Vet in Harness by James Herriot

almost full circle over the back.

  To me, the tail nicely balanced the head which was undoubtedly a little

  too big for the body but Mr Partridge had been made to suffer for it.

  His old friends in Darrowby who, like all country folks, considered

  themselves experts with animals, were free with their comments. I had

  heard them at it. When Percy was young it was:

  "Time ye had that tail off, Rolie. Ah'll bite it off for ye if ye like.'

  And later, again and again. "Hey Rolie, you should've had that dog's

  tail off when he were a pup. He looks bloody daft like that.'

  When asked Percy's breed Mr Partridge always replied haughtily,

  "Sealyham Cross', but it wasn't as simple as that; the tiny body with

  its luxuriant bristling coat, the large, rather noble head with high,

  pricked ears, the short, knock-kneed legs and that tail made him

  a~baffling mixture.

  Mr Partridge's friends again were merciless, referring to Percy as a

  'tripe' ound' or a 'mouse-'ound' and though the little artist received

  these railleries with a thin smile I knew they bit deep. He had a high

  regard for me based simply on the fact that the first time I saw Percy I

  exclaimed quite spontaneously "What a beautiful little dog!' And since I

  have never had much time for the points and fads of dog breeding I

  really meant it.

  "Just what is wrong, Mr Partridge?' I asked. "I can't see anything

  unusual.'

  Again the little man appeared to be uneasy. "Well now, watch as he walks

  across the floor. Come, Percy my dear.' He moved away from me and the

  dog followed him.

  "No .. . no .. . I don't quite understand what you mean.'

  "Watch again.' He set off once more. "It's at his .. . his er .. . back

  end.'

  I crouched down. "Ah now, yes, wait a minute. Just hold him there, will

  you?'

  I went over and had a close look. "I see it now. One of his testicles is

  slightly enlarged.'

  "Yes .. . yes .. . quite.' Mr Partridge's face turned a shade pinker.

  "That is ... er .. . what I thought.'

  "Hang on to him a second while I examine it.' I lifted the scrotum and

  palpated gently. "Yes, the left one is definitely bigger and it is

  harder too.'

  "Is it .. . anything serious?'

  I paused. "No, I shouldn't think so. Tumours of the testicles are not

  uncommon in dogs and fortunately they aren't inclined to metastasise

  spread through the body - very readily. So I shouldn't worry too much.'

  I added the last bit hastily because at the mention of the word 'tumour'

  the colour had drained from his face alarmingly.

  "That's a growth, isn't it?' he stammered.

  "Yes, but there are all kinds and a lot of them are not malignant. So

  don't worry but please keep an eye on him. It may not grow much but if

  it does you must let me know immediately.'

  "I see .. . and if it does grow?'

  "Well the only thing would be to remove the testicle.'

  "An operation?' The little man stared at me and for a moment I thought

  he would faint.

  "Yes, but not a serious one. Quite straightforward, really.' I bent down

  and felt the enlargement again. It was very slight. From the front end,

  Percy kept up a continuous musical growling. I grinned. He always did

  that - when I took his temperature, cut his nails, anything; a nonstop

  grumble and it didn't mean a thing. I knew him well enough to realise

  there was no viciousness in him; he was merely asserting his virility,

  reminding me what a tough fellow he was, and it was not idle boasting

  because for all his lack of size he was a proud, mettlesome little dog,

  absolutely crammed with character.

  After I had left the house I looked back and saw Mr Partridge standing

  there watching me. He was clasping and unclasping his hands.

  And even when I was back in the surgery half of me was still in that odd

  little studio. I had to admire Mr Partridge for doing exactly what he

  wanted to do because in Darrowby he would never get any credit for it. A

  good horseman or cricketer would be revered in the town but an artist ..

  . never. Not even if he became famous, and Mr Partridge would never be

  famous. A few people bought his paintings but he could not have lived on

  the proceeds. I had one of them hanging in our bed-sitter and to my mind

  he had a definite gift. In fact I would have tried to afford more of

  them but for the fact that he obviously shrank from: that aspect of the

  Yorkshire Dales which I loved most.

