LIKES using the coal scuttle instead of the litter tray
DISLIKES anything that comes between her and her food
FINEST HOUR waiting until we were eating Chinese food, catching her own takeaway mouse and crunching it loudly under the table
Charlotte Philips, Surrey
Robert the Bruce
IFIRST met Bob, named after Robert the Bruce, in the summer of 1989. He was starved and weak and terrified of people.
I watched as he hooked meat onto a claw, then lifted it to his nostrils – real food. It took several visits to the vet, during which he showed amazing trust and patience, to heal all his injuries and ailments.
He looked like a wild cat, and had lived like one for some time. At first he bit and scratched, so I was fearful when my younger daughter took to carrying him about, head and paws over her shoulder.
Sometimes her hands slipped to his rear legs as she lifted him – he was as long as she was tall – leaving him dangling, nose millimetres off the floor. Tolerating it all with amazing forbearance, he’d look up at me with a dreamy look as he was parcelled up. He never hurt her.
During one summer, as Bob sat Egyptian-style on my son’s knees, a lime-green dragonfly entered the garden, jinking ever closer until it was just centimetres away, eyeball to eyeball with Bob.
We watched, breathless, as he lifted a tentative paw, then lunged at the insect.
There was a sound like a toffee being unwrapped as claws raked through gossamer wing. The dragonfly, apparently unharmed, wobbled briefly closer to Bob’s nose, then darted away.
Emerging from the spell, Bob looked around at us, and we all burst into laughter.
On my conscience always will be the months when I saw him but assumed he belonged to someone, and let him go unfed. He was a special and beautiful animal, and a great friend.
LIKES sleeping on his back on the sofa, legs akimbo, an Orlando-like smile on his face
DISLIKES postmen and dustmen
FINEST HOUR firmly standing his ground, regardless, when challenged by hostile cats
David Pope, London NW11
Misty, lurcher
IT WAS a damp, foggy day when we arrived at the RSPCA kennels with our firstborn (our Border collie, Megan) to choose a companion for her, having decided (well, I had decided, with my husband’s reluctant agreement) that we had room in our hearts, and in our home, for a second dog.
Down the lines of kennels we tramped, to the accompanying barks and whines of the occupants. On reaching the last kennel – with apparently no one at home – we turned. Suddenly, out of the gloom, a thin, bedraggled lurcher silently appeared, tail wagging slowly like a metronome, while she solemnly eyed us up. These two might do.
Full of latent mistrust, Misty the lurcher joined our family. Megan swung from absolute hatred to complete indifference about her, growling ferociously when it was obvious that not only had she been in our car, but she was also coming into her house!
Five years on, the two dogs live in harmony and the sad, frightened little Lurcher has become queen of the settee and all available comfy surfaces. She has learnt how to enjoy life and to trust: no longer does she flinch when we pick up a stick to throw for Megan, but she is still reluctant to pass a suspicious object left in the hall – or the hoover, not in its rightful position.
Neither the postman delivering nor the doorbell ringing have any impact on this most placid of dogs, but occasionally, if Megan’s barking is persistent enough, she will rouse herself from her horizontal position to stroll out as ‘back-up’. She gives us serenity in our busy lives, and pleasure in abundance.
LIKES cheese, lying on the settee and giving herself a pedicure
DISLIKES being forced to go out in the rain, baths
FINEST HOUR bolting up Yarmouth high street and bringing traffic to a standstill
Julie Stone, King’s Lynn
PART THREE
ODD COUPLES AND DEVOTED PAIRINGS
Bess and Frank, old married couple
WE WERE off on a break in Devon. While having coffee, we saw a lady pass the window with a beautiful dog. Out went my husband to find out what it was: an Italian Spinone. We knew we had to have one.
Back home, we rang the Spinone club secretary, only to find there was not one to be had, as selective and careful breeding is so important. But she took our name and phone number.
Life went on. Retirement had no routine, and we were desperate to have a dog and walk the mountains. So along came Bess, a wonderful little black Lab. She quickly became part of our home, as Labs do.
Three years later, the phone rang. There was a fourteen-month-old Spinone available. There were exchanges of letters, pictures and questions: did we have another dog? Did we have space? Did we realize what having a Spinone entailed? The answers were yes, yes and yes. We arranged a meeting point. A car pulled up, and out stepped the most handsome, enormous hulk called Frank.
He has filled our lives with his gentle nature, and loves company. And Bess? Well, she took his toys, took his food and slept in his bed. But Frank let her, and moved his bed to be near her.
Then Frank developed a nasty ear infection. Eventually, he had to have both ear canals removed. He was left deaf, with a slight facial paralysis, and has had to adjust to a world of signs and vibrations. So have we. The paralysis means he takes a long time to eat, so he keeps his head down in the dish and eats outside.
