head along the top of the wall.

  As I expected it all happened half-way along. The perfectly timed leap, the momentary pause at the summit, then the tremendous ‘WOOF!’ into the unsuspecting ear.

  It had its usual effect. I had a brief view of flailing arms and flying pans followed by a prolonged metallic clatter, then the little man reappeared like a projectile, turned right and sped away from me up the street. Considering his almost round physique he showed an astonishing turn of speed, his little legs pistoning, and he did not pause till he disappeared into the shop at the far end of the village.

  I don’t know why he went in there because he wouldn’t find any stronger restorative than ginger pop.

  Shep, apparently well satisfied, wandered back over the grass and collapsed in a cool patch where an apple tree threw its shade over the grass; head on paws, he waited in comfort for his next victim.

  I smiled to myself as I let in the clutch and moved off. I would stop at the shop and tell the little man that he could collect his pans without the slightest fear of being torn limb from limb, but my overriding emotion was one of relief that I had not cut the sparkle out of the big dog’s life.

  Shep was still having his fun.

  The fact that dogs clearly love to play or have some source of amusement makes me feel that people should really keep two dogs so that they would never be lonely. However, this is often inconvenient or impossible, so the more often an owner can play with his pet the better. It is surprising what can be done in this way – tug-of-war, retrieving, even hide-and-seek! Sometimes, of course, the dog will find his own entertainment – as Shep did.

  27. Mick

  It was nine o’clock on a filthy wet night and I was still at work. I gripped the steering wheel more tightly and shifted in my seat, groaning softly as m