James Herriot's Dog Stories Read online

  In an attempt to alleviate the pain I began to chatter with an edge of hysteria in my voice.

  ‘How is – ouch – Venus going on?’

  ‘Oh fine, fine.’Josh smiled at me tenderly in the mirror. ‘She was neither up nor down after that job.’

  ‘Well – ooh, aah – I really didn’t expect any trouble. As I said, it was – ow – just a trifling thing.’

  The barber whipped out another tuft with that inimitable flick of his. ‘The thing is, Mr Herriot, it’s a grand thing to ’ave faith in your vet. I knew our little pet was in good ’ands.’

  ‘Well, thank you very much, Mr Anderson, it’s — aaah – very nice to hear that.’ I was gratified, but that guilt feeling was still there.

  I got tired of trying to speak while watching my twitching features in the mirror, so I tried to concentrate on something else. It is a trick I adopt at the dentist’s and it doesn’t work very well, but as the little man tugged away I thought as hard as I could about my garden at Skeldale House.

  The lawns really did want mowing and there were all those weeds to get at when I had a minute to spare. I had got round to considering whether it was time to put some fertiliser on my outdoor tomatoes when Josh laid down the clippers and lifted his scissors.

  I sighed and relaxed. The next part was only mildly uncomfortable and who knows, he may have had the scissors sharpened since last time. My mind was wandering over the fascinating subject of tomatoes when the barber’s voice pulled me back to reality.

  ‘Mr Herriot.’ He was twiddling away at a wisp of my hair with his fingers. ‘I like gardening, too.’

  I almost jumped from the chair. ‘That’s remarkable. I was just thinking about my garden.’

  ‘Aye, ah know.’ There was a faraway look in his eyes as he rolled and rolled with finger and thumb. ‘It comes through the hair, ye know.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Your thoughts. They come through to me.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Yes, just think about it. Them hairs go right down into your head and they catch summat from your brain and send it up to me.’

  ‘Oh really, you’re kidding me.’ I gave a loud laugh which nevertheless had a hollow ring.

  Josh shook his head. ‘I’m not jokin’ nor jestin’, Mr Herriot. I’ve been at this game for nearly forty years and it keeps happenin’ to me. You’d be flabbergasted if I told ye some of the thoughts that’s come up. Couldn’t repeat ’em, I tell ye.’

  I slumped lower in my white sheet. Absolute rubbish and nonsense, of course, but I made a firm resolve never to think of Venus’s anaesthetic during a haircut.

  One of my most enjoyable pieces of writing, because there are so many unusual things in it. For instance, you don’t find barbers like Josh Anderson any more. One thing I omitted to mention in the story was that Josh was also a tobacconist, and it was a regular thing for him to put down his clippers in the middle of a haircut to serve a customer with cigarettes and return unabashed after a long conversation about the weather, cricket and other matters. Also, Venus was a dog of most unusual appearance; in fact I’ve never seen one like her before or since. And what about my thoughts going through my hair? Preposterous, but I still wonder about it . . .

  46. Amber

  ‘This is Amber,’ Sister Rose said. ‘The one I wanted you to examine.’

  I looked at the pale, almost honey-coloured shading of the hair on the dog’s ears and flanks. ‘I can see why you’ve given her that name. I bet she’d really glow in the sunshine.’

  The nurse laughed. ‘Yes, funnily enough it was sunny when I first saw her and the name just jumped into my mind.’ She gave me a sideways glance. ‘I’m good at names, as you know.’

  ‘Oh yes, without a doubt,’ I said, smiling. It was a little joke between us. Sister Rose had to be good at christening the endless stream of unwanted animals which passed through the little dog sanctuary which lay behind her house and which she ran and maintained by organising small shows, jumble sales, etc., and by spending her own money.

  And she didn’t only give her money, she also gave her precious time, because as a nursing sister she led a full lifeof service to the human race. I often asked myself how she found the time to fight for the animals, too. It was a mystery to me, but I admired her.

  ‘Where did this one come from?’ I asked.

  Sister Rose shrugged. ‘Oh, found wandering in the streets of Hebbleton. Nobody knows her and there have been no enquiries to the police. Obviously abandoned.’

  I felt the old tightening of anger in my throat. ‘How could they do this to such a beautiful dog? Just turn it away to fend for itself?’

  ‘Oh, people like that have some astonishing reasons. In this case I think it’s because Amber has a little skin disease. Perhaps it frightened them.’

  ‘They could at least have taken her to a vet,’ I grunted as I opened the door of the pen.

  I noticed some bare patches around the toes and as I knelt and examined the feet, Amber nuzzled my cheek and wagged her tail. I looked up at her, at the flopping ears, the pronounced jowls and the trusting eyes which had been betrayed.

  ‘It’s a hound’s face,’ I said. ‘But how about the rest of her? What breed would you call her?’

  Sister Rose laughed. ‘Oh, she’s a puzzle. I get a lot of practice at guessing, but this one beats me. I wondered if a Foxhound had got astray and mated with something like a Labrador or Dalmatian, but I don’t know.’

  I didn’t know, either. The body, dappled with patches of brown, black and white, was the wrong shape for a hound. She had very large feet, a long thin tail in constant motion, and everywhere on her coat the delicate sheen of gold.

  ‘Well,’ I said. ‘Whatever she is, she’s a bonny one, and good-natured, too.’

  ‘Oh yes, she’s a darling. We’ll have no difficulty in finding a home for her. She’s the perfect pet. How old do you think she is?’

  I smiled. ‘You can never tell for sure, but she’s got a juvenile look about her.’ I opened the mouth and looked at the rows of untainted teeth. ‘I’d say nine or ten months. She’s just a big pup.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. She’ll be really large when she reaches full size.’

  As if to prove the sister’s words, the young bitch reared up and planted her fore feet on my chest. I looked again at the laughing mouth and those eyes. ‘Amber,’ I said, ‘I really like you.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so glad,’ Sister Rose said. ‘We must get this skin trouble cleared up as quickly as possible and then I can start finding her a home. It’s just a bit of eczema, isn’t it?’

  ‘Probably . . . probably ... I see there’s some bareness around the eyes and cheeks, too.’ Skin diseases in dogs, as in humans, are tricky things, often baffling in origin and difficult to cure. I fingered the hairless areas. I didn’t like the combination of feet and face, but the skin was dry and sound. Maybe it was nothing much. I banished to the back of my mind a spectre which appeared for a brief instant. I didn’t want to think of that and I had no intention of worrying Sister Rose. She had enough on her mind.

  ‘Yes, probably eczema,’ I said briskly. ‘Rub this ointment well into the parts night and morning.’ I handed over the box of zinc oxide and lanoline. A bit old-fashioned, maybe, but it had served me well for a few years and ought to do the trick in combination with the nurse’s good feeding.

  When two weeks passed without news of Amber I was relieved. I was happy, too, at the thought that she would now be in a good home among people who appreciated her.

  I was brought back to reality with a bump when Sister Rose phoned one morning.

  ‘Mr Herriot, those bare patches aren’t any better. In fact they’re spreading.’

  ‘Spreading? Where?’

  ‘Up her legs and on the face.’

  The spectre leaped up, mouthing and gesticulating. Oh not that, please. ‘I’ll come right out, Sister,’ I said, and oh my way to the car I picked up the microscope.

  Amber gree