Bess has come to the rescue. She is Frank’s ears, and they are inseparable. With her help, Frank functions fine, and barks for her if she is ever out of sight. To quote our kennel-owner friend, ‘They are just like an old married couple.’
LIKES pulling apples off the tree
DISLIKES a facial after food
FINEST HOUR recovering, after two operations, into a silent world
Anne Evans
Neville the Feline Pacifist
MY HUSBAND and I have been married for fifty-two years, and we have had many feline friends in that time. All have had their own personalities, but we have never had a cat as laid-back as Neville.
Neville is so benign that nothing bothers him. Everyone is his friend – or at least, he thinks they are. A complete pacifist, he has never been known to kill or injure anything in his life. Once another cat brought a mouse in alive, and the mouse escaped and ran all over Neville. He never even moved. Neville could even make friends with birds.
We used to open our garden to the public. As soon as the first visitors arrived, he would appear and follow them around. Some attempted to ignore him; he would respond by lying down on the plants to get their attention.
Unfortunately, his advancing years have brought with them feline dementia. He now gets lost around the house, and becomes very distressed when he cannot find us. But with enough love and care, we hope he will be with us for a long while yet.
LIKES smelling the flowers
DISLIKES the rustle of plastic bags
FINEST HOUR that is still to come
Brenda Stuckey, Exmouth
Betty and Timmy
BETTY WAS one of a clutch of bantam eggs hatched by one of our hens, but she was always an individual. Right from the beginning she did her own thing – she’d wander off on her own, or come into the house and sit on the table. Later, when night fell, she would fly up to the top of the broom cupboard to roost, and then fly down again for breakfast in the morning. She retained this individualistic streak all her life. We had a dachshund, Timmy, who was very fond of her and would present her with a bone every now and then for her to peck.
One day, we returned from a country walk to find a fire engine outside our house. An electrical fault had caused a fire. Luckily it wasn’t too serious, but we could not find Betty anywhere and we were worried about her. Suddenly, Timmy started barking excitedly out in the garden. We went outside and found poor Betty hiding in the hedge. She was quite shaken but unhurt, much to everyone’s relief, including Timmy, who had saved the day.
As the years went by, Betty
got less adventurous. At the age of fourteen, she saw what she thought was a friend at the bottom of the pond. She decided to join the friend, but unfortunately it was only her reflection. Sadly, she was found floating in the pond the next morning. She was dreadfully missed by us all, especially her ally, Timmy.
LIKED joining in meals at the table
DISLIKED being treated as a chicken; she was convinced she was one of us
FINEST HOUR when she laid her first egg
Pauline Peach, West Sussex
Cass and Gnome
SHE WOULDN’T be here if it weren’t for my husband, who, in spite of me whispering, ‘I don’t want a poodle’, said into the phone: ‘We’ll come and see them this afternoon.’
We came home with a blue merle seven-week-old Coldoodle (collie/poodle), and we have never looked back. Cass has everything you could want in a pet: loyalty, obedience, intelligence and an eagerness to please. I have taught her all the usual commands and manners, and she has taught me all I know about her, so that I was able to encourage her interests.
She wasn’t keen on the arrival of a small Jack Russell puppy, who we named Gnome, and stared out of the car window not looking at him. But by the time we arrived home, on a windy day, she had tolerated him long enough for us to take a photo of them together before she showed him around his new home. After this, Gnome would take refuge in her bed whenever he felt lonely. Once he found his paws, she allowed him to boss her around, and looked at me as if to say: ‘What is it with terriers?’
Cass loved to spend an hour or two watching for the earth to move on a molehill, her head going from side to side with anticipation, waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting mole. She has been successful twice. Being a collie, she was eager to help with sheep, but one day, knowing there was an electric fence between us, I told her to ‘stay’. However, so convinced was she that the sheep I had gone to rescue was going to harm me, she came to my aid. In doing so she got caught up in the electric fence, which caused her to take off as fast and as far as she could. My husband drove slowly around our village looking for her, and discovered her cowering in the corner of a field. On calling her, she ran thankfully into his arms. To this day she doesn’t like sheep!
These events are memories for Cass now as she approaches her sixteenth birthday, when she will enjoy her customary mini-pork pie, but I want to pay tribute to her qualities and the joy she has given us. I’m so pleased my husband answered that phone!
LIKES pork pies
DISLIKES sheep
FINEST HOUR taking Gnome, our small Jack Russell, under her wing
Rosemary Hart, Norfolk
Raf and Coco, flopsy bunnies
I FIRST stumbled upon the idea of having a house bunny when a friend told me what fantastic pets they make if you work fulltime: they tend to snooze when you’re out and wake up to play when you get home. When she added that they can be easily litter-trained, like cats, and how clean and inquisitive they are, I was sold.
