into the air, scream at the top of our voices and run off the square at
top speed.
And I had to admit that it seemed quite a brain wave. We tried it a
few times then we began to put our hearts into it, jumping high,
yelling like dervishes then scuttling away into the various openings
among the hotels around the square.
It must have looked marvellous from the balcony. The great mass of
white-clad men going through the long routine in a cathedral hush, a
few seconds of complete immobility at the end then the whole concourse
erupting with a wild yell and disappearing, leaving the empty square
echoing. And this last touch had another desirable aspect; it was
further proof of our latent savagery. The enemy would have quaked at
that chilling sound.
The sergeant had a little trouble with a lad in my flight, a tall
gangling red-haired youth called Cromarty who stood in the line in
front of me a few feet to my right. Cromarty seemed unable to enter
into the spirit of the thing.
"Come on, lad," the sergeant said one day.
"Put a bit of devil into it! You got to sound like a killer. You're
floating up and down there like a ruddy fairy godmother."
Cromarty did try, but the thing seemed to embarrass him. He gave a
little hop, an apologetic jerk of his arms and a feeble cry.
The sergeant ran his hand through his hair.
"No, no, lad! You've got to let yourself go!" He looked around him.
"Here, Devlin, come out and show 'im how it's done."
Devlin, a grinning Irishman, stepped forward. The scream was the high
point of his day. He stood relaxed for a moment then without warning
catapulted himself high in the air, legs and arms splayed, head back,
while a dreadful animal cry burst from his gaping mouth.
The sergeant took an involuntary step backwards.
"Thanks, Devlin, that's fine," he said a little shakily, then he turned
to Cromarty.
"Now you see how I want it, boy, just like that. So work at it."
Cromarty nodded. He had a long, serious face and you could see he
wanted to oblige. After that I watched him each day and there was no
doubt he was improving. His inhibitions were gradually being worn
down.
It seemed that nature was smiling on our efforts because the great day
dawned with blue skies and warm sunshine. Every man among the hundreds
who marched out into the square had been individually prepared. Newly
bathed, fresh haircut, spotless white shorts and singlet. We waited in
our motionless lines before the newly painted door of the Grand while,
on the balcony above, gold braid glinted on the air marshal's cap.
He stood among a knot of the top RAF brass of Scar borough, while in
one corner I could see our sergeant, erect in long white flannels, his
great chest sticking out further than ever. Beneath us the sea
shimmered and the golden bay curved away to the Riley cliffs.
The sergeant raised his hand.
"Peep' went the whistle and we were off.
There was something exhilarating about being part of this smooth
machine.
I had a wonderful sense of oneness with the arms and legs which moved
with mine all around. It was effortless. We had ten exercises to do
and at the end of the first we stood rigid for ten seconds, then the
whistle piped and we started again.
The time passed too quickly as I revelled in our perfection. At the
end of exercise nine I came to attention waiting for the whistle,
counting under my breath. Nothing stirred, the silence was profound.
Then, from the motionless ranks, as unexpected as an exploding bomb,
Cromarty in front of me launched himself upwards in a tangle of
flailing limbs and red hair and unleashed a long bubbling howl. He had
put so much into his leap that he seemed to take a long time to come
down and even after his descent the shattering sound echoed on.
Cromarty had made it at last. As fierce and warlike a scream, as high
a jump as ever the sergeant could desire. The only snag was that he
was too soon.
When the whistle went for the last exercise,a lot of people didn't hear
it because of the noise and many others were in a state of shock and
came in late.
Anyway, it was a shambles and the final yell and scuttle a sad
anticlimax. I myself, though managing to get a few inches off the
ground, was unable to make any sound at all.
Had Cromarty not been serving in the armed forces of a benign democracy
he would probably have been taken quietly away and shot. As it was,
there was really nothing anybody could do to him. NCOs weren't even
allowed to swear at the men.
I felt for the PT sergeant. There must have been a lot he wanted to
say but he was grievously restricted. I saw him with Cromarty later.
He put his face close to the young man's.
"You ... you . .." His features worked as he fought for words
"You THiNG you!"
He turned and walked away with bowed shoulders. At that moment I'm
sure he felt like a pawn too.