  If I had been able to paint I would have wanted to show how the walls

  climbed everywhere over the stark fell-sides. I would have tried to

  capture the magic of the endless empty moors with the reeds trembling

  over the black bog pools. But Mr Partridge went only for the cosy

  things; willows hanging by a rustic bridge, village churches,

  rose-covered cottages.

  Since Percy was a near neighbour I saw him nearly every day, either from

  our bed-sitter at the top of the house or from the surgery below. His

  master exercised him with great zeal and regularity and it was a common

  sight to see the artist passing on the other side of the road with the

  little animal trotting proudly beside him. But from that distance it was

  impossible to see if the tumour was progressing, and since I heard

  nothing from Mr Partridge I assumed that all was well. Maybe that thing

  had grown no more. Sometimes it happened that way.

  Keeping a close watch on the little dog reminded me of other incidents:

  connected with him, particularly the number of times he was involved in

  a fight. Not that Percy ever started a brawl - at ten inches high he

  wasn't stupid enough for that - but somehow big dogs when they saw that

  dainty white figure prancing along were inclined to go for him on sight.

  I witnessed some of these attacks from our windows and the same thing

  happened every time; a quick flurry of limbs, a snarling and yelping and

  then the big dog retreated bleeding. Percy never had a mark on him -

  that tremendous thick coat gave him complete protection - but he always

  got a nip in~from underneath. I had stitched up several of the local

  street fighters after Percy had finished with them.

  It must have been about six weeks later when Mr Partridge came in again.

  He looked tense.

  "I'd like you to have a look at Percy again, Mr Herriot.'

  I lifted the dog on to the surgery table and I didn't need to examine

  him very closely..

  "It's quite a lot bigger, I'm afraid.' I looked across the table at the

  little man.

  "Yes, I know.' He hesitated. "What do you suggest?'

  "Oh there's no doubt at all he'll have to come in for an operation. That

  thing must come off.' :

  Horror and despair flickered behind the thick spectacles.

  "An operation!' He leaned on the table with both hands.

  "I hate the idea, I just can't bear the thought of it!'

  I smiled reassuringly. "I know how you feel, but honestly there's

  nothing to worry about. As I told you before, it's quite a simple

  procedure.'

  "Oh I know, I know,' he moaned. "But I don't want him to be .. . cut

  about
you understand .. . it's just the idea of it.'

  And I couldn't persuade him. He remained adamant and marched resolutely

  from the surgery with his pet. I watched him crossing the road to his

  house and I knew he had let himself in for a load of worry, but I didn't

  realise just how bad it was going to be.

  It was to be a kind of martyrdom.

  Chapter Four.

  I do not think martyrdom is too strong a word for what Mr Partridge went

  through over the next few weeks, because with the passage of time that

  testicle became more and more massive and due to the way Percy carried

  his tail the thing was lamentably conspicuous.

  People used to turn and stare as man and dog made their way down the

  street, Percy trotting bravely, his master, eyes rigidly to the front,

  putting up a magnificent pretence of being quite unaware of anything

  unusual. It really hurt me to see them and I found the sight of the

  smart little dog's disfigurement particularly hard to bear.

  Mr Partridge's superior facade had always made him a natural target for

  a certain amount of legpulling which he bore stoically; but the fact

  that it now involved his pet pierced him to the soul.

  One afternoon he brought him over to the surgery and I could see that

  the little man was almost in tears. Gloomily I examined the offending

  organ which was now about six inches long; gross, pendulous, undeniably

  ludicrous.

  "You know, Mr Herriot,' the artist gasped. "Some boys chalked on my

  window, "Roll up and see the famous Chinese dog, Wun Hung Lo." I've just

  been wiping it off.'

  I rubbed my chin. "Well that's an ancient joke, Mr Partridge. I

  shouldn't worry about that.'

  "But I do worry! I can't sleep because of the thing!'

