Vet in a Spin

by James Herriot

  "How are the eyes?" I asked.

  He shrugged.

  "Sometimes good, sometimes not so good. Much the same as before. But

  I must say he seems easier whenever I put the drops in."

  "But he still has days when he looks unhappy?"

  "Yes . . . I have to say yes. Some days they bother him a lot."

  Again the frustration welled in me.

  "Let's walk back to the car," I said.

  "I

  might as well have a look at him." - .

  I lifted Digger on to the bonnet and examined him again. There wasn't

  a single abnormality in the eyelids I had wondered if I had missed

  something last time but as the bright sunshine slanted across the

  eyeballs I could ju~ IA (~ A~ ~IA~BA;AOC.~ in tho .^.^rno~ There was a

  slieht keratitis there ...................Ul~! I] LIl~ ,~""~, ~,~",~ ~

  ~ o '.,hi,.h h~An,~ hoon `'iciLlo hof.A'r~o B~lt why . . . why?

  , ~ ~" . ~ . _ , "He'd better have some stronger lotion." I rummaged

  in the car boot.

  "I've got.

  some here. We'll try silver nitrate this time."

  Andrew brought him in about a week later. The corneal discoloration

  had gone probably the silver nitrate had moved it but the underlying

  trouble w" ,: unchanged. There was still something sadly wrong.

  Something I couldnlt ~: diagnose ~ 'ii.

  That was when I started to get really worried. As the weeks passed I

  ~e bombarded those eyes with every thing in the book; oxide of mercury,

  chino sd; ~ zinc sulphide, ichthyol and a host of other things which

  are now buried in: history.

  I had none of the modern sophisticated antibiotic and steroid

  applications but -~ .

  it would have made no difference if I had. I know that now. s~ The

  real nightmare started when I saw the first of the pigment cells

  beginnin6 ;~ to invade the cornea. Sinister brown specks gather ing at

  the limbus and pushi~ out dark tendrils into the smooth membrane which

  was Digger's window on thc : world. I had seen cells like them before.

  When they came they usually sta - > And they were opaque. ~ the next

  month I fought them with my pathetic remedies, but they c~ .

  '. slowly but inexorably, blurring and narrowing Digger's field of

  vision noticed them too, and when he brought the little dog into the

  surgery, he ~ ~ ~ unclasped his hands anxiously.

  i~ ~ ~A - ,S seeing less all the time, Mr Herriot. I can tell. He

  still 1 at S~." >~, ~.ows but he used to bark at all sorts of things

  he didn't Ill should hl~Q ~, ~'ce - and now he just doesn't spot them.

  He's - he's lo~ row of lashes rt~- x '~

  ~ G. `~. ~ - ~/'

  I felt like screaming or kicking the table, but since that wouldn't

  have helped I just looked at him.

  "It's that brown stuff isn't it?" he said.

  "What is it?"

  ~It's called pigmentary keratitis, Andrew. It sometimes happens when

  the cornea the front of the eyeball has been inflamed over a long

  period, and it is very difficult to treat. I'll do the best I can."

  My best wasn't enough. That slow, creeping tide was pitiless, and as

  the pigment cells were laid down thicker and thicker the resulting

  layer was almost blaCk, lowering a dingy curtain between Digger and all

  the things he had gazed at so eagerly.

  And all the time I suffered a long gnawing worry, a helpless

  wretchedness as I contemplated the inevitable.

  It was when I examined the eyes five months after I had first seen them

  that Andrew broke down. There was hardly anything to be seen of the

  original corneal structure now; just a brown-black opacity which left

  only minute chinks for moments of sight. Blindness was not far away.

  I patted the man's shoulder again.

  "Come on, Andrew. Come over here and sit down." I pulled over the

  single wooden chair in the consulting room.

  He staggered across the floor and almost collapsed on the seat. He sat

  there head in hands, for some time then raised a tearstained face to

  me. His expression was distraught.

  j ~"I can't bear the thought of it," he gasped.

  "A friendly little thing like Digger - he loves everybody. What has he

  ever done to deserve this?"

