Read Vets Might Fly Page 6


  door bell and running away, because I dared not ignore the summons in

  case it might be a client, and also the consulting and operating rooms

  were such a long way from the front of the house. Sometimes I was

  dragged down from our bed-sitter under the tiles. Every trip to the

  door was an expedition and it was acutely exasperating to arrive there

  and see only a little figure in the distance dancing about and

  grimacing at me.

  He varied this routine by pushing rubbish through the letter box,

  pulling the flowers from the tiny strip of garden we tried to cultivate

  between the flagstones and chalking rude messages on my car.

  I knew I wasn't the only victim because I had heard complaints from

  others; the fruiterer who saw his apples disappear from the box in

  front of the shop, the grocer who unwillingly supplied him with free

  biscuits.

  He was the town naughty boy all right, and it was incongruous that he

  should have been named Wesley. There was not the slightest sign in his

  behaviour of any strict methodist upbringing. In fact I knew nothing

  of his family life only that he came from the poorest part of the town,

  a row of 'yards' containing tumbledown cottages, some of them evacuated

  because of their condition.

  I often saw him wandering about in the fields and lanes or fishing in

  quiet reaches of the river when he should have been in school. When he

  spotted me on these occasions he invariably called out some mocking

  remark and if he happened to be with some of his cronies they all

  joined in the laughter at my expense. It was annoying but I used to

  tell myself that there was nothing personal in it. I was an adult and

  that was enough to make me a target.

  Wes's greatest triumph was undoubtedly the time he removed the grating

  from the coal cellar outside Skeldale House. It was on the left of the

  front steps and underneath it was a steep ramp down which the coal men

  tipped their bags.

  I don't know whether it was inspired intuition but he pinched the

  grating on the day of the Darrow by Gala. The festivities started with

  a parade through the town led by the Houlton Silver Band and as I

  looked down from the windows of our bed-sitter I could see them all

  gathering in the street below.

  "Look, Helen," I said.

  "They must be star ting the march from Trengate.

  Everybody I know seems to be down there."

  Helen leaned over my shoulder and gazed at the long lines of boy

  scouts, girl guides, ex-servicemen, with half the population of the

  town packed on the pavements, watching.

  "Yes, it's quite a sight, isn't it? Let's go down and see them move

  off."

  We trotted down the long flights of stairs and I followed her out

  through the front door. And as I appeared in the entrance I was

  suddenly conscious that I was the centre of attention. The citizens on

  the pavements, waiting patiently for the parade to start, had something

  else to look at now. The little brownies and wolf cubs waved at me

  from their ranks and there were nods and smiles from the people across

  the road and on all sides.

  I could divine their thoughts.

  "There's ttyoung vitnery coming out of his house Not long married, too.

  That's his missus next to him."

  A feeling of well being rose in me. I don't know whether other newly

  married men feel the same, but in those early days I was aware of a

  calm satisfaction and fulfilment. And I was proud to be the 'vitnery'

  and part of the life of the town. There was my plate on the wall

  beside me, a symbol of my solid importance. I was a man of substance

  now, I had arrived.

  Looking around me, I acknowledged the greeting with a few dignified

  little smiles, raising a gracious hand now and then rather like a royal

  personage on view. Then I noticed that Helen hadn't much room by my

  side, so I stepped to the left to where the grating should have been

  and slid gracefully down into the cellar.

  It would be a dramatic touch to say I disappeared from view; in fact I

  wish I had, because I would have stayed down there and avoided further

  embarrassment.

  But as it was I travelled only so far down the ramp and stuck there

  with my head and shoulders protruding into the street.

  My little exhibition caused a sensation among the spectators. Nothing

  in the Gala parade could compete with this. One or two of the

  surrounding faces expressed alarm but loud laughter was the general

  response. The adults were almost holding each other up but the little

  brownies and wolf cubs made my most appreciative audience, breaking

  their ranks and staggering about helplessly in the roadway while their

  leaders tried to restore order.

  I caused chaos, too, in the Houlton Silver Band, who were hoisting

  their instruments prior to marching off. If they had any ideas about

  bursting into tune they had to abandon them temporarily because I don't

  think any of them had breath to blow.

  It was, in fact, two of the bandsmen who extricated me by linking their

  hands under my armpits. My wife was of no service at all in the crisis

  and I could only look up at her reproachfully as she leaned against the

  doorpost dabbing at her eyes.

