James Herriot's Dog Stories Read online

  It was about a fortnight later and as I opened the gate to let Sam into the riverside fields I glanced at my watch. Twelve thirty – plenty of time for our pre-lunch walk and the long stretch of green was empty. Then I noticed a single dog away on the left. It was Nip, and as I watched he got up, took a few indeterminate steps over the grass, then turned and sat down again at the gate of his back garden.

  Instead of taking my usual route I cut along behind the houses till I reached the old dog. He had been looking around him aimlessly, but when we came up to him he seemed to come to life, sniffing Sam over and wagging his tail at me.

  On the other side of the gate Mrs Potts was doing a bit of weeding, bending painfully as she plied her trowel.

  ‘How are you, Mrs Potts?’ I said.

  With an effort she straightened up. ‘Oh, not too bad, thank you, Mr Herriot.’ She came over and leaned on the gate. ‘I see you’re lookin’ at the awd dog. My word he’s missin’ his master.’

  I didn’t say anything and she went on, ‘He’s eating all right and I can give him plenty of good food, but what I can’t do is take ’im for walks.’ She rubbed her back. ‘I’m plagued with rheumaticks, Mr Herriot, and it takes me all my time to get around the house and garden.’

  ‘I can understand that,’ I said. ‘And I don’t suppose he’ll walk by himself.’

  ‘Nay, he won’t. There’s the path he went along every day.’ She pointed to the winding strip of beaten earth among the grass. ‘But he won’t go more’n a few yards.’

  ‘Ah well, dogs like a bit of company just the same as we do.’ I bent and ran my hand over the old animal’s head and ears. ‘How would you like to come with us, Nip?’

  I set off along the path and he followed unhesitatingly, trotting alongside Sam with swinging tail.

  ‘Eee, look!’ the old lady cried. ‘Isn’t that grand to see!’

  I followed his usual route down to the river where the water ran dark and silent under the branches of the gnarled willows. Then we went over the bridge and in front of us the river widened into pebbly shallows and murmured and chattered among the stones.

  It was peaceful down there with only the endless water sound and the piping of birds in my ears and the long curtain of leaves parting here and there to give glimpses of the green flanks of the fells.

  I watched the two dogs frisking ahead of me and the decision came to me quite naturally: I would do this regularly. From that day I altered my route and went along behind the houses first. Nip was happy again, Sam loved the whole idea, and for me there was a strange comfort in the knowledge that there was still something I could do for Mr Potts.

  Dogs do love a regular programme. One of their greatest pleasures is to look forward to something and then to see that something come about. It may be a meal or the arrival home of one of the household. With Nip it was his daily walk by the river with his master. I have always had a warm feeling for my farmer friends who shared my early struggles, and this feeling has strengthened over the years now that I myself can look back on more than half a century of this association. In the case of Mr Potts, I was glad to be able to show that veterinary services could embrace many things.

  43. Judy the Nurse Dog

  I first met Judy the Sheepdog when I was treating Eric’s bullock for wooden tongue. The bullock was only a young one and the farmer admitted ruefully that he had neglected it because it was almost a walking skeleton.

  ‘Damn!’ Eric grunted. ‘He’s been runnin’ out with that bunch in the far fields and I must have missed ’im. I never knew he’d got to this state.’

  When actinobacillosis affects the tongue it should be treated right at the start, when the first symptoms of salivation and swelling beneath the jaw appear. Otherwise the tongue becomes harder and harder till finally it sticks out of the front of the mouth, as unyielding as the wood which gives the disease its ancient name.

  This skinny little creature had reached that state, so that he not only looked pathetic but also slightly comic, asthough he were making a derisive gesture at me. But with a tongue like that he just couldn’t eat and was literally starving to death. He lay quietly as though he didn’t care.

  ‘There’s one thing, Eric,’ I said. ‘Giving him an intravenous injection won’t be any problem. He hasn’t the strength to resist.’

  The great new treatment at that time was sodium iodide into the vein – modern and spectacular. Before that the farmers used to paint the tongue with tincture of iodine, a tedious procedure which sometimes worked and sometimes didn’t. The sodium iodide was a magical improvement and showed results within a few days.

  I inserted the needle into the jugular and tipped up the bottle of clear fluid. Two drachms of iodide I used to use, in eight ounces of distilled water, and it didn’t take long to flow in. In fact the bottle was nearly empty before I noticed Judy.

  I had been aware of a big dog sitting near me all the time, but as I neared the end of the injection a black nose moved ever closer till it was almost touching the needle. Then the nose moved along the rubber tube up to the bottle and back again, sniffing with the utmost concentration. When I removed the needle the nose began a careful inspection of the injection site. Then a tongue appeared and began to lick the bullock’s neck methodically.

  I squatted back on my heels and watched. This was something more than mere curiosity; everything in the dog’s attitude suggested intense interest and concern.

  ‘You know, Eric,’ I said, ‘I have the impression that this dog isn’t just watching me. She’s supervising the whole job.’

  The farmer laughed. ‘You’re right there. She’s a funny old bitch is Judy – sort of a nurse. If there’s anything amiss she’s on duty. You can’t keep her away.’

  Judy looked up quickly at the sound of her name. She was a handsome animal; not the usual colour, but a variegated brindle with waving lines of brown and grey mingling with the normal black and white of the farm Collie. Maybe there was a cross somewhere, but the result was very attractive and the effect was heightened by her bright-eyed, laughing-mouthed friendliness.

  I reached out and tickled the backs of her ears and she wagged mightily – not just her tail but her entire rear end. ‘I suppose she’s just good-natured.’

  ‘Oh aye, she is,’ the farmer said. ‘But it’s not only that. It sounds daft but I think Judy feels a sense of responsibility to all the stock on t’farm.’

  I nodded. ‘I believe you. Anyway, let’s get this beast on to his chest.’

  We got down in the straw and with our hands under the back bone, rolled the bullock till he was resting on his sternum. We balanced him there with straw bales on either side, then covered him with a horse rug.

  In that position he didn’t look as moribund as before, but the emaciated head with the useless jutting tongue lolled feebly on his shoulders and the saliva drooled uncontrolled on to the straw. I wondered if I’d ever see him alive again.

  Judy, however, didn’t appear to share my pessimism. After a thorough sniffing examination of rug and bales she moved to the front, applied an encouraging tongue to the shaggy forehead, then stationed herself comfortably facing the bullock, very like a night nurse keeping an eye on her patient.

  ‘Will she stay there?’ I closed the half-door and took a last look inside.

  ‘Aye, nothing’ll shift her till he’s dead or better,’ Eric replied. ‘She’s in her element now.’

  ‘Well, you never know, she may give him an interest in life, just sitting there. He certainly needs some help. You must keep him alive with milk or gruel till the injection starts to work. If he’ll drink it it’ll do him most good, but otherwise you’ll have to bottle it into him. But be careful – you can choke a beast that way.’

  A case like this had more than the usual share of the old fascination because I was using a therapeutic agent which really worked – something that didn’t happen too often at that time. So I was eager to get back to see if I had been able to pull that bullock from the b