I had no need to anesthetize him or sedate him when I placed him on our newly acquired X-ray machine. Those hindquarters stayed still all by themselves. A lot too still for my liking.
I was no expert at interpreting X-ray pictures but at least I could be sure there was no fracture of the vertebrae. Also, there was no sign of bony extoses, but I thought I could detect a narrowing of the space between a couple of the vertebrae which would confirm my suspicions of a protrusion of a disk. I could do nothing more than continue with my treatment and hope.
By the end of the week hope had grown very dim. I had supplemented the salicylates with long-standing remedies like tincture of nux vomica and other ancient stimulant drugs, but when I saw Hermann on Saturday he was unable to rise. I tweaked the toes of his hind limbs and was rewarded by a faint reflex movement, but with a sick certainty I knew that complete posterior paralysis was not far away.
A week later I had the unhappy experience of seeing my prognosis confirmed in the most classical way. When I entered the door of the Cundalls cottage Hermann came to meet me, happy and welcoming in his front end but dragging his hind limbs helplessly behind him.
Hello, Mr. Herriot. Mrs. Cundall gave me a wan smile and looked down at the little creature stretched froglike on the carpet. What dyou think of him now?
I bent and tried the reflexes. Nothing. I shrugged my shoulders, unable to think of anything to say. I looked at the gaunt figure in the bed, the arm outstretched as always on the quilt. Good morning, Ron, I said as cheerfully as I could, but there was no reply. The face was averted, looking out of the window. I walked over to the bed. Rons eyes were staring fixedly at the glorious panorama of the moor and fell, at the pebbles of the river, white in the early sunshine, at the crisscross of the gray walls against the green. His face was expressionless. It was as though he did not know I was there.
I went back to his wife. I dont think I have ever felt more miserable.
Is he annoyed with me? I whispered.
No, no, no, its this. She held out a newspaper. Its upset him something awful.
I looked at the printed page. There was a large picture at the top, a picture of a dachshund exactly like Hermann. This dog, too, was paralyzed but its hind end was supported by a little four-wheeled bogie. In the picture it appeared to be sporting with its mistress. In fact it looked normal except for those wheels.
Ron seemed to hear the rustle of the paper because his head came round quickly. What dye think of that, Mr. Herriot? Dye agree with it?
Well I dont really know, Ron. I dont like the look of it, but I suppose the lady in the picture thought it was the only thing to do.
Aye, maybe. The husky voice trembled. But ah dont want Hermann to finish up like that. The arm dropped by the side of the bed and his fingers felt around on the carpet, but the little dog was still splayed out near the door. Its opeless now, Mr. Herriot, isnt it?
Well, it was a black lookout from the beginning, I said. These cases are so difficult. Im very sorry.
Nay, Im not blamin you, he said. Youve done what ye could, same as vet for that dog in the picture did what e could. But it was no good, was it? What do we do nowput im down?
No, Ron, forget about that just now. Sometimes paralysis cases just recover on their own after many weeks. We must carry on. At this moment I honestly cannot say there is no hope.
I paused for a moment, then turned to Mrs. Cundall. One of the problems is the dogs natural functions. Youll have to carry him out into the garden for that. Im sure youll soon learn how to cope.
Oh, of course, of course, she replied. Ill do anything. As long as theres some hope.
There is, I assure you, there is.
But on the way back to the surgery the thought hammered in my brain. That hope was very slight. Spontaneous recovery did sometimes occur but Hermanns condition was extreme. I repressed a groan as I thought of the nightmarish atmosphere which had begun to surround my dealings with the Cundalls. The paralyzed man and the paralyzed dog. And why did that picture have to appear in the paper just at this very time? Every veterinary surgeon knows the feeling that fate has loaded the scales against him, and it weighed on me despite the bright sunshine spreading into the car.
However, I kept going back every few days. Sometimes I took a couple of bottles of brown ale along in the evening and drank them with Ron. He and his wife were always cheerful but the little dog never showed the slightest sign of improvement. He still had to pull his useless hind limbs after him when he came to greet me, and although he always returned to his station by his masters bed, nuzzling up into Rons hand, I was beginning to resign myself to the certainty that one day that arm would come down from the quilt and Hermann would not be there.
It was on one of these visits that I noticed an unpleasant smell as I entered the house. There was something familiar about it.