It's only the firm and insistent demands of Bucephalus that manage to force Stirling out of bed just a few hours later. She's exhausted and still has a half-day's worth of patients to see.
"Lucky me," she mutters to herself as she dresses to walk the dog.
She should also check up on the people from the accident last night.
The wind has a bit of a bite to it, perhaps a sign of the approaching fall, as she and Bucephalus climb the hill to a grassy expanse of field along the cliff top, high above the village. This is a daily ritual for the pair - it helps Stirling become fully conscious and it provides Bucephalus an opportunity to stretch his long Great Dane legs.
The dog is soon off chasing the scent of a rabbit. Stirling lets out a huge yawn as she settles onto her favourite bench that just happens to have a stunning view of the sea. She leans back, closes her eyes and stretches out her legs, mentally begging for a few more minutes sleep. She almost manages to nod off when she hears a panting noise behind her. At first she thinks it's Bucephalus, returning from his scamper, but it sounds too human-like. She opens her eyes and screams. There's a strange man looming above her and he's upside down.
She jumps off the bench, realizing the man isn't actually upside down; her head had been stretched so far back, everything had just looked upside down.
"Who are you?" she asks, her hands at the ready in case she has to protect herself.
"I'm your first appointment," says the tall man rather good naturedly. "Dr. Ellingham said I would probably find you up here."
Stirling looks at her watch.
"You woke the Chief up at this hour of the morning?"
"Well, the surgery was locked and no one was answering the door," he says, leaning up against the bench.
"That's because the surgery doesn't open until 8:30," Stirling explains, searching the distance for Bucephalus.
"I guess I'm a bit early," the man says with a smile.
"A bit! It's 7!"
"I usually get up early to check the roads and the trails. The early bird catches the poacher."
"You're the park ranger?" asks Stirling.
"Yes. Stewart James," he says extending his hand. "And you're Dr. Aylesworth or Doc Stirling as I'm sure everyone in Portwenn is calling you."
She shakes his hand cautiously.
"I'm really not one for crowds, lots of people. I came in early hoping I could beat the waiting room crush."
"Oh, you've beat it alright," says Stirling, putting her fingers to her mouth and letting out a loud whistle.
Stewart covers his ears in pain.
"That's loud," he protests.
With a bark of joy, Bucephalus comes bounding over a small hill and runs toward Stirling. Stewart looks horrified.
"What the hell is that?"
"It's a dog," she says, giving him a strange look.
What is it with men around here and dogs? she thinks.
"Do you know how much damage a dog that size can do to an ecosystem? How many squirrels and rabbits it can destroy in a day?"
"You obviously don't know this dog," says Stirling, laughing. "He can kill exactly zero squirrels and rabbits in a day. He'd starve to death if he couldn't find his dish."
Bucephalus bounds to a stop in front of Stirling and then turns to look at Stewart. With a woof, he jumps up, putting his front paws on Stewart's shoulders. The man almost falls to the ground.
"Get it off me," he screams, terrified.
Stirling's tempted to laugh but understands how intimidating a Great Dane looking you in the eye can be.
"Off," she commands.
Bucephalus drops his front feet to the ground, looking somewhat embarrassed.
"He actually paid you quite a compliment," Stirling says, walking back toward the surgery with Stewart keeping pace beside her. "He doesn't jump up on just anyone, you know. The only other person he's done that to around here is PC Penhale. Of course, Bucephalus did give him big sloppy kisses. But you screamed louder."
Stewart gives her a dirty look as she smiles at him.
When they finally reach the surgery, Stirling unlocks the front door and Bucephalus bounds in, heading for the bed upstairs.
"Just go through to the consulting room," she says, digging through the filing cabinet for Stewart's patient folder, which turns out to be a rather thick, bedraggled, and smudged mess.
"I hope this isn't indicative of your personal health," Stirling says, sitting at the doctor's desk and carefully removing the elastic band that holds the mass of papers together.
"I believe there was a flood once in the surgery and it was damaged then," Stewart explains, sitting gingerly in a chair across the desk from Stirling, who is busy speed reading his patient notes.
She's familiar with the park ranger, having been told all about his idiosyncrasies by Morwenna when he had made the appointment to come in. Originally, he had wanted a home visit but the Chief was adamant that he attend the surgery. The doctor had then spent half an hour briefing Stirling on what to expect from Stewart during his visit and what symptoms to look for, including paranoia and any discussion of Anthony, his imaginary six-foot tall red squirrel friend. She's actually been looking forward to this visit, just not at 7 on a Saturday morning.
"So what can I do for you Stewart?" she asks, sitting back in her chair and fighting back a yawn. "What brings you in to see me?"
He looks uncomfortable and squirms slightly in his chair, which he is sitting right on the edge of.
"I've been having problems with a rash for the past few days," he says. "Being out in the woods, you step into a patch of nettles or pick up thorns in your arms and hands. But about two or three days ago, I came into contact with ... something and the resulting rash has been very painful. I've tried all the lotions and remedies I know; nothing helps."
"Where's the rash?"
"It started on my knee and has spread."
Stirling stands up.
