Tea and Dog Biscuits (20 page)

‘Charlie's right that she's never been played with. So she's learned to play on her own. And with no ball or other toy she's had to improvise. Throw the bone for her and I think she may run after it and bring it back to you.'

And she did.

Charlie gave up on what was, for now, unrewarded effort. ‘And what's Cecilia bringing you?' he asked as I encouraged Lottie back into her pen with a hide chew.

I rolled my eyes. ‘Goodness knows,' I said…

Dorothy, Charlie, Cecilia and I sat round the fire in the living room, drinking tea and munching chocolate digestive biscuits.

Sitting in front of me, looking up, watching every movement of chocolate digestive, nose projecting upwards, nostrils quivering, was a brown dog. And he really was brown. Brown coat all over, nostrils a darker shade of brown, brown eyes and a brown collar. This was Larry, new arrival number three.

‘Oh,' said Cecilia, ‘he's such an appealing dog. Don't you think, Dorothy?'

‘He's gorgeous,' said Dorothy.

I knew what Cecilia meant. He was the sort of dog that seeing him made you immediately want to stroke him.

Dorothy felt we should discover as much as possible about the dogs while they were with us, so reducing the risk of unexpected surprises for the new owner. Thus we tried to make sure each dog encountered everything on a list Dorothy devised: other dogs, cats, horses, children, tractors, lorries, bicycles and vacuum cleaners. And we would try to give each dog a walk in town when it was busy, such as on market day, to see if he was intimidated by crowds. But taking Larry for a walk in town was extraordinarily time-consuming.

‘Can I stroke him?' we would hear every few yards, or so it seemed. The top of his head was shiny where it was stroked so much.

I turned now to fix my gaze upon Cecilia. ‘Charlie,' I said, speaking slowly and with deliberation, ‘Charlie, would you tell me, drawing upon your professional expertise, what physical features of this dog you think indicate that there may be some German Shepherd in there?'

Charlie opened his mouth to speak. I didn't give him the chance.

‘Not the drooping ears,' I said, ‘Not the single, uniform colour, not the rounded shape of the body, or the Labrador size? What about that smooth, very short brown coat? No, I don't think so.'

Cecilia pulled a face.

‘Well,' said Charlie, ‘every German Shepherd I've ever known likes cheese – we could try him with that… '

BARK! BARK! BARK!
There was a sudden eruption outside in Charlie's van. I turned my head and through the window could see the van rocking from side to side. I nearly dropped my cup in surprise.

I spun round to Charlie. ‘Have you got a dog in that van?'

‘Sounds like it,' said Charlie, trying to be as casual about it as he could.

‘What dog?'

‘My dog.'

There was going to be no more chatting or cups of tea or chocolate digestives until we'd met Charlie's new dog!

I'd led the way out to the van – with Charlie in hot pursuit. ‘Don't let him out!' Charlie had called after me.

I circled the van, trying to see inside. An instruction called through the window by Charlie had brought the barking to a halt and the rocking of the van with it. Dorothy had had the sense to stop on her way out to pick up a bag of treats. Cecilia didn't quite share our enthusiasm and was hanging back, near the front door.

‘How long have you had him? Where'd you get him? Have you started the training?' I wanted to know! Starting the rescue work had brought the unexpected benefit of finding a new mate, Charlie, and it was a double bonus that it was my chance to get to know up close a real, live police dog. A trained dog, enjoying the variety of a working life, using his intelligence, and all in the service of the community: pursuing and bringing down villains, breaking up crowds of yobs, on patrol while we slept safely in our beds.

‘Are you going to show us some of the things a police dog can do, Charlie?' I said. ‘Have you trained him yet to bark on command?' I looked across at Cecilia. ‘Or Cecilia could play the villain and he could run after her and bring her down. What do you think, Cecilia?'

‘I'm thinking of sticking two fingers up at you,' she said. ‘You know I'm frightened of German Shepherds. And I'm sure I'm terrified of police dogs. Can't I go indoors and watch through the window?'

It was then it struck me that Charlie seemed unusually subdued.

‘You haven't even told us his name,' I said to Charlie.

‘Barrie! Will you stop hectoring the poor man!' said Dorothy.

‘He asks more questions than CID,' said Charlie.

‘OK,' I said, folding my arms. ‘I won't ask any more.'

Charlie turned to Dorothy, ‘He's like a big kid, your husband, isn't he? I never even got to finish me cup of tea.'

‘Go and get Charlie's tea,' said Dorothy looking at me, ‘so he can finish it while we're out here.'

I traipsed off, but stopped in the hall, on the other side of the front door, ears flapping. I was beginning to think there was a bit of a mystery here.

‘Are you pleased with him, Charlie?' I heard Dorothy ask. There was a pause and then a noise which puzzled me. I put one eye round the door. Charlie was slowly scraping the gravel on the drive with his foot, staring down, in reflective mood.

‘BARRIE! Where's that tea?' Dorothy had spotted me. So I didn't hear Charlie's reply.

By the time I'd retrieved the tea, and following Dorothy's thoughtful lead, found a bag of treats, Charlie had opened the back door of his van. The dog unit vans were kitted out to hold two dogs, the cage divided off into two sections so that each dog had his own space, and to prevent altercations. I'd already asked about this in the past and Charlie had explained that although usually he had only the one working German Shepherd with him, he had also sometimes worked a sniffer dog, a spaniel trained to locate illegal drugs. Now, looking out at us from behind the mesh was one dog, a classic German Shepherd.

‘Oh, isn't he handsome, Charlie,' said Dorothy. ‘How old is he?'

‘He's about two,' said Charlie. I handed him his cold tea. He took it and stood staring at it for a few moments, then shook his head. ‘You wouldn't believe it,' he said. ‘However long was I looking for a dog? And do you know where I got this one from?'

