Lost Dogs and Lonely Hearts

by Lucy Dillon

  They both knew what that meant. At least I didn’t have to suggest it, Natalie thought, at least he knows. And cares.

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ she said. ‘Listen, I’ve got a call coming through – I’ll see you there. Soon as I can after five?’

  ‘Soon as you can,’ said Johnny, dropping his voice so the kids around him couldn’t hear his husky Barry White impression. ‘Because I don’t want Bill Harper and his canine girlfriend replacement eating into our special Green Zone time together, OK?’

  ‘OK,’ said Natalie happily.

  ‘I still don’t think I should be doing the actual interview,’ said Rachel and pushed the clipboard back across the office desk towards Megan.

  ‘Why not? You need to start sometime.’ Megan pushed it back. ‘And it’s not that hard. All the questions are on there. Just tick yes or no. Simple as that.’

  Rachel stared at the questionnaire, and tried not to think about how she was going to tell Megan that she had no intention of staying long enough to get experienced at dog matchmaking. It had been a bad afternoon. Lots of dogs, lots of barking, George Fenwick on her case about fleas, and the realisation that she’d never be able to walk into Topshop again without feeling like someone’s grandmother.

  ‘But it’s not as simple as that, is it?’ she whined. ‘What about picking the right dog? What about the magic “Dot” moment when man and mutt meet and it’s happy ever after? I can’t do that.’

  ‘Look, cross that bridge when you come to it. More than one no and he doesn’t even get a dog.’ Megan gazed at her over a huge mug of tea. The whole kennel seemed to run on tea, as far as Rachel could tell. ‘Freda’s done the hard part already – we know he’s got the right kind of house, and he’s not allergic to dogs.’

  ‘I don’t think Freda sees home checking as a hard part,’ said Rachel, flicking through the extensive – some might even say nosy – report on Bill Harper’s ‘very pleasant conservatory, no expense spared!’ and ‘lovely gardens, about the size of ours, but not quite as well-organised, border-wise’.

  ‘Well. Whatever. He’s got a decent garden, fenced in, with no kids – that’s the main thing. Just have a chat!’ Megan tried to look encouraging. ‘You’ve met all our dogs, you’ve had a walk with most of them now. You know what sort of owner they’d like, if they could talk to you.’

  ‘Do I?’ Rachel wrinkled her nose doubtfully.

  Dot’s famous ‘dog whispering’ hung over the kennel like a Turin Shroud/Jesus in the toast legend. People would expect to be matched up with the dog of their dreams and while Megan could probably pull it off, thanks to her experience, Rachel didn’t believe for a second that she herself could.

  Even though she and Gem were now coming to a sort of understanding, born out of their shared gloominess, she wasn’t sure she had much of a rapport with the others. She certainly hadn’t started talking to them, or imagining they could talk to her.

  ‘Just imagine them in the park,’ said Megan, helpfully. ‘Do they fit, if you know what I mean?’

  ‘No,’ said Rachel. ‘I don’t.’

  The kennel doorbell jangled and made them both jump. It was an old-fashioned housemaid bell from the old kitchens, and was loud enough to be heard from the fenced area outside the kennels.

  ‘Right on time. That’s a good sign. We like punctuality in our new owners,’ said Megan as she pushed back her chair and went to let them in.

  Rachel looked back at the form, trying to memorise the questions so they’d trip easily off her tongue. The goal, she told herself, is to have one less dog to worry about and one more kennel space to let out.

  At the top of the form was a stern warning in bold italics:

  We’re the only voice the dogs have! Please don’t be offended if we seem intrusive or picky – we just want what’s best for them. Some of our dogs have been badly let down by humans already, yet still want to trust us and give their love; we’d hate to see them back.

  Rachel’s throat tightened, thinking of Bertie’s eager, wrinkled face and Chester’s anguished pacing every time someone walked past and wasn’t his runaway owner come to get him. Please don’t let me let them down, she thought, and raised her eyebrows in surprise at herself.

  Megan’s voice floated through to the office. ‘Come in, come in.’

  She looked up to see her ushering in Dr Harper, followed by a thirty-something couple who were looking round with great curiosity. The man was rubbing his hands excitedly, but the woman was more cautious, as if she was expecting the place to be overrun with slavering dogs.

  ‘Now, can I get you guys tea, or coffee?’ Megan was hovering. ‘This is Rachel, she’s going to guide you through the rehoming process!’

