I'm sorry I forgot to publish Dance of Fire sooner! It's out now
Chapter 10 Sow in tears and reap in joy
Chaz woke to forlorn howling. It appeared to be coming from outside. He dressed hurriedly and went to open his front door. Tied to the knocker by a piece of string was a rather bedraggled looking spaniel, the source of the dawn chorus of less than harmonious nature.
“Hello, old fellow, what’s wrong?” said Chaz. There was a note tied to the makeshift lead.
“if you’re so bloody clever you see if you can get by without the beast biting you.”
Chaz frowned at the note.
“You probably need a drink and some food,” he said. “You’ll have to eat cat food this morning, I’m afraid. A trip to Wendel’s surgery is called for, I think, and a purchase of food.”
He put his hand down to the dog’s head, and managed, just, to avoid being nipped.
“Hmm, something hurts,” said Chaz.
He stroked the dog’s back and received a tentative wag from the plumy tail. He drew the spaniel inside and set a bowl of water, which the dog lapped, thirstily. Zebulun regarded the interloper and decided to ignore him. Rachel retreated to the top of the kitchen units, hissing like a tea kettle.
At least she hadn’t attacked the poor creature.
Chaz looked through his telephone list and found Wendel’s personal number.
He was answered by an interrogative grunt.
“Sorry to call you early, but someone has dumped a dog on me, and I don’t have a collar or lead,” said Chaz. “And something causes it pain, and makes it nip anyone whose hand is near the head.”
“What sort?” asked Wendel.
“Spaniel; cocker, I think, though, I’m not well up on breeds. A lovely chestnut red colour all over.”
“It’ll likely be an ear infection then,” said Wendel. “I’ll swing by yours before the surgery opens; have a cup of tea for me in exactly twenty minutes, and I’ll bring a collar and lead with me and a couple of tins of pooch chow.”
“Thanks,” said Chaz.
Wendel turned up promptly as Chaz put two steaming mugs on the table, having left the door on the latch for the vet to walk in, as most people did for such visitors. It was one heart-warming expectation of general honesty in the village.
“Oh, I know that dog, it’s Bob White’s failed money-maker,” said Wendel.
“Run that by me with more background?” said Chaz.
“Bob White bought what he thought was a pedigree bitch with intent to make money by breeding her like a puppy farm. It’s immoral but not illegal as such,” said Wendel. “Only the dog was sexed wrongly, and it’s a dog not a bitch. I’ve had a go at him for neglecting the poor creature. He hasn’t even named the poor animal. How did it ....?” he let the question hang, and Chaz gave him the note.
Wendel snorted.
“Well, it’s a clear piece of evidence that he’s giving the dog to you. I can take him in to the shelter if you want?”
“No, I’d be happy to have a dog if he can be helped; I can do a lot of mission work on the dog-walker’s route, and a dog always breaks the ice,” said Chaz. “Rachel is becoming accustomed to the interloper.” Rachel had come off her high perch and was on his shoulder as usual, enthusiastically sucking his ear lobe. “Zeb doesn’t care.”
“That cat is laid back,” agreed Wendel. “Right, let me examine you, old fellow.”
“I thought if I put on my motorcycling gauntlets to hold him ...” said Chaz.
“Wise move,” said Wendel. “Shift the tea over; I’ll put a plastic sheet down on your table so you can bake without worrying.”
“I could always scrub it,” said Chaz, mildly.
“Oh, yes, but you’re sensible,” said Wendel. “I’m obliged to use a sheet, so don’t worry.”
They lifted the auburn haired dog onto the table.
“You’ll have your work cut out grooming him, he’s matted all over,” said Wendel.
“If he’s no longer in pain, I expect he’ll let Summer help,” said Chaz. He held the dog firmly whilst Wendel examined the face first, opening the dog’s mouth to look inside.
“A bit pale, shows he’s not well, but no real tatar problem, which is good considering that I doubt that White was feeding him properly,” said Wendel. “Oh, this is the ear is it?” as the dog growled. Wendel, however, was one of those people whom animals trust, and he soon had the ear folded out. “Good God!” he said.
“He is, but what?” asked Chaz.
“There’s grass growing in this ear,” said Wendel. “It’s common for spaniels and such long-eared dogs to pick up grass seed in the ear, but this has sprouted. That bloody man! Excuse me.” He got out his phone, to photograph the ear with its grass, and the general condition of the dog. “I’m going to prosecute; don’t lose that letter, he hasn’t bothered to disguise his handwriting.”
“I won’t,” said Chaz, grimly. “What can you do?”
“I’m going to trickle a local skin anaesthetic into the ear, and when it’s a bit numb, I’m going to do a bit of what you might call veterinarian gardening with tweezers,” said Wendel. “Then a shot of antibiotic, and I’ll call by daily to swab the ear for you and give antibiotic pills. Not that I don’t trust you to give it the good old college try, vicar, but this is a dog you don’t know yet, with a more extreme condition than the odd seed. Here, old fella, chew this.” He produced a chew. “That ought to distract him.”
Shortly thereafter, not one but three sprouted grass-seeds lay on the table.
“I’m going to plant them in a pot, to remind me to check his ears regularly,” said Chaz.
“Any idea what you’re going to call him?” asked Wendel.
“Oh, no question; Adam,” said Chaz. “He’s the original farmer.”
Chaz took himself into town on his motorbike, and bought a dog collar which he remembered seeing in the big pet shop, which was made to look like a clerical dog collar. He purchased dog grooming equipment as well, and made a large order of cat and dog food to be delivered. Finding he could make a standing order, he ordered a little more than his monthly needs, both to have a stash for emergencies, and so he could donate food to the shelter. He also got a big tub of mealworms for the vicarage birdlife. He needed to build a squirrel and cat-proof bird table; Rachel had her own expensive food, grain free and not smelling as offensive as cheap cat food, but she still stole bread, seed and meal-worms from the birds.
Adam tentatively wagged his tail when Chaz returned.
“Good boy,” said Adam. He patted the dog, and started to gently groom him with a device called a ‘furminator’. It seemed not to pull too much at the dog’s tangled locks, and yet untangled it nicely. Adam, warm, pain free and well-fed for the first time in a long time, subsided onto one side with a sigh of satisfaction.
“Well, I have a new friend,” said Chaz. “And I fear I have probably made an enemy in Bob White, to whom I fear I cannot put a face. Because he wanted me to be bitten, and will resent that I am unscathed, with a fine dog. These people with get-rich-quick schemes are, I fear, the sort of people for whom their failure is never their own fault. Now am I judging too harshly, Adam? I don’t think so, because people do fall into types, and judging by way they act, not the way they look, is a surer judgement. And he has neglected you, my boy. And I’ll happily be a witness if Wendel can prosecute him, though I doubt it will do any good. The law has very few teeth when it comes to animal abusers. And the days when I’d take my sergeant and a few lads to reason with him are gone. Still! I can thank God that he did not sell you to people who arrange dog fights.”
Adam thumped his tail on the floor. All was now right in his world.
Chaz knew he would still be wary of people touching his ear, and sadly, he flinched at feet coming near him; but he would learn to trust fully.
