Paws and Whiskers

by Jacqueline Wilson

Married life began with a Shetland sheepdog called Puck who was wild about everything and quite tiring. Katie, a beautiful Irish setter, smiled through her life. She loved us completely, and loved her puppies even more – Arthur, Hal and Galadriel.

  Next came Sophie, an English setter with mournful eyes and a heart of gold. She was wonderful with our children and grandchildren; she slept as contentedly as she lived and she lived long. And our last dog, Bercelet, a rescue lurcher, was the love of my wife’s life. She barely tolerated me, the dog, I mean. She barked rarely and ate minimally. She ran like the wind, loved the wind too. Wind suited her, but she was a fragile, tender creature, and died suddenly, which left us bereft.

  We’ve had cats too in our time. Snug and Bottom, both kittens born in the wild (quite Shakespearean, the names we chose in those days). Then Mini, Simpson, Leo – a beautiful neurotic Abyssinian – but when we had cats we had no birds in the garden. Now we have no cats and hundreds of birds, and five goldfish swimming in and out of the weeds in our pond, every one a Swimsy. I’m back where I began, second childhood.

  We long for another dog, which is maybe why dogs appear so often in my stories, in Shadow (a spaniel), Born to Run (a greyhound), Cool (a Jack Russell terrier), The Last Wolf (a wolf), and many others. As for cats, I put them in my books too, that way they don’t kill birds! So we still have dogs and cats a-plenty, if you see what I’m saying.

  Michael Morpurgo

  DOG MEMORY

  When I was eight or nine we had a German shepherd called Tarquis. He had beautiful, sleek, golden brown and black fur, a strong body and a beautiful, wolfish face. And he was huge, but with a very gentle nature. Every afternoon after school, I’d take him for a walk in our local park. I loved walking with him next to me; he was so tall and I was so small, but next to him I felt very tall indeed.

  One afternoon, after we reached the park, I let Tarquis off his lead and chucked a ball for him to chase. Time and time again, he chased after the ball, tail wagging, before grabbing it in his jaws and bringing it back to me. Lots of other people were in the park also exercising their dogs. There was one dog in particular, a Yorkshire terrier, or Yorkie, which was chasing around like it was demented.

  So, for about the tenth time, I chucked my tennis ball and Tarquis chased after it. The only trouble was, the Yorkie chased after it too. The Yorkie snatched up the ball in its mouth and ran off with it. Tarquis chased the dog across the park, and both dogs were at full stretch. The Yorkie’s owner was shouting at me to call my dog to heel. But then the Yorkie turned, dropped the ball and chased after Tarquis.

  Tarquis turned and legged it. He ran for his life. The Yorkie was a toy dog, barely thirty centimetres high. Tarquis was huge, at least three times as long and three times as high, yet he ran like his life depended on it. And all the other dog owners around me roared with laughter.

  Yes, it was embarrassing, especially when Tarquis slunk back to me with his tail between his legs and without my ball – which I had to get myself!

  Tarquis is long gone, but every time I recall that incident it makes me smile. Tarquis really was a gentle giant, and thanks to him I’ve always had a love of German shepherd dogs. Never been terribly keen on Yorkies though! Just goes to show that bullies come in all shapes and sizes.

  Malorie Blackman

  MY ANIMAL FRIENDS

  Nanny Anna

  People think that a dachshund is just a sort of short-legged, long-bodied dog. They do not realize that there are dogs . . . and there are dachshunds.

  Dogs like to please their owners by doing what they are told. Dachshunds like to please themselves.

  Our first ever dachshund was called Anna, and when we got her as a puppy, she took not the slightest notice of anything we said to her.

  ‘She must be stone deaf,’ we said. But she wasn’t. She was just a dachshund.

  Apart from being as stubborn as all her breed, Anna’s speciality was mother-love. Quite early in her life she began to be called Nanny.

  It wasn’t just her own puppies that she fussed over. She did not need to be in milk, she just came into it at the drop of a baby. Kittens were well received if there was a cat crisis. And once she tried to play mother to four piglets.

