An Alligator in the Bathroom…And Other Stories. Carter Langdale. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Carter Langdale
Издательство: Ingram
Серия:
Жанр произведения: Биографии и Мемуары
Год издания: 0
isbn: 9781786063458
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penn’orth of chips and a ride in a small orange box of a van to rescue a cat.

      The Hull RSPCA district was without an out-in-the-field inspector at this time, so a locum was brought in, and he would live in the flat above our office. He drove into the yard in his blue van and got out. Now, I had never seen an inspector before, and what I saw seemed like a vision. The uniform was like the police had, with smart tunic and cap, with RSPCA insignia and two silver pips on the shoulders, and I knew instantly that I’d seen my future.

      The next weeks only made me more and more determined, as I got to know the man – only a few years older than me – and heard what he did and saw all the kit he had inside his van. He seemed like a free agent, responsible for solving every problem that came up, the dawn-to-dusk patrol, and that just had to be me.

      My life now was entirely mapped out. My next job would be as an RSPCA uniformed inspector, and I wanted no more than that for ever and a day, and my companion along life’s rocky road would be Carol. There were several things wrong with this map. There could be no question of our getting hitched without the inspector’s job. Inspectors got a decent wage, a van to use whenever, and, above all, a house, but the minimum age for inspectors was twenty-two and I was only eighteen.

      Time went by, then the good news. They lowered the age for inspectors to twenty. The bad news was that Jack retired, his place as manager was taken by Janet the assistant manager, and her place was taken by Herbert the senior supervisor, a man who hated all living creatures but especially cats, dogs and RSPCA ambulance drivers of whom he had previously been in charge.

      Herbert and I did not get on. I could not understand what he was doing there and I must have made that apparent because he designated me as a special case. While maintaining his general dislike of anything that breathed, he never missed an opportunity to stick his knife into me, and a good one came up with his promotion.

      ‘Well, now, good morning young man,’ he said to me one day, his white-coated tongue slipping and sliding over his yellow, protruding teeth (he was an ugly sod as well as being so unpleasant). ‘I understand you’re applying to become an inspector.’

      ‘So I am,’ I said, smelling all sorts of large, long-tailed grey rodents.

      ‘I’m the assistant manager now,’ said Herbert, in such a way that suggested I should perhaps kneel and offer him an annual tribute of gold, silver and nubile maidens. As I failed to react correctly, he continued. ‘One of the assistant manager’s jobs, which is always done by the assistant manager, is to write the employment references. So when head office comes calling, asking for a reference for you, I shall have to write it. See?’

      I certainly did see, and that future I had planned, with house, van, salary and Carol, vanished like my dad’s favourite proverbial substance, Scotch mist. I was devastated. Carol, bless her, did not come up with alternatives, such as my being apprenticed to a painter and decorator, or taking a position as an on-street sales executive with the Hull Daily Mail. Her view was that I would win through despite the best efforts of Hateful Herbert, but whether I would have done so without an exceptionally hairy dog, I don’t know.

      This dog had been brought in to be put down straight away and, as ever, Herbert had volunteered to see to it. I saw him go into the little single-storey building set aside for the purpose, leading an animal I’d never seen the like of. It was massive and hairy beyond belief, like something out of a Hammer horror film. I supposed it was an Alsatian, perhaps crossed with something else such as a water buffalo, but it was one hell of a dog anyway.

      Inside the building was the machine used in those days for putting animals down, the electrophanator. It sounds horrifying now but it was the technology of the time. It consisted of a box, an electrical transformer, and some crocodile clips on wires. You put the animal in the box, secured it with collar and leather thong, then attached the clips, one to each ear and one to a back leg.

      There were two switches. The first delivered a shock through the animal’s brain, knocking it out cold. The second shock stopped the heart. If it sounds like execution by electric chair, it really wasn’t as bad as that. If it worked properly, it was as humane a method as we could have had then.

      Things were not working properly for Herbert, though, with the hairy timber wolf. Shouts and curses were coming out of the killing shed, so I went in to see what was up. Really I had no business in there but it was on the way to the store cupboard where my stuff for cleaning out the kennels was. Herbert stopped cursing when I went in but I soon saw what was the matter. He’d got the dog in the box all right, and it was tied, although its head was out. As he approached with the crocodile clips the dog gave the most threatening and chilling growl. If Herbert put his hand anywhere near, he could expect to become eligible for disability benefit.

      I had to smile at the thought as I headed for the store cupboard, but that little bit of amusement disappeared when I heard the dog cry out. I turned to look and there was Herbert with a length of four-by-two in his hands, about to whack the dog again. I ran over, shouting. If he did that once more, he would feel the four-by-two around his own earholes and might well experience new sensations in his private parts in connection with crocodile clips.

      I was taller than him, younger and fitter, and so angry that Herbert could tell I was capable of doing what I said and more.

      ‘All right, then,’ he said. ‘If you’re so ****ing clever, ****head. You do it.’

      This was against regulations. I wasn’t trained, I wasn’t qualified, and I’d never done it. Such thoughts could not enter my crowded brain, (a) because I wanted to spare the dog any more hurt, (b) because I was furious at Herbert, and (c) because I expected the dog to bite my hand off.

      The animal seemed to trust me more than it had Herbert, and let me put the clips on its ears. Herbert meanwhile was making a big deal of attaching the last clip to the back leg. We stood back. Herbert threw the first switch.

      We were expecting an alive dog to become unconscious, but quite the reverse happened. A quiet dog became mad, in all senses of the word. Screaming its wrath, it translated into a bucking bronco and began wrecking the electrophanator from the inside. The box, something about the size of a trap at a greyhound track, disintegrated before our eyes. The lid flew this way, the back door flew that way, and all the while the dog was howling, and it wasn’t the moon it was howling for.

      Herbert ran from the room and banged the door shut behind him. I was rooted, unable to move as the hairy monster managed to hurl itself and the box onto the floor, where it burst open completely. The giant was free, and looking for revenge.

      There was nothing in the room except another table like the one the electrophanator had been on. I jumped onto it and squatted on my haunches, watching wolfie padding around. He seemed even bigger somehow. Maybe he had a demonic spirit that fed on electricity.

      Never in my life before had I been frightened of, or by, an animal. This was a new experience which, as the hound saw me and came my way, I felt would be a last as well as a first.

      I didn’t know whether to try saying ‘Sit!’ in a commanding manner, or ‘Nice doggy, good boy’ in conciliation, but it didn’t matter because my mouth was so dry that I couldn’t say anything. All right, Carter, I thought, as the dog tensed, ready to pounce. I hope Carol will still like me with my throat torn out.

      The dog reared up on its hind legs. I was motionless, still squatting, all sensations suspended other than fear. It put its enormous front paws on the table, one on either side of me, sniffed my face, and licked me.

      Although it had been officially condemned, it had committed no greater crime than appearing to have no owner. It took me two days to find a family who would take it on and, while I was persuading Janet the manager to let me try to do that, I mentioned the matter of my reference and Horrible Herbert. That’s all right, she said. He’s new to that job. Never done one before. I’ll show him how.

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