  ‘Lovely. Tea, please, two sugars. I’m parched. Hello, I’m Johnny Hodge,’ said the big man, extending his hand towards Rachel. He smiled, and crinkled up his friendly brown eyes. ‘And this is my wife, Natalie.’

  ‘Hello, Natalie.’ Rachel noted that Natalie was wearing non-dog work clothes too, and felt an immediate sympathy for her smart black pencil skirt and fitted jacket. ‘Come and sit over here,’ she said, pulling out a chair, ‘there’s less chance of you getting hairy. I know. I go through a whole lint roller every two days.’

  ‘So how does this work?’ Dr Bill was looking around. ‘I, er, thought you might have some dogs here?’

  ‘What, like Blind Date?’ joked Johnny. ‘Bill would like to meet an ambitious dog, under three, with a good sense of humour.’

  ‘We try not to let people see the dogs until we’ve had a chance to chat,’ explained Megan. ‘It can get rather over-emotional for everyone, seeing them in their runs, and them seeing you, coming to take them home. They all go a bit X Factor, trying to get your attention. But if you have specific ideas about what sort of dog you’d like, we can talk about that?’

  ‘Oh, Bill’s very specific about what he wants, aren’t you, Bill?’ Johnny turned to his friend. ‘That’s why he’s still single!’

  ‘Johnny . . .’ Natalie frowned.

  ‘I just like to know what I’m getting myself into.’ Bill shot an amiable sideways glance at Johnny. ‘I’m not that fussy really – I’d like something trainable, something that doesn’t shed too much so I can take it into the surgery. And something with a bit of personality.’

  ‘Is that the dog or the girlfriend?’ asked Rachel.

  Bill turned pink as Johnny leaned forward and said, ‘Both.’

  ‘Great! Shall we run through the questions?’ Rachel suggested and glanced down. ‘How often can you walk a dog, for a start?’

  After twenty-five minutes Rachel had established that Bill could walk his dog about a mile to work and back, with a trot around the park at lunchtime; that he wanted something that came ‘up to his knee’ and was preferably black; that his mother had had a nippy Lakeland terrier and he definitely didn’t want one of those; that Johnny loved dogs, and would have a Labrador, a pointer, a springer spaniel or just a ‘fun little chap’; that Natalie hoped having a dog would get Bill out and about.

  ‘So,’ said Johnny, slapping his knees and looking at Bill. ‘Is this where you go behind the screen and bring out date number one?’

  ‘It is!’ Megan pushed back her chair. ‘If you guys want to help yourself to biscuits, be our guests. What happens now is that we’ll have a chat, bring out a dog or two so you can have a play, get to know each other, and we’ll take it from there. Come on, Rachel.’

  Rachel glanced up from the paperwork. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I need your expertise.’ She beamed confidently as she hauled Rachel to her feet. ‘’Scuse us!’

  Outside the office, Rachel turned to protest, but Megan carried on pushing her gently towards the kennels. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Away you go. Pop in there with that questionnaire and find Bill a dog.’

  Rachel stopped in her tracks. ‘No! Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘Come on, you can do it.’

  ‘I can’t! You’re the kennel manager, not me! A
nd you know him!’ Rachel waved her arms. ‘This isn’t a game, Megan. I don’t know enough about the dogs. It’s not my job! I don’t have that . . . knack.’

  Megan put her small hands on Rachel’s upper arms. ‘There’s no knack. It’s logical. Just go in there, read the notes Dot left on the doors, and . . .’ She paused and raised an eyebrow. ‘Let the dogs talk to you. No, no! Before you say anything, I’m not being weird. Just let them . . . OK, maybe I am being weird. But keep really still. You’ll hear it, inside.’

  Rachel looked at her as if she were mad, but Megan gave her a firm push.

  ‘Go on. If you bring out something totally wrong, I’ll tell you.’ Her face softened. ‘I know you’re not a dog person, Rachel. Don’t tell me again.’

  Rachel bit her upper lip and went in through the heavy door. Immediately the sound of conversational yapping and Radio Four ramped up a few notches, and the smell of warm dog and oily coats and dry kibble rushed up to meet her.

  ‘It’s just me!’ she called out, without thinking. ‘Don’t go mad, come on, folks, calm down.’

