The Difference a Day Makes (33 page)

Panic seizes me again. ‘He will pull through?’

‘Any other dog and I wouldn’t give it much of a chance,’ he answers with a shake of his head,‘but this is Hamish we’re talking about.’

‘Call me,’ I insist. ‘Let me know how he is. The children will be worried.’ So am I. Worried sick. ‘Bring Hamish back safely.’

‘We will.’ Guy squeezes my hand. ‘Don’t you worry.’

‘Be careful.’ I reach up and stroke Guy’s face. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’

‘I’d better be going,’ he says. ‘I’ll be back just as soon as I can.’

The two men take the sledge and go back out into the snow to rescue the injured dog and I can only wait and hope.

 

 

 

N
ow that they had a trail of footprints to follow it was easy enough for Guy and Alan Steadman to retrace their route back to Hamish. They trudged silently through the crisp snow, Guy thinking how much he’d enjoy a walk like this if only the circumstances were different.

Hamish had looked in pretty poor shape to him. The amount of blood around him was bad news and it was lucky that the dog had survived the night. He only hoped they were going to be able to get down to Hamish and complete the task of hauling him back up the slope on the sledge. He’d taken his vet’s visits bag and some rope from the back of the car to lash the dog to the sled if they needed it. Guy hoisted the weight of the rope onto his shoulder.

Thankfully, Alan Steadman was alongside him, dragging the heavy wooden sledge in his wake. His companion was more than man enough for the job. Disguised beneath that long, lanky frame was a body of pure muscle and, for a man of his age, he had incredible strength - emotional as well as physical, it would seem. He had been a rock in helping to find the children and bring them home.

Guy felt wrung out after taking the kids back to the Grange. Thank God they’d found them in time. He’d tried not to convey to Amy just how worried he was about the state they might find them in. Youngsters could succumb to hypothermia so quickly in conditions like this. He couldn’t help but feel that, this time, they’d had a very lucky escape. Hopefully, this scrape would teach them not to be so foolhardy again.

He’d been glad that he’d been there to come to Amy’s aid. She was distraught, as any mother would be, and he wanted to protect her from that. The kids were home safely and had, by some miracle, come to no lasting harm. Now all he had to do was bring the dog home too.

As they pushed on into the rolling hills of the Yorkshire moors, he could hear the faint barking of Hamish once again. The dog’s voice sounded hoarse now, weak, and he’d probably strained his throat from barking for so long. Either that or he was fading fast.

They reached the edge of the drop where they’d left Hamish and looked over. The dog was still lying prone on the snow. Was it Guy’s imagination or had the pool of blood that surrounded him grown significantly larger? The dog had broken his back leg, that was obvious enough; he only hoped that the fracture hadn’t nicked an artery too. If it had, they were in serious trouble. It was clear that they had to get Hamish out of there and back to the surgery just as soon as they could, or the dog could bleed to death.

‘Ready?’ Guy said to Alan.

‘Aye, Vit,’ the man replied with a nod.

‘We’re coming, boy,’ Guy shouted down to the dog and got a feeble wag of a tail in return.

Together the men clambered down the steep side of the culvert, edging their way over the limestone boulders, lowering the sled as they did, inching their way further and further into the bottom and towards Hamish.

Ten minutes of strenuous descent later, hot, sweating and out of breath, they finally reached the dog.

‘Hello, boy,’ Guy said, roughing up the hound’s floppy ears. ‘What have you been up to then?’

Hamish gamely tried to raise himself, but couldn’t and he let out a whimper as he fell back against the snow, though his tail pounded happily at the sight of Alan. Hamish’s breathing was shallow and he was covered in deep cuts which he must have sustained on his fall. It looked like the dog was suffering from hypothermia too.

Guy examined the break. It was bad. The fracture was in the middle of Hamish’s thigh bone and the jagged edges of the break were sticking through his skin. Years ago, if a dog had come to him in this condition there would have been no choice but to put him down. Now, thankfully, things were different and Hamish at least had a fighting chance. But if Guy didn’t get this fixed soon then the dog could still end up losing a leg. Guy opened his visits bag and rummaged inside. ‘I’ll give him some pain relief and an antibiotic injection,’ he told Alan. ‘Because the fracture’s open there’s a risk of infection. That could kill him as quick as anything.’ Guy filled a hypodermic and then eased it into the muscle on Hamish’s rump. The dog whimpered and the vet rubbed the area soothingly. ‘Don’t hold it against me, boy. This will make you feel better soon, I promise.’

