James Herriot - Vet in Harness

I finally decided it would be the best thing to sedate him and gave him a shot of morphine. When we went to bed he was stretched out sound asleep in Sam's basket with Sam himself curled up philosophically on the rug by his side.

Next morning he was still unhappy but sufficiently recovered to look around him and take stock. When I went up and spoke to him he rolled over on his back, not playfully but almost automatically as though it was a normal mannerism. I bent and rubbed his chest while he looked up at me non-commitally. I liked dogs which rolled over like this; they were usually good-natured and it was a gesture of trust.

"That's better, old lad,' I said. "Come on, cheer up!'

For a moment his mouth opened wide. He had a comical little monkey face and briefly it seemed to be split in two by a huge grin, making him look extraordinarily attractive.

Helen spoke over my shoulder. "He's a lovely little dog, Jim! He's so appealing - I could get really fond of him.'

Yes, that was the trouble. So could I. I could get too fond of all the unwanted animals which passed through our hands; not just the abandoned ones but the dogs which came in for euthanasia with the traumatic addendum 'unless you can find him a home'. That put the pressure on me. Putting an animal to sleep when he was incurably ill, in pain, or so old that life had lost its savour was something I could tolerate. In fact often it seemed as though I were doing the suffering creature a favour. But when a young, healthy, charming animal was involved then it was a harrowing business.

What does a vet do in these circumstances. Refuse and send the owner away with the lurking knowledge that the man might go round to the chemist and buy a dose of posion? That was far worse than our humane, painless barbiturate. One thing a vet can't do is take in all those animals himself. If I had given way to all my impulses I would have accumulated a positive menagerie by now.

It was a hell of a problem which had always troubled me and now I had a soft hearted wife which made the pull twice as strong.

I turned to her now and voiced my thoughts.

"Helen, we can't keep him, you know. One dog in a bed-sitter is enough.' I didn't add that we ourselves probably would not be in the bed-sitter much longer; that was another thing I didn't want to bring up.

She nodded. "I suppose so. But I have the feeling that this is one of the sweetest little dogs I've seen for a long time. When he gets over his fear, I mean. What on earth can we do with him?'

"Well, he's a stray.' I bent again and rubbed the rough hair over the chest. "So he should really go to the kennels at the police station. But if he isn't claimed in ten days we are back where we started.' I put my hand under the terrier's body and lifted him, limp and unresisting, into the crook of my arm. He liked people, this one; liked and trusted them. "I could ask around the practice, of course, but nobody seems to want a dog when there's one going spare.' I thought for a moment or two. "Maybe an advert in the local paper.'

"Wait a minute,' Helen said. "Talking about the paper - didn't I read something about an animal shelter last week?'

I looked at her uncomprehendingly then I remembered.

"That's right. Sister Rose from the Topley Banks hospital. They were interviewing her about the stray animals she had taken in. It would be worth a try' I replaced the terrier in Sam's basket. "We'll keep this little chap today and I'll ring Sister Rose when I finish work tonight.'

At teatime I could see that things were getting out of hand. When I came in the little dog was on Helen's knee and it looked as though he had been there for a long time. She was stroking his head and looking definitely broody.

Not only that, but as I looked down at him I could feel myself weakening.

Little phrases were creeping unbidden into my mind ... "I wonder if we could ~ find room for him ... ' ... "Not much extra trouble ... ' ... "Perhaps if .) we ...'

I had to act quickly or I was sunk. Reaching for the phone I dialled the hospital number. They soon found Sister Rose and I listened to a cheerful, businesslike voice. She didn't seem to find anything unusual in the situation and the matter-of fact way she asked questions about the terrier's age, appearance, temperament etc. gave the impression that she had seen a lot of unwanted animals through her hands.

I could hear the firm pencilling sounds as she took notes then, "Well now that sounds fine. He's the sort we can usually find a home for. When can you bring him along?'

"Now,' I replied.

The misty look in Helen's eyes as I marched out with the dog under my arm told me I was only just in time. And as I drove along the road I couldn't put away the thought that if things had been different - the future settled and a proper home - this little brown creature rolling on his back on the passenger seat with his wide mouth half open and the friendly eyes fixed questioningly on mine would never have got away from me. Only when the occasional car trashed by did he spring upright and look from the window with the old despairing expression. Would he ever forget?

Sister Louisa Rose was a rather handsome woman in her late forties with the sort of healthy smiling face I had imagined at the other end of the phone. She reached out and took the terrier from me with the eager gesture of the animal lover.

"Oh, he looks rather a dear, doesn't he?' she murmured.

Behind her house, a modern bungalow in the open country near the hospital, she led me to a row of kennels with outside runs. Some of them housed single dogs but there was one large one with an assortment of mixed breeds playing happily together on the grass.

"I think we'll put him in here,' she said. "It'll cheer him up quicker than anything and I'm sure he'll mix in well.' She opened a door in the wire netting surround and pushed the little animal in. The other dogs surrounded him and there was the usual ceremonious sniffing and leg-cocking.

Sister Rose cupped her chin with her hand and looked down thoughtfully through the wire. "A name, we must have a name ... let me see .. no ... no ... yes ... Pip! We'll call him Pip!'

She looked at me with raised eyebrows and I nodded vigorously. "Yes, definitely - just right. He looks like a Pip.'

She smiled impishly. "I think so, too, but I've had a lot of practice, you know. I've become rather good at it.'

"I'll bet you have. I suppose you've named all this lot?'

"Of course.' She began to point them out one by one. "There's Bingo he was a badly neglected puppy. And Fergus - just lost. That bigger retriever is Griff - he was the survivor of a car crash where his owners were killed. And Tessa, badly injured when she was thrown from a fast-moving vehicle. Behind her over there is Sally Anne who really started me in the business of Animal Sheltering. She was found heavily pregnant with her paws bleeding so she must have run for many miles. I took her in and managed to find homes for all her puppies and she's still here. Placing those pups got me into contact with a lot of pet owners and before I knew what was happening everybody had the idea that I regularly took in stray animals. So I started and you can see the result. I shall have to expand these premises soon.'

Pip didn't look so lonely now and after the preliminary courtesies he joined a group watching interestedly a fierce tug-of-war on a stick between a Collie and a crossed Labrador I laughed "You know I had no idea you had all these dogs. How long do you keep them?'

"Till I can find a home for them. Some are only here a day, others stay for weeks or months. And there are one or two like Sally Anne who seem to be permanent boarders now.'

"But how on earth do you feed them all? It must be an expensive business.'

She nodded and smiled. "Oh I run little dog shows, coffee mornings, raffles, jumble sales, anything, but whatever my efforts I'm arraid the strays keep munching their way into the red. But I manage.'