that the Slightest touch or sound throws them into violent
contractions."
"But why does a dog stretch out like that?"
"Because the extensor muscles are stronger than the flexors, causing
the back to be arched and the legs extended."
He nodded.
"I see, but . .. I believe it is usually fatal. What is it that .
kills them?"
"They die of asphyxia due to paralysis of the respiratory centre or
contract) of the diaphragm."
Maybe he wanted to ask more, but it was painful for him and he stay
silent. .
"There's one thing I'd like you to know, Mr Bartle," I said.
"It is almost certainly not a painful condition."
"Thank you." He bent and briefly stroked the sleeping dog.
"So nothing more can be done?"
I shook my head.
"The barbiturate keeps the spasms in abeyance and we'll go on hoping he
hasn't absorbed too much strychnine. I'll call back later, or y can
ring me if he gets worse. I can be here in a few minutes."
Driving away, I pondered on the irony that made Darrow by a paradise
for dog killers as well as dog lovers. There were grassy tracks
everywhere; wandering by the river's edge, climbing the fell-sides and
coiling green and tempting among the heather on the high tops. I often
felt sympathy for pet owners in the big' cities, trying to find places
to walk their dogs. Here in Darrow by we could take our pick. But so
could the poisoner. He could drop his deadly bait unobserved in a
hundred different places.
I was finishing the afternoon surgery when the 'phone rang. It was Mr
Bartle.
"Has he started the spasms again?" I asked.
There was a pause.
"No, I'm afraid Jasper is dead. He never regained consciousness."
"Oh . . . I'm very sorry." I felt a dull despair. That was the
seventh death in a week.
"Well, thank you for your treatment, Mr Herriot. I'm sure nothing
could have saved him."
I hung up the 'phone wearily. He was right. Nothing or nobody could
have done any good in this case, but it didn't help. If you finish up
with a dead animal there is always the feeling of defeat.
Next day I was walking on to a farm when the farmer's wife called to
me.
"I have a message for you to ring back to the surgery."
I heard Helen's voice at the other end.
"Jack Brim ham has just come in with his dog. I think it's another
strychnine case." : I excused myself and drove back to Darrow by at
top speed. Jack Brim ham was a builder. He ran a one-man business and
whatever job he was on repairing roofs or walls or chimneys his little
white rough-haired terrier went with him, and you could usually see the
little animal nosing among the piles of bricks, exploring in the
surrounding fields.
Jack was a friend, too. I often had a beer with him at the Drovers'
Arms and I recognised his van outside the surgery. I trotted along the
passage and found him leaning over the table in the consulting room.
His dog was stretched there in that attitude which I dreaded.
"He's gone, Jim," he muttered.
I looked at the shaggy little body. There was no movement, the eyes
stared silently. The legs, even in death, strained across the smooth
surface of the table.
It was pointless, but I slipped my hand inside the thigh and felt for
the femoral artery. There was no pulse.
"I'm sorry, Jack," I said.
He didn't answer for a moment.
"I've been read in' about this in the paper, Jim, but I never thought
it would happen to me. It's a bugger, isn't it?"
I nodded He was a craggy-faced man, a tough Yorkshire man with a humour
and integrity which I liked and a soft place inside which his dog had
occupied.
I did not know what to say to him.
"Who's coin' this?" he said, half to himself.
"I don't know, Jack. Nobody knows."
"Well I wish I could have five minutes with him; that's all." He
gathered the rigid little form into his arms and went out.
My troubles were not over for that day. It was about 11 p.m. and I had
just got into bed when Helen nudged me.
"I think there's somebody knocking at the front door, Jim."
I opened the window and looked out. Old Board man, the lame veteran of
the first war who did odd jobs for us, was standing on the steps.
"Mr Herriot," he called up to me.
"I'm sorry to bother you at this hour, but Patch is ill."
I leaned further out.
"What's he doing?"
"He's like a bit o' wood stiff like, and laid on 'is side."
i I didn't bother to dress, Just pulled my working corduroys over my
pyjamas and went down the stairs two at a time. I grabbed what I
needed from the dispensary and opened the front door. The old man, in
shirt sleeves, caught at my arm.
"Come quickly, Mr Herriot!" He limped ahead of me to his little house
about twenty yards away in the lane round the corner.
