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The shooting season ended and, since she had now won a trial, I mated Tess to a local F.T.Ch. later that spring and I intended keeping a pup myself for I'd found that picking-up was better done with 2 dogs. That shooting season I had slowly come to my senses and had realised that the best place for potential trial dogs to be at big driven shoots while picking-up was a long way back from the guns. More often than not I still go picking-up as a back marker. Back marking provides more quality birds to retrieve, close marking to the guns provides quantity but doesn't teach the dogs a hell of a lot......not of anything you'd want them to learn anyway !
While back-marking I discovered I still had a problem with runners. Tessa found some but not others and very often the "others" were the easy birds, the ones where I could see her work. Not until her litter was born and grew to be about 11-12 weeks old did it finally dawn on me where I had been going wrong ......more about that later.
My training came to an abrupt stop soon after the season had ended , I was walking from my house to a bus stop when I almost collapsed and did scream in pain. I went home and then walked to the doctors where he at once did his nut at me for walking about and cast aspersions on my sanity. I had never heard of it but I had something called a "torte teste." Apparently this is very dangerous as the blood supply to your wotsits gets cut off as the teste spins on it's cord. You then get gangrene .....not pleasant if you have any further use for your marriage tackle or maybe your life.
I was whisked off to hospital in an ambulance straight from the doctors surgery and was given only enough time to briefly inform my wife of where I would be. Once at the hospital it was a bit like the army....hurry up and wait there ! I was seen by a doctor quickly but then had to wait in a ward for my turn on the chopping block or operating table.
While waiting I discovered I was now in desperate need of a widdle and was provided with a flask thingy. No matter how I tried I could not "go" into that thing while sitting on top of a sort of miniature life belt in the bed. I asked for a screen to be put around the bed to let me try to "go" while sitting on the edge of the bed or maybe standing up ......those things did not work either and my efforts to "go" had made me even worse.
A doctor arrived who told me I would be taken to the toilet in a wheelchair by two nurses who would assist me to stand once in the toilet . He added that if I could not "go" while standing with a screen around me beside the bed then I had no chance of performing with a nurse on either side as spectators. Somehow I didn't think I would mind that.
On arrival in the toilet I was assisted out of the wheelchair and very firmly held on to by the nurses. They had a grip on each of my arms that did not allow me to reach the neccessary appendage. With no further ado one of those kind ladies did the holding for me and I tinkled away merrily for ages and ages !
I think I must have been too well potty trained as a small child to widdle in a bed or anywhere near one for I certainly managed fine once well away from it .....nurses are wonderful things . I must admit I have a thing about wummin in uniforms !
Just a short while later I'd had the pre-op injection and was floating away nicely while gibbering non-stop. As I was wheeled out of the ward up came a nurse who asked me if I had any valuables that needed looked after ..... ! I can't remember much about it but I was told later I'd replied , "Yes, the buggers are aboot to operate on them !" I can remember the laughter in the ward from the other poor men in their beds.
The following day or it might have been the day after that a very young and rather lovely nurse arrived at my bed. She told me she'd been instructed to put a truss on me and she wheeled me off to a side room to do it. I looked at the truss she produced and was highly dubious about it's size but nursie knows best so I said nothing. I had been going to put it on myself but she said she'd been instructed that she must do that .
The lassie did her best and blushed furiously while trying to put my wobbly bits into the pouch. After a while I suggested I have a try at it but she still would not let me.
This continued for a couple of minutes more and by now I was feeling very sorry for her and a bit sore myself .....you try sticking your bits into a wee truss while the stitches are in and see how you feel ! I again offered to help her out and this time she reluctantly accepted. I don't think she wanted the other nurses to know she could not manage to do this.
Between us we managed to stuff the now throbbing damned things into the truss and I was wheeled back to my bed. I was in pain and the pain got worse, I went to the toilet and removed the truss after an hour or two. When I did so the skin covering my sac came away with the truss or was left hanging in ribbons from my wobbly bits. The blood supply had been cut off by the truss.
The doctor and the ward sister went ape-shit but the damage had been done. It seems the older nurses had played a little joke on the young nurse. No doctor had ordered that truss put on me. As you can imagine red raw knackers take a while to heal. I was not able to walk about much for a couple of weeks between having the stitches still in and having red raw goolagongs.
My dog training came to an end for a wee while as I grew some more skin. I could probably have sued that hospital but I had no intentions of getting that little dolly bird nurse into any trouble so I did nothing about it.
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to be continued
Wullie
