Don't Turn Your Back in the Barn (Adventures of a Country Vet)

by Perrin, Dr. Dave

  I was on the phone with Ben Fyfe, an RCMP officer based in Creston. The detachment was responsible for law enforcement along Highways 3 and 3A from Yahk to the Kootenay Lake ferry.

  "Well, I'm going to have to bring this dog in for you to put to sleep! There's just no way I can deal with him. I had the big goof at the Crawford Bay dump for almost an hour and aimed at his head a half-dozen times. He gave me the saddest look, as if he knew what was coming, and I just couldn't pull the trigger!

  "I brought him to my place thinking I could find a home for him, but he fights constantly with my own dog...I just can't handle it any more. They really got into it this morning and, if I hadn't been right there handy, you'd have had some work to do putting one or both of them back together."

  "Why don't you bring him in, and I'll see what I can do."

  An hour later, he arrived at my office. His presentation was far different from the image that pops to mind when one thinks about an officer of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. With his rounded, jovial features and tendency to carry a few extra pounds, I would have thought him more likely to be the local minister.

  His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were downcast as he approached me.

  "Sorry to put the burden on you like this," he said, slowly shaking his head, "but I just could not do it."

  I had dealt with Ben previously on several occasions—once to vaccinate his own dog, and several times to treat abused or injured animals that he had come across in the performance of his duties. He always made sure that something was done about the sick or injured animal that was unable to manage on its own.

  "That's okay, Ben," I replied with a shrug. "I doubt that I'd have done any different if I'd been in your shoes. Why don't you just pop him into the office and we'll take a look?"

  "I appreciate this. I've never been much on being an animal control officer, but that's supposedly a part of our official duties in outlying communities."

  I followed him to the patrol car. A large, grey-black silhouette dominated the back seat. When Ben opened the door, the dog stood hesitantly on the edge of the seat before venturing onto the sidewalk. With his colouring and build, it was obvious that he was almost pure German shepherd. The only feature that argued was an ear that flopped lazily to the left side of his face, giving him an almost comical appearance.

  Following the corporal, he walked calmly along the street and through the doorway of the clinic. But as he crossed the threshold, his demeanour changed. He panicked. Suddenly planting all four feet, he struggled to get back outside. Digging in his heels, the corporal dragged the desperate animal inside, and I closed the door behind him.

  "He's obviously been in a veterinary hospital before. He picked up on the smell right away."

  Ben stroked the head of the big hulk that quivered at his feet. "It looks like he's been well cared for until recently. But he's been running free for weeks down in Crawford Bay, and there've been a number of people calling in complaints against him. One woman has been organizing the campaign and has phoned practically every day for a week. Apparently, he's been terrorizing her poodle to the point where she can't let him out of the house. She's called in so many times that we just couldn't ignore her any longer."

  "Come over here, fellow," I coaxed. "Come on! Get over here, you big lug—I'm not going to hurt you."

  Keeping his belly firm to the floor, he crawled over to me and stuck his muzzle in my hand.

  "There's a boy. You really are a nice fellow, aren't you?"

  Encouraged by the chatter and a constant barrage of stroking, he raised himself to a standing position and took a hesitant step in my direction.

  "There we go, fella. You're a fine-looking specimen, aren't you?"

  He moved closer, leaned his shoulder against my leg, and extended his head for more petting.

  "Well, it sure looks as if he's taken to you," Ben observed. "It took me two days to get to the point where he trusted me enough to let me pet him without cringing."

  "By the look of things, Ben, you won't have to worry about my putting him to sleep any time soon. We'll keep him here and see if we can find a good home for him. I'd have as much trouble as you doing away with him."

  Ben's face immediately broke into a broad smile. With a nod, he headed for his patrol car, leaving me with my reluctant visitor. After a few more minutes of handling, I coaxed him into a kennel. Although he was never really satisfied with life behind bars, he settled into a routine of lying quietly in anticipation of the breaks where he would receive attention and go for a walk on a leash down the alley.