  Rachel walked slowly down the stone corridor between the pens, trying not to let her heart ache at the eager wagging and hopeful eyes that followed her. Instead she thought about the lanky doctor, and who would suit him, who would make a good companion? She passed by two collie sisters – trainable, but too energetic to sit in a basket. The Staffies, still barking up a storm at the sight of anyone who would play. Chester, the spaniel Bill had seen on the poster, was there, but he was bouncing around like he’d been bouncing since he woke up – that wouldn’t work in a surgery.

  Or then there was Bertie. Rachel smiled, seeing Bertie’s tragic Basset hound eyes gazing up at her from his plastic bed, his long face wrinkling with hope.

  ‘I have no more supper, so you can stop with the cupboard love,’ she said aloud, but kindly. Bertie was gorgeous, but he wasn’t right for Bill.

  She stopped, without quite knowing why, in front of Lulu the poodle. Megan had given Lulu a rudimentary clipping that afternoon, still muttering about George’s ‘bloody sarky’ instructions not to ‘do anything stupid’, and although Megan had just shaved off the knots, now Lulu’s neat legs and bright eyes were visible under the black fuzz that had made her look more like a lamb than a dog.

  Lulu would be perfect, said a voice in Rachel’s head, before she had time to think. Bill wants a smart dog, who can be trained – according to the Dogs for Dummies book in the office, that’s a poodle. And she won’t shed her hairs over the surgery, and she’s so easy-going and quick to learn new things.

  Lulu’s shiny black eyes fixed on hers and her tail, now almost a pompom, wagged for the first time.

  But he wanted a big dog, she argued. A man’s dog.

  Lulu’s the right one.

  Rachel stood still as the dogs started to bark, curious as to what she was doing in there. She could hear the skitter of claws and then a warm body pressed itself up against her ankles. Absent-mindedly, Rachel bent and caressed Gem’s ear. Gem’s approval seemed to seal it, as near to Dot’s help as she could get.

  Lulu was the one.

  ‘How about it, Gem?’ she asked the collie, now wriggling his head towards the kennel door. ‘Bill and Lulu?’

  You’re talking to a dog, Rachel reminded herself. That’s not the slippery slope. That’s the actual black run.

  She pulled back the bolt on the pen door and Lulu came tiptoeing out, curious to see what was going on. She still wasn’t perky, but since her trim she seemed to have regained some confidence. She certainly looked bigger than she had done when Rachel had first seen her, though that was more to do with her personality unfolding than the two good meals a day she was getting now.

  ‘Hello, Lulu,’ said Rachel, clipping the lead onto her collar. ‘I’ve got someone I think you’d like to meet.’

  She tried not to look back at the other dogs as she, Gem and Lulu made their way back down the corridor.

  Megan was standing at the door, talking urgently into the phone.

  ‘Sure, I can send our homechecker round in the morning,’ she said. ‘About eleven? Great. Where did you see the poster? In the post office? Oh, good on you.’ She gave Rachel a thumbs up, and then turned her smile down to Lulu and did a happy double take. ‘OK, I’ll call you first thing. Bye now!’

  Megan hung the phone back on the wall and dropped to her knees. ‘Hey, Lulu!’ Lulu nuzzled into her outstretched hands as she fondled her woolly black ears. ‘Aren’t you glad you had your haircut now, eh? Looking good!’

  Rachel bit her lips. ‘You think I’ve picked the right one?’

  ‘Well, there’s only one surefire way to find out.’ Megan bounced to her feet and led the way back towards the office.

  Bill and Johnny were joking with each other about something at the table, while by the window Natalie checked messages on her phone, but when Rachel walked in with Lulu on the lead, their attention snapped back to her, and then down to Lulu, who had hesitated at the door, confronted by three new faces.

  ‘Is that a poodle?’ said Johnny and laughed out loud. ‘Mate, your ideal dog’s a poodle!’

  ‘Don’t laugh,’ said Natalie at once. ‘Don’t hurt her feelings.’ She looked up to Rachel. ‘Is it a her?’

  Rachel nodded, touched that Natalie, who seemed quite brisk in her business suit, would think of the dog’s feelings first. She tried to trot out what she’d gleaned from Dot’s reference books. ‘Lulu’s quite a big miniature poodle – they come in three sizes, standard, miniature and toy, and we think she’s the middle size. Her dad might have been a standard.’

  ‘You think she’s woolly now,’ Megan added. ‘I had to shave off knots like you wouldn’t believe, just to see that snooty nose. Poor Lulu had a bit of a rough time on the streets before she found her way here.’

