Tea and Dog Biscuits (5 page)

Walking up and down the garden, back and forth, Monty safely secured on Elsa's old lead, I had a new question to ponder about our first orphan: Would he cock his leg while on a lead? Up and down we went, then along the village street, then back again. A couple of times it was beginning to look hopeful… but nothing happened.

It was gone ten o'clock now and I'd had nothing to eat since lunchtime except for a few grapes. I led him into the garage, where I'd laid out his dressing gown and two breakfast bowls, one with water and one with some Big Value dog food John had left for him. Monty's eyes widened when he spotted the food and he dragged me towards it. He ate so fast it had gone by the time I unclipped his lead. I told him what a good boy he was and backed away towards the door. Would he try and follow me out? Would he try and bolt past me? No, he sat down on his haunches, and then slid down onto all fours. Clever dog – he knew what he was there for. I backed out of the side door of the garage and closed it with a sigh of relief. I needed some dinner, but what I needed even more was a cup of tea.

‘Good night – I'll see you in the morning,' I called through the door.

I made for the house, feeling satisfied with a job well done and looking forward with happy anticipation to that cup of tea and a sit in my armchair.

Indoors, the kettle was soon on. I thought I could hear something above the noise of its boiling and switched it off to listen. No, all was quiet.

Then I heard it:
Howl! Howl! Howl!

Through the silence that descended on our little village in the late, dark hours of a Sunday night, a large, black dog was howling: a soulful cry that would have been heard by our ancestors huddled around the campflre thousands of years ago. A cry that could send a cold chill down the spine of Wilberry residents, awakened from sleep, lying in their beds.

Then it stopped…

I stood motionless for several moments. Maybe it had just been his initial reaction to being left. Several more moments of silence, then:
Howl! Howl! Howl! Hooowl!

I shut my eyes. This was a BIG problem. This was a very quiet village. The sort of place where some people go to bed at ten o'clock and if you stayed up to walk round the village at eleven o'clock there would hardly be a light on.

Howl! Hooowl! HOOOWL!

I marched out to the garage. ‘No!' I shouted through the garage door. I was about to shout it again when I realised I was making as much noise as the dog. ‘Be quiet, you naughty dog,' I hissed through the door. Within, all was silent. I waited for several long moments, ready with a stern voice if there was another outbreak.

Several minutes of peace and quiet passed. That's done the trick, I thought.

I made my way slowly back to the house – and that cup of tea. I strained to listen out over the noise of the boiling kettle, but outside all seemed quiet and still.

Tea was brewed. Many minutes had passed now and all was still peaceful in Wilberry. I stirred my tea – and dropped my spoon on the floor when I heard,
Howl! Howl! Howl! Howl! Howl!

I was out the front door in a flash and racing to the garage. But what was I going to do?

Perhaps he just doesn't like the garage. Or, more worryingly, perhaps he's lonely?

Where else could I try for him? The chicken house? It's small, big enough only for four or five hens, but that may be a good thing; maybe he's used to a kennel. There's straw in it to make it cosy, and it's nice and clean and new. We'd bought it for chickens we were going to get when Dorothy came out of hospital.

Monty was delighted to see me when I reappeared and clipped Elsa's lead on again. He trotted happily down to the chicken house at the bottom of the garden.

I opened the door. ‘In you go,' I said.

Monty looked round at the dark interior then down at the floor. He jerked his head back in surprise: presumably he'd never seen a straw floor.

‘You'll be cosy in here,' I said.

I waved a hand to indicate for him to go forward. But Monty stayed outside, staring in.

Looking back now, I shake my head at some of the things I did in those early days. What would a dog trainer think of some of my techniques? Such as, on my own in the dark, with a dog that had met me only that day, a dog so big that when he stood up on his hind legs he was taller than me, standing behind him, trying to get him into a little chicken house, my hands on his hind quarters, shoving him from the rear?

But if Monty didn't want to go into that chicken house, then he wasn't going to go into that chicken house.

His owner's telephone message flashed into my mind: cheese!

Going back to the house, I rifled through the fridge for cheese. Would he prefer Cheshire or Gorgonzola? I took chunks of both back to the chicken house and, deciding to try the Gorgonzola first – it smells more – waved a bit about in front of Monty.

‘Hmmmm,' I said, holding it up to my nose and sniffing appreciatively. Monty's gaze was fixed on the cheese. I opened the door of the chicken house and threw the cheese to the far end. Monty leapt after it. In a flash I slammed the door behind him and slid the bolt across.

I crossed my fingers so hard it hurt, but this time I didn't even get back to the house.
Howl! Howl! Howl!

Lights came on at one of the houses opposite. I looked at my watch: half past eleven. On a Sunday night. House-trained or not, he had to come in the house – it must be that he's lonely, I thought.

We trotted up to the house together, Monty's tail wagging as he enjoyed his moonlit outing. In our house there were deep pile carpets everywhere except the utility room. I laid down lots of newspaper on the floor. I looked at Monty – he is such a big dog – and put down more newspaper. The Cheese Trick worked again perfectly. I made a mental note to buy a big chunk the next day.

By this stage I realised I was exhausted. I'm going to bed, I thought.

Howl! Howl! Howl!

I froze and closed my eyes. I had run out of ideas. I put fingers in my ears. With eyes closed and fingers in ears, life became quite pleasant again. But I couldn't stand in the middle of the kitchen like that all night. As I opened my eyes and took my fingers out of my ears I heard the phone ringing.

I caught my breath. Could that be John? He said he might ring that night to see how Monty was. I made for the hall and grabbed the phone. ‘Hello!'

‘Hello, my Barrie.'

