by Gillian Hick
However, judging from my experience so far, I wasn’t holding out for any such consideration from today’s clients. Carefully throwing a glance around to pick out a suitable bush, I gave up all hope as the nearest solid item to the holding pen was the house itself. My only chance was to perform in the stark openness of the barren field and hope I didn’t cause heart failure if any of the three farmers should choose the wrong moment to reappear. Just I was beginning to plan my route, the sound of the approaching cattle put paid to my plans and I braced myself for another wait.
This time, the cattle broke in the opposite direction and headed down towards the house. The unfamiliar surroundings caused them to split and, with increasing frenzy, they careered around the rough slopes. Pulling myself together, I got up and started towards the end of the field, ignoring the cold stares of my fellow herdsmen. While I waved and roared at the bewildered cattle, they took one look at me and stampeded past the pen. Luckily, and by what seemed like divine intervention, half of them managed to run into it, so panic-stricken were they in their attempt to escape from me. Gleefully, I observed that my victim had managed to wedge herself between the stock bull and a particularly large cow. Seizing my moment, and regardless of the stares of the men and the indignant yelping which followed close on my heels, I leapt up on to the last remaining plank and, with lightning speed, clipped and injected the animal. I barely had time to jump down again before, with a sharp crack, the entire fence gave way. Luckily, I just managed to fall clear of the rail before it caught over the back of the enraged bull who proceeded to carry his harness at speed in the direction of the distant horizon.
‘Right so,’ I said as casually as I dared, while the men surveyed the ruins before them, ‘we’re all done.’
But as the adrenalin of my success faded, I realised that after my acrobatics, I wasn’t going to make it out of the place intact. Obviously, the jumping around had stretched my bladder wall so that now the pain was excruciating as I slowly walked cross-legged down the field. A sweat had begun to break out on my forehead by the time I made up my mind.
‘Sorry,’ I began hesitantly, in the general direction of my clients, ‘but could I use your toilet, please?’
If I thought the silence before was bad, I wasn’t prepared myself for what was to come. The three stopped as though frozen in their tracks and stared long and hard at me. Then the spokesman finally stepped forward and beckoned with a nod of his head for me to follow him, leaving the other two behind. My agony overcame my embarrassment as I followed meekly into the ancient dwelling with its bare stone floor, sparsely furnished with three chairs, a small table and a gas ring. Glancing around, I wondered where the toilet was and was about to follow my host through the low door into the only adjoining room when he reappeared. In the dim light, I could barely make out the rusted bucket which he unceremoniously dumped on the floor in front of me. He then disappeared back out the front door, firmly closing the latch. Such was my relief, that it might well have been the main toilet in the White House. As the pains began to subside, I cautiously straightened myself up again and, carefully picking up the bucket, glanced over at the filthy enamelled sink which stood in the corner, packed with dishes from the morning’s breakfast. No tap filled into the sink and the only exit was out an old rubber pipe which drained through the thick walls. Trying to move as noiselessly as possible, I took out all the dirty dishes before sloshing the voluminous quantities of straw-coloured liquid into the sink. Spying a similar bucket underneath, which after a quick smell I ascertained to be water, I poured a quantity down after my sample before reloading the dishes.
The three men were huddled by the battered old Fiat which represented their only contact with the outside world. They barely raised their eyes as I cheerfully informed them that I would see them again in three days’ time. My feeling of relief gradually gave way to growing embarrassment as their stony stares seemed to bore into me. Thankfully, I threw my gear into the back of the boot and without even stopping to pull off my overalls, I jumped into the car and slammed the door. As I turned the key, I slammed my foot down on the accelerator, such was my haste to get away as quickly as possible. Before I realised what had happened, the jeep came to a sudden halt and the silence was filled with the raw sound of crunching metal and shattered glass. In horror, I looked down at the gear-stick to see it firmly placed in reverse.
Stepping out of the car apprehensively, I made my way to the rear. My tow-bar lay wedged deep into the middle of the Fiat’s ancient bumper. The ground was strewn with the debris of the only remaining light unit on the car. The only perceptible change in the faces of the men was a slight paling of the weathered skin, subtly visible beneath their unkempt beards. I braced myself for the volley of abuse which, under any normal circumstances, would have followed, but instead was greeted with deathly silence as the three huddled wordlessly over the vehicle, examining the dent in the crumpled metal.
I’d had enough for one day. Proffering a muttered apology, to which there was no reply, I assured the trio that I would fix up with them on my return visit in three days’ time. I then got back into the jeep and, forcing the gear-stick into first gear, slowly pulled off, wincing slightly at the screech as the tow-bar became disengaged from the rusted metal.
My last view of my clients was in the rear view mirror. The three sets of eyes followed my hasty retreat with haunted expressions, while their dog pursued my car as though baying for my blood.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
FOND FAREWELL
My patient was an elderly Labrador, a quiet, dignified type, despite the bandy hind legs and the emaciated frame. Meg had become an old favourite of mine as I had treated her over the past few months for her numerous geriatric ailments. Her arthritic left hip, her failing heart and worn-out kidneys, meant that I had come to be well acquainted with not only Meg, but also the elderly couple who owned her. No matter what I did, Meg responded only with a sheepish look and a wagging tail. It was clear that both she and her owners had absolute faith in me – little aid with which to fight the ravages of old age.
