Oh, really, Brandy, you are silly! She put a hand on his rump and sent him slithering disconsolately to the carpet where he lay and looked at her with liquid eyes.
What was all that about? I asked.
Mrs. Westby laughed. Oh, its these old blue jeans. When Brandy first came here as a tiny puppy I spent hours nursing him on my knee and I used to wear the jeans a lot then. Ever since, even though hes a grown dog, the very sight of the things makes him try to get on my knee.
But he doesnt jump up?
Oh, no, she said. Hes tried it and got pushed off. He knows perfectly well I cant have a huge dog in my lap.
So now its the stealthy approach, eh?
She giggled. Thats right. When Im preoccupiedknitting or readingsometimes he manages to get nearly all the way up, and if hes been playing in the mud he makes an awful mess and I have to go and change. Thats when he really does receive a scolding.
A patient like Brandy added color to my daily round. When I was walking my own dog I often saw him playing in the fields by the river. One particularly hot day, many of the dogs were taking to the water either to chase sticks or just to cool off, but whereas they glided in and swam off sedately, Brandys approach was unique.
I watched as he ran up to the riverbank, expecting him to pause before entering. But instead he launched himself outward, legs splayed in a sort of swallow dive, and hung for a moment in the air rather like a flying fox before splashing thunderously into the depths. To me it was the action of a completely happy extrovert.
On the following day in those same fields I witnessed something even more extraordinary. There is a little childrens playground in one cornera few swings, a roundabout, and a slide. Brandy was disporting himself on the slide.
For this activity he had assumed an uncharacteristic gravity of expression and stood calmly in the line of children. When his turn came he mounted the steps, slid down the metal slope, all dignity and importance, then took a staid walk round to rejoin the line.
The little boys and girls who were his companions seemed to take him for granted, but I found it difficult to tear myself away. I could have watched him all day.
I often smiled to myself when I thought of Brandys antics, but I didnt smile when Mrs. Westby brought him into the surgery a few months later. His bounding ebullience had disappeared and he dragged himself along the passage to the consulting room.
As I lifted him onto the table I noticed that he had lost a lot of weight.
Now, what is the trouble, Mrs. Westby? I asked.
She looked at me worriedly. Hes been off color for a few days now, listless and coughing and not eating very well, but this morning he seems quite ill and you can see hes starting to pant.
Yes yes As I inserted the thermometer I watched the rapid rise and fall of the rib cage and noted the gaping mouth and anxious eyes. He does look very sorry for himself.
His temperature was 104dgF. I took out my stethoscope and listened to his chest. I have heard of an old Scottish doctor describing a seriously ill patients chest as sounding like a kist o whustles and that just about described Brandys. Wheezes, squeaks, and bubblingsthey were all there against a background of labored respiration.
I put the stethoscope back in my pocket. Hes got pneumonia.
Oh dear. Mrs. Westby reached out and touched the heaving chest. Thats bad, isnt it?
Yes, Im afraid so.
But She gave me an appealing glance. I understand it isnt so fatal since the new drugs came out.
I hesitated. Yes, thats quite right. In humans and most animals the sulfa drugs and now penicillin have changed the picture completely, but Im afraid dogs are still very difficult to cure.
Thirty years later it is still the same. Even with all the armory of antibiotics which followed penicillinstreptomycin, the tetracyclines, and synthetics, and the new nonantibiotic drugs and steroidsI still hate to see pneumonia in a dog.
But you dont think
its hopeless? Mrs. Westby asked, her face full of anxiety.
No, no, not at all. Im just warning you that so many dogs dont respond to treatment when they should. But Brandy is young and strong. He must stand a fair chance. I wonder what started this off, anyway.
Oh, I think I know, Mr. Herriot. He had a swim in the river about a week ago. I try to keep him out of the water in this cold weather but if he sees a stick floating he just takes a dive into the middle. Youve seen him-its one of the funny little things he does.
Yes, I know. And was he shivery afterward?
He was. I walked him straight home, but it was such a freezing cold day. I could feel him trembling so I dried him down.
I nodded. That would be the cause, all right. Anyway, lets start his treatment. Im going to give him this injection of penicillin and Ill call at your house tomorrow to repeat it. Hes not well enough to come to the surgery.
Very well, Mr. Herriot. And is there anything else?
Yes, there is. I want you to make him what we call a pneumonia jacket. Cut two holes in an old blanket for his forelegs and stitch him into it along his back. You can use an old sweater if you like, but he must have his chest warmly covered. Only let him out in the garden for necessities.