In his bag there was a wad of cottonwool and some bandages. He took them now and gently bound the fracture to try to support the leg. It wasn’t perfect, but it might at least give Hamish some comfort. It was going to be a bumpy ride back.

Guy stood up and surveyed the rocks around them on all sides. ‘We’re never going to carry him out of here, Alan,’ he said as he assessed the desperate situation. ‘We’re going to have to lash him to the sledge and haul him out. You up for it?’

‘Aye,’ Alan said grimly.

‘Let’s lift Hamish together.’They positioned the sledge as close as they could to him, then slid their arms under the dog and in unison hefted him onto the sled. The dog weighed a ton and Guy was glad that Alan had crafted such a useful present for Tom and Jessica. Guy had no idea how they would have managed without it. Any longer and Hamish’s life could be in serious jeopardy. It was touch and go as it was.

They tied the dog tightly to the sledge and, for once, Hamish lay still and let them do what they had to without complaint except for a whimper or two when his broken leg was knocked in the process. ‘Good lad,’ Alan said soothingly as they secured him, stroking Hamish gently. ‘There’s my good lad.’

The two men climbed back up the ridge, hauling the heavy sledge complete with Hamish behind them. They had no option but to take it slowly, inch by inch, but eventually they reached the top.The worst part was over. Guy and Alan stood panting at the top and Hamish gave a weak woof, clearly also glad that the painful, jolting progress up the rockface had stopped.There was still a long way to go, but it would be easier from here on in as the route was mainly downhill back to the car. Now the race was on to get Hamish back to the surgery in time to save him.

 

 

 

I
’m sitting in the bed between my children, Tom snuggled under my arm on one side, Jessica on the other. ‘You must never do that again,’ I tell them as I stroke Jessica’s hair. ‘Mummy was so worried about you.’

‘We thought you were going to hurt Hamish,’ Tom says tearfully. ‘We didn’t want you to do it.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ I squeeze my son. ‘I was so cross with him that I lost my temper. I’ll never do that again. I love Hamish.’ Did I really just say that? Yes, I did. And I mean it. Our life might be a damn sight quieter without Hamish in it, but suddenly that doesn’t seem to be an appealing prospect. He’s brought some fun and joy into the children’s lives when they’ve really needed it.‘I don’t want anything bad to happen to him.’ How true that is now. I’m desperately worried that Guy and Alan won’t be able to get the dog out of that treacherous ravine in time. My blood turns to ice when I think that the children could have fallen down there too. If we were staying here I’d have to make sure that they were better schooled in the ways of outdoor pursuits and safety. As it is, we’re heading back to London where they’re more likely to get hit by a bus or mugged. That doesn’t sound like a great prospect either.

‘They’re here!’ my sister shouts from downstairs. ‘They’re bringing Hamish back.’

I shoot out of the bed, hotly pursued by Tom and Jessica. ‘You have to stay here,’ I tell them, marvelling at how quickly they’re recovering after some well-aimed hot chocolate and plenty of toast. ‘You must rest.’

‘We have to see Hamish,’ Tom says firmly. ‘He saved us.’

‘Okay,’ I relent. ‘But you must wrap up warm and go straight back to bed afterwards.’

Flying downstairs, we gear up in the kitchen, the children putting on layer upon layer over their pyjamas while Serena keeps an eye on their progress. We’re kitted up and are outside just in time to see Guy and Alan hauling the dead weight of Hamish into the yard. Stupid dog that he is, he still tries to bark and wag his tail.

‘Oh, Hamish,’ Jessica cries and runs to him.

Guy and Alan stop where they are and the men wipe the sweat from their brows. ‘Hard work,’ Guy pants.

My children crouch in the snow next to the dog, fussing and petting him.

‘How’s he doing?’ I ask Guy quietly.

‘Not great,’ he admits. ‘But he’s a fighter. We should get him straight back to the surgery. Alan’s going to come with me.’

