Джеймс Хэрриот - All Things Wise and Wonderful

My impression that I had been hurled into a coarser world was heightened at the beginning of each day, particularly one morning when I was on fire picket duty and had the sadistic pleasure of rattling the dustbin lids and shouting “Wakey-wakey!” along the corridors. It wasn’t the cursing and the obscene remarks which struck deepest, it was the extraordinary abdominal noises issuing from the dark rooms. They reminded me of my patient, Cedric, and in an instant I was back in Darrowby answering the telephone.

The voice at the other end was oddly hesitant.

“Mr. Herriot … I should be grateful if you would come and see my dog.” It was a woman, obviously upper class.

“Certainly. What’s the trouble?”

“Well … he … er … he seems to suffer from … a certain amount of flatus.”

“I beg your pardon?”

There was a long pause. “He has … excessive flatus.”

“In what way, exactly?”

“Well … I suppose you’d describe it as … windiness.” The voice had begun to tremble.

I thought I could see a gleam of light “You mean his stomach …?”

“No, not his stomach. He passes … er … a considerable quantity of … wind from his … his …” A note of desperation had crept in.

“Ah, yes!” All became suddenly clear. “I quite understand. But that doesn’t sound very serious. Is he ill?”

“No, he’s very fit in other ways.”

“Well then, do you think it’s necessary for me to see him?”

“Oh yes, indeed, Mr. Herriot. I wish you would come as soon as possible. It has become quite … quite a problem.”

“All right,” I said. “I’ll look in this morning. Can I have your name and address, please?”

“It’s Mrs. Rumney, The Laurels.”

The Laurels was a very nice house on the edge of the town standing back from the road in a large garden. Mrs. Rumney herself let me in and I felt a shock of surprise at my first sight of her. It wasn’t just that she was strikingly beautiful; there was an unworldly air about her. She would be around forty but had the appearance of a heroine in a Victorian novel—tall, willowy, ethereal. And I could understand immediately her hesitation on the ’phone. Everything about her suggested fastidiousness and delicacy.

“Cedric is in the kitchen,” she said. “I’ll take you through.”

I had another surprise when I saw Cedric. An enormous Boxer hurled himself on me in delight, clawing at my chest with the biggest, horniest feet I had seen for a long time. I tried to fight him off but he kept at me, panting ecstatically into my face and wagging his entire rear end.

“Sit down, boy!” the lady said sharply, then, as Cedric took absolutely no notice, she turned to me nervously. “He’s so friendly.”

“Yes,” I said breathlessly, “I can see that.” I finally managed to push the huge animal away and backed into a corner for safety. “How often does this … excessive flatus occur?”

As if in reply an almost palpable sulphurous wave arose from the dog and eddied around me. It appeared that the excitement of seeing me had activated Cedric’s weakness. I was up against the wall and unable to obey my first instinct to run for cover, so I held my hand over my face for a few moments before speaking. “Is that what you meant?”

Mrs. Rumney waved a lace handkerchief under her nose and the faintest flush crept into the pallor of her cheeks.

“Yes,” she replied almost inaudibly. “Yes … that is it.”

“Oh well,” I said briskly. “There’s nothing to worry about. Let’s go into the other room and we’ll have a word about his diet and a few other things.”

It turned out that Cedric was getting rather a lot of meat and I drew up a little chart cutting down the protein and adding extra carbohydrates. I prescribed a kaolin antacid mixture to be given night and morning and left the house in a confident frame of mind.

It was one of those trivial things and I had entirely forgotten it when Mrs. Rumney ’phoned again. I’m afraid Cedric is no better, Mr. Herriot.”

“Oh I’m sorry to hear that. He’s still … er … still … yes … yes …” I spent a few moments in thought. “I tell you what—I don’t think I can do any more by seeing him at the moment but I think you should cut out his meat completely for a week or two. Keep him on biscuits and brown bread rusked in the oven. Try him with that and vegetables and I’ll give you some powder to mix in his food. Perhaps you’d call round for it.”

The powder was a pretty strong absorbent mixture and I felt sure it would do the trick, but a week later Mrs. Rumney was on the ’phone again.

“There’s absolutely no improvement Mr. Herriot.” The tremble was back in her voice. “I … I do wish you’d come and see him again.”

I couldn’t see much point in viewing this perfectly healthy animal again but I promised to call. I had a busy day and it was after six o’clock before I got round to The Laurels. There were several cars in the drive and when I went into the house I saw that Mrs. Rumney had a few people in for drinks; people like herself—upper class and of obvious refinement. In fact I felt rather a lout in my working clothes among the elegant gathering.

Mrs. Rumney was about to lead me through to the kitchen when the door burst open and Cedric bounded delightedly into the midst of the company. Within seconds an aesthetic-looking gentleman was frantically beating off the attack as the great feet ripped down his waistcoat. He got away at the cost of a couple of buttons and the Boxer turned his attention to one of the ladies. She was in imminent danger of losing her dress when I pulled the dog off her.

Pandemonium broke out in the graceful room. The hostess’s plaintive appeals rang out above the cries of alarm as the big dog charged around, but very soon I realised that a more insidious element had crept into the situation. The atmosphere in the room became rapidly charged with an unmistakable effluvium and it was clear that Cedric’s unfortunate malady had reasserted itself.

I did my best to shepherd the animal out of the room but he didn’t seem to know the meaning of obedience and I chased him in vain. And as the embarrassing minutes ticked away I began to realise for the first time the enormity of the problem which confronted Mrs. Rumney. Most dogs break wind occasionally but Cedric was different; he did it all the time. And while his silent emanations were perhaps more treacherous there was no doubt that the audible ones were painfully distressing in a company like this.

Cedric made it worse, because at each rasping expulsion he would look round enquiringly at his back end then gambol about the room as though the fugitive zephyr was clearly visible to him and he was determined to corner it.

It seemed a year before I got him out of there. Mrs. Rumney held the door wide as I finally managed to steer him towards it but the big dog wasn’t finished yet. On his way out he cocked a leg swiftly and directed a powerful jet against an immaculate trouser leg.

After that night I threw myself into the struggle on Mrs. Rumney’s behalf. I felt she desperately needed my help, and I made frequent visits and tried innumerable remedies. I consulted my colleague Siegfried on the problem and he suggested a diet of charcoal biscuits. Cedric ate them in vast quantities and with evident enjoyment but they, like everything else, made not the slightest difference to his condition.

And all the time I pondered upon the enigma of Mrs. Rumney. She had lived in Darrowby for several years but the townsfolk knew little about her. It was a matter of debate whether she was a widow or separated from her husband. But I was not interested in such things; the biggest mystery to me was how she ever got involved with a dog like Cedric.