James Herriot's Dog Stories Read online

  Though Hector wasn’t at all stick-minded, he did love to grab hold of Dan’s and try to pull it from his mouth. Innumerable contests of tug-of-war ensued in this way and it amused me to see the different reactions of the two dogs. To Hector, it was deadly serious as he hung on with terrier pertinacity, growling fiercely as he was swung around. All his attention was fixed desperately on the business in hand, but to Dan, the thing was a game, mere light relaxation, and he kept glancing at me with a ‘how’m I doing?’ expression as he gripped his stick.

  He would carry his stick for many miles and the first sign of his deterioration in his fourteenth year was when he occasionally returned from a walk without it. I knew something was wrong then. Another sign was that, as he aged, he no longer insisted on very large sticks. In fact, his tastes gradually tended towards smaller and smaller ones.

  There is a silhouetted photograph on the cover of James Herriot’s Yorkshire. It shows Dan looking up at me. He was an old dog then, a year after Hector had gone, and his eyes are fixed on something in my hand. It is a very small stick . . .

  I have the same feeling about the wheel turning full circle when I look at my present dog, Bodie. He is a Border Terrier and I have always wanted one since I first arrived in Yorkshire nearly fifty years ago.

  Siegfried had a partner in Leyburn called Frank Bingham. Leyburn stands at the gate of Wensleydale and I used to go up there several days a week to do Frank’s tuberculin testing. Every time I entered the house a little Border Terrier, Toby by name, trotted up to me, rolled on his back and looked up at me solemnly, waiting for me to scratch his chest. I have always liked little dogs who roll over like that – I think it is an unfailing sign of good nature – and I took a tremendous fancy to Toby. Besides, there was something greatly appealing in his whiskery face, topped by little black ears.

  ‘Some day I’ll have a Border,’ I said to Frank.

  I said that to many people, especially to myself, over the years, but each time I lost one of my own dogs there was never one of the breed available. When Hector went and then Dan within a year, I must have been somewhat numbed because I did not follow my own precept of getting another dog immediately. Perhaps I felt that I could never replace those two. They had been such a wonderful combination in their contrasting ways, filling that side of my life to overflowing, and I was in my mid-sixties by then, less resilient, less willing to accept the possibility that I could feel for another dog as I felt for them.

  I seemed to be in a state of limbo for several months – the only time in my life that I can remember being without a dog – and my walks would have lost their savour but for the fact that my daughter, Rosie, who lived next door, acquired a beautiful yellow Labrador puppy. She called her Polly and I found to my delight that I had another companion. But my car seemed very empty as I went on my rounds.

  It was a Saturday lunch time when Rosie came in and said excitedly, ‘There’s an advertisement in the Darlington and Stockton Times about some Border puppies. It’s a Mrs Mason in Bedale.’

  The announcement burst on me like a bombshell and I was all for immediate action, but my wife’s response surprised me.

  ‘It says here,’ she said, studying the newspaper, ‘that these pups are eight weeks old, so they’d be born around Christmas. Remember you said that after waiting all this time we’d be better with a spring puppy.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ I replied. ‘But Helen, these are Borders! We might not get another chance for ages!’

  She shrugged. ‘Oh, I’m sure we’ll find one at the right time if only we’re patient.’

  ‘But . . . but . . .’ I found I was talking to Helen’s back. She was bending over a pan of potatoes.

  ‘Lunch will be ready in ten minutes,’ she said. ‘You and Rosie can take Polly for a little walk.’

  As we strolled along the lane outside our house, Rosie turned to me. ‘What a funny thing. I can’t understand it. Mum is as keen as you to get another dog and yet here is a litter of Borders – the very thing you’ve been waiting for. They’re so scarce. It seems such a pity to miss them.’

  ‘I don’t think we will miss them,’ I murmured.

  ‘What do you mean? You heard what she said.’

  I smiled indulgently. ‘You’ve often heard your mother say that she knows me inside out. She can tell in advance every single thing I’m going to do?’

  ‘Yes but . . .’

  ‘Well, what she forgets is that I know her inside out, too. I’ll lay a small bet that when we get back to the house, she’ll have changed her mind.’

  Rosie raised her eyebrows. ‘I very much doubt it. She seemed very definite to me.’

  On our return I opened the front door and saw Helen speaking into the telephone.

  She turned to me and spoke agitatedly. ‘I’ve got Mrs Mason on the line now. There’s only one pup left out of the litter and there are people coming from as far as eighty miles away to see it. We’ll have to hurry. What a long time you’ve been out there!’

  We bolted our lunch and Helen, Rosie, granddaughter Emma and I drove out to Bedale. Mrs Mason led us into the kitchen and pointed to a tiny brindle creature twisting and writhing under the table.

  ‘That’s him,’ she said.

  I reached down and lifted the puppy as he curled his little body round, apparently trying to touch his tail with his nose. But that tail wagged furiously and the pink tongue was busy at my hand. I knew he was ours before my quick examination for hernia and overshot jaw.

  The deal was quickly struck and we went outside to inspect the puppy’s relations. His mother and grandmother were out there. They lived in little barrels which served as kennels and both of them darted out and stood up at our legs, tails lashing, mouths panting in delight. I felt vastly reassured. With happy, healthy ancestors like those I knew we had every chance of a first-rate dog.

  As we drove home with the puppy in Emma’s arms, the warm thought came to me. The wheel had indeed turned. After nearly fifty years I had my Border Terrier.

  The choice of a name exercised our minds for many days with arguments, suggestions and counter-suggestions. We finally decided on ‘Bodie’. Helen and I were great fans of the TV series, ‘The Professionals’, and our particular hero was Lewis Collins who took the part of Bodie. We have met Lewis a few times and were at first a little hesitant about telling him that we had named our dog after him, but he doesn’t mind, knowing us and understanding the honoured place a dog occupies in our household.

  Helen and I settled down happily with Bodie. We had been lost without a dog in the house and it was a lovely relief to have filled that awful gap. It was extraordinary that the gap was filled by a grizzled, hairy-faced little creature about nine inches long, but Bodie effortlessly performed the miracle. Helen had a dog to feed again and see to his in-house care and bedding, and I had a companion in my car and on my bed-time walk even though he was almost invisible on the end of his lead.

  His first meeting with Polly was a tremendous event. I mentioned the instant friendship between Hector and Dan. It was different with Bodie. He fell in love.

  This is no exaggeration. Polly became and is to this day the most important living creature in his world. Since she lived next door he was able to watch her house from our sitting-room window and a wild yapping was always the sign that the adored one had appeared in her garden. Fortunately for his peace of mind, he had a walk with her every day and at the weekends several times a day and, as he grew up, it was clear that this routine was the most significant thing in his life.

  It was when he was about a year old that I was walking down a lane with the two of them trotting ahead. Memories stirred in me as I watched them – the noble Labrador and the scruffy little terrier side by side. Suddenly Polly picked up a stick, Bodie seized one end of it, and in a flash a hectic tug-of-war was raging. The little Border grumbled and growled in fierce concentration, and as Polly glanced at me with amusement in her eyes, I had the uncanny impression that I had got Hector a