I tried not to think of my own Judy, whose temperament and geriatric ailments seemed to mirror exactly those of the dog now being gently hoisted on to the consulting table.
‘Well,’ said Mr Doyle, ‘what do you think of our lassie this time?’
I could sense the pain behind the forced gaiety in his voice. Mrs Doyle was unusually silent, fiddling nervously with the strap of her bag. I ran my hands gently over the aged body and I was aware of trusting brown eyes gazing expectantly at me.
Meg knew.
As I listened intently to the muffled heartbeat, silent memories came unbidden to my mind: a vigorous, glossy-coated animal, galloping freely across the far hill, absorbed in the excitement of a rough-and-tumble game of tag. An otter-like head breaking the water, effortlessly propelled by invisible legs. A frenzied roll in the long grass, head ecstatically thrashing from side to side. I forced myself to put the memories from my mind.
Carefully, I manipulated Meg’s left hip, cringing at the rough grating of bone on bone. She grinned apologetically but I couldn’t help noticing how her body seemed to sag with the weight of the chronic pain that she was now experiencing, despite the best available therapy.
Mrs Doyle’s hand seemed frail as she gently stroked the silken ears. Placing the stethoscope over the dog’s bony chest, I listened to the all too familiar swooshing of her leaky valves and the congested chest that even the best medication had failed to alleviate. As though to confirm my findings, she coughed deeply and the scent of failing kidneys was heavy on her breath.
I tried to expel the images of a black and yellow ball, lying snugly in a deep bed of sweet-smelling straw, as my Judy lay, exhausted after the day’s exertions, her golden coat in stark contrast to that of Spook’s glossy black.
With a discreet nod, I signalled to Niamh to leave. Barely trusting myself to speak, I took my client’s hand and for the first time, raised my eyes to hers.
‘Mrs Doyle, I think the time has come.’
There was no need for lengthy explanations. We all knew that we were just putting off the inevitable day with the battery of medications that had become a part of the daily routine. We had discussed on many occasions how when the time would come, Meg would be spared the indignity of a slow and painful death. The Doyles knew in their hearts that their beloved dog’s race was run. All they needed was my confirmation.
Not wanting to prolong the heartbreak, I briskly filled the syringe, blinking the tears out of my eyes. My hand shook slightly as I inserted the needle into the fragile vein. Meg’s tail thumped out a soft rhythm on the steel table. It echoed a rhythm in my mind. As I depressed the plunger, the tail gradually slowed and the rhythm faded as her frail body slumped in Mrs Doyle’s arms.
At peace.
I gulped deeply, trying to dispel the haunting images of a cold body, set in the rigid pose of death. But I could not hold back the tears as I shook the trembling hands of Mr and Mrs Doyle in turn and whispered an inadequate ‘I’m sorry.’ I admired the strength of the elderly man and woman as they thanked me in faltering voices for my care. Mrs Doyle took one look back and, placing her hand in mine, whispered in my ear, ‘Thank you for sharing our tears.’
When the door had shut, I could no longer control the flood. A torrent of tears streamed down my face as I looked down at the lifeless form on the table. I felt slightly guilty that, although I shared the pain of the old couple for the loss of their dog, my tears were being shed for my own beloved Judy, who had undergone a similar fate only two days previously.
Judy had come to me some years earlier. I had travelled to Kildare to buy a Labrador pup advertised in the local papers but, when I got there, ended up feeling sorry for the bitch instead, due to the cramped conditions in which she was kept. The owner seemed slightly surprised, but was happy to part with her for cash. The day I bought her, I took her up to the fields behind where we lived and despite her long confinement in a small dog enclosure, she had run and run and run, in ever widening circles around me, as though her life depended on it. When the last of her energy was spent, she came back to my heel and never took her eyes off me as we walked slowly home.
Spook had arrived a few months later and, from the day I drove home with the two of them together in the back of an ancient Renault 4, they became best buddies. If you saw one, the other was never far behind. Judy was the sensible one while Spook, at only six months of age, was always getting into scrapes. Before Spook’s arrival, Judy had always accompanied me in the car, but now having two large Labradors in the tiny vehicle was a bit of a tight squeeze. One day, I left them parked outside a local shop to run in for a pint of milk. While Judy snuggled peacefully on the passenger seat, Spook somehow managed, in her exuberance, to knock off the hand-brake. I came out to find my little blue Renault a good six feet from where I had left it and with a nice big dent in the bumper. Thankfully, it had run into a lamp-post and not another car.
But once they were together, Spook and Judy didn’t care what they did. Left at home, they would happily potter around the garden or snooze in front of the fire until I returned. They often accompanied Donal and myself on our walks in the early days, and so they settled in quickly to their new home when we got married. So good-natured were they that they didn’t seem to mind the addition of Slug in the least and weren’t at all put out when she usurped them as the car dog. When out on walks the three would play together happily enough, but back home Slug became aloof and so the two Labs became even more of a twosome.