It was Dorothy! Oh, what a lovely surprise.

‘I know it's late to ring you,' she said, ‘but I didn't want to go to sleep without saying goodnight on our anniversary. I hope I didn't get you out of bed.'

‘I wish,' I said, sighing.

‘What's that noise?' she asked.

‘That noise,' I said, ‘is two rooms and two closed doors away – they must be able to hear it all along the street. I can't stop him howling, Dorothy.'

I went through it all with her. How I'd tried the garage, but he howled; how I'd tried the chicken house, but he howled; how I'd tried the utility room, but he howled.

‘I wish you were here,' I said. ‘I don't know what to do.'

I was sunk in gloom and at my wits' end.

‘He didn't howl when you had him in the car,' Dorothy said.

‘Erm. no.'

‘Well, put him in the car.'

‘Let him sleep in the car…?'

‘He's probably used to it. John's homeless.'

I shrugged my shoulders. I had given up hope. ‘I'll try,' I said.

Monty bounded out of the utility room. He looked up at me expectantly. No, I thought, not yet. Cheese is only for when I want you to go in somewhere you don't want to go. I opened the back of the Volvo. Monty jumped in before I even got the cheese out of my pocket.

‘Goodnight, for the fourth time,' I said.

I didn't bother to make for my armchair. I waited behind the front door. The car was on the drive at the front of the cottage, the closest yet to the neighbours, so I wanted to be able to get out there as fast as I could.

While waiting for Monty to start, I thought about the day's events. About how, unplanned, we'd taken in our first orphan. That in doing so the decision to start the rescue work had been made for us. And how hard it would have been to turn the dog away, how hard it would have been to say no to his owner, who was so desperate for help, for somewhere for his dog to go. And how useless I'd been in handling the dog. I'd taken him off out without even a lead. I thought about the reckless way I'd carried on, pushing at the backside of this huge dog who'd only known me for a few hours and could have made shredded Barrie of me.

And then I realised something else: all was quiet.

Hardly daring to breathe, tiptoeing as lightly as I possibly could on the gravelled drive, I inched my way to the Volvo. Close to, I could hear a noise, a sort of rumbling sound. At first I thought it was my tummy. I leant over to see in the back of the car – and then I knew what the sound was.

It was the sound of snoring.

I woke up suddenly and looked at the clock: ten to five. Ten to five? Why was I awake at five o'clock in the morning? Then I remembered. Today was the day Dorothy was coming home from hospital. In my sleep I must have been wishing away the night, wanting it to be morning. Another week had passed since our anniversary and I ached to have her back with me, safe and well.

I lay there for what seemed ages, trying to get back to sleep. What's the time now? Ten
past
five? Only twenty minutes later? Might as well get up and start clearing up the house. There isn't a clean plate left.

One minute past nine and the phone was ringing. Unusually, I was pleased to hear it, as Dorothy had said she would ring to let me know what time she would be let out, for me to be her chauffeur home. I grabbed the phone.

‘Hello.'

‘Mr Hawkins?'

‘Er, yes.' It wasn't Dorothy. The caller couldn't have failed to pick up the tone of disappointment in my voice.

‘I believe you help people who can no longer keep their dog?'

If this woman had been present she would have seen me standing with my mouth open. How did she know this? It was incredible how word had spread. We had only mentioned it to a few people we knew.

The silence was interrupted not by the caller but by Monty.

Crash!

I knew immediately what that was.

‘Excuse me one moment,' I said into the phone, and made straight for the kitchen.

I pushed the door open and trod in something soft. My foot started to slide and I grabbed the door. The previous evening I had slid on some mouldy tinned tomatoes I had found at the back of the fridge, there from before Dorothy had gone into hospital, which had been retrieved from the bin by Monty. That time I had slid and bumped against a stack of dirty dishes on the cooker, sending them crashing onto the washing machine. This time I did better and held on to something.

I had already learnt not to eat in the same room as Monty. On his second day with us I was eating microwave chips and veggie sausages on my lap in front of the telly. While I watched the telly, Monty watched me. Sitting on his haunches, his gaze followed every forkful from plate to mouth.

Hearing a noise outside, I looked round to the living room window and listened out intently. A friend had said he might call round that night to cheer me up and I hoped it was him, but all was quiet. I turned back to my sausage and chips, but something was wrong – it was just chips. I gazed at the plate, empty on one side. I was sure there had been a sausage left.

And where was Monty? I leaned over the arm of the chair to look round the room. There, under the table, half-hidden by a tablecloth, I could see an enormous black dog, silently licking his lips. How could a dog that big have removed a sausage from my plate, on my lap, carried it to the other side of the room, got under the table and eaten it, all without my hearing or seeing a thing?

‘You villain!' I said.

This was Orphan Dog Number One, and I was learning. I was learning that when you took in somebody else's dog you took in any bad habits he had been allowed to develop.

Today's squelchy mess on the floor was strawberry trifle. I really mustn't leave anything on the worktop if Monty is in the kitchen. I tutted to myself. I'd have to clear this mess up when I finished on the phone. Monty sat on his haunches, waiting to be told off, by the look on his face. The yellow blob on the end of his nose would have made for a good photo.

I went back to the phone.

‘Sorry about that,' I said.

‘My name is Sarah Phipps and I have a dog that is two years old and—'

I had to stop her before she went on.

‘I'm sorry but we've only just started this—'

‘Pearl's a very easy dog – she's not got any problems – that's not why I'm trying to home her.'

‘No, I'm sure. What I meant was that we aren't set up properly. If we're going to do this on any scale we're going to have to build kennels and runs in the garden.'