Patch was like all the others. The fat spaniel I had seen so often
waddling round the top yard with his master was in that nightmare
position on the kitchen floor, but he had vomited, which gave me hope.
I administered the intravenous injection but as I withdrew the needle
the breathing stopped.
Mrs Board man, in nightgown and slippers, dropped on her knees and
stretched a trembling hand towards the motionless animal.
"Patch...." She turned and stared at me, wide-eyed.
"He's dead!"
I put my hand on the old woman's shoulder and said some sympathetic
words. I thought grimly that I was get ting good at it. As I left I
looked back at the two old people. Board man was kneeling now by his
wife and even after I had closed the door I could hear their voices:
"Patch . . . oh Patch."
I almost reeled over the few steps to Skeldale House and before going
in I stood in the empty street breathing the cool air and trying to
calm my racing thoughts. With Patch gone, this thing was get ting very
near home. I saw that dog every day. In fact all the dogs that had
died were old friends in a little town like Darrow by you came to know
your patients personally. Where was it going to end?
I didn't sleep much that night and over the next few days I was
obsessed with apprehension. I expected another poison ing with every
'phone call and took care never to let my own dog, Sam, out of the car
in the region of the town. Thanks to my job I was able to exercise him
miles away on the summits of the fells, but even there I kept him close
to me.
By the fourth day I was beginning to feel more relaxed. Maybe the
nightmare was over. I was driving home in the late afternoon past the
row of grey cottages at the end of the Houlton Road when a woman ran
waving into the road.
"Oh, Mr Herriot," she cried when I stopped.
"I was just goin' to t'phone box when I saw you."
I pulled up by the kerb.
"It's Mrs Clifford, isn't it?"
"Yes, Johnny's just come in and Fergus 'as gone queer. Collapsed and
laid on t'floor."
&nb
sp; "Oh no!" An icy chill drove through me and for a moment I stared at
her, unable to move. Then I threw open the car door and hurried after
Johnny's mother into the end cottage. I halted abruptly in the little
room and stared down in horror. The very sight of the splendid
dignified animal scrabbling helplessly on the linoleum was a
desecration, but strychnine is no respecter of such things.
"Oh God!" I breathed.
"Has he vomited, Johnny?"
l "Aye, me mum said he was sick in t'back garden when we came in." Th
young man was sitting very upright in a chair by the side of his dog.
Even now there was a half smile on his face, but he looked strained as
he put out his hand in the old gesture and failed to find the head that
should have been there.
The bottle of barbiturate wobbled in my shaking hand as I filled the
syringe I tried to put away the thought that I was doing what I had
done to all the others all the dead ones. At my feet Fergus panted
desperately, then as I bent over him he suddenly became still and went
into the horrible distinctive spasm the great limbs I knew so well
straining frantically into space, the head pulled back grotesquely over
the spine. : This was when they died, when the muscles were at full
contraction. As the barbiturate flowed into the vein I waited for
signs of relaxation but saw none Fergus was about twice as heavy as any
of the other victims I had treated and the plunger went to the end of
the syringe without result.
Quickly I drew in another dose and began to inject it, my tension
building as I saw how much I was administering. The recommended dose
was I cc per 5 lb body weight and beyond that you could kill the
animal. I watched the gradations on the glass barrel of the syringe
and my mouth went dry when the dose crept far beyond the safety limit.
But I knew I had to relieve this spasm and continued to depress the
plunger relentlessly.
I did it in the grim knowledge that if he died now I would never know
whether to blame the strychnine or myself for his death.
The big dog had received more than a lethal amount before peace began
to return to the taut body and even then I sat back on my heels, almost
afraid to look in case I had brought about his end. There was a long
agonising moment when he lay still and apparently lifeless then the rib
cage began to move almost imperceptibly as the breathing recommenced.
Even then I was in suspense. The anaesthesia was so deep that he was
only just alive, yet I knew that the only hope was to keep him that
way. I sent Mrs' Clifford out to phone Siegfried that I would be tied
up here for a while, then I pulled up a chair and settled down to
wait.
The hours passed as Johnny and I sat there, the dog stretched between
us; The young man discussed the case calmly and without self-pity.
There was no suggestion that this was any thing more than a pet animal
Lying at his feet-except for the tell-tale reaching for the head that
was no longer there.
Several times Fergus showed signs of going into another spasm and each
time: I sent him back into his deep, deep insensibility, pushing him
repeatedly to the, brink with a fateful certainty that it was the only
way.
