emma and company - Sheila Hocken

by Emma

  out into the country, away from suburbia. To me suburbia

  had become a 'no man's land' where people just slept. The

  houses in the daytime were deserted while everyone was

  away at the city earning their living, busy with shops and

  factories. The country too would be busy, but with animals

  and birds, the sound of corn rustling in open fields. That was

  where i wanted to live. Because of increasing rules and

  regulations suburbia had become a place of emptiness, at

  least to me. We'd been turned down to run our boarding

  cattery in our suburban garden because businesses weren't

  the thing where we lived, not that sort of business anyway.

  There was a time - even i remember - when people kept

  chickens in their back garden, but nowadays you're only

  allowed to prune your roses. i felt a deep sadness for those

  people who had to lock their doors in the morning and catch

  the buses to the city. At least i could be free. Free to choose

  when i wanted to do my work. It meant I could enjoy the

  beautiful days and the scenery around me and get out to take

  in every inch of the countryside, perhaps because i appreciate

  it more than other people. i had time to stand in the fields

  and watch the rabbits play and listen to the birds sing. I'm

  one of the lucky ones.

  i stared at the cottage nestled in the green fields. Yes, i

  could easily settle here with my dogs around me. We both

  wanted to run boarding kennels. i was very lucky to have

  50

  met Don, not only because he's such a nice person, but

  because his ideas always coincide with mine. I've always

  loved dogs and had a longing to run boarding kennels. i

  d.on't know why, because it's all hard work and worry but i

  have a need to look after dogs and I, for one, can't bear the

  thought of going on holiday and leaving my dogs in kennels.

  So i feel that it's up to me to run the sort of kennels and

  cattery that people wouldn't mind leaving their pets in. Don,

  who I'm sure had no intention of ever running any boarding

  kennels, had come round to my way of thinking. Because of

  his great love for our dogs he'd become more and more

  interested in them. And he, too, was beginning to feel the

  suffocation of house-upon-house, garden-upon-garden.

  Don edged the car slowly up the drive to Rose Cottage.

  'Look that's the paddock on the right!' he said. 'We could

  build the kennels there, then we could make a car park at the

  top, tarmac all this drive ... it would be a lot easier. What do

  you think about setting poplars along that line, wouldn't

  that look lovely?'

  Don had got it all set out in his mind. We hadn't even

  looked round the house yet. 'Oh, it would,' I agreed with

  him. 'It would look perfect.'

  Don pulled the car round the house, stopped, leaned over

  the steering wheel and gazed into the distance. 'Look at that

  view. Isn't it fantastic?'

  I was getting out of the car, eager to look round the house.

  'Come in, come in,' Mrs Adams welcomed us. 'I'm sorry it

  isn't a very nice day. It looks much more beautiful in the

  sunshine.'

  We always seemed to look at houses when it was dull or

  raining, but that didn't put us off this one and when i saw the

  kitchen ... it was a positive housewife's dream - fitted units,

  double sinks and large picture windows where i could

  visualize myself looking over the fields while i washed up. i

  could see cows standing across the other side of the garden

  fence mooing gently. Their sound gave me a feeling of

  tranquillity and timelessness. It wouldn't seem half as much

  of a chore as it did at the moment, staring out to another

  5i

  brick wall. There was only one thing wrong with the house

  as far as Don and i could see, and that was the indoor

  swimming pool. We didn't want a swimming pool. It

  seemed a waste to us of time, money and space. I'd got

  ideas of turning that into an indoor cattery.

  'Yes, we like it very much,' Don told Mrs Adams. 'All

  we need now is the planning permission to have our

  boarding kennels here.'

  'Oh, I'm sure you won't have any trouble getting that.

  After all, it's right out in the country. You can't be bothering

  anyone, can you, with dogs here?'

  I wasn't so sure, having been up against our local

  council once before. Again, the planning forms poured in they'

  re almost as bad as tax forms. We filled them in and

  sent them back and dreamed. Dreamed of what it would

  be like out in the country and of how we'd build the

  kennels. Don spent most evenings drawing plans up.

  'What do you think of this one?' he said. 'If we had

  some standard rose trees along that row of kennels there

  it'd look lovely. In fact, we could put some seats out. You

  could sit there in the summer.'

  i laughed. 'I won't have time to sit there in the summer

  if all those kennels are full, will i?'

  'Mm, no. Well i could sit there,' he said jokingly.

  I knew he wouldn't have time. We're both the same,

  Don and i. We think the same and we do the same and we

  love working. i could imagine nothing more heavenly than

  us both working together. But our dreams were shattered

  when, a few weeks later, we had the reply from the Planning

  Office. No, they wouldn't give us permission for

  boarding kennels there, owing to various objections they

  had received from people living around the area. One of

  the objectors had put forward the idea that dogs could

  escape and run riot round the country.