  "For heaven's sake, then, why don't you let me operate? I could put the

  whole business right for you.'

  "No! No! I can't do that!' His head rolled on his shoulders; he was the

  very picture of misery as he stared at me. "I'm frightened, that's what

  it is. I'm frightened he'll die under the anaesthetic.'

  "Oh come now! He's a strong little animal. There's no reason at all for

  such fears.'

  "But there is a risk isn't there?'

  I looked at him helplessly. "Well there's a slight risk in all

  operations if you come right down to it, but honestly in this case .

  ..'

  "No! That's enough. I won't hear of it,' he burst out and seizing

  Percy's lead he strode away.

  Things went from bad to worse after that. The tumour grew steadily,

  easily visible now from my vantage point in the surgery window as the

  dog went by on the other side of the street, and I could see too that

  the stares and occasional ridicule were beginning to tell on Mr

  Partridge. His cheeks had hollowed and he had lost some of his high

  colour.

  But I didn't have words with him till one market day several weeks

  later. It was early afternoon - the time the farmers often came in to

  pay their bills. I was showing one of them out when I saw Percy and his

  master coming out of the house. And I noticed immediately that the

  little animal now had to swing one hind leg slightly to clear the

  massive obstruction.

  On an impulse I called out and beckoned to Mr Partridge.

  "Look,' I said as he came across to me. "You've just got to let me take

  that thing off. It's interfering with his walking - making him lame. He

  can't go on like this.'

  The artist didn't say anything but stared back at me with hunted eyes.

  We were standing there in silence when Bill Dalton came round the corner

  and marched up to the surgery steps, cheque book in hand. Bill was a

  large beefy farmer who spent most of market day in the bar of the Black

  Swan and he was preceded by an almost palpable wave of beer fumes.

  "Nah then, Rolie lad, how ista?' he roared, slapping the little man

  violently on the back.

  "I am quite well, William, thank you, and how are you?'

  But Bill didn't answer. His attention was all on Percy who had strolled

  a few paces along the pavement. He watched him intently for a few

  moments, then, repressing a giggle, he turned to Mr Partridge with a

  mock-serious expression.

  "The knows, Rolie,' he said, 'that blood 'ound of your reminds me of the

  young man of Devizes, whose balls were of different sizes. The one was

  so small it was no ball at all, but the other one won several prizes.'

  He finished with a shout of laughter which went on and on till he

  collapsed weakly against the iron railings.

  For a moment I thought Mr Partridge was going to strike him. He glared

  up at the big man and his chin and mouth trembled with rage, then he

  seemed to gain control of himself and turned to me.

  "Can I have a word with you, Mr Herriot?'

  "Certainly.' I walked a few yards with him down the street.

  "You're right,' he said. "Percy will have to have that operation. When

  can you %ood and bring him in at little dog stretched on the quickly

  removed the huge e complete excision of all ~s that the scrotum itself

  t. This is the sort of thing way the affected parts of ~n. I put in the

  last stitch ~ng his pet alive after my want to spoil everything f the

  tumour did recur I pleasure at my patient's ton whenever I saw him

  remeet which had bulked; roll casually behind him nothing to Mr

  Partridge Percy's tail. ::'~ he pathology department ~ me that it was a

  Sertoli." ~ation that this type wa5]

  usually benign and that metastasis into the internal organs occurred in

  only a very small proportion of cases. Maybe this lulled me into a

  deeper security than was warranted because I stopped following Percy

  around and in fact, in the nonstop rush of new cases, forgot all about

  his spell of trouble.

  So that when Mr Partridge brought him round to the surgery I thought it

  was for something else and when his master lifted him on to the table

  and turned him round to show his rear end I stared uncomprehendingly for

  a moment. But I leaned forward anxiously when I spotted the ugly

  swelling on the left side of the scrotum. I palpated quickly, with

  Percy's growls and grousings providing an irritable obligato, and there

  was no doubt about it, the tumour was growing again. It meant business,

  too, because it was red, angry-looking, painful; a dangerously active

  growth if ever I had seen one.

