Hold his head steady, I said hoarsely, and gripped a scalpel.
I cut down through skin, fascia, and the thin layers of the muscle until the ventral surface of the larynx was revealed. This was something I had never done to a live dog before, but desperation abolished any hesitancy and it took me only another few seconds to incise the thin membrane and peer into the interior.
And there it was. A pebble right enoughgray and glistening and tiny, but big enough to kill.
I had to fish it out quickly and cleanly without pushing it into the trachea. I leaned back and rummaged in the tray until I found some broad-bladed forceps, then I poised them over the wound. Great surgeons hands, I felt sure, didnt shake like this, nor did such men pant as I was doing. But I clenched my teeth, introduced the forceps, and my hand magically steadied as I clamped them over the pebble.
I stopped panting, too. In fact I didnt breathe at all as I bore the shining little object slowly and tenderly through the opening and dropped it with a gentle rat-tat on the table.
Is that it? asked Roddy, almost in a whisper.
Thats it. I reached for needle and suture silk. All is well now.
The stitching took only a few minutes and by the end of it Jake was bright-eyed and alert, paws shifting impatiently, ready for anything. He seemed to know his troubles were over.
Roddy brought him back in ten days to have the stitches removed. It was, in fact, the very morning he was leaving the Darrowby district, and after I had picked the few loops of silk from the nicely healed wound I walked with him to the front door while Jake capered round our feet.
On the pavement outside Skeldale House the ancient pram stood in all its high, rusted dignity. Roddy pulled back the cover.
Up, boy, he murmured, and the big dog leaped effortlessly into his accustomed place.
Roddy took hold of the handle with both hands and as the autumn sunshine broke suddenly through the clouds it lit up a picture which had grown familiar and part of the daily scene. The golf jacket, the open shirt and brown chest, the handsome animal sitting up, looking around him with natural grace.
Well, so long, Roddy, I said. I suppose youll be round these parts again.
He turned and I saw that smile again. Aye, reckon ahll be back.
He gave a push and they were off, the strange vehicle creaking, Jake swaying gently as they went down the street. The memory came back to me of what I had seen under the cover that night in the surgery. The haversack, which would contain his razor, towel, soap, and a few other things. The packet of tea and the thermos. And something elsea tiny dog collar. Could it have belonged to Jake as a pup or to another loved animal? It added a little more mystery to the man and explained other things, too. That farmer had been rightall Roddy possessed was in that pram.
And it seemed it was all he desired, too, because as he turned the corner and disappeared from my view I could hear him whistling.
Gyp: Only One Woof
Is this what youve been telling me about, Mr. Wilkin? I asked the farmer who was gazing down at his dog.
The farmer nodded, Aye, thats it, its always like that, always the same.
I looked down at the helpless convulsions of the big dog lying at my feet; at the staring eyes, the wildly pedaling limbs. The farmer had told me about the periodic attacks which had begun to affect his sheepdog, Gyp, but it was coincidence that one should occur when I was on the farm for another reason.
And hes all right afterward, you say?
Right as a bobbin. Seems a bit dazed, maybe, for about an hour, then hes back to normal. The farmer shrugged. Ive had lots o dogs through my hands, as you know, and Ive seen plenty of dogs with fits. I thought I knew all the causesworms, wrong feeding, distemperbut this has me beat. Ive tried everything.
Well, you can stop trying, Mr. Wilkin, I said. You wont be able to do much for Gyp. Hes got epilepsy.
Epilepsy? But hes a grand, normal dog most of ttime.
Yes, I know. Thats how it goes. Theres nothing actually wrong with his brainits a mysterious condition. The cause is unknown but its almost certainly hereditary.
Mr. Wilkin raised his eyebrows. Well thats a rum un. If its hereditary why hasnt it shown up before now? Hes nearly two years old and he didnt start this till a few months ago.
Thats typical, I replied. Eighteen months to two years is about the time it usually appears.
Gyp interrupted us by getting up and staggering toward his master, wagging his tail. He seemed untroubled by his experience. In fact the whole thing had lasted less than two minutes.
Mr. Wilkin bent and stroked the rough head briefly. His craggy features were set in a thoughtful cast. He was a big, powerful man in his forties, and now, as the eyes narrowed in that face which rarely smiled, he looked almost menacing. I had heard more than one man say he wouldnt like to get on the wrong side of Sep Wilkin, and I could see what they meant. But he had always treated me right and since he farmed nearly a thousand acres I saw quite a lot of him.