  'I want to run boarding kennels,' i said to Don, 'not a

  compound for killer dogs!'

  'And then there was the traffic problem . the

  council's letter went on. 'Residents are objecting to the

  52

  noise that the many cars coming up and down the road

  would bring.'

  That made me smile. 'Anybody would think they'd be

  coming in bus loads and droves, boarding their dogs with

  us.' If only we had a right of reply to these things, i could

  have explained that probably most of our clients' pets would

  have been collected and delivered. There would have been

  hardly any traffic at all, and what there would have been we

  were going to cater for by our own car park.

  'Oh well,' i said to Don, throwing the letter in the waste

  bin, 'back to the evening papers.' I found consolation in the

  fact that at least i could take the dogs out and get my daily

  dose of the countryside before returning to suburbia.

  Buttons and Bracken would race around like motorbikes,

  while Emma - when i took her with me -would sedately sniff

  each blade of grass. There was a time, not so long ago, when

  Emma could easily walk four miles over the fields and still

  did not look as tired as Buttons or Bracken, but these days

  she often didn't come with me. She decided that the best

  place was at home asleep on the carpet. Of course she was

  slowing down. I'd begun to notice it but i wouldn'
t accept

  the fact. i pretended she just didn't feel like it today, would

  rather stop in and she~d probably want to come tomorrow.

  Emma slowed down to such an extent that i began to get

  quite worried about her. Yes, she was sixteen, a very old

  lady. Most dogs didn't make it to that age, but Emma was

  dillerent. Emma would go on forever, i told myself. But i

  had that nagging fear at the back of my mind that i could

  never voice to anyone: Emma was slowing down too much

  and too fast. She wasn't taking an interest in what was going

  on around her. She didn't get up to make a fuss of anyone

  that came in. Even her food was losing its appeal.

  The crunch came one Saturday night. Don and i had been

  watching a thriller film on television and it was about one

  o'clock when i switched the set off and prepared to put the

  dogs out into the garden for their last walk round. i went to

  open the back door. 'Everyone out!'i called. They knew that

  command. It was a nightly ritual and they'd all rush to the

  53

  i

  back door to have their last smell of the night air before

  settling down. Buttons and Bracken ran out into the garden

  but there was no sign of Emma. i closed the back door and

  went into the lounge. She was still fast asleep near the chair

  where I'd been sitting. 'Come on, Emma. It's everybody

  out time.' i gave her a stroke. She never made a noise or

  attempted to get up. 'There's a good girl, come on.' i knelt

  down on the carpet. 'What's the matter?'

  After a while she tried to raise herself offthe floor, but she

  couldn't seem to get on to her back legs. i helped her up

  and she stalyeered about the lounge as if she was in a daze,

  not knowing quite where she was or what she wanted. i

  guided her slowly into the kitchen but the floor was too

  much for her. It was slippery and she kept falling over.

  Inwardly i wanted to run away from the situation, to run

  screaming from the house, to pretend that it wasn't happening

  and leave Don to deal with it, but i knew that it was

  me that had to be there to help her. She didn't want to go

  out. Instead, she went to the water bowl. She stood over it

  as if gazing into its depths, trying to drink from it but

  unable to. i looked at my watch. It was one-thirty in the

  morning but it didn't matter. i had to ring the vet. Don was

  standing at the kitchen door.

  'Oh, poor girl. What's the matter with her?'

  'I don't know. Will you come over here and watch her.

  I'll go and ring the vet.'

  'Her tummy looks strange,' Don commented as he went

  towards her. 'Have you noticed? Look, it's like a balloon.'

  i took one glance and then dashed for the phone. 'Come

  on, hurry up and answer,' i urged, almost before I'd

  finished dialling the number. It rang and rang. 'You've got

  to be there,' i said. 'You're a vet, you've got to be there.' At

  last a sleepy voice said hello. It sounded like a young girl to

  me. 'Are you the vet?' i almost screamed.

  'Yes, what is it?'

  'You must come out. It's Emma. There's something

  terribly wrong with her, you must come out.'

  'Yes, all right, i will. What's the address?'

  54

  i gabbled it to heit~. 'I'll look out for you,' I said. 'I'll stand

  at the bottom of the clrive.'

  'Don't worry. i kriow where you live,' she said and put

  down the phone.

  'Are they coming?, Don called from the kitchen.

  'Yes. i think i got lier out of bed.'

  'Which vet was it?'

  i went to a practiQC where there were about six vets. 'Don't

  know. Didn't recogrlize her voice.'

  'I hope she's gooct,' Don muttered.

  So did i.

  55

  i

  CHAPTERSEVEN

  i T S E E M E D A N eternity as i stared out of the lounge window

  into the empty darkness, watching for headlights, listening

  for the sound of a car. Don had helped Emma back into the

  lounge, where she'd flopped back down on to the carpet.

  'Why doesn't she come?' i groaned.