Chapter Seventeen There is no doubt that when I looked back at my life
in Darrow by I was inclined to bathe the whole thing in a rosy glow,
but occasionally the unhappy things came to mind.
That man, distraught and gasping on the surgery steps.
"I's no good, I can't bring him in. He's as stiff as a board!"
My stomach lurched. It was another one.
"Jasper, you mean CVPC hP'c in the back of mv car. right here."
I ran across the pavement and opened the car door. It was as I feared,
a handsome Dalmatian stretched in a dreadful tetanic spasm, spine
arched, head craning desperately backward, legs like four wooden rods
groping at nothing.
I didn't wait to talk but dashed back into the house for syringe and
drugs.
I leaned into the car, tucked some papers under the dog's head,
injected the apomorphine and waited.
The man looked at me with anxious eyes.
"What is it?"
"Strychnine poison ing, Mr Bartle. I've just given an emetic to make
him vomit." As I spoke the animal brought up the contents of his
stomach on to the paper.
"Will that put him right?"
"It depends on how much of the poison has been absorbed." I didn't
feel like telling him that it was almost invariably fatal, that in fact
I had treated six dogs in the last week with the same condition and
they had all died.
"We'll just have to hope."
He watched me as I filled another syringe with barbiturate.
"What are you doing now?"
"Anaesthetising him." I slipped the needle into the radial vein and as
I slowly trickled the fluid into the dog's bloodstream the taut muscles
relaxed and he sank into a deep slumber.
"He looks better already," Mr Bartle said.
"Yes, but the trouble is when the injection wears off he may go back
into a spasm. As I say, it all depends on how much of the strychnine
has got into his System. Keep him in a quiet place with as little
noise as possible. Any sound can bring on a spasm. When he shows
signs of coming out of
it give me a ring."
I went back into the house. Seven cases in a week! It was tragic and
scarcely believable, but there was no doubt left in my mind now. This
was malicious.
Some psychopath in our little town was deliberately putting down poison
to kill dogs Strychnine poison ing was something that cropped up
occasionally.
Gamekeepers and other people used the deadly drug to kill vermin but
usually it was handled with great care and placed out of reach of
domestic pets. Trouble started when a burrowing dog came across the
poison by accident. But this was different.
I had to warn pet owners somehow. I lifted the 'phone and spoke to one
of the reporters on the Darrow by and Houltorz Times. He promised to
put the Story in the next edition, along with advice to keep dogs on
their leads and Otherwise supervise pets more carefully.
Then I rang the police. The sergeant listened to my account.
"Right, Mr Herriot, I agree with you that there's some crackpot going
around and we'll certainly investigate this matter. If you'll just
give me the names of the dog owners involved . . . thank you . . .
thank you. We'll see these people and check round the local chemists
to see if anybody has been buying strychnine lately And of course we'll
keep our eyes open for anybody acting suspiciously."
I came away from the 'phone feeling that I might have done something to
halt the depressing series of events, but I couldn't rid myself of a
gloomy apprehension that more trouble was round the corner. But my
mood lightened when I saw Johnny Clifford in the waiting room.
Johnny always made me feel better because he was invariably optimistic
and wore a cheerful grin which never altered, even though he was blind.
He was about my own age and he sat there in his habitual pose, one hand
on the head of his guide dog, Fergus.
"Is it inspection time again already, Johnny?" I asked.
"Aye, it is that, Mr Herriot, it's come round again. It's been a
quick six months." He laughed and held out his card.
I squatted and looked into the face of the big Alsatian sitting
motionless and dignified by his master's side.
"Well, and how's Fergus these days?"
"Oh he's in grand fettle. Eat in' well and full of life." The hand on
the head moved round to the ears and at the other end the tail did a
bit of sweeping along the waiting-room floor.
As I looked at the young man, his face alight with pride and affection,
I realised afresh what this dog meant to him. He had told me that when
his failing sight progressed to total blindness in his early twenties
he was filled with a despair which did not lessen until he was sent to
train with a guide dog and met Fergus; because he found something more
than another living creature to act as his eyes, he found a friend and
com panion to share every moment of his days.
"Well, we'd better get started," I said.