  A young sow had rejected them, but Nanny thought that they were lovely and immediately settled down to nurse them in her basket. Alas, newborn piglets, unlike puppies, have sharp little teeth, but still Anna put up with them till they could be fostered on to another sow. She saved their lives, in fact.

  Dodo: Star of the Show

  Our miniature red wire-haired dachshund, Dodo, was born on a farm in west Wales, and from the moment we picked her up to bring her home with us, it was plain that she was a most unusual dog.

  Though so young and so small, she was very self-possessed. The first of our animals that she met was a Great Dane. He bent his huge head to this midget. She looked up and wagged at him.

  Some years later, when Dodo was about five, something happened that changed her life.

  A television producer was looking for a presenter for a small slot on a children’s programme. She needed someone who had been a farmer and a teacher and wrote books for children (that turned out to be me), and who also owned a small, attractive dog (that was Dodo).

  Dodo and I must have made about fifty little films.

  Though I improved as time went on, Dodo didn’t need to: she was immediately at home in front of the cameras. Not only did she like people, so that she always got on very well with the film crews, but she was always extremely likeable herself.

  At first, the crew came often to our cottage, for we filmed a number of animals there or near by, and they always arrived promptly at nine o’clock on a Thursday morning.

  By a quarter to nine each Thursday (and only on Thursday), Dodo would be waiting by the door for them to arrive and admire her.

  Don’t ask me how she knew. I don’t know.

  After a while Dodo began to be recognized in public. In London once, I suddenly heard some children crying, ‘Look! It’s Dodo!’ and they rushed up and made a fuss of her, which she loved; not because she was vain but because she was always so friendly to everyone.

  And it wasn’t only children who recognized her.

  The guard of an Intercity train once came to punch my ticket (and hers).

  ‘Why,’ he said, ‘if it isn’t Dodo!’

  She was always the star of the show.

  Postscript

  Remember Dodo, the star of the show? It might be nice, I’m thinking now, to end with a mention of another miniature red wire-haired dachshund called Little Elsie, who is sitting watching me.

  Why? Because Little Elsie is Dodo’s granddaughter.

  She’s quite a different character from her granny – not as jolly and outgoing, less sure of herself (though she’s as fierce as a lion when left in charge of the car); in fact not the filmstar type.

  But the older Little Elsie grows – and she’s really quite old now, though still very active – the more she gets to look like her grandmother. Her red coat has paled with age, her beard and moustache are fuller, her muzzle is grey.

  And lately a funny thing has begun to happen. We keep calling Elsie by the wrong name. Several times a day, one or other of us will say, ‘Come along, Dodo,’ and along comes Little Elsie, wagging her tail and doing her special trick, which is to bare her teeth in a grin of pleasure.

  Dick King-Smith

  CATS

  Real cats, of course, vary in their natures just as much as humans do. I have met spiteful cats, loving cats, clever cats, stupid cats. A highly intelligent orange cat, January, who adopted my father one New Year’s Day, learned how to rattle the latch of the dining-room door, so that it would swing open and let him in. He also, all by himself, invented a charming trick: when you softly clapped your hands above his head, he would lift up his right front paw to be shaken. Then there was Gracchus, a tabby belonging to my sister, who used to come and stay at our house along with my two nie
ces for summer holidays. He was epileptic and had to be given a tiny pill every day. This aroused great feelings of jealousy in our cat Hamlet, who thought he was missing out on some treat – so terrific dexterity and diplomacy were needed to get the pill into the right cat. And then there was Darwin, dear Darwin, who always took a shortcut through the banisters, and liked to lie with his shaggy arms around one’s neck . . .

  Joan Aiken

  SHANTI

  We almost didn’t choose Shanti, who was one of a litter of three Tibetan spaniel puppies. She and her sisters were rolling around together, then Shanti trotted over to my son Josh, climbed on his lap and peed on him. Josh, then, was very put out. We sponged his trousers and the breeder dried him off with a hairdryer. One puppy ran into the crate and cowered. Her sister froze. Shanti ignored it. ‘This is the puppy for you,’ said her breeder. ‘She’s calm and will do well in a house with children.’

