Dogs have played an important part in my life and so have ladies.
I started veterinary nursing with a quite remarkable Veterinary Surgeon called Josephine Stewart.
She stood no more than 4′ 8″ or 4′ 9″ tall. She had badly deformed hips which caused to stand with a pronounced forward stoop and gave her an ungainly shuffling gait. Bearing in mind that Jo qualified as a veterinary surgeon in the 1950s, this in itself was unusual for a lady but to do it as a disabled lady is an indication of the type of person that she was. I don’t know if this is a particularly English thing but I never asked about her physical condition and it was never discussed amongst her staff.
Thinking about it, I guess after a short time nobody noticed her disability because the focus of her staff was doing their job and respecting Jo for what she was, an incredibly talented veterinary surgeon.
In the years that I was there, I was the only male nurse surrounded by more ladies, nurses, a secretary, a cook, a driver, a groomer.
While I was working as a trainer/behaviourist I must have had thousands of lady clients over the years.
In my retirement, I went back to veterinary nursing for charity vets who work worldwide to neuter and provide care for stray animals.
During my time, the vets were all ladies, all delightful but without doubt, none of them were shrinking violets.
During my life, I have met ladies from all walks of life.
All this serves as an introduction to my encounter with probably one of the most formidable ladies that I ever encountered.
My first meeting was hardly auspicious. She was around 4′ 11″ tall, slim and well into retirement years. She wore a beautifully tailored, tweed, two-piece suit, a small deerstalker hat and sensible brogue shoes. She was immaculately groomed with greying hair pulled back into a very practical bun and just a hint of carefully applied make-up.
She gave the impression of a colonial lady, the type the empire was built on. You could just see this lady confronting the restless natives armed with nothing more than an icy state and a parasol.
This was not a lady to be trifled with.
The dog that she had brought was a border terrier called Murdo and the requirement was that Murdo walked on the lead without pulling and MUST NOT pick up unsavoury objects or sniff anything that should not be sniffed in polite company. Must return when called and definitely must not jump up particularly at the elegantly-stockings legs of her friends when they came for afternoon tea.
Whilst I was with my clients I regularly chatted, giving advice as I thought was appropriate, would recount anecdotes and generally flatter the ladies. This was a tried and trusted system and over the years I had perfected it to the point where I thought there was hardly a lady I could not entertain. But this lady would smile politely at my efforts to amuse but never seemed to respond with any warmth.
After a number of lessons at exactly the same time on the same day of the week the fateful day arrived. The rain was lashing down, a force nine gale was blowing and the police had put out a weather warning: driving could be hazardous, localised flooding may occur.
This was Cornwall. When storms arrived they have built a frightening head of steam as they crossed the Atlantic.
My lessons took a practical form. I took the view that going round and round a hall has its value but to make real progress it was necessary to train in the sort of environment that we would be using on a day to day basis. So walking on the lead was done locally through the streets of Perranporth.
With this in mind, I looked out of my office window. The rain was nearly horizontal, you could barely stand up. Dogs ears flapped parallel to their backs and they themselves were reluctant to leave the comfort of their beds.
I thought about my client, a lady of advanced years, a phone call was required.
“Mrs Huntington-Smythe, the weather is atrocious, I am concerned about the conditions, the drive here may be dangerous. Maybe you might like to rearrange…..”
A deathly silence followed and then “Young man…. ”
And you know – you just know that you are in trouble, as deep as it is possible to be.
“Young man. If you don’t want to go out in the rain you only have to say so.”
“I was only thinking of you Mrs Huntington-Smythe. You’ve got to drive over here and the weather is….”
The interruption was immediate and forceful.
“The day that I can’t go out in the rain will be the day that they cart me away in my pine box. I’ve travelled all over the world. I’ve endured monsoons, survived tropical storms and sailed through TYPHOONS…. ”
Her voice rise and became shriller with every word.
“I have camped in hurricanes and ridden camels in sandstorms in Egypt.”
I can’t vouch for the willingness of an Egyptian camel to go out in a sandstorm but I am sure they were no more enthusiastic to be out in one than I was to be out in a force nine in Cornwall.
The fact remained Mrs Huntington-Smythe had made her intentions plain. Her lesson was booked, she had experienced every form of extreme weather known to man (or woman ) and a bit of rain would not be a deterrent. The diatribe ended. Chastened, I rang off, mumbling feeble apologies and assuring her that I too was not afraid of a spot of rain and a stiff breeze.
And so she came.
It was undoubtedly the most horrendous lesson that I have ever given. I shudder at the memory. We could barely stand upright. We were so wrapped in clothes we must have given the appearance of a pair of Michelin Men. We were both wearing hoods so we could barely hear ourselves speak. On more than one occasion I saw what I interpreted as a mute appeal from Murdo. I am sure he was trying to say.
“What the heck are we doing out in this?”
His distaste was obvious. Let’s be honest he couldn’t hear a word that was said and to the best of my knowledge, the ability to lip-read has somehow bypassed the canine population.
Mrs Huntington-Smythe had her way. Murdo had his lesson and the routine of this indomitable lady had not been interrupted.
Another of life’s lessons had been learned.
There are folks who consider an appointment sacrosanct, they are certainly never late and they definitely do not accept cancellation as acceptable. It may appear to be extreme to you and I, but as I reminisce my mind drifts back to where it all started and without a doubt if my old boss Josephine Stewart had been in the same position as Mrs Huntington-Smythe she too would have expected her lesson.
Without a doubt, for certain ladies compromise is never an option.
“I ask people why they have deer heads on their walls. They always say it’s because it’s such a beautiful animal. There you go. I think my mother is attractive but I have photographs of her.”
Ellen DeGeneres
With subtitle or not?