  "No thing, Andrew. It's just one of the sad things which happen. I'm

  terribly sorry."

  He rolled his head from side to side.

  "Oh God, but it's worse for him. You've seen him in the car he's so

  interested in every thing. Life wouldn't be worth living for him if he

  lost his sight. And I don't want to live any more either!"

  "You mustn't talk like that, Andrew," I said.

  "That's going too far." I hesitated.

  "Please don't be offended, but you ought to see your doctor."

  "Oh I'm al ways at the doctor," he replied dully.

  "I'm full of pills right now.

  He tells me I have a depression."

  The word was like a mournful knell. Coming so soon after Paul it sent

  a wave of panic through me.

  "How long have you been like this?"

  "Oh, weeks. I seem to be get ting worse."

  "Have you ever had it before?"

  "No, never." He wrung his hands and looked at the floor.

  "The doctor says that if I keep on taking the pills I'll get over it,

  but I'm reaching the end of my tether now."

  "But the doctor is right, Andrew. You've got to stick it and you'll be

  as good as new."

  "I don't believe it," he muttered.

  "Every day lasts a year. I never enjoy anything.

  And every morning when I wake up I dread having to face the world

  again."

  I didn't know what to say or how to help.

  "Can I get you a glass of water?"

  "No . . . no thanks."

  He turned his deathly pale face up to me again and the dark eyes held a

  terrible blankness.

  "What's the use of going on? I know I'm going to be miserable for the

  rest of my life."

  I am no psychiatrist but I knew better than to tell somebody in

  Andrew's Condition to snap out of it. And I had a flash of

  intuition.

  "All right," I said.

  "Be miserable for the rest of your life, but while you're about it

  you've got to look after this dog."

  ; : "Look after him? What can I do? He's going blind. There's

  nothing anybodi can do for him now." I "You're wrong, Andrew. This is

  where you start doing things for him. He's going to be lost without

  your help."

  "How do you mean?"

  "Well, you know all those walks you take him you've got to get him use~

  to the same tracks and paths so that he can trot along on familiar

  ground wit ho.4 fear. Keep him clear of holes and ditches."

  He screwed up his face.

  "Yes, but he won't enjoy the walks any more." ~ "He will," I said.

  "You'll be surprised." .` "Oh, but . . ." i~l "And that nice big

  lawn at the back of your house where he runs. You'll ha~j.

  to be on the lookout all the time in case there are things left Iying

  around on the~ grass that he might bump into. And the eye drops you

  say they make him more comfortable. Who's going to put them in if you

  don't?"

  "But Mr Herriot . . .
you've seen how he al ways looks out of the car

  whd he's with me . . ." 151 "He'll still look out." i "Even if he

  can't see?"

  "Yes." I put my hand on his arm.

  "You must understand, Andrew, when a.

  animal loses his sight he doesn't realise what's happened to him. It's

  a terrib' .

  thing, I know, but he doesn't suffer the mental agony of a human

  being." n He stood up and took a long shuddering breath.

  "But I'm having the agony.,~] I've been dread ing this happening for so

  long. I haven't been-able to sleep f~ thinking about it. It seems so

  cruel and unjust for this to strike a helpless aninu - a little

  creature who's never done anybody any harm." He began to wring }ii ~

  hands again and pace about the room. ~ 3', "You're just torturing

  yourself!" I said sharply.

  "That's part of your troubl~ You're using Digger to punish yourself

  instead of doing something useful."

  "Oh but what can I do that will really help? All those things you

  talked abo~ .

  - they can't give him a happy life." ' "Oh but they can. Digger can

  be happy for years and years if you really w~ at ~t. It's up to you.

  Like a man in a dream he bent and gathered his dog into his arms and

  shufll*~ along the passage to the front door. As he went down the

  steps into the street. I called out to him. .

  "Keep in touch with your doctor, Andrew. Take your pills regularly and

  remember." I raised my voice to a shout.

  "Remember you've got a job to do that dog!"

  r | ..

