A new life (An abridged version of the story in "All Creatured Great and Small" by James Herriot)

Old Mrs. Donovan was a woman who really got around. No matter what was 
going on in Darrowby – weddings, funerals, house-sales-you’d find those 
black-button eyes taking everything in. And always, on the end of its 
lead, was her terrier dog. 

Many people took an uncharitable view of her acute curiosity, but 
whatever the motivation her activities took her into almost every channel 
of life in the town. One of the channels was our veterinary practice. 

She could talk at length on the ailments of small animals and she had a 
whole armory of medicines and remedies at her command, her two 
specialties being her miracle conditioning powders and a dog shampoo of 
unprecedented value. The people of Darrowby found her particularly 
endearing, in that she never charged for her advice, her medicines, or 
her long periods of diligent nursing.

She had an uncanny ability to sniff out a sick animal and it was not 
uncommon to find Mrs. Donovan posing intently over what I had thought was 
my patient, smiling while she administered calf’s foot jelly or one of 
her own patent nostrums. 

There was no smile on her face, however, on the day when she rushed into 
my office.

“Dr. Herriot!” she gasped. “My little dog’s been run over!”
 
I was there in three minutes, but as I bent over the dusty little body 
stretched on the pavement I knew there was nothing I could do. 

“I’ll take him back to the surgery, but I’m afraid he’s had a massive 
internal hemorrhage. Did you see what happened exactly?”

She gulped. “Yes, the wheel went right over him.”

I passed my hands under the little animal and began to lift him gently, 
but as I did so, the breathing stopped and the eyes stared fixedly ahead.

Mrs. Donovan sank to her knees and for a few moments she gently stroked 
the rough hair of the head and chest. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” she 
whispered at last.

“I’m afraid he is.”

I took her arm, led her over to my car and opened the door. “I’ll take 
you home. Leave everything to me.”

She tried to smile. “Poor little dog, I don’t know what I’m going to do 
without him.”

I often saw Mrs. Donovan around town after this and I was glad to see she 
was still as active as ever, though she looked strangely incomplete 
without the little dog on its lead. But it must have been over a month 
before I had the chance to speak to her.

It was on an afternoon when I was called to dreadful case of neglect. I 
arrived at a small ramshackle wooden shed, where a few curious people 
were hanging around. With a feeling of inevitability I recognized a 
gnome-like face. Trust Mrs. Donovan to be among those present at a time 
like this.

I walked over to the shed, and saw it was covered with peeling paint and 
had a rusted corrugated iron roof. There was no window and it wasn’t 
easy to identify the jumble inside. But right at the back, a dog was 
sitting quietly.
 
I didn’t notice him immediately because of the gloom and because the 
smell in the shed started me coughing, but as I drew closer I saw him 
lying in the dirt, his collar secured by a chain to a ring in the wall. 
I had seen some thin dogs but this advanced emaciation reminded me of my 
textbooks on anatomy; nowhere else did the bones of the pelvis, face and 
rib cage stand out with such horrifying clarity. A deep, smoothed out 
hollow in the earth floor showed where he had lain, moved about, in fact 
lived, for a very long time. The hindquarters were a welter of pressure 
sores. The coat, which seemed to be a dull yellow, was matted and caked 
with dirt.

The sight of the animal had a stupefying effect on me; I only half took 
in the rest of the scene - the filthy shreds of sacking scattered 
nearby, the bowl of scummy water.

But I examined him more thoroughly, and I saw perfect teeth and 
well-proportioned limbs with a fringe of yellow hair. I put my 
stethoscope on his chest as I listened to the slow, strong thudding of 
his heart.

 I turned to a nearby policeman, “You know, inside this bag of bones 
there’s a lovely healthy Golden Retriever. I wish there was some way of 
letting him out.”
 
As I spoke, I noticed a pair of black pebble eyes were peering intently 
at the big dog.  I continued conversationally as though I hadn’t seen her.

“I’m afraid we’ll never be able to find someone to give this dog all the 
care he needs. I suppose there’s nothing else for it. He’s suffered 
enough, and I’d better put him to sleep right away.”

But at this moment, Mrs. Donovan squeezed her way inside and began 
examining the dog. She stood silent for a few moments, obviously in the 
grip of a deep emotion, then she burst out.

“Can I have ‘im? I can make him better, I know I can. Please let me have 
‘im!”

I smiled and nodded, and stepped aside as Mrs. Donovan lead the dog out.

It must have been nearly three weeks when I noticed her stumping briskly 
along the far side of the market place, exactly as before. The only 
difference was that she had a big yellow dog on the end of the lead.

As she saw me walk over, she stopped and smiled impishly but she didn’t 
speak. I looked down with something akin to awe. He was still a skinny 
dog but he looked bright and happy, his wounds were healthy and there 
was not a speck of dirt in the coat or on his skin. 

As I straightened up she seized my wrist in a grip of surprising 
strength and looked up into my eyes.

“Dr. Herriot, haven’t I made a difference to this dog!”

“You’ve done wonders, Mrs. Donovan.” 

From that day I saw the two of them frequently at a distance. I know the 
memory of it was always fresh because many years later I was watching a 
cricket match and I saw the two of them. At the end of the match I 
watched them move away with the dispersing crowd; the dog would be about 
twelve then and heaven only knows how old Mrs. Donovan must have been, 
but the big golden animal was trotting along effortlessly, a little more 
bent perhaps, but doing very well.

When she saw me she came over and I felt the familiar tight grip on my 
wrist.

“Dr. Herriot,” she said, and in the dark probing eyes the pride was 
still as warm, the triumph still as bursting new as if it had all 
happened yesterday.

“Dr. Herriot, haven’t I made a difference to this dog!”