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  I was standing there when a young policeman came up to me.

  “I’ve been watching that little dog begging among the stalls all morning,” he said. “But like you, I haven’t been able to get near him.”

  “Yes, it’s strange. He’s obviously friendly, yet he’s afraid. I wonder who owns him.”

  “I reckon he’s a stray, Mr. Herriot. I’m interested in dogs myself and I fancy I know just about all of them around here. But this ’un’s a stranger to me.”

  I nodded. “I bet you’re right. So anything could have happened to him. He could have been ill-treated by somebody and run away, or he could have been dumped from a car.”

  “Yes,” he replied. There’s some lovely people around. It beats me how anybody can leave a helpless animal to fend for itself like that. I’ve had a few goes at catching him myself but it’s no good.”

  The memory stayed with me for the rest of the day and even when I lay in bed that night I was unable to dispel the disturbing image of the little brown creature wandering in a strange world, sitting up asking for help in the only way he knew.

  I was still a bachelor at that time and on the Friday night of the same week Siegfried and I were arraying ourselves in evening dress in preparation for the Hunt Ball at East Hirdsley, about ten miles away.

  It was a tortuous business because those were the days of starched shirt fronts and stiff high collars and I kept hearing explosions of colourful language from Siegfried’s room as he wrestled with his studs.

  I was in an even worse plight because I had outgrown my suit and even when I had managed to secure the strangling collar I had to fight my way into the dinner jacket which nipped me cruelly under the arms. I had just managed to don the complete outfit and was trying out a few careful breaths when the ’phone rang.

  It was the same young policeman I had been speaking to earlier in the week.

  “We’ve got that dog round here, Mr. Herriot. You know—the one that was begging in the market place.”

  “Oh yes? Somebody’s managed to catch him, then?’

  There was a pause. “No, not really. One of our men found him lying by the roadside about a mile out of town and brought him in. He’s been in an accident.”

  I told Siegfried. He looked at his watch. “Always happens, doesn’t it, James. Just when we’re ready to go out. It’s nine o’clock now and we should be on our way.” He thought for a moment. “Anyway, slip round there and have a look and I’ll wait for you. It would be better if we could go to this affair together.”

  As I drove round to the Police Station I hoped fervently that there wouldn’t be much to do. This Hunt Ball meant a lot to my boss because it would be a gathering of the horse-loving fraternity of the district and he would have a wonderful time just chatting and drinking with so many kindred spirits even though he hardly danced at all. Also, he maintained, it was good for business to meet the clients socially.

  The kennels were at the bottom of a yard behind the Station and the policeman led me down and opened one of the doors. The little dog was lying very still under the single electric bulb and when I bent and stroked the brown coat his tail stirred briefly among the straw of his bed.

  “He can still manage a wag, anyway,” I said.

  The policeman nodded. “Aye, there’s no doubt he’s a good-natured little thing.”

  I tried to examine him as much as possible without touching. I didn’t want to hurt him and there was no saying what the extent of his injuries might be. But even at a glance certain things were obvious; he had multiple lacerations, one hind leg was crooked in the unmistakable posture of a fracture and there was blood on his lips.

  This could be from damaged teeth and I gently raised the head with a view to looking into his mouth. He was lying on his right side and as the head came round it was as though somebody had struck me in the face.

  The right eye had been violently dislodged from its socket and it sprouted like some hideous growth from above the cheek bone, a great glistening orb with the eyelids tucked behind the white expanse of sclera.

  I seemed to squat there for a long time, stunned by the obscenity, and as the seconds dragged by I looked into the little dog’s face and he looked back at me—trustingly from one soft brown eye, glaring meaninglessly from the grotesque ball on the other side.

  The policeman’s voice broke my thoughts. “He’s a mess, isn’t he?”

  “Yes … yes … must have been struck by some vehicle—maybe dragged along by the look of all those wounds.”

  “What d’you think, Mr. Herriot?”

  I knew what he meant. It was the sensible thing to ease this lost unwanted creature from the world. He was grievously hurt and he didn’t seem to belong to anybody. A quick overdose of anaesthetic—his troubles would be over and I’d be on my way to the dance.

  But the policeman didn’t say anything of the sort. Maybe, like me, he was looking into the soft depths of that one trusting eye.

  I stood up quickly. “Can I use your ’phone?”

  At the other end of the line Siegfried’s voice crackled with impatience. “Hell, James, it’s half past nine! If we’re going to this thing we’ve got to go now or we might as well not bother. A stray dog, badly injured. It doesn’t sound such a great problem.”

  “I know, Siegfried. I’m sorry to hold you up but I can’t make up my mind. I wish you’d come round and tell me what you think.”

  There was a silence then a long sigh. “All right, James. See you in five minutes.”

  He created a slight stir as he entered the Station. Even in his casual working clothes Siegfried aways managed to look distinguished, but as he swept into the Station newly bathed and shaved, a camel coat thrown over the sparkling white shirt and black tie, there was something ducal about him.

  He drew respectful glances from the men sitting around, then my young policeman stepped forward.

  “This way, sir,” he said, and we went back to the kennels.

  Siegfried was silent as he crouched over the dog, looking him over as I had done without touching him. Then he carefully raised the head and the monstrous eye glared.

  “My God!” he said softly, and at the sound of his voice the long fringed tail moved along the ground.

  For a few seconds he stayed very still looking fixedly at the dog’s face while in the silence, the whisking tail rustled the straw.

  Then he straightened up. “Let’s get him round there,” he murmured.

  In the surgery we anaesthetised the little animal and as he lay unconscious on the table we were able to examine him thoroughly. After a few minutes Siegfried stuffed his stethoscope into the pocket of his white coat and leaned both hands on the table.

  “Luxated eyeball, fractured femur, umpteen deep lacerations, broken claws. There’s enough here to keep us going till midnight, James.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  My boss pulled the knot from his black tie and undid the front stud. He peeled off the stiff collar and hung it on the cross bar of the surgery lamp.

  “By God, that’s better,” he muttered, and began to lay out suture materials.

  I looked at him across the table. “How about the Hunt Ball?”

  “Oh bugger the Hunt Ball,” Siegfried said. “Let’s get busy.”

  We were busy, too, for a long time. I hung up my collar next to my colleague’s and we began on the eye. I know we both felt the same—we wanted to get rid of that horror before we did anything else.

  I lubricated the great ball and pulled the eyelids apart while Siegfried gently maneuvered it back into the orbital cavity. I sighed as everything slid out of sight, leaving only the cornea visible.

  Siegfried chuckled with satisfaction. “Looks like an eye again, doesn’t it” He seized an ophthalmoscope and peered into the depths.

  “And there’s no major damage—could be as good as new again. But we’ll just stitch the lids together to protect it for a few days.”

  The broken ends of the fractured tib