Let Sleeping Vets Lie Read online

  It must have been nearly three weeks and I was on the point of calling

  at her home when I noticed her stumping briskly along the far side of

  the market place, peering closely into every shop window exactly as

  before. The only difference was that she had a big yellow dog on the end

  of the lead.

  I turned the wheel and sent my car bumping over the cobbles till I was

  abreast of her. When she saw me getting out she stopped and smiled

  impishly but she didn't speak as I bent over Roy and examined him. He

  was still a skinny dog but he looked bright and happy, his wounds were

  healthy and granulating and there was not a speck of dirt in his coat or

  on his skin. I knew then what Mrs. Donovan had been doing all this time;

  she had been washing and combing and teasing at that filthy tangle till

  she had finally conquered it.

  As I straightened up she seized my wrist in a grip of surprising

  strength and looked up into my eyes.

  "Now Mr. Herriot," she said. "Haven't I made a difference to this dog!"

  "You've done wonders, Mrs. Donovan," I said. "And you've been at him

  with that marvelous shampoo of yours, haven't you?"

  She giggled and walked away and from that day I saw the two of them

  frequently but at a distance and something like two months went by

  before I had a chance to talk to her again. She was passing by the

  surgery as I was coming down the steps and again she grabbed my wrist.

  "Mr. Herriot," she said, just as she had done before. "Haven't I made a

  difference to this dog!"

  I looked down at Roy with something akin to awe. He had grown and filled

  out and his coat, no longer yellow but a rich gold, lay in luxuriant

  shining swathes over the well-fleshed ribs and back. A new, brightly

  studded collar glittered on his neck and his tail, beautifully fringed,

  fanned the air gently. He was now a Golden Retriever in full

  magnificence. As I stared at him he reared up, plunked his fore paws on

  my chest and looked into my face, and in his eyes :

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  I read plainly the same calm affection and trust I had seen back in that

  black, noisome shed.

  "Mrs. Donovan," I said softly, 'he's the most beautiful dog in

  Yorkshire." Then, because I knew she was waiting for it. "It's those

  wonderful condition powders. Whatever do you put in them?"

  "Ah, wouldn't you like to know!" She bridled and smiled up at me

  coquettishly and indeed she was nearer being kissed at that moment than

  for many years.

  I suppose you could say that that was the start of Roy's second life.

  And as the years passed I often pondered on the beneficent providence

  which had decreed that an animal which had spent his first twelve months

  abandoned and unwanted, staring uncomprehendingly into that unchanging,

  stinking darkness, should be whisked in a moment into an existence of

  light and movement and love. Because I don't think any dog had it quite

  so good as Roy from then on.

  His diet changed dramatically from odd bread crusts to best stewing

  steak and biscuit, meaty bones and a bowl of warm milk every evening.

  And he never missed a thing. Garden fetes, school sports, evictions,

  gymkhanas - he'd be there. I was pleased to note that as time went on

  Mrs. Donovan seemed to be clocking up an even greater daily mileage. Her

  expenditure on shoe leather must have been phenomenal, but of course it

  was absolute pie for Roy - a busy round in the morning, home for a meal

  then straight out again; it was all go.

  Mrs. Donovan didn't confine her activities to the town centre; there was

  a big stretch of common land down by the river where there were seats,

  and people used to take their dogs for a gallop and she liked to get

  down there fairly regularly to check on the latest developments on the

  domestic scene. I often saw Roy loping majestically over the grass among

  a pack of assorted canines, and when he wasn't doing that he was

  submitting to being stroked or patted or generally fussed over. He was

  handsome and he just liked people; it made him irresistible.

  It was common knowledge that his mistress had bought a whole selection

  of brushes and combs of various sizes with which she laboured over his

  coat. Some people said she had a little brush for his teeth, too, and it

  might have been true, but he certainly wouldn't need his nails clipped

  his life on the roads would keep them down.

  Mrs. Donovan, too, had her reward; she had a faithful companion by her

  side every hour of the day and night. But there was more to it than

  that; she had always had the compulsion to help and heal animals and the

  salvation of Roy was the high point of her life - a blazing triumph

  which never dimmed.

  I know the memory of it was always fresh because many years later I was

  sitting on the sidelines at a cricket match and I saw the two of them;

  the old lady glancing keenly around her, Roy gazing placidly out at the

  field of play, apparently enjoying every ball. At the end of the match I

  watched them move away with the dispersing crowd; Roy would be about

  twelve then and heaven only knows how old Mrs. Donovan must have been,

  but the big golden animal was trotting along effortlessly and his

  mistress, a little more bent perhaps and her head rather nearer the

  ground, was going very well.

  When she saw me she came over and I felt the familiar tight grip on my

  wrist.

  "Mr. Herriot," she said, and in the dark probing eyes the pride was

  still as warm, the triumph still as bursting new as if it had all

  happened yesterday.

  "Mr. Herriot, haven't I made a difference to this dog!"

  Chapter Eight.

  "How would you like to officiate at Darrowby Show, James?" Siegfried

  threw the letter he had been reading on to the desk and turned to me.

  "I don't mind, but I thought you always did it."

  "I do, but it says in that letter that they've changed the date this

  year and it happens I'm going to be away that weekend."

  "Oh well, fine. What do I have to do?"

  Siegfried ran his eye down his list of calls. "It's a sinecure, really.

  More a pleasant day out than anything else. You have to measure the

  ponies and be on call in case any animals are injured. That's about all.

  Oh and they want you to judge the Family Pets."

  "Family Pets?"

  "Yes, they run a proper dog show but they have an expert judge for that.

  This is just a bit of fun - all kinds of pets. You've got to find a

  first, second and third."

  "Right," I said. "I think I should just about be able to manage that."

  "Splendid." Siegfried tipped up the envelope in which the letter had

  come. "Here are your car park and luncheon tickets for self and friend

  if you want to take somebody with you. Also your vet's badge. O.K.?"

  The Saturday of the show brought the kind of weather that must have had

  the organisers purring with pleasure; a sky of wide, unsullied blue,

  hardly a whiff of wind and the kind of torrid, brazen sunshine you don't

  often find in North Yorkshire.

  As I drove down towards the show ground I felt I was loo