Before I continue, and in the unlikely event that some unprincipled rotter should wish to plagiarise my work, I confirm the following.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
Now with that out of the way, on with the story, where Helena Ruby Tremble gets home.

She went in through the back door of the Lodge, which was built in the gothic Victorian style, compact but with pleasing proportions and particularly elegant arched windows, an inevitable source of complaint when painting was required.
“You’ll have to get your own meal this evening, Ron, I’m playing with the darts team and won’t be back ‘til late and I’ve got to get Denholm to the vet’s before I go.” Ron Tremble sat smoking, disgruntled in his worn armchair watching horseracing on the television.
“Don’t know why you bother with that mangey mut.”
“Because, you oaf,” she thought to herself “he’s better company than you are. If I took you to the vet I’d ask him to put you down and do us all a favour.” Cheerfully however she said, “There’s ham and cheese in the ‘fridge, fresh bread, some nice salad but I’ve not washed it yet - that should do you.”
“Well don’t come in at all hours and wake me up and is there any cake left?”
“If I had the opportunity,” thought Helena Ruby Tremble, “I’d never come home again you curmudgeonly old basket.” Instead she said brightly, “Yes it’s in the round tin on the top shelf .”

Helena Ruby ran upstairs to the bedroom, quickly changed into her darts team shirt and a pair of black trousers, went to the bathroom, brushed her hair and splashed her face with water then returned downstairs to collect the dog and depart.
“Wish me and the ladies luck!” she called out.
“Yeah.”
Denholm was duly scooped up from his rather flaky blanket and Mrs Tremble effected a speedy exit.

Three years previously she had absent-mindedly entered a competition sponsored by Golden Good Morning Weight Conscious Crunchy Breakfast Bites and to her astonishment, won a high performance hatchback which she enjoyed driving tremendously. The driving lessons necessitated by this stroke of luck had been a little problematic and practice outings with Ron had been downright disagreeable. However, happily all that was now past and Helena Ruby at least had the freedom afforded by her own means of transport.

Upon arrival at the veterinary practice, Denholm became decidedly anxious. His small canine brain was probably registering his last visit when he was bitten by a hamster beside whose cage he sat too close, and the ignominy of the treatment which followed. His anxiety triggered a bout of terrible itching and he started to dislodge flakes of skin and hair when scratching vigorously with his rear leg. Mrs Tremble realised she should have sat him on his blanket as the plum and midnight blue upholstery in her car received a liberal sprinkling of detritus. “Oh don’t do that Denholm, come on, let’s go and see the nice man who can make you better.”

Once inside the surgery Mrs Tremble sat with Denholm on her lap waiting to be seen. This made Denholm feel more confident than being at floor level (even though as a result her trousers received a light dusting) and in due course the weeping owner of a condemned pet came out and Denholm was next. Mrs Tremble fleetingly wondered what became of corpses generated thus, then having walked into the consulting room, placed the now trembling Dachshund on the examination table. His complaint was diagnosed as some kind of nervous dermatitis and he was duly prescribed soothing unguents, and Mrs Tremble was advised to return with the patient if his condition showed no sign of improvement. There wasn’t time to return him home before setting out for the darts match, so she just resigned herself to the fact that she would have to give her upholstery a very thorough vacuuming tomorrow and set a course for Halibut under Endive.

The road to the village was pleasant and tree-lined and Helena Ruby’s spirits lifted as she looked forward to her evening ahead and as the mellowing sunlight flickered through the leafy branches. She drew up in the car park of the Raddled Beanpole and decided it would probably be best if Denholm remained within the safety of the car, being diminutive as he was, and she promised to check on him regularly and bring him some water. She deduced from the vehicles already present that most of her team had arrived. The long-standing captain of the Hake on Spinach team, Pam Krenelli, whose husband died under suspect circumstances when on a business trip in Italy, had purchased a state of the art people mover with some of the life insurance. It proved very useful for the Hake on Spinach Ladies’ Darts Team when she was not transporting her five children, the youngest of which was born some time after Mr Krenelli’s demise. This had caused many raised eyebrows at the time. Pam, being wise, had said nothing and in due course the rumours had subsided.

Helena Ruby supposed that most of the opposition would arrive on foot, it being their home ground.
“Be a good boy, Denholm, and I’ll bring you out some water - and try not to scratch too much. See you in a little while...” Helena Ruby planted a kiss on his upturned head then shut the door, locked the car and looked forward to the evening ahead.

As Helena Ruby walked under the honeysuckle-laden arch at the door and as Denholm gazed disconsolately after her, his attention was distracted by the sound of hoofs scuffing and then he became positively alarmed as the terrible realisation descended that the car was surrounded by hounds eager to kill something. Not only did he start scratching furiously, but could not help himself doing what most animals in fear of their lives do. Suffice to say that the upholstery would require more than vacuuming now.

- and never forget, dogs die in hot cars -