  'Shall i put the kettle on?' Don asked, always practical.

  'I'm sure she'll want a drink and i bet you could do with a

  cup of tea, couldn't you?'

  'Yes, yes I could. Let me do it,' i said. i had to keep my

  mind occupied. i filled the kettle slowly, meticulously put it

  in the right place and plugged it in, emptied the teapot and

  then decided to give it a wash for good measure.

  'She's here!' Don shouted from the front door.

  i flung the teapot on to the draining board and rushed

  down the hall. 'Thank God', i said to myself. It's at times

  like these when you begin to think of your vet as almost a

  God. They are the people who really matter in the world - i

  expect them to work miracles, to conjure up magic from their

  little black bag. But, as i greeted my vet on the doorstep, my

  heart began to sink. She seemed a young girl to me, probably

  only twenty-three or twenty-four, long brown hair, very

  slightly built. She didn't look as if she could lift a poodle on to

  an examination table, let alone treat a Labrador. But,

  nevertheless, i urged her to come in the hall.

  'It's Emma,' I said. 'She's in the lounge. There's something

  terribly wrong with her.'

  'Let's have a look, shall we?' She was still dishevelled from

  sleep. Obviously I'd dragged her out of bed. 'What's the

  matter with her, what are the symptoms?'

  'She couldn't get up on to her back legs and when she

  managed to she fell over again. She made for the water bowl

  56

  but didn't drink anything, shejust stared blindly into it. And

  look at her tummy - it's huge. Can you do something, what's

  the matter with her?' i was sure this young slip of a girl

  wouldn't be able to diagnose a cold. Why hadn't they sent

  someone else, someone older, one of the other vets who had

  treated Emma before?

  'There's a good girl, Emma,' she said in a calm, sleepy

  voice. She fondled her ears and stroked her head before

  examining her tummy. She reached for a stethoscope out of

  her bag. 'Mm, her heart's strong enough. That's one,good

  thing.' After taking Emma's temperature and looking' into

  her mouth, she sat back on the carpet. 'Well, it looks as if

  there's a lot of gas in there. She's either eaten something

  that's really upset her or there's a virus that's attacking her.'

  'Can you do anything?' i pleaded. 'Will she be all right?'

  'I'll give her an injection and see if that does the trick.' She

  pulled out a syringe and a bottle from her black bag and

  injected Emma. 'I'll wait a little while to see what happens.'

  She closed her bag up and sat on the settee.

  'Would you like a cup of tea?' Don asked. 'I've just made

  one.'

  'Yes, please.'

  'I'm sorry, we don't know your name,' Don said.

  'Gwen.'

  'Well, Gwen, do you take sugar?'

  'No, thank you. Nice and strong, it might wake me up a

  bit.'


  i was still a little unsure of Gwen's qual Ifications and

  wondered if she was good enough to treat Emma, but i tried

  to relax. 'I'm sorry for getting you out of bed,' i said, 'but it

  was urgent.'

  'Oh yes, don't worry about that. One of the hazards of our

  profession.'

  'Have you just qualified?' i asked. 'I ha,en't seen you

  before.'

  'Yes, I've not been here long. M,,, firstjob, actually.'

  My heart began to sink again. 'Have you treated many

  Labradors?'

  57

  Quite a few. How old is Emma now?'

  'She's over sixteen,' i told her. 'An old lady really but I'm

  sure she has plenty of life in heryet.'i said it toreassure myself

  more than anyone else. Gwen sipped her tea and looked

  anxiously across at Emma. Don tried to keep the conversation

  going by asking her where she'd come from and did she like

  what she'd seen of Nottingham. Emma gave a deep sigh and

  stretched out on the carpet.

  Gwen put her cup down and went over. 'Her tummy's

  definitely going down. i certainly think that's working. I'll

  wait a little longer and see how she is.'

  Gwen was beginning to go up a little in my esteem. Perhaps

  she wasn't so bad after all. Two or three cups of tea later and

  Don seemed to know everything there was to know about

  Gwen-where she'd been born, where she'd qualified and why

  she'd become a vet. i heard most of the conversation secondhand

  later from Don. i hadn't been listening, i sat watching

  Emma and praying. Emma sighed again and i went over to

  her and stroked her. She lifted her head and wagged her tail.

  'Look, look! Her tail's wagging,' i cried with greatjoy. All

  three of us sat there with silly grins on our faces.

  'I'm sure she'll be all right now,' said Gwen, 'but it'll be

  quite a time before she's herself again. This has obviously

  been coming on for some time.'

  'What about her back legs?'i said.'Will she be able to walk

  again?'lt seemed as humiliating for a dog to be mentally alert

  and bodily unable as, ofcourse, it is for human beings. But the

  thought of Emma becoming an invalid for the rest of her life

  struck a chord deep inside me. It took me back to my

  blindness, my helplessness before i had Emma and although