  Pauline was right. Shanti is only frightened of other dogs. Not fireworks, not hoovers, not loud bangs.

  We got Shanti the first term Josh entered secondary school, thirteen years ago. I fell in love with the breed, which is an ancient one, leafing through a dog encyclopaedia. I’d never seen a Tibbie before, as they are rare in the UK. Shanti has this solemn, furrowed, almost quizzical face, and I loved her lion-like golden mane, and the fact that even today, as an elderly pooch, she still looks a lot like a puppy.

  Shanti is well-known in our north London neighbourhood, as she likes sitting in the front window on top of the sofa, and watching people pass by. Her other favourite place is inside her ‘Shanti box’, a cardboard box my husband made for her, with a little square entrance hole. We used to get through one a week when she was a puppy, as she loved destroying them from the inside. We were delighted, however, as it meant she never chewed on furniture or shoes.

  Shanti adores being with people. If we have friends round, we always pull up a chair for her, as she likes being part of a circle. She’s the perfect writer’s dog, as she sleeps (and snores) beneath my desk while I work.

  However, Shanti would never win any prizes for obedience. She’s quite headstrong and only obeys if she feels like it. Which is not very often.

  Shanti has been part of my son’s childhood. Now he is grown up, and she is old. I look at her, with her slippy hind legs and her white muzzle, and can’t believe how fast our time has gone.

  Francesca Simon

  MY PETS

  Cats and dogs make wonderful companions. We have nine of them! Three cats and six dogs, all rescues. The cats are Thomas, Titch and Bella. The dogs are Dolly, Daisy, Minnie, Gertie, Benny and Sasha.

  To start with, like most people, we had just one dog. A little fox terrier. And like most people we bought her from a breeder. It didn’t occur to us to go to Battersea or one of the other rescue centres. On the other hand, we have never gone to a breeder for a cat. Neither of us had ever lived with cats and never thought of having one, until one day we were adopted by a small tabby, who simply arrived on the doorstep and took up residence. She showed no fear whatsoever of the fox terrier. If anything, it was the fox terrier who trembled! What was this strange thing, invading her space? We put up notices on trees and lampposts – FOUND: SMALL TABBY CAT – but no one ever claimed her, so there we were, one cat, one dog. The fox terrier had her own special chair and we held our breath when, one momentous day, the cat decided to jump up and settle next to her. But no problems! The chair became ‘their chair’ and they spent many happy hours cuddled up together.

  In time we decided we would like a second dog, but by now we knew about rescue organizations, so off we went to one that was local to us. People say, ‘Oh, but it would break my heart to see all those poor animals desperate for a home! How can you bear to do it?’ It’s not easy, I’ll admit. More difficult, perhaps, with dogs than with cats, since cats tend to sit in silent resignation, whereas a dog will come to the front of the cage and jump up and beg you to take it. But if you love animals, you have to remind yourself that if everyone said, ‘Oh, it would break my heart,’ then none of them would ever find new homes. And to help a confused and lonely cat or dog blossom and regain confidence is incredibly rewarding.

  When we finally lost our little tabby cat we adopted two brothers, Smudger and Humphrey. They were pure white, and Humphrey was deaf. He was the most affectionate cat I have ever known, and Smudger was without doubt the kindest. He looked after his brother with total devotion.

  One of our earliest dogs came from Battersea. I vividly remember taking her home on the train, cuddling all the way. She was a very precious little person. Our first Daisy. A small black mongrel, seven years old, and a dear, sweet, zany little creature. Present-day Daisy is also a bit zany. She is a Jack Russell, who has to be kept on an expanding lead when out walking as she simply cannot trust herself not to go rushing off after interesting smells or disappearing down holes. Despite that, she spends half the walk fervently clutching at you, just to make sure you are still there. She was found wandering along a main road, so maybe she is scared of getting lost again.

  Dolly is also a Jack Russell. She is a very girly little person. Too pretty for her own good! She fawns on any man who comes to the house, pawing at them and going all soft and melty. As a feminist, I sometimes feel quite ashamed of her . . .