  ‘Aren’t poodles supposed to have pompoms?’ asked Johnny, squinting critically. ‘This one’s all dreadlocked. Looks more like Slash from Guns N’ Roses than a poodle!’

  ‘Don’t be daft. They’re not born like that, it’s shaving,’ said Natalie. ‘It’s like saying, don’t all men come with moustaches?’

  She crouched down carefully in her tight skirt, and Lulu took a few steps towards her, lowering her tail as she sniffed Natalie’s extended fingers. ‘Hello, little lady,’ she said. ‘Those are clever eyes! Aren’t you a smart girl? Yes!’

  Rachel noted the neat pink nails and the shiny engagement and wedding rings with a pang of envy.

  ‘Lulu’s brilliant with new people, so friendly, even after everything she’s been through,’ said Megan. ‘Rachel reckoned that’d be good for your surgery, right?’

  ‘That’d be ideal,’ said Bill. ‘I can’t have a snappy dog. But I’m not sure.’ He scratched his chin. ‘A poodle. I’d never really thought of a poodle as my type.’

  ‘Hello!’ said Natalie, softly, stroking one long ear with the back of a finger. ‘Aren’t you gorgeous? Bill, come down to her level. You’re scary enough to most normal-sized girls, let alone a wee dog.’

  Awkwardly, Bill hitched up his trousers and squatted down, holding out a hand. At once, Lulu swerved away from Natalie and trotted over to Bill, flirtatiously raising her bobbly head against his leg for a pat.

  ‘Hello!’ he said.

  Lulu stared up at Bill with her bright eyes, and pushed her long nose into his hand. He reared back for a second in surprise, nearly toppling over, but he recovered himself, then smiled and rubbed her head. Lulu arched into his hand.

  ‘Oh, she likes a handsome man, does Lulu,’ giggled Megan.

  ‘OK, so that’s dog number one. Does Bill get to see any more?’ asked Johnny.

  ‘I don’t know if we need to bring out any more,’ said Natalie. ‘Just look at the two of them. It’s like love at first sight!’

  Lulu had put her two elegant front paws up onto Bill’s trousers and was sniffing around his collar, as he tried not to rear back too obviously. A crooked smile twitched on his lips a
s he struggled not to laugh in the dog’s face, and he patted her as she wriggled to take in all his smell at once.

  ‘Lulu! Have some dignity, will ya?’ laughed Megan. ‘I have seriously never seen her like this with anyone else. She’s been so quiet up until now!’

  ‘Bill?’ said Johnny. ‘Do you want to see any more?’

  Bill didn’t answer.

  ‘I think . . .’ Rachel started, but the rest of her sentence was drowned out by a deep baying noise from the direction of the kennels. It sounded as if the Hound of the Baskervilles had woken from a deep sleep, with a bad headache and possibly indigestion too.

  ‘What the hell’s that?’ marvelled Johnny, sticking a finger in his ear and wriggling it around.

  There was another howl, an echoing ‘arrrroooo’ that set off a volley of answering yaps, none as deep or sonorous as the original.

  ‘Oh, it’s just Bertie,’ said Megan, pushing herself off the wall. ‘He’ll be thinking there’s some supper going on in here.’

  ‘Bertie? What’s Bertie? A Great Dane or something?’ Johnny had perked up. ‘He sounds enormous.’

  ‘He’s not that enormous,’ said Rachel. ‘Although you’d think his stomach was the size of a St Bernard’s the way he carries on.’

  ‘Can we see him too?’

  ‘I don’t think we need to.’ Rachel turned to Bill, who was now sitting back on his chair, with Lulu settled in his lap as if she’d been there since she was a puppy.

  ‘I’ll go and get him,’ said Megan with a half-smile. ‘Just so you know what trouble looks like, OK? You’ll be begging us not to show you any more dogs.’

  They could hear Megan and Bertie coming long before the door opened.

  ‘Steady, steady, heel!’ Megan was yelling, and Rachel knew how she’d be hanging determinedly onto the lead. It was Megan’s mission to get Bertie walking to heel but he had a habit of slipping out of his collar when something really stinky was in range.

  Bertie burst into the room, in a flurry of brown ears and wrinkly legs and wildly sniffing nose, with Megan clinging on for dear life. He stopped for a second to inspect everyone, and then plunged his nose back to the floor, like a canine vacuum cleaner, and carried on scenting whatever it was that was so interesting.