"Okay, off with your trousers and up on the examination couch," she says, grabbing some latex gloves and pulling them on. She slides some protective paper off the roll on the couch for Stewart to sit on and turns around.
Although he's stood up, Stewart's not moving.
"Take off your kit, just your trousers," Stirling repeats.
He looks at her helplessly.
"I can't just roll up my cuff for you to look?" he asks.
Stirling feels a twinge of annoyance.
"No, I need to see where this rash originated on your body and where it has spread," she says, an edge to her voice. "The only way I can do so is if you remove your trousers. Now, if this proves difficult for you, I can arrange to have your trousers removed for you."
He gives her a strange look.
"Are you offering to undress me?"
"If it hurries the process along, I'm willing to cut your trousers off you," she says angrily. "And you can go home in just your skivvies."
Stewart quickly kicks off his hiking boots, undoes his belt, unbuttons his trousers and pulls them down and off. Throwing them over the chair he was sitting on, he hops onto the end of the examination couch.
The rash is extensive and actually looks more like a burn to Stirling. It covers Stewart's upper thighs and appears to go all around the upper area of both legs. There is no rash on his knees.
She looks up at him, annoyed.
"This rash didn't start on your knee at all, did it?"
He bashfully shakes his head.
"Lay down and roll over," she says brusquely.
The back of Stewart's thighs are worse and the burn-like rash continues up under his boxer shorts.
"You're going to need to take your boxers off," she says, handing him a white cotton sheet. "You can use this to cover yourself if you're shy."
Stewart rolls over onto his back again and looks at her, fear in his eyes.
"You want me starkers?" he whispers.
Stirling sighs.
"I'm a doctor. I have seen male anatomy before. I have lost track of the number of penises and testicles I have seen in my career. What makes you think yours are going to stand out for me any more than the others?"
The park ranger doesn't look convinced as he arches his bum off the examination couch and pulls down his boxers.
Stirling's eyes widen and she gives a low whistle.
"That's just nasty!" she exclaims, bending over to get a closer look at Stewart's groin area.
The rash is worse here and has covered his testicles, penis and pelvic area. Some of the pustules have burst and are oozing liquid.
"Can you roll over?" she asks, mesmerized by the damage.
His bum is covered as well.
"Okay," she says, stepping back. "You can cover up for now."
She walks over to one of the medical cupboards and pulls out a sterile sample container and a long cotton bud.
Stewart has flipped over onto his back and covered himself from the waist down. She flips back the sheet and gently wipes one of his oozing sores with the cotton bud. She puts the contaminated end into the sterile container and cuts the rest of the stick off before sealing the segment into the sample bottle.
"You've had this for a few days?" she asks, setting the container on her desk.
"About two or three," says Stewart, sitting up.
"What were you doing just before the symptoms started?"
"Well," he says, thinking back. "They started in the evening about two days ago. That day, I had been monitoring a river area for poacher traps. They like to set them on game trails leading to the water."
"Did you sit down somewhere or fall during the hike?" she asks.
Stewart looks embarrassed.
"I had to relieve myself," he says.
"Relieve yourself?"
"I squatted down in a clear area and then used some leaves after," he explains.
Stirling stares at Stewart for a moment.
Poor guy, she thinks.
"I think you sat in some giant hogweed," she says, returning to the desk and sitting down. "You can get dressed," she adds, pulling off her gloves and throwing them in the trash.
She writes some directions on a prescription pad and rips off the sheet of paper.
"I've written you a prescription for some steroid cream. It should do the trick. Don't be surprised if your skin turns colour where the lesions are. As it heals, new skin will grow. If it doesn't clear up in a week, come back and see me."
"Giant hogweed," says Stewart, pulling up his trousers. "I've been around that plant lots of times. I've never had a reaction like this."
"Do you always stick your bum and groin into giant hogweed?" Stirling asks. "It's a tender area. As well, people can develop allergic reactions to plants and animals over time. You might get stung by a bee one day and be fine. Two stings later, you could go into anaphylaxis and die."
"Cheery thought," Stewart says, picking up his prescription slip. "Do you think the Chemist will be open?"
Stirling looks at her watch.
"At 7:45 on a Saturday morning? Not likely."
"Do you mind if I wait here and watch your telly? I don't have one and Doc used to let me watch his from time to time."
Stirling looks at him like he's lost his mind.
"I don't have a television," she says apologetically. "They might be serving breakfast over at Large's Restaurant by now."
"Yeah," says Stewart, his smile fading. "I guess I'll wait over there. Pleasure meeting you Dr. Aylesworth. You ever get up to my neck of the woods, stop in. I'll take you for a hike to see some of the spots most visitors never get to see."
"I might take you up on that," she says, shaking his hand.
"But keep that beast of a dog of yours at home," he warns, heading out the door. "He can do a lot of damage, an animal like that."
After Stewart leaves, Stirling sits down in the desk chair and leans back, propping her shoes up on the desk blotter. She closes her eyes and tries to relax.
"Weird bloke," she thinks. "Obviously doesn't get out much."
In a few minutes, she's asleep.
As Stewart walks gingerly down the hill to Large's, he considers Portwenn's newest GP.
"Weird bird," he thinks. "She doesn't even own a telly."