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  the fugitive zephyr was clearly visible to him and he was determined to

  corner it.

  It seemed a year before I got him out of there. Mrs Rumney held the

  door wide as I finally managed to steer him towards it but the big dog

  wasn't finished: yet. On his way out he cocked a leg swiftly and

  directed a powerful jet against!

  an immaculate trouser leg.

  After that night I threw myself into the struggle on Mrs Rumney's

  behalf] I felt she desperately needed my help, and I made frequent

  visits and tried innumerable remedies. I consulted my colleague

  Siegfried on the problem and he suggested a diet of charcoal biscuits.

  Cedric ate them in vast quantities and with evident enjoyment but they,

  like everything else, made not the slightest difference to his

  condition And all the time I pondered upon the enigma of Mrs Rumney.

  She had lived in Darrow by for several years but the townsfolk knew

  little about her. It was a matter of debate whether she was a widow or

  separated from her husband.

  But I was not interested in such things; the biggest mystery to me was

  how she ever got involved with a dog like Cedric.

  It was difficult to think of any animal less suited to her personality.

  Apart from his regrettable affliction he was in every way the opposite

  to herself; a great thick-headed rumbustious extrovert totally out of

  place in her gracious menage. I never did find out how they came

  together but on my visits I found that Cedric had one admirer at

  least.

  He was Con Fen ton, a retired farm worker who did a bit of jobbing

  gardening and spent an average of three days a week at The Laurels. The

  Boxer romped down the drive after me as I was leaving and the old man

  looked at him with undisguised admiration.

  "By gaw," he said.

  "He's a fine dog, is that!"

  "Yes, he is, Con, he's a good chap really." And I meant it. You

  couldn't help liking Cedric when you got to know him. He was utterly

  amiable and without vice and he gave off a constant aura not merely of

  noxious va pours but of bonhomie. When he tore off people's buttons or

  sprinkled their trousers he did it in a spirit of the purest amity.

  "Just look at them limbs!" breathed Con, staring rapturously at the

  dog's muscular thighs.

  "By heck, 'e can jump ower that gate as if it weren't there.

  He's what ah call a dog!"

  As he spoke it struck me that Cedric would be likely to appeal to him

  because he was very like the Boxer himself; not over-burdened with

  brains, built like an ox with powerful shoulders and a big

  constantly-grinning face they were two of a kind.

  "Aye, ah all us likes it when t'missus lets him out in "'garden." Con

  went on.

  He always spoke in a peculiar snuffling manner.

  "He's grand company."

  I looked at him narrowly. No, he wouldn't be likely to notice Cedric's

  complaint since he always saw him out of doors.

  On my way back to the surgery I brooded on the fact that I was

  achieving absolutely nothing with my treatment. And though it seemed

  ridiculous to worry about a case like this, there was no doubt the

  thing had begun to prey on my mind. In fact I began to transmit my

  anxieties to Siegfried. As I got out of the car he was coming down the

  steps of Skeldale House and he put a hand on my arm.

  "You've been to The Laurels, James? Tell me," he enquired

  solicitously, 'how is your farting Boxer today?"

  "Still at it, I'm afraid," I replied, and my colleague shook his head

  in commiseration.

  We were both defeated. Maybe if chlorophyll tablets had been available

  in those days they might have helped but as it was I had tried

  everything. It seemed certain that nothing would alter the situation.

  And it wouldn't have been so bad if the owner had been anybody else but

  Mrs Rumney; I found that even discussing the thing with her had become

  almost unbearable.

  Siegfried's student brother Tristan didn't help, either. When seeing

  practice he was very selective in the cases he wished to observe, but

  he was immediately attracted to Cedric's symptoms and insisted on

  coming with me on one occasion.

  I never took him again because as we went in the big dog bounded from

  his mistress' side and produced a particularly sonorous blast as if in

  greeting.

  Tristan immediately threw out a hand in a dramatic gesture and

  declaimed: "Speak on, sweet lips that never told a lie!" That was his

  only visit. I had enough trouble without that.

  I didn't know it at the time but a greater blow awaited me. A few days

  later Mrs Rumney was on the 'phone again.

  "Mr Herriot, a friend of mine has such a sweet little Boxer bitch.

  She wants to bring her along to be mated with Cedric."

  "Eh ?"

  "She wants to mate her bitch with my dog."

  "With Cedric . . . ?" I clutched at the edge of the desk. It

  couldn't be true!

  "And . . . and are you agreeable?"

  "Yes, of course."

  I shook my head to dispel the feeling of unreality. I found it

  incomprehensible that anyone should want to reproduce Cedric, and as I

  gaped into the receiver a frightening vision floated before me of eight

  little Cedrics all with his complaint.

  But of course such a thing wasn't hereditary. I took a grip of myself

  and cleared my throat.

  "Very well, then, Mrs Rumney, you'd better go ahead."

  There was a pause.

  "But Mr Herriot, I want you to supervise the mating."

  "Oh really, I don't think that's necessary." I dug my nails into my

  palm.

  "I

  think you'll be all right without me."

  "Oh but I would be much happier if you were there. Please come," she

  said appealingly.

  Instead of emitting a long-drawn groan I took a deep breath.

  "Right," I said.

  "I'll be along in the morning."

  All that evening I was obsessed by a feeling of dread. Another acutely

  embarrassing session was in store with this exquisite woman. Why was

  it I always had to share things like this with her? And I really

  feared the worst.

  Even the daftest dog, when confronted with a bitch in heat, knows

  instinctively how to proceed, but with a really ivory-skulled animal

  like Cedric I wondered . . .

  And next morning all my fears were realised. The bitch, Trudy, was a

  trim little creature and showed every sign of willingness to cooperate.

  Cedric, on the other hand, though obviously delighted to meet her, gave

  no hint of doing his part. After sniffing her over, he danced around

  her a few times, goofy-faced, tongue lolling. Then he had a roll on

  the lawn before charging at her and coming to a full stop, big feet out

  splayed, head down, ready to play. I sighed. It was as I thought.

  The big chump didn't know what to do.

  This pantomime went on for some time and, inevitably, the emotional

  strain brought on a resurgence of his symptoms. Frequently he paused

  to inspect his tail as though he had never heard noises like that

  before.

  He varied his