Dorothy and I shook
our
heads.

‘The police!'

‘What?' I said, half laughing.

Charlie took a swig of his tea. ‘He's a fully trained police dog. And he's a cracker!' With a sudden wide sweep of his arm he threw away the dregs of his tea. Now he was talking about his dog we were beginning to see some of the enthusiasm and energy we associated with Charlie whenever he talked about German Shepherd police dogs. ‘An absolute cracker!' He leant over to put his face close to the mesh. ‘But you're a right handful, aren't you?' he said to the dog.

He turned to Dorothy and me. ‘He's full of it. Absolutely full of it. So what he needed was an experienced handler to make the best use of him.' He straightened up and banged the roof of his van with a fist. ‘So they gave him to a novice, didn't they? Been on the job ten minutes, worked on a turkey farm all his life before that. That's probably why the brass let him become a dog handler so soon. Turkeys, dogs, both animals, aren't they?'

Charlie was in full flow now. ‘He's a real country turnip. For his own sake they should have given him a nice easy dog.' He put his face up close to the mesh so the tip of his nose poked through and he addressed the dog again. ‘And you gave the poor devil the time of his life, didn't you?'

He straightened up again, and turned to Dorothy and me. He shook his head again.

‘And then they were gonna chuck him off the unit.'

I looked across at Dorothy. I think neither of us were sure whether it was the new handler or the new dog that was to be thrown off the dog unit.

‘I had a hell of fight – but in the end I made them let me take him.'

Then Charlie did something utterly unexpected.

He shut the doors of the van.

He turned and walked towards the house. I stood open-mouthed. I looked across at Dorothy. She looked at me and raised her eyebrows.

‘Charlie! Aren't we going to meet him?' I called out.

Charlie came to a halt. ‘He's got one or two problems – I'd rather sort them first.'

Cecilia took a couple of steps backwards, nearer to the front door.

I wanted to argue with Charlie. I wanted to say, ‘You said he was a trained police dog, so you must have him under control.' I think Charlie must have read my thoughts.

‘Not all police dogs are Rin Tin Tin, you know,' he said. He strode across to me. ‘Dickie on our unit, his dog don't like the dark – don't want to get out of the van if it isn't broad daylight. And one sniff of a bitch on heat and our sergeant's dog is off like a rocket, gone – he can call him till he's got a blue face to match his blue uniform.' He paused. ‘They're dogs,' he said with emphasis, ‘they're not robots.'

We all fell silent for a couple of moments.

‘Well we'll see him another time,' said Dorothy, in placatory mode.

‘No, no. Of course you want to meet him,' said Charlie. He pulled open the van doors. ‘But he'd rather bite someone than not bite them, that's all.'

He paused before sliding the bolt across on the door of the cage. I suspected he wanted to see if that last piece of information had had the necessary effect.

By the look on Cecilia's face it had certainly had the necessary effect on her, any inclination she had to meet a police dog having entirely vanished.

And as for me, I thought that perhaps it would be more sensible if we postponed meeting the dog until Charlie had had time for further training.

But the look of disappointment on Dorothy's face was more than Charlie could bear. Slowly he slid the bolt across.

In the time I had known Charlie he had struck me as one of life's easy-going individuals, plumpish and placid, usually relaxed. But there was nothing relaxed about him now. His mouth was shut tight, his lips making just a thin line on his face and he was tensed, ready to spring.

He pulled the door open and stood aside to let the dog leap out. At that point I only had a side view of him but I had the impression for a moment that Charlie closed his eyes.

The big dog landed on the ground, paused, looked around, first at me, then at Cecilia, then at Dorothy.

Then he bounded off across the drive and leapt up at Dorothy. He licked her face. Then he dropped down onto all fours, turned sideways and leant against her. Dorothy smiled and patted him two or three times.

Then he trotted over to me and did it all again. As he leant against me, I stroked him and he looked across at Cecilia but made no movement towards her.

Charlie, leaning against the van, was shaking his head slowly.

‘You all right, Charlie?' I asked.

‘Oh yes,' he said, putting his hand to his forehead, ‘never better.'

‘You still haven't told us his name,' I said.

‘Ivor,' said Charlie. ‘Ivor the Terrible.'

At the sound of Charlie's voice, Ivor the Terrible wagged his tail. Then he pushed himself harder against my legs, such that he lost his footing and slid down onto the drive. He raised one front leg and one back leg up in the air, exposing his tummy, to be tickled perhaps.

I looked across at Charlie. He was staring at the ground, still slowly shaking his head.

‘What is the matter, Charlie?' I called out.

He looked up at me.

‘How do they know?' he said. ‘How do they know?'

I woke early that morning. About six o'clock. It was going to be a special day. It was going to be fulfilling, and make me so happy. It was also going to be hard to get through and leave me feeling hollow.

That's what this rescue work is like. You get pulled in two different directions. It's a real mix of emotions.

For the dog you have found a home for you're relieved and happy that he is no longer homeless. And you have a feeling of satisfaction that you've done all you can to ensure it will be a caring home. But then you feel the sense of responsibility, the weight of it, afraid that you will make a mistake, put him with people where he will repeat what he has been through before.

And the worst part? That comes after you've put him in their car for the new owners. Often, because they have had a dog before, it's an estate car. You shut the door on him. His new people get in the car. It's then you see the first signs of concern on his face: you're not getting in the car with him.

Often you get a hug from the new owners, sometimes even a kiss. And usually words of reassurance: ‘Don't worry, we'll look after him.' They'll ring in a few days to let us know how he is settling in.

The turn of the ignition key bringing the engine to life cranks up the anxiety on the dog's face. Now he's restless in the back – he knows that car is going to move off. And it's going to take him with it. But we're not in the car with him.