  There was a special chemistry between us from the very first moment we met and, as soon as he was released from the kennel, he would make his way to my side. I found myself being more and more particular about who we showed him to; I avoided people I just didn't think would be suitable owners for a dog of his nature.

  Nightly, I released him from the kennel and allowed him to come upstairs as I cooked my supper or sat in front of the television.

  "I've got the perfect home for our star boarder," Doris chirped at the end of a particularly hectic day. "Mrs. Ross, from down the lake—you know—the lady with Sebastian, that big half Saint Bernard, half German shepherd that we neutered a month ago. He got hit by a car last week and died out in front of their home; she's absolutely lost without a dog around the place. She can't come in until the end of the week, but she's asked me to keep this guy until she can get here. She says she'll pay his board until she's able to pick him up."

  "That would certainly be an ideal home for the big lout," I admitted grudgingly.

  "You sure don't sound overly enthusiastic about it," Doris noted, giving me a long look. "Are you sure you want to let him go? You seem to be getting rather attached to him."

  "Of course, we'll let him go. How could I possibly keep a big dog like him around here?"

  It was with a feeling of sadness that I slipped the choke chain over the shepherd's head that night and led him towards the front door.

  "Are you sure you don't want me to call Mrs. Ross and tell her that he's already taken?" Doris asked knowingly.

  "No, of course not. He's just a big nuisance around here, and he's taking up kennel space that we could use for other animals. We're full to the brim tonight and, if another animal comes in, I don't have a clue what we'd do with him."

  The dog pulled happily on the lead as we made our way down the alley. Lifting his leg at all the strategic poles and on the more prominent corners of the buildings, he stopped here and there. Occasionally, he would drive his nose deep into a clump of dead grass or mound of snow, give a few decisive snorts, then move on to check out other spots that tantalized his olfactory senses. We were at the end of the alley when I took the lead off and, for the first time, allowed him to range freely on his own. Half expecting him to run

  off, I watched with my heart in my mouth as he ran ahead of me.

  "Hey, you big lug, you! Come back here."

  As though stung by a bee, he whipped around and came running back to me. Shoving his muzzle into my hand, he flipped his head a number of times to make sure my hand was on top of his head in petting position. He moaned as I rubbed his forehead and massaged his ears. Satisfied that he was in my good books, he trotted ahead to check out the rest of the neigbourhood.

  We were on our way back to the clinic when Doris came running down the alley.

  "Mel Griffith just came in the door, Dave," she blurted between puffs. "He ran over his old Lab and it looks like the dog has a broken leg."

  "Come here, you big mutt!" I hollered. "Your outing's over for the time being."

  I snapped the leash onto the choke collar and headed after Doris.

  "You're getting pretty trusting, aren't you? Don't you worry about taking him off the leash?"

  "He seems to want to stay close; besides, it's not as if he belongs to anyone. No one would miss him if he took off."

  "Are you sure about that?" Doris muttered over her shoulder. "Looks to
me that you might be a bit upset if he left."

  "Humph," I grunted

  "Sorry to keep you here, Doc," Mel apologized, as I began examining his old dog. "I'd just stacked a load of empty boxes onto my trailer and was hauling them down to the shed for storage. I didn't realize that old Gabe had laid down in front of the wheel. I never thought to check for him when I took off, and I ran right over him with the trailer! He can't hear worth a darn any more and his reactions aren't what they used to be, so I guess he never even woke up until the tire went over him."

  The old yellow Lab lay stoically on the table as I ran my hands over his body. His head was extended slightly, and it was obvious that he was not comfortable. His tongue protruded and he was panting as if he were hot. His gums were pink, and there was no evidence of bleeding anywhere on his body.

  "Did he move at all that you saw, Mel? Or did he just lie there after it happened?"

  "No, he was standing when I got to him," Mel assured me, "but he was holding up a back leg, and he didn't look very steady on his hind quarters."

