Chapter 12: Dogged
Saturday Morning
Martin tentatively stepped out onto the stone terrace, with a cup of espresso in hand. He glanced around nervously, then allowed himself to relax slightly and took a sip. It had been days since he had been able to enjoy the serenity of his morning coffee with a view of the harbour.
After his visit with Mrs. Potter and Aunt Joan the day before, he gone out to purchase the bird spikes and reflective tape and then installed both along the edges of the roof. However, by evening it appeared the gull had learnt to perch avoiding the spikes and was busily pulling up the tape with its beak.
So far this morning appeared to be safe. No gull in sight. There was only the morning light golden on the village rooftops and on the sand at the Platt, and the sound of the waves as they broke upon the rocks and the sea wall. There was a salty brightness in the air and the water sparkled in the harbour.
Then came a yip, and the shaggy grey dog bounded up to greet him, seemingly out of nowhere. Martin had the urge to… well, not exactly kick the beast so much as firmly nudge it away with his foot, but then it occurred to him – the dreaded gull had shown up during the dog's absence and now that the dog had returned the bird seemed nowhere to be found. Perhaps Aunt Joan was right. Keeping a dog about was the best remedy. He looked the dog over. It seemed well fed, its coat looked glossy and adequately groomed. Other than its recent bout with zoonosis, it appeared healthy enough. Despite its lack of collar and tags, someone in the area must be looking after it. Perhaps if he had Pauline put a bowl of something out for it, whatever it was that dogs liked, it might be trained to come around daily, say for an hour in the morning, just long enough to keep any gulls at bay. He would have to ask Pauline for suggestions on how to get it leave once its guard shift was over.
The dog sat there, looking up at him with eager brown eyes and twitching tail, like it was just waiting to be told what to do. For the first time, Martin was beginning to think perhaps dogs did have their uses after all.
Out of the clear blue sky, a dark shadow swooped down and came at both Martin and the dog with a vicious scream and outstretched claws. In a panic, Martin burst through the front door to safety. The dog yelped and managed to squeeze in with him before Martin slammed the door shut. The dog looked up at him now with what seemed to be embarrassment at allowing itself to be bullied by a mere bird. Oh don't be ridiculous, Martin told himself, a dog doesn't feel anything of the sort.
Disgusted both with the dog, and with himself for anthropomorphizing it, he ushered the beast through the cottage and toward the kitchen door, then he noticed blood was oozing from a scratch on its neck. His hand on the door, he looked away and took a deep breath to control his rising nausea, then looked at the gash again. "Sit!" he ordered. "Wait here!"
He strode to his office, donned gloves, grabbed his medical bag, and returned. He probed the scratch, determined it was not deep enough for stitches, then trimmed a bit of fur and cleaned the area with antiseptic. Relieved that no one was around to see, he opened the kitchen door and pushed the dog out to fend for itself.
Martin went to the front door and peered out. No sign of "Gullzilla" nor anyone who might have witnessed its attack. He straightened up and stepped out with all the dignity he could muster.
As he strode down the hill into the centre of the village, a stiff breeze began to blow clouds in off the sea. The sunny start to the morning looked like it would give way to rain soon. The streets were empty, which suited him just fine. The chemist's looked empty too, but the Open sign was in the window. The bell rang as he pushed the door and Sally Tishell popped up from behind the counter.
"Oh hello, Dr. Ellingham," she gushed, running her hands over her hair. "What can I do for you today?"
"Hm. You left a message that the antiseptic wipes were finally in."
"Yes, of course." She went to the back room and returned with the box. "And did the tolnaftate cream help with your athlete's foot?"
He grunted affirmatively.
"It's good you got here early today. I'm closing up the shop at 10 to go to the auditions at the Village Hall. Business has been almost non-existent this morning anyway, I expect everyone will be there. I wonder if you, Dr. Ellingham, had ever considered going for an audition yourself? You're so distinguished I would think you would be magnetic on the silver screen."
"What? Don't be ridiculous."
"No, no, of course not," she quickly retreated. "You're a man of science, busy tending to the sick. You wouldn't waste your time on such frivolities."
He added a few other items to his order and she put them all in a bag. "So," she returned to her studied, casual tone, "I don't suppose you are interested in the masked ball then?"
"The what?"
"It's a fancy dress party the movie people are throwing on the Platt this Friday. It's posted at the Village Hall. Jago Powell is personally arranging it. Sort of a 'thank you' for the traffic inconvenience the filming has caused. Everyone wears a mask and shows up unaccompanied to guess at each other's identity." She took on a husky, almost seductive tone. "When everyone is a stranger, unexpected things could happen. I was just curious if you might possibly… consider… attending?"
His stony expression was all the answer she needed.
"Not that I'm suggesting any sort of impropriety, mind you," she retreated again. "Would never do that, my Clive may be away on the rigs but I'd never give him any reason to doubt my fidelity. No, you're right, it's just another time-wasting frivolity." She quickly printed out a receipt and had him sign for the supplies on his office account. "Will that be all, Dr. Ellingham?"
Martin wondered if there really was such a person as Clive Tishell. Certainly, Mrs. Tishell seemed potentially delusional in general. How did she expect to go incognito at a masked ball when she refused to take off her signature neck collar? However, he decided she might be able to shed some light on the oleander issue.
"Hm. I wondered if…" he hesitated.
"Yes? How may I be of assistance, Dr. Ellingham?" She was practically taut with anticipation.
"Er, are you knowledgeable about herbal remedies or folk medicine? Specifically, any uses of oleander? Perhaps in the form of an herbal tea."
"Oleander? No. I have an oleander shrub in my back garden. Are you recommending it as a remedy?"
"Certainly not! It's a deadly poison!"
"Is it?" She looked alarmed. "Should I have it pulled out?"
"Don't be ridiculous, it's not going to jump up and attack you. Just don't make tea from it!"
"I would certainly never do that if you say not to, Dr. Ellingham."
He was nearly at his limit of tolerance for her nonsense.
"Anyway," she continued, "herbal folk remedies are just voodoo mumbo jumbo, as I'm sure you would agree, Doctor. Is there anything else?"
"Hm. I don't suppose you know anything about repelling aggressive herring gulls?"
"Well, I've always heard keeping a dog about the place will scare them away."
He scowled and left the shop.
To be continued…