As time went by, Judy, worn down by years of breeding, and with naturally bad hips, slowed down a lot and Spook, with growing maturity, seemed to slow with her – at least most of the time. I became accustomed to the continuous clicking of Judy’s left hip as she bunny-hopped alongside us.
But things can’t stay the same forever and the day I had to carry Judy from where she had collapsed on the front step, with Spook sitting loyally beside her, my mind was made up.
As I looked for the last time into those ever-trusting brown eyes, Spook sat motionless for the first time in her life, as though sensing the gravity of the moment.
When all was done, Donal and I took Spook up to the forest where the three of us walked for hours, retracing the many, many steps that we had taken as a foursome over the previous years. And when we returned, even Slug seemed strangely subdued.
The next day, I left Slug at home with Spook for company but returned to find Spook lying cold and miserable with an old teddy bear that had belonged Judy.
On the Monday, I took the two to work with me but Spook lay on the passenger floor and even when we got to a friendly farm where I knew she would be welcome, I had to pull her out by the collar.
That night, I woke for a glass of water, and went downstairs to find Spook lying on the floor and Slug beside her, methodically licking the silken coat – a gesture which I had never seen before.
Up to now, Spook had always had a typical Labrador appetite but now she barely picked at the piece of freshly roasted chicken I gave her.
I had often offered advice to clients in relation to a grieving pet and now I frantically tried to recall my words of wisdom. Lots of exercise, distraction, TLC – Spook just wasn’t interested. I was off duty the following Sunday, so we packed the boot and loaded Slug and the downcast Spook into the back seat and headed for Greystones beach – always a favourite for Spook, who was a strong swimmer.
The fresh sea air and the brightness of the day should have cheered us all up but it just reminded me of the last time we had been there only a few short weeks before. Slug had stayed at home, being contemptuous of water. Judy loved the freedom of swimming, while Spook, as usual, swam straight out to sea, as though heading for Wales. We occupied ourselves throwing stones for Judy and laughed as she duck-dived into the shallow surf in a most undoglike fashion. After a few throws, I looked back for Spook, only to realise with alarm that she was by now some distance out.
‘Spook!’ I yelled, making Judy jump. The little head bobbed happily on the waves, totally ignoring me.
‘Come in, Spook!’ I gestured, my right hand high in the air. It was most unlike her to ignore me and I began to panic. I ran alongside the shore until I was almost level with her. She was swimming at an angle, gradually getting closer, but still she ignored me.
‘Spook,’ I roared, and as I did so, I noticed not one, but two dogs close on my heels – there were Judy and Spook, frisking along behind me. I looked again in astonishment at the dog in the water, only to realise that the little black head in the water was not a dog at all but a seal!
‘Some vet you are!’ laughed Donal.
As the seal came closer, the dogs noticed him too and Judy set up a frantic barking which the seal utterly ignored.
A few times Spook made to swim out to him but each time, she lost her nerve. She’d get about halfway out, and then think better of it and surf the waves back to me with powerful strokes as though afraid of being chased.
But today, she wouldn’t even go into the water, trailing miserably along behind me. And by the following week, I was getting really worried as she was now losing weight despite my best efforts at hand-feeding her.
Seamus laughed initially when I asked him to have a look at her for me, but then quickly agreed when he saw I was serious.
‘You know yourself there’s nothing physically wrong with her,’ he said as he finished the most detailed clinical examination I had yet seen him carry out on any animal.
Between us, we decided to start her on some anti-anxiety medication; but, if anything, it made her mope even more. By now, I was bringing her everywhere with me, and Slug loyally sat on the back seat beside her, abandoning her usual front-seat perch.
On the following Friday, I had to carry Spook in the surgery door to the evening clinic, Slug following behind.
‘Ah, the poor dog,’ commented a well-meaning client as she held the door open for me. ‘Is sh
e very old?’
Spook was only six.
I muttered a reply and brought Spook out the back. The once glossy coat was now dull and listless. With a shock, I noticed the greying muzzle as though seeing it for the first time. Her eyes, once bright and vibrant, lay sunken in her head and I noticed a slight yellowish hue to her membranes. As I stroked the familiar body, I was appalled at the ribs that not long ago had been well-padded. I pulled the silken ears through my fingers and she didn’t even lift her head in response.
The door opened and Seamus walked in. ‘There’s two or three out there waiting …’ he began, then cut off when he saw my face. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll look after them,’ he said, and closed the door behind him.
Only three short weeks after Judy had been put to sleep, Spook followed her. As always in life, where one went the other was never far behind.
CHAPTER TWENTY
A JOB WELL DONE
Another two miles and I would be home. I was on call for the night but as we were into summer, the quiet time of year, I wasn’t expecting much trouble. In my mind I had already reached my destination and was sharing a bottle of wine with Donal in front of the fire when the shrill ringing of the phone shattered my illusion.
