Vet in Harness Read online

  Only rarely did his control snap. I witnessed one of these occasions

  when he rushed screaming from his doorway, laying about him with a

  walking stick; and I noticed that the polished veneer slipped from him

  and his cries rang out in broadest Yorkshire.

  "Gerrout, ye bloody rotten buggers! Gerrout of it!'

  He might as well have saved his energy because the pack scattered only

  for a few seconds before taking up their stations again.

  I felt for the little man but there was nothing I could do about it. My

  main feeling was of relief that the tumour was going down but I had to

  admit to a certain morbid fascination at the train of events across the

  street.

  Percy's walks were fraught with peril. Mr Partridge always armed

  himself: with his stick before venturing from the house and kept Percy

  on a short lead, but his precautions were unavailing as the wave of dogs

  swept down on him. The besotted creatures, mad with passion, leapt on

  top of the little animal as the artist beat vainly on the shaggy backs

  and yelled at them; and the humiliating procession usually continued

  right across the market place to the great amusement of the inhabitants.

  At lunch time most of the dogs took a break and at nightfall they all

  went home to bed, but there was one little brown spaniel type who, with

  the greatest dedication, never left his post. I think he must have gone

  almost without food for about two weeks because he dwindled practically

  to a skeleton and I think he might have died if Helen hadn't taken

  pieces of meat over to him when she saw him huddled trembling in the

  doorway in the cold darkness of the evening. I know he stayed there all

  night because every now and then a shrill yelping-~ wakened me in the

  small hours and I deduced that Mr Partridge had got home" on him with

  some missile from his bedroom window. But it made no difference;] he

  continued his vigil undaunted.

  I don't quite know how Mr Partridge would have survived if this state of

  affairs had continued indefinitely; I think his reason might have given

  way. But mercifully signs began to appear that the nightmare was on the

  wane. The mob began to thin as Percy's condition improved and one day

  even the little brown dog reluctantly left his beat and slunk away to

  his unknown home.

  That was the very day I had Percy on the table for the last time. I felt

  a thrill of satisfaction as I ran a fold of the scrotal skin between my

  fingers.

  "There's nothing there now, Mr Partridge. No thickening, even. Not a

  thing.'

  The little man nodded. "Yes, it's a miracle, isn't it! I'm very grateful

  to you for all you've done. I've been so terribly worried.'

  "Oh, I can imagine. You've been through a bad time. But I'm really as

  pleased as you are yourself - it's one of the most satisfying things in

  practice when an experiment like this comes off.'

  But often over the subsequent years, as I watched dog and master pass

  our window, Mr Partridge with all his dignity restored, Percy as trim

  and proud as ever, I wondered about that strange interlude.

  Did the Stilboestrol really reduce that tumour or did it regress

  naturally? And were the extraordinary events caused by the treatment or

  the condition or both?

  I could never be quite sure of the answer, but of the outcome I could be

  happily certain. That unpleasant growth never came back .. . and neither

  did all those dogs.

  Chapter Five.

  This was the real Yorkshire with the clean limestone wall riding the

  hill's edge and the path cutting brilliant green through the crowding

  heather. And, walking face on to the scented breeze I felt the old

  tingle of wonder at being alone on the wide moorland where nothing

  stirred and the spreading miles of purple blossom and green turf reached

  away till it met the hazy blue of the sky.

  But I wasn't really alone. There was Sam, and he made all the

  difference. Helen had brought a lot of things into my life and Sam was

  one of the most precious; he was a Beagle and her own personal pet. He

  would be about two years old when I first saw him and I had no way of

  knowing that he was to be my faithful companion, my car dog, my friend

  who sat by my side through the lonely hours of driving till his life

  ended at the age of fourteen. He was the first of a series of cherished

  dogs whose comradeship have warmed and lightened my working life.

  Sam adopted me on sight. It was as though he had read the Faithful Hound

  Manual because he was always near me; paws on the dash as he gazed

  eagerly through the windscreen on my rounds, head resting on my foot in

  our bedsitting room, trotting just behind me wherever I moved. If I had

  a beer in a pub he would be under my chair and even when I was having a

  haircut you only had to lift the white sheet to see Sam crouching

  beneath my legs. The only place I didn't dare take him was to the cinema

  and on these occasions he crawled under the bed and sulked.

  Most dogs love car riding but to Sam it was a passion which never waned

  even in the night hours; he would gladly leave his basket when the world

  was asleep, stretch a couple of times and follow me out into the cold.

  He would be on to the seat before I got the car door fully open and this

  action became so much a part of my life that for a long time after his

  death I still held the door open unthinkingly, waiting for him. And I

  still remember the pain I felt when he did not bound inside.

  And having him with me added so much to the intermissions I granted

  myself on my daily rounds. Whereas in offices and factories they had tea

  breaks I just stopped the car and stepped out into the splendour which

  was always at hand and walked for a spell down hidden lanes, through

  woods, or as today, along one of the grassy tracks which ran over the

  high tops.

  This thing which I had always done had a new meaning now. Anybody who

  has ever walked a dog knows the abiding satisfaction which comes from

  giving pleasure to a loved animal, and the sight of the little form

  trotting ahead of me lent a depth which had been missing before.

  Round the curve of the path I came to where the tide of heather lapped

  thickly down the hillside on a little slope facing invitingly into the

  sun. It was a call I could never resist. I looked at my watch; oh I had

  a few minutes to spare and there was nothing urgent ahead, just Mr

  Dacre's tuberculin test. In a moment I was stretched out on the springy

  stems, the most wonderful natural mattress in the world.

  Lying there, eyes half closed against the sun's glare, the heavy heather

  fragrance around me, I could see the cloud shadows racing across the

  flanks of the fells, throwing the gulleys and crevices into momentary

  gloom but trailing a fresh flaring green in their wake.

  Those were the days when I was most grateful I was in country practice;

  the shirt sleeve days when the bleak menace of the bald heights melted

  into friendliness, when I felt at one with all the airy life and growth

  about me and was glad that I had become what I never thought I would be,