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
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