  It all became clear to me when I reached street level. I was flicking

  the coal dust from my trousers and trying to look unconcerned when I

  saw Wesley Bin ks doubled up with mirth, pointing triumphantly at me

  and at the hole over the cellar. He was quite near, jostling among the

  spectators, and I had my first close look at the wild-eyed little

  goblin who had plagued me. I may have made an unconscious movement

  towards him because he gave me a last malevolent grin and disappeared

  into the crowd.

  Later I asked Helen about him. She could only tell me that Wesley's

  father had left home when he was about six years old, that his mother

  had remarried and the boy now lived with her and his stepfather.

  Strangely, I had another opportunity to study him quite soon

  afterwards. It was about a week later and my feathers were still a

  little ruffled after the grating incident when I saw him sitting all

  alone in the waiting room. Alone, that is, except for a skinny black

  dog in his lap.

  I could hardly believe it. I had often rehearsed the choice phrases

  which I i would use on this very occasion but the sight of the animal

  restrained me, if he had come to consult me professionally I could

  hardly start pitching into him right away. Maybe later.

  I pulled on a white coat and went in.

  "Well, what can I do for you?" I asked coldly.

  The boy stood up and his expression of mixed defiance and desperation

  showed that it had cost him something to enter this house.

  "Sum mat matter wi' me dog," he muttered.

  "Right, bring him through." I led the way along the passage to the

  consulting room "Put him on the table please," I said, and as he lifted

  the little animal I decided that I couldn't let this opportunity pass.

  While I was carrying out my examination I would quite casually discuss

  re
cent events. Nothing nasty, no clever phrases, just a quiet probe

  into the situation. I was just about to say something like "What's the

  idea of all those tricks you play on me?" when I took my first look at

  the dog and everything else fled from my mind.

  He wasn't much more than a big puppy and an out-and-out mongrel. His

  shiny black coat could have come from a labrador and there was a

  suggestion of terrier in the pointed nose and pricked ears, but the

  long string-like tail and the knock-kneed fore limbs baffled me. For

  all that he was an attractive little creature with a sweetly expressive

  face.

  But the things that seized my whole attention were the yellow blobs of

  pus in the corners of the eyes, the mucopurulent discharge from the

  nostrils and the photophobia which made the dog blink painfully at the

  light from the surgery window.

  Classical canine distemper is so easy to diagnose but there is never

  any satisfaction in doing so.

  "I didn't know you had a dog," I said.

  "How long have you had him?"

  "A month. Feller got 'im from t'dog and cat home at Hartington and

  sold 'im to me."

  "I see." I took the temperature and was not surprised to find it was

  tO4 F. "How old is he?"

  "Nine months."

  I nodded. Just about the worst age.

  I went ahead and asked all the usual questions but I knew the answers

  already.

  Yes, the dog had been slightly off colour for a week or two. No, he

  wasn't really ill, but listless and coughing occasionally. And of

  course it was not until the eyes and nose began to discharge that the

  boy became worried and brought him to see me. That was when we usually

  saw these cases when it was too late.

  Wesley imparted the information defensively, loo king at me under

  lowered brows as though he expected me to clip his ear at any moment.

  But as I studied him any aggressive feelings I may have harboured

  evaporated quickly. The imp of hell appeared on closer examination to

  be a neglected child. His elbows stuck out through holes in a filthy

  jersey, his shorts were similarly ragged, but what appalled me most was

  the sour smell of his unwashed little body. I hadn't thought there

  were children like this in Darrow by.

  When he had answered my questions he made an effort and blurted out one

  of his own.

  "What's matter with 'im?"

  I hesitated a moment.

  "He's got distemper, Wes."

  "What's that?"

  "Well, it's a nasty infectious disease. He must have got it from

  another sick dog."

  "Will 'e get better?"

  "I hope so. I'll do the best I can for him." I couldn't bring myself

  to tell a small boy of his age that his pet was probably going to

  die.

  I filled a syringe with a 'mixed macterin' which we used at that time

  against the secondary invaders of distemper. It never did much good

  and even now with all Our antibiotics we cannot greatly influence the

  final outcome. If you can bb4 Vets Might FIy catch a case in the early

  viral phase then a shot of hyper immune serum is curative, but people

  rarely bring their dogs in until that phase is over.