  Minnie thinks that she is a Jack Russell, and we haven’t the heart to tell her she is just a ‘small terrier type’. Our local rescue group insisted she was a little angel, and she certainly has the most immense charm. She wriggles and giggles and whirrs her paws to get your attention. But angel she is not! She makes a very naughty nuisance of herself with cats, who mostly sit about on high surfaces looking down at her with contempt. Stupid dawg!

  Gertie is a tiny dish rag of a dog. Maybe a bit of Yorkie, maybe a bit of Norfolk terrier. Who knows? She is extremely cute and very fierce. Even the local rottweilers turn tail and run when they see Gertie approaching.

  Sasha is a springer spaniel. She was seven when we adopted her, and fat as a barrel. It is horrible, and extremely cruel, when people let their dogs put on so much weight. Fortunately, after being with us for a few months she slimmed right down, and now, at the ripe age of fifteen, she still looks like a young dog. She is very keen that everyone should know she is the Only Pedigree in the Pack. Jack Russells, she says, with a well-bred sniff, are only types.

  Benny, our one dog in a family of females, is a German shepherd/collie cross. A big, gentle, goofy boy, very laid-back and good-natured. He came from Wales, where he had been rounded up as a stray and was going to be put down. We lost our hearts the minute we saw him looking so eager in his cage at the rescue centre. Impossible to resist!

  The cats all came from our local rescue lady, just up the road. There is stripy Tom, who won’t put up with any nonsense from the annoying Minnie. There is Bella, who loves to purr and sit on a lap. And there is big black Titch, who as a kitten used to look like a tiny spider scuttling about the place. It was Bella who took him under her wing, mothering him and caring for him. And how did he repay her? For ages he ignored her, or even told her to stay away. It was like he and Tom were a sort of boys’ club, and females weren’t welcome. Now, however, they all curl up together – on our bed, naturally!

  The cats sleep on the bed during the day, the dogs sleep on it at night. Well, three of them do. Minnie, Dolly and Daisy. And actually they don’t sleep on it, so much as in it. They spend the night humpling about under the duvet, snuffling and twitching as they dream about walks. The other three have their own bed in the corner of the room. Gertie likes to burrow under a blanket. Sasha snores. Benny usually collapses with a big contented sigh onto a rug. If you get out of bed in the night, you tend to trip over him.

  The cats are banished to two rooms at the back of the house. If we leave them roaming about, they thunder up and down the stairs like a herd of cavalry, or come banging and rattling at the bedroom door. If they are actually let into the bedroom, they jump on top of wardrobes or roam
about on the mantelshelf, deliberately knocking things over. Or, even worse, they prink and poke at the dogs under the duvet, and Jack Russells then start springing about all over the place.

  Oh, there is never a dull moment! But really, these little creatures ask so little. Just love, and shelter; and, for dogs, a daily walk. And food, of course. That goes without saying. Mustn’t forget the food! Meal times are extremely important in an animal’s life. Just as animals are extremely important in mine. They are truly, truly rewarding, and such loyal and loving friends. I couldn’t live without them!

  Jean Ure

  DOG STORIES

  THE INCREDIBLE JOURNEY

  by Sheila Burnford

  Ask your gran or grandad if they’ve ever seen a film called The Incredible Journey. I bet they’ll smile and start murmuring about old Bodger and his friends. It was an extraordinarily popular Walt Disney film in the 1960s – a story of two dogs and a cat trekking three hundred miles through rough Canadian countryside to find their way home. Bodger is an elderly white bull terrier, Luath is a strong young Labrador, and Tao is a sleek Siamese cat.

  The film was based on a bestselling book by Sheila Burnford. It’s a very exciting and moving story, but it always seemed a little unlikely to me. I could just about believe that two dogs might somehow be able to find their way home – but would they seriously be accompanied by a cat? I don’t know how they trained the animals in the film, but they made a remarkably successful job of it. Bodger and Luath battled bravely, even fighting off a bear and a porcupine – and the cat playing Tao ‘acted’ her little heart out, even half drowning herself in a river. I have no idea how they made that lovely cat perform in such an extraordinary way. I can’t even make Jacob and Lily come for their supper if they’re happily playing in the garden.