Part 13 (2/2)
”Aye, he is.”
”Getting plenty of exercise?”
”Yes, a good walk night and mornin'. You know I look after me dog, Mr. Herriot.”
”Yes, of course you do. But...he's not up round your table like he used to be. Not...er...interested in the customers.”
He nodded miserably. ”Aye, that's t'only thing. But he isn't ill.”
”Let's have a look at him,” I said. I went over to the fire and bent over the dog. ”Come on, Blanco, old lad, let's see you on your feet.”
I tapped him on the rump and he got up slowly. I looked at the tailor. ”He seems a bit stiff.”
”Aye, maybe, but 'e soon works it off when I take him out.”
”Not really lame, though? No pins?”
”Nay, nay, ah can allus tell when he's picked one up.”
”Hmm. Still, I'd better check on his paws.”
Whenever I lifted one of Blanco's feet I had the same feeling as when I examined a horse's hoof and, indeed, had to stop myself from saying, ”Whoa, there, boy,” and tucking the paw between my knees.
I carefully inspected each foot, squeezing the pads, which were the usual sites for the dangerous pins, but all seemed normal. I took his temperature, auscultated his chest and palpated his abdomen without finding any clues. But as I looked down at the big animal I could not rid myself of the nagging certainty that there was something amiss.
Blanco, tiring of my attention, sat down, and he did so gingerly, lowering himself carefully onto the fireside rug.
That wasn't right at all. ”Get up, lad,” I said quickly.
There had to be some trouble at his rear end. Impacted a.n.a.l glands, perhaps? No, they were all right. I pa.s.sed my hands down the ma.s.sive thighs and on the left side, as I felt my way down the musculature, the dog winced suddenly. There was a painful swelling there and as I clipped away the hair, all became clear. Deeply embedded in the flesh was one of his old enemies, a pin.
It was a moment's work to extract it with my forceps and I turned to Mr. Bendelow. ”Well, there it is. He must have sat on this when it got onto the rug. It's a wonder he hasn't been lame, but there's a little abscess which has been upsetting him. An abscess is a depressing thing.”
”Aye...aye...but what can you do?” He looked at me with worried eyes.
”I'll have to get him round to the surgery and drain the pus away. Then he'll be fine.”
Blanco's visit to Skeldale House pa.s.sed off smoothly. I evacuated the abscess and filled up the cavity by squeezing a few of the ever-useful penicillin intramammary tubes into it.
I didn't visit Mr. Bendelow for another week. I clung to the hope that he might have repaired my working trousers. My wardrobe was very limited and I sorely needed them.
The scene was as always, the tailor on his table and Blanco stretched by the fire. And strangely, Mrs. Haw, the farmer's wife I had seen at my first visit, was there.
She was having a kind of tug-of-war with her husband's waistcoat, which Mr. Bendelow had apparently mended at last but was reluctant to release. His lips were moving rapidly with his quick-fire delivery. ”And that's what the feller said to me. You wouldn't believe it, would you, and that's not all...”
With a quick tug the lady managed to win possession of the waistcoat. ”Thank ye very much, Mr. Bendelow. I'll 'ave to go now...” She nodded, waved and scurried past me, looking exhausted but triumphant.
The tailor turned to me. ”Ah, it's you, Mr. Herriot.”
”Yes, Mr. Bendelow, I was wondering...”
”You'll remember I was just goin' to tell you that story about the rich man.”
”About my trousers...”
”He was an old farmer, he kept his bra.s.s in the house in buckets. His missus brought up a bucket and she said, 'There's fifteen hundred pounds in this bucket' and the old chap said, 'There's summat wrong somewhere. There should be two thousand in that 'un.' And do you know, that man and his wife used to pay separately for their own food. It's true what I'm tellin' you-she went out and bought hers and 'e did the same. And I'll tell you summat else, Mr. Herriot...”
”Have you, by any chance, managed to... ?
”Just listen to this-”
”Hey, Bendy!” A big man had just come in and he was roaring over my shoulder. ”I can 'ear you and ah'm not listenin'! I want my b.l.o.o.d.y jacket!”
It was Gobber Newhouse, hugely fat, notorious drunk and bully. Stale beer fumes billowed around him as he bellowed again. ”Don't give me any of your b.l.o.o.d.y excuses, Bendy, ah know you!”
Like a surfacing white whale, Blanco rose from the fireside and surged to the table. He seemed to know the kind of man he was dealing with and didn't waste any frills on him. Reaching his mighty head high he opened his mouth wide and bayed with tremendous force into the red sweating face. ”Whaaa! Whaaa!”
Gobber backed away. ”b.l.o.o.d.y dog ...siddown...gerrim away, Bendy.”
”Whaaa! Whaaa! Whaaa!” went Blanco.
The big man was half out of the door when Mr. Bendelow signalled with his needle. ”Come next week.”
”As I was sayin', Mr. Herriot...” he continued.
”I really do need...”
”Next week, definite, but let me tell you...”
”Must go, I'm afraid.” I escaped into the street.
Out there my feelings were mixed, but on the whole, happy. I still hadn't got my trousers, but Blanco was right back on the job.
Chapter 20.
FIVE O'CLOCK IN THE morning and the telephone jangling in my ear. Ewe lambing at Walton's, a lonely farm on the high moorland, and as I crawled from the haven of bed into the icy air of the bedroom and began to pull on my clothes I tried not to think of the comfortless hour or two ahead.
Pus.h.i.+ng my arms through my s.h.i.+rtsleeves, I gritted my teeth as the cloth chafed the flesh. In the pale dawn light I could see the little red fissures that covered my hands and ran up to my elbows. In lambing time I hardly ever seemed to have my jacket on and the constant was.h.i.+ng in the open pens or in windy fields had turned my skin to raw meat. I could detect the faint scent of Helen's glycerine and rose water which she applied to my arms every night and made them bearable.
Helen stirred under the blankets and I went over and kissed her cheek. ”Off to Walton's,” I whispered.
Eyes closed, she nodded against the pillow, and I could just hear her sleepy murmur. ”Yes... I heard.”
<script>