Leslie Hartley - The Complete Short Stories of L.P. Hartley

With dogs you knew to some extent where you were. They had their tricks and their manners, as the doll’s dressmaker said; no dog was like another, each had to be studied; each had to be cherished; they gave what they had or withheld what they had; but they were, for Nerina, at any rate, objects of devotion on whom she could spend her care and affection without feeling that, sometime or other, they would try to get the upper hand of her. Difficult they often were; but they depended on her, as much as she on them; she never had to say (for at heart she was a disciplinarian) ‘I must give way to Rex’ (or whatever his name was) as so often women had to, with their husbands.

So Nerina was absorbed in the dogs; they were her interest, her occupation, almost her religion. In this she did not differ from many people who find in animals something they miss in human beings. A sort of rapprochement , not always to be relied on, for animals have their moods, as well as we, and sometimes more so, and the discipline, or self-discipline, which we try to impose on them, doesn’t always work. An old friend, an animal-lover, once said to her, ‘Cats don’t see why they should do what you want them to do.’ She was not averse to cats, and she recognized and accepted their independence of attitude.

But a dog, it is unnecessary to say, is not like a cat, it is essentially a dependent creature, and needs a great deal of attention paid to it, for which, as a rule, it repays a great deal of attention in return. The relationship is reciprocal but the onus of responsibility lies on the dog’s owner. A dog cannot take itself for a walk, or if it does, it is liable to get lost or run over. At stated hours, therefore, it has to be taken out for exercise or to relieve nature which, for some reason, dogs seem to find a more pressing, as well as a more satisfying outlet for their feelings than do other animals.

Nerina’s dogs, large shaggy creatures, though not the subject, I hope, for a ‘shaggy dog’ story, were almost a whole-time job; for besides the daily demands of each adult, for food, exercise, and so on, there were births, marriages and deaths. There were also illnesses; for dogs, perhaps owing to their long association with human beings, were subject to all kinds of epidemics; classic distemper was the most frequent and the worst, but there were always new ones cropping up—hard-pad, for instance—and happily dying down, almost as suddenly as they appeared. Nerina had to be always on the watch, by day and night, for some outbreak of ill-health in the kennels; and so did the vet, for although by this time she had almost as much experience of dog-ailments as he had, she relied on his trained opinion, and, to some extent, on the remedies he prescribed.

This was a bad day in the kennels, for some of the dogs, fifteen of them in all, old, middle-aged, young, and newly-born, had developed symptoms for which she couldn’t account and they were clearly spreading She had, as so often before, summoned the vet, for even if she knew as much about their ailments as he did, it was always better to be on the safe side. However, he couldn’t come; he had been called out by the R.S.P.C.A. to separate some fighting swans, or rather to attend to the needs of one who seemed to be dying from the encounter. He didn’t want to let down Nerina, who was a good client of his, still less to offend her, for there were other vets besides him, but, as he told her on the telephone, ‘you wouldn’t believe how often I am called out to deal with fighting swans, especially at this season, when they are mating. I daresay that if they weren’t monogamous, they wouldn’t get so excited, but they know that if they have set their hearts on a certain female to be their partner for life—their very long life—they say to themselves, “It’s either him or me.” You would hardly believe how savage they can be—no holds barred. It’s twenty miles away, and I shall probably arrive too late, but I may be in time to give the loser an injection, if he’ll let me, and the winner a good kick. I don’t know why people are so fond of swans—they wouldn’t be if they had to assist at their matrimonial proceedings. I’ll come on to you directly afterwards, but it may be an hour or two. Meanwhile, from what you say, some salicylate of bismuth might allay the symptoms.’

Nerina had already administered this medicament, and was walking up and down the kennels, which were at a short distance from the garden, which itself was a long distance from the road, to see how effective it had been in staunching the alarming flow from the poor animals’ insides, when she looked up and saw five or six youths, between seventeen and nineteen, who were following her movements with eyes that were cold and hard under their long hair.

They were trespassing, of course; but Nerina was too much absorbed in the plight of the dogs to pay much heed to them. She thought of offering them, sarcastically, a dose of salicylate of bismuth, but they appeared not to need it (though her kennel-ground had been used, in the past, by interlopers who had been ‘taken short’); and she tried to dismiss them from her mind.

But they didn’t go away; on the contrary, they came nearer, and as though by a pre-conceived plan, kept pace with her, almost step by step, and only a few yards away, on her sentry-go as she looked into the various kennels to see if the dogs were responding to treatment.

However, after a time this double perambulation, which had the air of an ill-natured mimicry, began to get on her nerves, and deflect her attention from the welfare of the dogs, which was her chief concern.

It was half-past seven in the morning. When she had the dogs to see to, she was oblivious of time; it might have been half-past five. The kennel-maid was away ill; the household, such as it was, was not yet astir; the gardener wasn’t due until nine o’clock. Nerina was completely alone.

Meanwhile, the five youths drew still closer, and their attitude, as displayed in their faces and the looks which every now and then they interchanged—sideways and backwards—if not exactly threatening, were anything but friendly.

As a dog-breeder, and a dog-shower, Nerina had seen a good deal of the world and was acquainted with its seamier side, and when the dual patrol had gone on for half an hour—the little gang marching and whistling alongside, until they were almost rubbing shoulders with her—she felt it was time to do something. They all looked rather alike, black-avised with dark, dangling, dirty locks to match, but she turned to the one who seemed to be the leader, and said, ‘Come in here, there’s something I want to say to you.’

She led the way from the kennels to her sitting-room, her library, only a few yards distant, a limb of the main body of the house.

They followed her in and stood around her, with the same look, between half-closed eyes, suggesting something they would like to do, if they could decide on it.

Nerina didn’t ask them to sit down; she stood in their midst, and looked up at them.

‘Now,’ she said, as briskly as she could, ‘There’s something I want to ask you. Why are you here? What is all this about?’

A shuffling of feet; an exchange of interrogative looks; and their spokesman said,

‘It’s the spirit of adventure, I suppose.’

‘You call it the spirit of adventure,’ said Nerina. ‘ I should call it something else.’

And for several minutes she told them, looking up from one face to another, for they were all big boys, what she would call it.

When she had finished her tirade she nodded a dismissal, and the little gang, rather sheepishly, filed out, no more to be seen.

Not long afterwards the vet turned up. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Willoughby,’ he said, ‘but those damned birds took longer than I thought. And it was just as I expected—one of the cobs had done the other in—he was lying down on the grass with his neck and his head stretched out and his eyes glazing. I gave him an injection as quick as I could, but I’m afraid it was too late—I didn’t hear any swan-song—and I gave the other a boot, which I hope he will remember. The lady in the case was standing by, looking more coy than you can believe, so I gave her a boot too, just to teach her. I suppose they can’t help the way they behave, but it is annoying, to be called out as early as that—just for swans, because they are, or some of them are, said to be, the Queen’s birds. And they are nearly the only birds, besides cocks and fighting-cocks, and birds of prey, which set out to kill each other. Sparrows have their squabbles but they are soon over, and I wouldn’t get out of bed to separate them . Now what can I do for you, Miss Willoughby?’