I looked down again at the little dog. That was the trouble. Trickis only fault was greed. He had never been known to refuse food; he would tackle a meal at any hour of the day or night. And I wondered about all the things Mrs. Pumphrey hadnt mentioned, the p@ate on thin biscuits, the fudge, the rich trifles Tricki loved them all.
Are you giving him plenty of exercise?
Well, he has his little walks with me as you can see, but Hodgkin has been down with lumbago, so there has been no ring-throwing lately.
I tried to sound severe. Now I really mean this. If you dont cut his food right down and give him more exercise he is going to be really ill. You must harden your heart and keep him on a very strict diet.
Mrs. Pumphrey wrung her hands. Oh, I will, Mr. Herriot. Im sure you are right, but it is so difficult, so very difficult. She set off, head down, along the road, as if determined to put the new r@egime into practice immediately.
I watched their progress with growing concern. Tricki was tottering along in his little tweed coat; he had a whole wardrobe of these coats-warm tweed or tartan ones for the cold weather and mackintoshes for the wet days. He struggled on, drooping in his harness. I thought it wouldnt be long before I heard from Mrs. Pumphrey.
The expected call came within a few days. Mrs. Pumphrey was distraught. Tricki would eat nothing. Refused even his favorite dishes; and besides, he had bouts of vomiting. He spent all his time lying on a rug, panting. Didnt want to go walks, didnt want to do anything.
I had made my plans in advance. The only way was to get Tricki out of the house for a period. I suggested that he be hospitalized for about a fortnight to be kept under observation.
The poor lady almost swooned. She had never been separated from her darling before; she was sure he would pine and die if he did not see her every day.
But I took a firm line. Tricki was very ill and this was the only way to save him; in fact, I thought it best to take him without delay and, followed by Mrs. Pumphreys wailings, I marched out to the car carrying the little dog wrapped in a blanket.
The entire staff was roused and maids rushed in and out bringing his day bed, his night bed, favorite cushions, toys and rubber rings, breakfast bowl, lunch bowl, supper bowl. Realizing that my car would never hold all the stuff, I started to drive away. As I moved off, Mrs. Pumphrey, with a despairing cry, threw an armful of the little coats through the window. I looked in the mirror before I turned the corner of the drive; everybody was in tears.
Out on the road, I glanced down at the pathetic little animal gasping on the seat by my side. I patted the head and Tricki made a brave effort to wag his tail. Poor old lad, I said, you havent a kick in you but I think I know a cure for you.
At the surgery, the household dogs surged round me. Tricki looked down at the noisy pack with dull eyes and, when put down, crouched motionless on the carpet. The other dogs, after sniffing round him for a few seconds, decided he was an uninteresting object and ignored him.
I made up a bed for him in a warm loose box next to the one where the other dogs slept. For two days I kept an eye on him, giving him no food but plenty of water. At the end of the second day he started to show some
But hasnt he got a home anywhere?
Nay, nay. The farmer laughed again. Roddys got nowt. All e has in the world is in that there pram.
Over the next weeks, as the harsh spring began to soften and the sunshine brought a bright speckle of primroses onto the grassy banks, I saw Roddy quite often, sometimes on the road, occasionally wielding a spade busily on the ditches around the fields. Jake was always there, either loping by his side or watching him at work. But we didnt actually meet again until I was inoculating Mr. Pawsons sheep.
There were three hundred to do and they were driven in batches into a small pen where Roddy caught and held them for me. And I could see he was an expert at this, too. The wild hill sheep whipped past him like bullets but he seized their fleece effortlessly, sometimes in midair, and held the foreleg up to expose that bare clean area of skin behind the elbow that nature seemed to provide for the veterinary surgeons needle.
Outside on the windy slopes the big lurcher sat upright in typical pose, looking with mild interest at the farm dogs prowling intently around the pens, but not interfering in any way.
Youve got him well trained, I said.
Roddy smiled. Yes, yell never find Jake dashin about, annoyin people. He knows e has to sit there till Im finished and there hell sit.
And quite happy to do so, by the look of him. I glanced again at the dog, a picture of contentment. He must live a wonderful life, traveling everywhere with you.
Youre right there, Mr. Pawson broke in as he ushered another bunch of sheep into the pen. He hasnt a care in tworld, just like his master.
Roddy didnt say anything, but as the sheep ran in he straightened up and took a long steady breath. He had been working hard and a little trickle of sweat ran down the side of his forehead, but as he gazed over the wide sweep of moor and fell I could read utter serenity in his face. After a few moments he spoke.