  After Paul I was on a knife edge of apprehension but this time there

  wasn't any tragic news to shatter me. Instead I saw Andrew Vine

  frequently, sometima i.

  the town with Digger on a lead, occasionally in his car with the little

  white h~ framed al ways in the windscreen, and most often in the fields

  by the river whe~ he seemed to be carrying out my advice by following

  the good open tracks a~^ and again. -~ It was by the river that I

  stopped him one day.

  "How are things goi~ Andrew ?"

  . . - ;~ He looked at me unsmilingly.

  "Oh, he's finding his way around not too ba~ I keep my eye on him. I

  al ways avoid that field over there there's a lot~ boggy places in

  it."

  "Good, that's the idea. And how are you yourself?"

  "Do you really want to know?"

  "Yes, of course."

  |He tried to smile.

  "Well this is one of my good days. I'm just tense and ~dreadfUlly

  unhappy. On my bad days I'm terror-stricken, despairing, utterly ']

  desolate."

  "I'm sorry, Andrew ~ F IHe shrugged.

  "Don't think I'm wallowing in self-pity. You asked me. Anyway |I have

  a system. Every morning I look at myself in the mirror and I say,

  "Okay, Vine' here's another bloody awful day coming up, but you're

  going to do your job and you're going to look after your dog."

  "That's good, Andrew. And it will all Dass. The whole thin~ will an

  ~w~v :`n~l you'll be all right one day."

  "That's what the doctor says." He gave me a sidelong glance.

  "But in the meantime . . ." He looked down at his dog.

  "Come on, Digger."

  He turned and strode away~ abruptly with the little dog trotting after

  him, and there was something in the set of the man's shoulders and the

  forward Ithrust of his head which gave me hope. He was a picture of

  fierce determination.

  My hopes were fulfilled. Both Andrew and Digger won through. I knew

  that within months, but the final picture in my mind is of a meet ing I

  had with the two of them about two years later. It was on the flat

  table-land above Darrow by where I had first seen Digger hurtling

  joyously among the gorse bushes.

  He wasn't doing so badly now, running freely over the smooth green

  turf, sniffing among the herbage, cocking a leg now and then with deep

  contentment against the dry stone wall which ran along the hillside.

  Andrew laughed when he saw me. He had put on weight and looked a

  different person.

  "Digger knows every inch of this walk," he said.

  "I think it's just about his favourite spot you can see how he's

  enjoying himself."

  I nodded.

  "He certainly looks a happy little dog."

  "Yes, he's happy all right. He has a good life and honestly I often

  forget that he can't see." He paused.

  "You were right, that day in your surgery. You said this would

  happen."

  "Well that's great, Andrew," I said.

  "And you're happy, too, aren't you?"

  "I am, Mr Herriot. Thank God, I am." A shadow crossed his face.

  "When I think how it was then, I can't believe my luck. It was like

  being in a dark valley, and bit by bit I've climbed out into the

  sunshine."

  "I can see that. You're as good as new, now."

  He smiled.

  "I'm better than that better than I was before. That terrible

  experience did me good. Remember you said I was torturing myself? I

  realised I had spent all my days doing that. I used to take every

  little mishap of life and beat myself over the head with it."

  "You don't have to tell me, Andrew," I said ruefully.

  "I've al ways been pretty good at that myself."

  "Well yes, I suppose a lot of us are. But I became an expert and see

  where it got me. It helped so much to have Digger to look after." His

  face lit up and he pointed over the grass.

  "Just look at that!"

  The little dog had been inspecting an ancient fence, a few rotting

  planks which were probably part of an old sheep fold, and as we watched

  he leaped effortlessly between the spars to the other side.

  "Marvellous!" I said delightedly.

  "You'd think there was nothing wrong with him. ~ Andrew turned to

  me.

  "Mr Herriot, when I see a thing like that it makes me Wonder. Can a

  blind dog do such a thing. Do you think . . . do you think there's a

  chance he can see just a little?"

  I hesitated.

  "Maybe he can see a bit through that pigment, but it can't be much a

  flicker of light and shade, perhaps. I really don't know. But in any

  r ~_ _ r~ _ _ _ ~ ~ ~ r l Vet in a Spin case, he's become so clever in

  his familiar surroundings that it doesn't ma.

  much difference."