"Stand up a minute, old lad, while I take your temperature." That was
normal and I went over the big animal's chest with a stethoscope,
listening to the reassuringly steady thud of the heart. As
I
parted the hair along the neck and back to examine the skin I
laughed.
"I'm wasting my time here, Johnny. You've got his coat in perfect
condition."
"Aye, never a day goes by but he gets a good groom in'."
I had seen him at it, brushing and combing tirelessly to bring extra
lustre to the sleek swathes of hair. The nicest thing anybody could
say to Johnny was, "That's a beautiful dog you've got." His pride in
that beauty was boundless even though he had never seen it himself.
Treating guide dogs for the blind has always seemed to me to be one of
a veterinary surgeon's most rewarding tasks. To be in a position to
help and care for these magnificent animals is a privilege, not just
because they are highly!
trained and valuable but because they represent in the ultimate way
something which has always lain near the core and centre of my life:
the mutually' depending, trusting and loving association between man
and animal.
Meeting these blind people was a humbling experience which sent me
about.r 'v work with a new appreciation of my blessings.
opened the dog's mouth and peered at the huge gleaming teeth. It was
dicing danger to do this with some Alsatians, but with Fergus you could
haul the -Nap part and nearly put your head in and he would only lick
your ear.
at it now. My cheek was nicely within range and he gave it - his large
wet tongue. ~ ~the, Fergus!" I withdrew and plied my handkerchief.
"I've' had a wash this morning. And anyway, only little dogs lick not
big tough Alsatians."
Johnny threw back his head and gave a great peal of laughter.
"There's nowt tough about him, he's the softest dog you could ever
meet."
~Well, that's the way I like them." I said. I reached for a tooth
scaler.
"There's just a bit of tartar on one of his back teeth. I'll scrape it
off right now."
When I had finished I looked in the ears with an auroscope. There was
no canker but I cleaned out a little wax.
Then I went round the feet, examining paws and claws. They always
fascinated me, these feet; wide, enormous, with great spreading toes.
They had to be that size to support the big body and the massive bones
of the limbs.
"All correct except that one funny claw, Johnny."
"Aye, you all us have to trim that 'un don't you? I could feel it was
grow in' long again."
"Yes, that toe seems to be slightly crooked or it would wear down like
the others with all the walking he does. You have a great time going
walks all day, don't you, Fergus?"
I dodged another attempted lick and closed my clippers around the claw.
I had to squeeze till my eyes popped before the overgrown piece shot
away with a loud crack.
"By gosh, we'd go through some clippers if all dogs had claws like
that," I gasped.
"It just about does them in every time he calls."
Johnny laughed again and dropped his hand on the great head with a
gesture which said so much.
I took the card entered my report on the dog's health along with the
things I had done. Then I dated it and handed it back.
"That's it for this time, Johnny.
He's in excellent order and there's nothing more I need do to him."
"Thank you, Mr Herriot. See you next time round, then." The young
man took hold of the harness and I followed the two of them along the
passage and out of the front door. I watched as Fergus halted by the
kerb and waited till a car had passed before crossing the road.
They hadn't gone very far along the road when a woman with a shopping
bag stopped them. She began to chatter animatedly, loo king down
repeatedly at the big dog. She was talking about Fergus and Johnny
rested his hand on the noble head and nodded and smiled. Fergus was
his favourite topic.
Shortly after midday Mr Bartle rang to say Jasper showed signs of
re
turning spasms and before sitting down to lunch I rushed round to his
house and repeated the barbiturate injection. Mr Bartle owned one of
the local mills, producing cattle food for the district. He was a very
bright man indeed.
"Mr Herriot," he said.
"Please don't misunderstand me. I have every faith in you, but isn't
there any thing else you can do? I am so very fond of this dog."
I shrugged helplessly.
"I'm sorry, but I can't do any more."
"But is there no antidote to this poison?"
"No, I'm afraid there isn't."
"Well...." He looked down with drawn face at the unconscious animal.
'what's going on? What's happening to Jasper when he goes stiff like
he did?
I'm only a layman but I like to understand things."
"I'll try to explain it," I said.
"Strychnine is absorbed into the nervous system and it increases the
conductivity of the spinal cord."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that the muscles become more sensitive to outside stimuli so