Джеймс Хэрриот - All Things Wise and Wonderful

It was difficult to think of any animal less suited to her personality. Apart from his regrettable affliction he was in every way the opposite to herself; a great thick-headed rumbustious extrovert totally out of place in her gracious menage. I never did find out how they came together but on my visits I found that Cedric had one admirer at least.

He was Con Fenton, a retired farm worker who did a bit of jobbing gardening and spent an average of three days a week at The Laurels. The Boxer romped down the drive after me as I was leaving and the old man looked at him with undisguised admiration.

“By gaw,” he said. “He’s a fine dog, is that!”

“Yes, he is, Con. He’s a good chap, really.” And I meant it. You couldn’t help liking Cedric when you got to know him. He was utterly amiable and without vice and he gave off a constant aura not merely of noxious vapours but of bonhomie. When he tore off people’s buttons or sprinkled their trousers he did it in a spirit of the purest amity.

“Just look at them limbs!” breathed Con, staring rapturously at the dog’s muscular thighs. “By heck, ’e can jump ower that gate as if it weren’t there. He’s what ah call a dog!”

As he spoke it struck me that Cedric would be likely to appeal to him because he was very like the Boxer himself; not over-burdened with brains, built like an ox with powerful shoulders and a big constantly-grinning face—they were two of a kind.

“Aye, ah allus likes it when t’missus lets him out in t’garden,” Con went on. He always spoke in a peculiar snuffling manner. “He’s grand company.”

I looked at him narrowly. No, he wouldn’t be likely to notice Cedric’s complaint since he always saw him out of doors.

On my way back to the surgery I brooded on the fact that I was achieving absolutely nothing with my treatment. And though it seemed ridiculous to worry about a case like this, there was no doubt the thing had begun to prey on my mind. In fact I began to transmit my anxieties to Siegfried. As I got out of the car he was coming down the steps of Skeldale House and he put a hand on my arm.

“You’ve been to The Laurels, James? Tell me,” he queried solicitously, “how is your farting Boxer today?”

“Still at it, I’m afraid,” I replied, and my colleague shook his head in commiseration.

We were both defeated. Maybe if chlorophyll tablets had been available in those days they might have helped but as it was I had tried everything. It seemed certain that nothing would alter the situation. And it wouldn’t have been so bad if the owner had been anybody else but Mrs. Rumney; I found that even discussing the thing with her had become almost unbearable.

Siegfried’s student brother Tristan didn’t help, either. When seeing practice he was very selective in the cases he wished to observe, but he was immediately attracted to Cedric’s symptoms and insisted on coming with me on one occasion. I never took him again because as we went in the big dog bounded from his mistress’ side and produced a particularly sonorous blast as if in greeting.

Tristan immediately threw out a hand in a dramatic gesture and declaimed: “Speak on, sweet lips that never told a lie!” That was his only visit. I had enough trouble without that.

I didn’t know it at the time but a greater blow awaited me. A few days later Mrs. Rumney was on the ’phone again.

“Mr. Herriot, a friend of mine has such a sweet little Boxer bitch. She wants to bring her along to be mated with Cedric.”

“Eh?”

“She wants to mate her bitch with my dog.”

“With Cedric …?” I clutched at the edge of the desk. It couldn’t be true! “And … and are you agreeable?”

“Yes, of course.”

I shook my head to dispel the feeling of unreality. I found it incomprehensible that anyone should want to reproduce Cedric, and as I gaped into the receiver a frightening vision floated before me of eight little Cedrics all with his complaint. But of course such a thing wasn’t hereditary. I took a grip of myself and cleared my throat.

“Very well, then, Mrs. Rumney, you’d better go ahead.”

There was a pause. “But Mr. Herriot I want you to supervise the mating.”

“Oh really, I don’t think that’s necessary.” I dug my nails into my palms. “I think you’ll be all right without me.”

“Oh but I would be much happier if you were there. Please come,” she said appealingly.

Instead of emitting a long-drawn groan I took a deep breath.

“Right” I said. “I’ll be along in the morning.”

All that evening I was obsessed by a feeling of dread. Another acutely embarrassing session was in store with this exquisite woman. Why was it I always had to share things like this with her? And I really feared the worst. Even the daftest dog, when confronted with a bitch in heat knows instinctively how to proceed, but with a really ivory-skulled animal like Cedric I wondered …

And next morning all my fears were realised. The bitch, Trudy, was a trim little creature and showed every sign of willingness to cooperate. Cedric, on the other hand, though obviously delighted to meet her, gave no hint of doing his part. After sniffing her over, he danced around her a few times, goofy-faced, tongue lolling. Then he had a roll on the lawn before charging at her and coming to a full stop, big feet outsplayed, head down, ready to play. I sighed. It was as I thought. The big chump didn’t know what to do.

This pantomime went on for some time and, inevitably, the emotional strain brought on a resurgence of his symptoms. Frequently he paused to inspect his tail as though he had never heard noises like that before.

He varied his dancing routine with occasional headlong gallops round the lawn and it was after he had done about ten successive laps that he seemed to decide he ought to do something about the bitch. I held my breath as he approached her but unfortunately he chose the wrong end to commence operations. Trudy had put up with his nonsense with great patience but when she found him busily working away in the region of her left ear it was too much. With a shrill yelp she nipped him in the hind leg and he shot away in alarm.

After that whenever he came near she warned him off with bared teeth. Clearly she was disenchanted with her bridegroom and I couldn’t blame her.

“I think she’s had enough, Mrs. Rumney,” I said.

I certainly had had enough and so had the poor lady, judging by her slight breathlessness, flushed cheeks and waving handkerchief.

“Yes … yes … I suppose you’re right,” she replied.

So Trudy was taken home and that was the end of Cedric’s career as a stud dog.

This last episode decided me. I had to have a talk with Mrs. Rumney and a few days later I called in at The Laurels.

“Maybe you’ll think it’s none of my business,” I said. “But I honestly don’t think Cedric is the dog for you. In fact he’s so wrong for you that he is upsetting your life.”

Mrs. Rumney’s eyes widened. “Well … he is a problem in some ways … but what do you suggest?”

“I think you should get another dog in his place. Maybe a poodle or a corgi—something smaller, something you could control.”

“But Mr. Herriot, I couldn’t possibly have Cedric put down.” Her eyes filled quickly with tears. “I really am fond of him despite his … despite everything.”

“No, no, of course not!” I said. “I like him too. He has no malice in him. But I think I have a good idea. Why not let Con Fenton have him?”

“Con …?”

“Yes, he admires Cedric tremendously and the big fellow would have a good life with the old man. He has a couple of fields behind his cottage and keeps a few beasts. Cedric could run to his heart’s content out there and Con would be able to bring him along when he does the garden. You’d still see him three times a week.”