  As I gave the injection the dog whimpered a little and the boy

  stretched out a hand and patted him.

  "It's aw right, Duke," he said.

  "That's what you call him, is it Duke?" , "Aye." He fondled the ears

  and the dog turned, whipped his strange long tail about and licked the

  hand quickly. Wes smiled and looked up at me and for a moment the

  tough mask dropped from the grubby features and in the dark wild eyes I

  read sheer delight. I swore under my breath. This made it worse.

  I tipped some boracic crystals into a box and handed it over.

  "Use this dissolved in water to keep his eyes and nose clean. See how

  his nostrils are all caked and blocked up you can make him a lot more

  comfortable."

  He took the box without speaking and almost with the same movement

  dropped three and sixpence on the table. It was about our average

  charge and resolved my doubts on that score.

  "When'll ah bring 'im back?" he asked.

  I looked at him doubtfully for a moment. All I could do was repeat the

  injections, but was it going to make the slightest difference?

  The boy misread my hesitation.

  "Ah can pay!" he burst out.

  "Ah can get "'money!"

  "Oh I didn't mean that, Wes. I was just wondering when it would be

  suitable.

  How about bringing him in on Thursday?"

  He nodded eagerly and left with his dog.

  As I swabbed the table with disinfectant I had the old feeling of

  helplessness.

  The modern veterinary surgeon does not see nearly as many cases of

  distemper as we used to, simply because most people immunise their

  puppies at the earliest possible moment. But back in the thirties it

  was only the few fortunate dogs who were inoculated. The disease is so

  easy to prevent but almost impossible to cure.

  The next three weeks saw an incredible change in Wesley Bin ks's

  character.

  He had built up a reputation as an idle scamp but now he was

  transformed into a model of industry, delivering papers in the

  mornings, digging people's gardens, helping to drive the beasts at the

  auction mart. I was perhaps the only one who knew he was doing it for

  Duke.

  He brought the dog in every two or three days and paid on the nail. I

  naturally charged him as little as possible but the money he earned

  went on other things - fresh meat from the butcher, extra milk and

  biscuits.

  "Duke's loo king very smart today," I said on one of the visits.

  "I see you've been get ting him a new collar and lead."

  The boy nodded shyly then looked up at me, dark eyes intent.

  "Is 'e any better ?"

  "Well, he's about the same, Wes. That's how it goes dragging on

  without much change."

  "When . . . when will ye know?"

  I thought for a moment. Maybe he would worry less if he understood the

  situation.

  "The thing is this. Duke will get better if he can avoid the nervous

  complications of distemper."

  "Wot's them?"

  "Fits, paralysis and a thing called chorea which makes the muscles

  twitch."

  "Wot if he gets them?"

  "It's a bad lookout in that case. But not all dogs develop them." I

  tried to smile reassuringly.

  "And there's one thing in Duke's favour he's not a pure bred.

  Cross bred dogs have a thing called hybrid vigour which helps them to

  fight disease After all, he's eating fairly well and he's quite lively,

  isn't he?"

  "Aye, not bad."

  Well then, we'll carry on. I'll give him another shot now."

  The boy was back in three days and I knew by his face he had momentous

  news.

  "Duke's a lot better 'is eyes and nose 'ave dried up and he's eat in'

  like a 'oss!" He was panting with excitement.

  I lifted the dog on to the table. There was no doubt he was enormously

  improved and I did my best to join in the rejoicing.

  "That's great,
Wes," I said, but a warning bell was tinkling in my

  mind. If nervous symptoms were going to supervene, this was the time

  just when the dog was apparently recovering.

  I forced myself to be optimistic.

  "Well now, there's no need to come back any more but watch him

  carefully and if you see any thing unusual bring him in."

  The ragged little figure was overjoyed. He almost pranced along the

  passage with his pet and I hoped fervently that I would not see them in

  there again.

  That was on the Friday evening and by Monday I had put the whole thing

  out of my head and into the category of satisfying memories when the

  boy came in with Duke on the lead.

  I looked up from the desk where I was writing in the day book.

  "What is it, Wes ?"

  "He's doth erin'."

  I didn't bother going through to the consulting room but hastened from

  behind the desk and crouched on the floor, studying the dog intently.

  At first I saw nothing, then as I watched I could just discern a faint

  nodding of the head. I placed my hand on the top of the skull and

  waited. And it was there; the slight but regular twitching of the