  I grasped Gabe's left hind foot and spread his toes; he let out a piercing whine and whirled to lick my hand.

  "That hurts, does it, fellow?"

  "Sorry 'bout that, Doc—guess I wouldn't make a very good assistant. If this hadn't been old Gabe, he might have nailed you."

  "That's okay, I know he's in a lot of pain. Just see if you can keep him looking straight ahead."

  By persistently manipulating the toes, I could tell that all but two of the metatarsal bones in Gabe's foot had been broken. Fortunately, the long bones higher in his leg seemed intact, and palpation of his knee and ankle didn't cause him discomfort. The opposite leg appeared to be in good shape, and no amount of poking or prodding elicited a response from the old Lab. The whole time I was working on him, he rested his head in his master's hands and soaked up the attention that was being lavished upon him.

  I lifted the dog and extended both hind legs fully behind him. They were the same length and appeared symmetrical, but there was a definite tightening of his musculature, and he whined as though in pain. As I lifted him, the old guy stood fully on his front legs and tried to pull his back legs forward and away from me.

  "How heavy was that trailer when you had it loaded, Mel?" I lowered Gabe to the table.

  "Well, it was heavy enough." Mel shrugged. "But the boxes were all empty and probably didn't amount to much more than a couple hundred pounds."

  As I released his hind legs, Gabe placed his right hind foot to the table and hunched in a position that resembled a three-legged sawhorse. His front legs were positioned further back, such that they bore most of his weight. He was using his hind leg only for balance.

  "From what I can see superficially, it looks as if the wheel just ran over his hindquarters. We'll have to watch him closely to make sure that he doesn't have a slow bleeder in the pelvis or abdomen."

  "You think he's going to make it then, and be able to get around all right? He's been a great dog. I don't want him to just lay around and be all crippled up."

  "The way he's standing, I suspect a problem in his pelvis, so we better X-ray both his hips and that left hind foot. If the fracture in his hips was severe he wouldn't be able to bear as much weight on it as he is right now."

  "Well, if you think he may have a few miles left in him, then you better get a picture of him and see what needs doing."

  I administered some Demerol to diminish the old boy's pain, and by the time we got around to doing the X-rays, he allowed us to roll him back and forth without complaint. His pelvis was in fact broken, but the location of the fracture and the lack of displacement suggested that it would heal well with restricted exercise. I applied a splint to Gabe's broken foot.

  With Mel and Doris casually chatting at the surgery table, I tried to figure out how to rearrange the hospitalized animals so that everyone could be accommodated. There was no choice; the freeloading German shepherd was going to have to be moved so that Gabe could be properly bedded down for observation.

  "What're we going to do with you, ya big boob?" I opened the kennel and gave him a pat. He sprang to his feet, wagging in expectation. "There's no place for spongers around here."

  I stood back and he took a deliberate step down from the kennel, watching me continually for any sign of my disapproval.

  "Come on out," I encouraged. "It's all right."

  Wagging his tail, he danced around my feet, hoping for another walk.

  "Come on, big fella." I coaxed him through the clinic and into the stairwell to my apartment. "You just wait here until I figure out what to do with you."

  Closing the door, I returned to clean and ready the kennel for Gabe. He was still groggy from the sedation and within seconds of settling in the kennel, he stretched out on his side and went to sleep.

  "Okay mutt," I called up the stairwell. "You can come down here with us now."

  The shepherd hesitated at first, then swaggered down the stairs and across the office to look up at the door.

  "Not yet, fella—we've still got some cleaning up to do before we can go out for another walk."

  "What are you going to do with him tonight?" Doris asked, as we wiped down the exam table and put away the leftover materials. "Do you think he'd start a fight with one of the other dogs or go after a cat if he had the opportunity?"

  "I'm not sure, to be honest." I unconsciously looked over to where he was sitting. "Ben said he was aggressive with other dogs, but he hasn't really been bad with anything that I've seen."

