A Triumph of Surgery
1.
A Triumph of Surgery
• James Herriot
Tricki, a small dog, is pampered and
overfed by rich mistress. He falls seriously
ill and his mistress consults a veterinary surgeon. Does he perform an operation?
Does the dog recover?
I was really worried about Tricki this time. I had pulled up my Car when I saw him in the street with his mistress and I was shocked at his appearance. He had become hugely fat, like a bloated sausage with a leg at each corner. His eyes, bloodshot and rheumy, stared straight ahead and his tongue lolled from his haws.
Mrs. Pumphrey hastened to explain. "He was so listless, Mr. Herriot. He seemed to have no energy. I thought he must be suffering from malnutrition, so I have been giving him some little extras between meals t build him up, some malt and cod-liver oil and a bowl of Horlicks at night to make him sleep-nothing much really,"
"And did you cut down the sweet things as I told you?"
"Oh. I did for a bit, but he seemed to be so weak I had to relent. He soes love cream cakes and chocolates so. I can't bear to refuse him."
I looked down again at the little dog. That was the trouble. Tricki's only fault was greed. He had never been known to refuse food; he would tackle a meal at any hour of the day or night. And I wondered about all the things Mrs. Pumphrey hadn't mentioned.
"Are you giving him plenty of exercise?"
"Well, he has his little walks with me as you can see, but Hodgkin, the gardener, has been down with lumbago, so there has been no ring-throwign lately."
I tried to sound severe: "Now I really mean this. If you don't cut his food right down and give him more exercise he is going to be really ill. You must harden your heart and keep him on a very strict diet."
Mrs Pumphrey wrung her hands."Oh I will, Mr Herriot. I'm sure you are right, but it is so difficult, so very difficult." She set, off, head down, along the road, as if determined to but the new fegime into practice immediately.
I watched hteir progress with growing concern. Tricki was totteringalong in his little tweed coat; he had shole a wardrobe of these coats-for the cold weather and a raincoat for the wet days. He struggled on, ring drooping in his harness. I thought it wouldn't be long fefore I heard from Mrs. Pumphrey.
The expected call came within a few days. Mrs. Pumphrey was destraught. Tricki would eat nothing. Refused even his favourite dishes; and besides, he had bouts of vomiting. He spent all his time lying on a rug, panting. Didn't want to go for walks, didn't want to do anything.
I had made my plans in advance. Teh only way was to get Tricki out of the house for a period.suggested that he be hospitalised for about a fortnight to be kept under observation.
The poor laky almost swooned. She was sure he would pine and die if he did not see her every day.
But I took a firm line. Tricki was very ill and this was the only way to save him in fact, I thought it best to tale him without delay and followed by Mrs. Pumphrey's wailings, I marched out to the car carrying the little dog wrapped in a blandet.
The entire staff was roused in and out bringing his day bed, his night bed, favourite cushions, toys and fubber fings, breadfast bowl, lunch bowl, surpper bowl. Realising that my car would never hold all the stuff, I started to drive away. As I moved off, Mrs. Pumhrey, with a despairing cry, threw an armful of the little coats through the window. I looked in the mirror before I turned the corner of the drive; everybody was in tears.
Out on the road, I glanced down at the pathetic little animal gasping on the seat by my side. I patted the head and Triki made a brave effort to wag his fail. "Poor old, " I said. "You haven't a kick in you but I think I know a cure for you."
At the surger, the household dogs surged round me. Tricki looked down at the noisy pack with dull eyes and, when put down, lay motionless on the carpet. The other dogs, after sniffing round him for a few seconds, decided he was an uninteresting object and ignored him.
I made up a bed for him in a warm loose box next to the one where the other dogs slept. For two days I kept an eye on him, giving him no food but plenty of water. At the end of the cecond day he started to show some interest in his surroundigs and on the the third he began to whimper when he hard the dogs in the yard.
When I opened the door. Tricki trotted out and was immediately engulfed by Joe, the greyhound, and his friends. After rolling him over and thoroughly inspecting him, the dogs moved off down the garden. Tricki followed tham, rolling slightly with his surplus fat.
Later that day, I was present at feeding time. I watched while Tristan sloppen the food into the bowls. There was the usual headlong rush followed by the sounds of high-speed eating, every dog knew that if he fell behind the dthers he was liable to have some competition for the last part ot his meal.
When they had finished. Tricki took a walk round the shining bowls, licking casually inside one or two of them. Next day, an extra bowl was put out for him and I was pleased to him jostling his way towards it.
From them on, his progress was rapid. He had no medicinal treatment of any kind but all day he ran about with the dogs, joining in their triendly scrimmages. He discoverd the joys of being bowled over, tramped on and squashed every few minutes. He became an accepted member of the gang, an unlikely, silky little object among the shaggy crew, fighting lide a figer for his share at mealtimes and hunting fats in the old hen-house at night. He had never had such a time in his life.
All the while, Mrs Pumphrey hovered anxiously in the background, ringing a dozen times a day for the latest bulletins. I dodged the questions about whether his cushions werr being rurned regularly or his correct coat worn according to the weather: but I was able t tell her that little fellow was out of danger and convalescingrapidly.
The word convalescing seemed to do something to Mrs Pumphrey. She started to bring round fresh eggs, two dozen at a time. to build up Tricki's strength. For a happy period my partners and I had two eggs each for breakfast, but when the bottles of wine began to arrive, the real possibilities of the situation began to down on the household.
It was to enrich Tricki's blood. Lunch became a ceremonial occasion with two glasses of wine before and several during the meal.
We could hardly believe it when the brandy came to put a final edge on Tricki's constitution. For a few night the fine spirit was rolled around, inhaled and reverently drunk.
They were days of deep content, starting well with the extra egg in the morning, improved and sustained by the midday wine and finishingluxuriously round the fire with the brandy.
It was a temptation to keep Tricki on as a permanent guest, but I knew Mrs Pumphrey was suffering and after a fortnight, felt compelled to phone and tell her that the little dog had recovered and was awaiting collection.
Within minutes about thirty feet of gleaming black metal drew up outside the surgery. The chauffeur opened the door and I could just make out the figure of Mrs. Pumphrey almost lost in the interior. Her hands were tighily clasped in front of her; her lips make trembled, "Oh Mr. Herriot, do tell me the trutht. Is he really better?"
"Yes he's fine. There's no need for you to get down the car-I'll go and fetch him."
I walked through the house into the garden. A mass of dogs was hurtling round and round the lawn and in their midst, ears flapping, tail waving, was the little golden figure of Tricki. In two weeks he had been transformed into a lithe, hard-muscled animal; he was keeping up well with the pack, streching out in great bounds, his chest almost brushing the ground.
I carried him back along the passage to the front of the house. The chauffeur was still holding the car open and when Tricki saw his mistress he took off from my arms in a tremendous leap and sailed into Mrs. Pumphrey's lap. She gave a startled "Ooh!" And then had to defend herself as he swarmed over her, licking her face and barking.
During the excitement, I helped the chauffenr to bring out the beds, toys, cushions, coats and bowls, none of which had been used. As the car moved away, Mrs Pumphrey leaned out of the window. Tears shone in her eyes. Her lips trembled. "Oh. Mr Herriot, "she cried. "how can Iever thank you? This is a triumph of surgery!"