  "It's come up quite quickly, has it?' I asked.

  Mr Partridge nodded. "Yes, indeed. I can almost see it getting bigger

  every day.'

  We were in trouble. There was no hope of trying to cut this lot away; it

  was a great diffuse mass without clear boundaries and I wouldn't have

  known where to start. Anyway, if I began any more poking about it would

  be just what was needed to start a spread into the internal organs, and

  that would be the end of Percy.

  "It's worse this time, isn't it?' The little man looked at me and

  gulped.

  "Yes .. . yes .. . I'm afraid so.'

  "Is there anything at all you can do about it?' he asked.

  I was trying to think of a painless way of telling him that there wasn't

  when
I remembered something I had read in the Veterinary Record a week

  ago. It was about a new drug, Stilboestrol, which had just come out and

  was supposed to be useful for hormonal therapy in animals; but the bit I

  was thinking about was a small print extract which said it had been

  useful in cancer of the prostate in men. I wondered .. .

  "There's one thing I'd like to try,' I said, suddenly brisk, "I can't

  guarantee anything, of course, because it's something new. But we'll see

  what a week or two's course does.'

  "Oh good, good,' Mr Partridge breathed, snatching gratefully at the

  straw.

  I rang May and Baker's and they sent the Stilboestrol to me immediately.

  I injected Percy with 10 mg of the oily suspension and put him on to 10

  mg tablets daily. They were big doses for a little dog but in a

  desperate situation I felt they were justified. Then I sat back and

  waited.

  For about a week the tumour continued to grow and I nearly stopped the

  treatment' then there was a spell lasting several days during which I

  couldn't be sure; but then with a surge of relief I realised there could

  be no further doubt - the thing wasn't getting any bigger. I wasn't

  going to throw my hat in the air and I knew anything could still happen

  but I had done something with my treatment; I had halted that fateful

  progress.

  The artist's step acquired a fresh spring as he passed on his daily walk

  and then as the ugly mass actually began to diminish he would wave

  towards the Surgery window and point happily at the little white animal

  trotting by his side.

  Poor Mr Partridge. He was on the crest of the wave but just ahead of him

  was the second and more bizarre phase of his martyrdom.

  At first neither I nor anybody else realised what was going on. All we

  knew was there suddenly seemed to be a lot of dogs in Trengate - dogs we

  didn't usually see, from other parts of the town; big ones, small ones,

  shaggy mongrels and sleek aristocrats all hanging round apparently

  aimlessly, but then it was noticed that there was a focal point of

  attraction. It was Mr Partridge's house.

  And it hit me blindingly one morning as I looked out of our bedroom

  window. They were after Percy. For some reason he had taken on the

  attributes of a bitch in heat. I hurried downstairs and got out my

  pathology book. Yes, there it was. The Sertoli Cell tumour occasionally

  made dogs attractive to other male dogs. But why should it be happening

  now when the thing was reducing and not when it was at its height? Or

  could it be the Stilboestrol? The new drug was said to have a feminising

  effect, but surely not to that extent.

  Anyway, whatever the cause, the undeniable fact remained that Percy was

  under siege, and as the word got around the pack increased, being

  augmented by several of the nearby farm dogs, a Great Dane who had made

  the journey from Houlton, and Magnus, the little dachschund from the

  Drovers' Arms. The queue started forming almost at first light and by

  ten o'clock there would be a milling throng almost blocking the street.

  Apart from the regulars the odd canine visitor passing through would

  join the company, and no matter what his breed or size he was readily

  accepted into the club, adding one more to the assortment of stupid

  expressions, lolling tongues and waving tails; because, motley crew

  though they were, they were all happily united in the roisterous, bawdy

  camaraderie of lust.

  The strain on Mr Partridge must have been almost intolerable. At times I

  noticed the thick spectacles glinting balefully at the mob through his

  window but most of the time he kept himself in hand, working calmly at

  his easel as though he were oblivious that every one of the creatures

  outside had evil designs on his treasure.