I reach out and touch Guy’s arm. ‘Come back as soon as you can.’

‘I will,’ he says.

‘I’ll cook you both up the best festive omelette you’ve ever had.’ And I know that I owe this kind, strong man so much more, but I can’t say that now or I’ll cry again.

He laughs. ‘I’ll hold you to it.’

‘Children,’ I call out to Tom and Jessica. ‘Let Guy take Hamish now. He has to go and mend his broken leg.’

‘Please be careful with him,’ Tom pleads as he gives the dog a last, loving stroke.

‘I will,’ Guy assures him.

‘We couldn’t live without him,’ Jessica adds.

And that’s true enough. If Hamish survives - and I just pray that he does - it looks like he’s coming to London with us after all.

 

 

 

W
hen they arrived at the surgery, Guy unlocked the door and flicked on all the lights. Unusually, they had only one patient in residence over Christmas so the place was virtually deserted. He could hear Fluffy, a hedgehog who’d also been brought in with a broken leg, rummaging about in his cage. The little animal been here for over a month now. He was all healed and it was time for him to leave. But Fluffy had become so accustomed to human contact - Cheryl’s in particular - and his luxury diet of cat food, that Guy just couldn’t see him surviving in the wild now. He should be hibernating, not living in a centrally heated, one-room comfortable apartment with several doting attendants. Who in their right mind would want to go grubbing about for slugs in the cold after this? They couldn’t possibly think of turning him out yet. It was a problem that they’d have to address in the New Year. For now, Guy had more pressing matters to deal with.

For some reason Guy also switched on the lights of the Christmas tree which Cheryl had spent hours lovingly decorating. They twinkled at him - red, green and gold - but failed to make the practice look any more festive. On the desk there were boxes and boxes of chocolates, all brought in by grateful customers. Cheryl had tipped some into a glass dish and, without thinking, Guy automatically unwrapped one and ate it without tasting it either. ‘Chocolate?’ he said to Alan.

The man shook his head.

‘It’s the closest you’ll get to dinner for a while.’ Guy threw him a Quality Street anyway, then flicked on the CD player that was behind the desk. Soon, Cheryl’s selection of Christmas carols drifted out through the speakers. He’d need something to soothe him while he carried out this particular operation. Ridiculously, he felt as if he was going to be operating on his own child. Even worse, it took him back to the day he’d had to put his own dear dog to sleep. Hopefully this operation would have a better outcome.

The mellow sounds of ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’ filled the reception. Again, it would be some time before he and Alan got any rest. Although he could currently see the attraction in getting very, very merry when they’d finished.

Guy sighed to himself. They’d better get moving. Hamish had coped well so far, but he didn’t want to risk delaying any longer. It seemed unnecessary to call in a practice nurse when Alan was here with him and was sure to make a reliable assistant. ‘Up for a spot of veterinary nursing?’

‘Aye.’ Alan nodded.

‘Let’s get our patient in then.’ They went back to the car and between them carried Hamish into the surgery and hoisted him up onto the table in Guy’s consulting room.

The vet scratched his head. If it was any other patient, he’d have given the dog intravenous fluids to counter the shock and would have left him to stabilise overnight before operating. But this was Hamish and so much more seemed to be resting on his recovery that he didn’t feel able to wait that long.

He scrubbed up and had Alan do the same, both donning green surgical gowns while Hamish waited patiently. Guy fixed Hamish up to a drip while he took an X-ray of the fracture. Thankfully, when he looked at the break in the cold light of a clinical setting it didn’t seem nearly as bad as he’d expected. The dog would need a metal fixator put in place to help it heal, but it was definitely do-able. The fixators might look like medieval instruments of torture, but they worked like magic and it was amazing how well dogs tolerated them, even though hideous bits of metal were left sticking out through their skin while they did their job. Dogs who weren’t Hamish, of course. Although currently, the dog in question was being the model patient.

‘Good lad,’ Guy said, and gave Hamish a loving stroke.

The femoral artery was intact, thank God, which was what he’d been most worried about, and it looked like the majority of the blood loss had been caused by the multiple cuts that Hamish had sustained as he’d tumbled down the rockface. Most of them were superficial, and a few stitches would put the worst of them right.