The water surged back and forth across jagged coastal rocks, Margaret loving the bleak rawness of nature, her eyes straining against the sea drizzle as she glanced from side to side, staring along the barren windswept landscape. The younger dogs chased each other gleefully, bounding over the heather as she sighed, her eyes straining as she glimpsed the outline of a parked lorry further north, several figures standing at the back.
Shaking her head, her thoughts moved back to the dogs, knowing the removal of ticks would have to be a key function that evening, recalling the teachings of her late husband in fondness. She smiled faintly as his warm emotional memory swept through her chest, recalling a roaring open wood fire and the long stone fireplace he had constructed in their living room as she half closed her eyes, tears of emotion welling as she felt his distant love embrace her, the feeling of distant belonging. In her memories, both hands were clasped round a full red wine glass as the man she had loved all her life had meticulously, almost flamboyantly grinned in almost relish. Both were sat in their pyjamas in front of the roaring heat, their wet clothes from a day’s walking in the hills steaming behind, the two dogs panting and basking sleepily before the fireplace in subdued expectation for what was to come.
She grinned as she could almost hear Alexander giggle, raising the large box of matches almost triumphantly, his tone warm from after their initial large scotch they shared as an end of day walking custom, ‘Now my dear…we could go to the vets, or resort to a more ‘Highland’ method to remove these blood sucking beasties!’
No matter how hard she tried, she would be unable to restrain her laughter at his deliberately imposed and almost preposterous manner, his strange and unique humour the first thing that had drawn her to him, her love blossoming on the evening they first met, now seeming so long ago.
He would strain his eyes, in later life donning his glasses in studious concentration, running his hands across the initial chosen pet, his exaggerated voice still causing her to giggle on the bleak coastline, ‘These tricky little beasts grab on as the dog runs past…attaching themselves to the fur and then clambering towards hot flesh…’ Alexander would then slurp in exaggeration, wiping his chin playfully as she giggled, ‘The vampire of the Lowlands and Highlands…drinking the wee doggie’s blood and burying it’s nasty little head into the skin.’ He would look up in triumph as he located the first intruder on the dog’s skin beneath the hair, ‘Now…your money grabbing veterinary surgeon will use tweezers…but this is far more effective…’
Alexander would usually look up again, his eyes widening in mock curiosity, ‘Now that we have prepped the patient, are there any questions so far young lady?’
Margaret giggled further, recalling when she had been able to ask just one question over numerous times in fun, her lips moving just as they had done many years previously, ‘But surely professor…without proper medical equipment, is this not dangerous for the patient?’
Alexander had strained his eyes briefly as if considering the question, then cleared his throat as she had chuckled, swigging from her wine, ‘Very good question…to remove the blood sucking tick, we must ensure the buried head and teeth are not left in the wound…this is quite easy to achieve without tweezers.’ He held up a match, ‘This match head is roughly half the size of the tick’s back…if it was red hot and thrust into your back with the same dimensions…what would you do?’
The much younger Margaret giggled, ‘Well, I would scream in pain professor!’
Alexander grinned in triumph, striking the match and blowing it out, the smoke swirling upwards, ‘Exactly…the tick screams, thus releasing its jaws and waves its little legs in agony to fall off the patient…you them scoop it up and throw the blood sucking vampire down the toilet…they don’t like that very much!’ He would then look down, jabbing the red hot match onto the back of the tick as if to demonstrate, usually lifting the bloated struggling tiny body for her to examine, the unaware dogs usually now asleep in front of the open fire by then.
Occasionally the crackling flames would spit embers, the couple giggling as they removed the red hot shards from the smouldering carpet or fur, the exhausted dogs rarely even waking in alarm or confusion, occasionally looking up as if to dismiss the human intervention as silly. As she smiled in fond memory, she recollected another time when she had even thought of a final question, ‘So what happens if you touch the red hot match onto the dog’s skin instead of the tick by mistake?’
Alexander had grinned in response, a playful hand rising to his chin in mock thought before staring deeply into her eyes, projecting his imitated Sherlock Holmes English voice, ‘Elementary my dear…you get bitten, but not by the tick!’
Margaret was chuckling, her head shaking dismissively, ‘You daft old bugger…what did you go and leave me so early for? That damn fascination and love of roast potatoes…that bloody fish and chip shop for lunch every day at the office…too much cholesterol in chips, deep fried pizza, black and red puddings.’ Her hands rose to opposite shoulders, chest swinging slightly from side to side as a tear ran down her cheek, her teeth clenched to suppress a sob, ‘I loved you so much…’
A sympathetic wet muzzle pushed against her right outside thigh, her hand dropping gratefully to the older dog’s muddied and matted hair as the animal whined softly, sensing his mistress’s pain. Another of the older dogs