It was well after midnight when I came sleepily out into the darkness.
I felt drained. Watching the life of the friendly, clever,
face-licking animal flicker a$he lay inert and unheeding had been a
tremendous strain, but I had left him sleeping still anaesthetised but
breathing deeply and regularly. Would he wake up and start the dread
sequence again? I didn't know and I couldn't stay any longer. There
was a practice with other animals to at tend to.
But my anxiety jerked me into early wakefulness next morning. I tossed
around till seven thirty telling myself this wasn't the way to be a
veterinary surgeon, that you couldn't live like this. But my worry was
stronger than the voice of reason and I slipped out before breakfast to
the roadside cottage. .
My nerves were like a bowstring as I knocked on the door. Mrs
Clifford] answered and I was about to blurt out my enquiries when
Fergus trotted from the inner room.
He was still a little groggy from the vast dosage of barbiturate but he
was relaxed and happy, the symptoms had gone, he was himself again.
With a gush Of pure joy I knelt and took the great head between my
hands. He slobbered at me playfully with his wet tongue and I had to
fight him off.
He followed me into the living room where Johnny was seated at the
table, drinking tea. He took up his usual position, sitting upright
and proud by his master's side.
"You'll have a cup, Mr Herriot?" Mrs Clifford asked, poising the
teapot.
"Thanks, I'd love one, Mrs Clifford," I replied.
No tea ever tasted better and as I sipped I watched the young man's
smiling face.
"What a relief, Mr Herriot! I sat up with him all night, listen in'
to the chimes of the church clock. It was just after four when I knew
we'd won because I heard 'im get to his feet and sort o' stagger about.
I stopped worry in' then, just listened to 'is feet patterin'on the
linoleum. It was lovely!"
He turned his head to me and I looked at the slightly upturned eyes in
the cheerful face.
"I'd have been lost without Fergus, "he said softly.
"I don't know how to thank you."
But as he unthinkingly rested his hand on the head of the big dog who
was his pride and delight I felt that the gesture alone was all the
thanks I wanted.
That was the end of the strychnine poison ing outbreak in Darrow by.
The older people still talk about it, but nobody ever had the slightest
clue to the identity of the killer and it is a mystery to this day.
I feel that the vigilance of the police and the publicity in the press
frightened this twisted person off, but anyway it just stopped and the
only cases since then have been accidental ones.
To me it is a sad memory of failure and frustration. Fergus was my
only cure and I'm not sure why he recovered. Maybe the fact that I
pushed the injection to dangerous levels because I was desperate had
something to do with it, or maybe he just didn't pick up as much poison
as the others. I'll never know.
But over the years when I saw the big dog striding majestically in his
harness, leading his master unerringly around the streets of Darrow by,
I always had the same feeling.
If there had to be just one saved, I'm glad it was him.
Chapter Eighteen A tender nerve twinged as the old lady passed me the
cup of tea. She looked just like Mrs Beck.
One of the local churches was having a social evening to entertain us
lonely airmen and as I accepted the cup and sat down I could hardly
withdraw my eyes from the lady's face.
Mrs Beck! I could see her now standing by the surgery window.
"Oooh, I never thought you were such a 'eartless man, Mr Herriot."
Her chin trembled and she looked up at me reproachfully.
"But Mrs
Beck," I said.
"I assure you I am not being in the least heartless.
just cannot carry out a major operation on your cat for ten
shillings."
"Well, I thought you would've done it for a poor widder woman like
me."
I regarded her thoughtfully, taking in the small com pact figure, the
heal' cheeks, the neat helmet of grey hair pulled tightly into a bun.
Was she real a poor widow? There was cause for doubt. Her next-door
neighbour in Rayt village was a confirmed sceptic.
"It's all a tale, Mr Herriot," he had said.
"She tries it on wi' everybody, I'll tell you this she's got a long
stock in'. Owns property all over "'place."
I took a deep breath.
"Mrs Beck. We often do work at reduced rates for people who can't
afford to pay, but this is what we call a luxury operation."
"Luxury!" The lady was aghast.
"Eee, ah've been tell in' you how Georgi keeps havin' them kittens.
She's at it all the time and it's get tin' me down.
can't sleep for worry in' when t'next lot's com in'." She dabbed her
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