  "Yes . . . yes." He smiled philosophically.

  "Anyway, we must get on our Come on, Digger!" ~ He snapped his fingers

  and set o~ along a track which pushed a vivid "req.

  finger through the heather, pointing clean and unbroken to the sunny

  sky lid His dog bounded ahead of him, not just at a trot but at a

  gallop.

  I have made no secret of the fact that I never really knew the cause of

  Diggat blindness, but in the light of modern developments in eye

  surgery I believelE was a condition called keratitis sic ca. This was

  simply not recognised in the

  early days and anyway, if I had known I could have done little about

  it. 1 name means 'dryness of the cornea' and it occurs when the dog is

  not produci~ enough tears. At the present time it is treated by

  insti
lling artificial tears or

  an intricate operation whereby the salivary ducts are transferred to

  the eyes.

  Ba' even now, despite these things, I have seen that dread pigmentation

  taking ov.

  in the end.

  When I look back on the whole episode my feeling is of thankfulness

  sorts of things help people to pull out of a depression. Mostly it is

  their farm~ - the knowledge that wife and children are dependent on

  them sometimes is a cause to work for, but in Andrew Vine's case it was

  a dog.

  I often think of the dark valley which closed around him at that time

  and am convinced he came out of it on the end of Digger's lead.

  ') .,.,<~.

  :, ~ :.gl.

  i:~:: Chapter Fourteerz .~: . . ~ Now that I had done my first solo I

  was beginning to appreciate the qualiti~ of my instructor. There was

  no doubt FO Wood ham was a very good teacher..

  There was a war on and no time for niceties. He had to get green young

  m~ into the air on their own without delay and he had done it with me.

  `~.: I used to fancy myself as a teacher, too, with the boys who came

  to see pract~ in Darrow by. I could see myself now, smiling

  indulgently at one of my pup~l~ "You don't see this sort of thing in

  country practice, David," I said. He w - :: one of the young people

  who occasionally came with me on my rounds. Fifteen - : years old, and

  like all the others he thought he wanted to be a veterinary surgoO.

  But at the moment he looked a little bewildered. :-~ I really couldn't

  blame him. It was his first visit and he had expected to spa day with

  me in the rough and tumble of large animal practice in the Yorlcd~i~;

  Dales and now there was this lady with the poodle and Emmeline. The

  lad~ progress along the passage to the consulting room had been

  punctuated b~ series of squeaking noises produced by her squeezing a

  small rubber dolL each squeak Lucy advanced a few reluctant steps until

  a final pressure lurat.

  on to the table. There she stood trembling and loo king soulfully

  around here "She won't go anywhere without Emmeline," the lady

  explained. ,~ "Emmehne? -~ "The doll." She held up the rubber toy.

  "Since this trouble started Lu9.

  become devoted to her." Chapter Fourteen' "I see. .~nd what trouble

  is that?"

  "Well, it's been going on for about two weeks now. She's so listless

  and st range' end she hardly eats anything."

  I reached behind me to the trolley for the thermometer.

  "Right, we'll have a look at her. There's something wrong when a dog

  won't eat."

  The temperature was normal. I went over her chest thoroughly with my

  stethoscope without finding any unusual sounds The heart thudded

  steadily in my ears. Careful palpation of the abdomen revealed nothing

  out of the way.

  eThe lady stroked Lucy's curly poll and the little animal looked up at

  her with sorrowful liquid eyes.

  "I'm get ting really worried about her. She doesn't want to go walks.

  In fact we can't even entice her from the house without Emmeline."

  "Eh ?"

  "I say she won't take a step outside unless we squeak Emmeline at her,

  and then they both go out together. Even then she just trails along

  like an old dog l and she's only three after all. You know how lively

  she is normally."

  I nodded. I did know. This little poodle was a bundle of energy. I

  had seen her racing around the fields down by the river, jumping to

  enormous heights as she chased a ball. She must be suffering from

  something pretty severe, but so far I was baffled.