  Every hour or so, I ran down the stairs to check on Gabe. He lay stretched out in his kennel, snoring his way through the remainder of the evening. Only occasionally did he moan to protest the pain of his hip and foot. With each trip up and down the stairs, the shepherd trotted at my heels. Standing back a respectable distance as I examined Gabe and worked with the other patients, he showed only mild curiosity in the animals that were on the other side of the bars.

  It was after eleven o'clock when I clicked off the television and made my final trip downstairs to see how Gabe was faring. He was resting quietly and, after checking the colour of his gums, I closed the kennel door and went back upstairs. The shepherd followed me like a shadow every step of the way. He had been so mellow throughout the evening that I didn't give another thought to confining him from the downstairs area. I went to sleep with him stretched out on the floor beside my bed. He looked perfectly at ease, his breathing slow, deep, and regular.

  I awoke to the sound of vicious barking from somewhere downstairs. Springing out of bed, I switched on the light and looked desperately around for signs of the German shepherd. He was gone! The clock on my dresser said it was three a.m.

  "Damn it, anyway!"

  That big lug of a dog must be downstairs beating up on the poor Lab. I pulled on my pants as I ran through the kitchen. Still fumbling with the zipper, I stumbled down the stairs in my bare feet. The sound of the barking intensified as I tore through the back room and headed towards the surgery. How could I ever forgive myself if that damned dog had gotten the kennel open and chewed up old Gabe?

  A pattern of bright red and white lights flashed alternately against the wall of the surgery. My God, had I slept through this racket long enough for someone to have complained to the police?

  When I rounded the corner into the kennel room, I half expected to see blood and carnage but realized the racket was coming from beyond. How in the world had that dog gotten out there? These doors were closed when I went to bed.

  As I stumbled through the narrow passageway that led to the cluttered back room, I realized that something indeed was amiss. All I could see was the back end of the dog and, from the looks of things, he had his hackles up. Over the harsh racket of the barking, I could hear someone talking.

  "It's okay now, boy."

  "Here! Settle down now, you big lug!" I hollered over the din of his barking. "Easy now! Easy now! What's going on here?"

  "Oh, thank G
od you're here!"

  The big shepherd started wagging his tail at the sight of me. His hair, which had been standing almost on end, slicked down under the flow of my hand. He worked his nose under my palm and gave a couple of flips in search of support.

  "What in the world's going on here?"

  As if his job was done, the dark hulk wandered off towards the kennel room.

  "My Lord, that dog just about tore the pants off me."

  "Oh, it's you Ben! What's happening?"

  Ben walked cautiously to the door and peered around the corner, having gained a healthy respect for the critter that was now casually wandering around in the front office.

  "I was driving down Canyon when I saw a guy running from this side of the street. He looked like he was in a real rush, and I had a hunch something wasn't right. I pulled over and had a look around, and that's when I noticed your back door open."

  "Look's like the door's been kicked down." Shards of splintered wood still hung to the casing.

  "I saw that and, when I went to step inside, I found out why the other guy left in such a hurry. That dog just about took my leg off, and he left no doubt in my mind that he meant business."

  "Talk about a lucky break! This is his first night on duty."

  "That was awful good timing on your part. When did you decide to keep him as a watchdog?"

  "About two minutes ago."

  "I thought that darned dog knew me," Ben muttered, "but there was sure no dealing with him out there tonight."

  As far as I could tell, there was nothing missing. Other than the broken casing, not much damage had been done to the door. It didn't take me long to pound in a few nails to secure it for the night. The shepherd hung close to me as I facilitated the repairs, then followed on my heel as I wandered back to bed.

  "Well, you big lug," I said, petting his head and roughing up his ears, "you sure paid for your grub this week. You could come in handy around here after all."

  Rooting his nose under my hand, he moaned as I rubbed his forehead. He pushed against me and rolled his eyes in ecstasy.

  "If you're going to stay around here, we'll have to come up with a name for you." He sat attentively staring up at me. "Lug...What do you think of that name, boy?"