I first met Raf, an extremely fluffy cinnamon-and-white mini-lop bunny, when he was eight weeks old and about the size and colour of a jacket potato. Of all the baby bunnies I saw, he had the most personality, indiscriminately hopping over the heads of the other babies to get my attention, like a tiny kangaroo.
As he grew up, Raf turned out to be quite a character, tugging on my duvet in the morning to wake me up, headbutting my feet when I was on the phone, guarding the fridge at all times and thumping his back foot on the floor if anyone dared to wake him. However, I travel abroad a lot with work, and began to worry that Raf would get lonely, so I decided to find him a friend. I didn’t want to go to a breeder again, as I’d since discovered that thousands of bunnies are abandoned or set free every year.
That’s when I discovered Greenwich Rabbit Rescue (green-wichrabbitrescue.com), which takes in unwanted rabbits with a view to rehoming them. So last December I took Raf ‘bunny-dating’. After a few tricky encounters, he took an immediate shine to Coco, a beautiful, elegant chocolate-brown bunny, who is so happy to be stroked that she squeaks, purrs and carefully places her little paws in your hand to thank you.
Luckily she was also very patient with Raf, who was overexcited about the prospect of a girlfriend. They had both been neutered, and they took about six weeks to bond, but now they couldn’t be happier. They insist on doing everything together, cuddle up at every opportunity, sit on the sofa to watch television, navigate the wilds of the garden like lop-eared explorers and have lots of nose-wiggling conversations that I wish I could understand. In short, they’re the perfect pets.
LIKES parsley, green beans, dandelions
DISLIKES being woken up
FINEST HOUR collectively breaking into the fridge to steal an Easter egg
Emma Pomfret, London
Lamby and William
LAMBY SHOULD not have survived. A poor little weakling, she was rejected by her mother at birth in favour of her larger, healthier sister. Lamby was left without any motherly protection from predatory foxes, and her fate was in the balance. But my grown-up daughter, Juliet, couldn’t bear to see her die.
With permission, Juliet removed Lamby from the farmer’s field and ensconced her in the shed in the garden. She let her out to frolic during the day, and fed her at regular intervals. At the same time, Juliet was busy feeding her new baby, William, who had arrived a few weeks before.
Lamby gradually grew stronger, and considered herself an important member of the family. She did not take much notice of our dog and two cats, but relished playing with little William as he got bigger. Never wanting to miss out, she used to poke her head through the cat flap to see if anybody was about. She would sneak into the kitchen at the slightest opportunity, and was in like a flash as soon as the door opened.
Having put on weight, and now able to cope on her own, the time came for Lamby to go back to the field. Not a good idea, as far as she was concerned! Every time Juliet came to visit, up she would rush to greet her. She would be very put out when it was time for Juliet to leave, and once even squeezed under the fence to follow her home.
Now Lamby herself is a mother of twins. One was healthy, but the other was small and weak. So for Juliet, it was back to square one! Lamby Two is now on the bottle at regular intervals. But this year, there is no new baby. At least, not yet.
LIKES eating out of your hand
DISLIKES being left
FINEST HOUR jumping into the back of the car with Bryher, the dog
Joanna Owens, Hertfordshire
Meg and her flock
LIAISONS WE acquire, or actively seek, can have a profound impact on our lives. Over these past years, the relationship between our Border collie Meg and her ‘flock’ grew to a depth that was fascinating to witness.
Her flock consisted of more than just ducks; there were also moorhens, two geese and a swan. All of these trusted her, and seemed to recognize the role she played as their protector and guard. Meg, in turn, maintained her ability to herd them together into a tight group, understanding the theory of safety in numbers.
It was also clear that the flock understood this game and, from time to time, ensured Meg knew she could only herd them this way because they allowed her to do it. Of course, these indignant protests were noisy posturing only, designed not to be taken too seriously.
The relationship came to an end when Meg died at the end of October following a short illness. It was a harrowing day, since there had been a rapid decline in her last days, and we struggled to keep her calm in the final hours.
Meg has added another dimension to the people we are – and so has her flock. She was my best friend, in the sense that she became the guardian of all my secrets, and I miss that privilege.
I had thought my relationship with her was the closest it could be. But now I understand the quality of the relationships she had with others, too. Over Meg’s last hours, the swan came up to the house and sat on the step by the back door making her familiar throaty sounds every few minutes.
Their liaison clearly went beyond human sentiments and understanding; it had a simplicity and an accepting nature we ourselves would do well to embrace.
LIKES watching the ducks
DISLIKES fireworks
FINEST HOUR her winter ascent of Helvellyn
Sue Fletcher, Staffordshire
PART FOUR
ESCAPE ARTISTS
Daisy, reformed character
DAISY WAS always going to be a rebel. My husband David once rescued her from the road where she was prancing about surrounded by motorbikes taking part in a rally. The riders were all swerving around her and laughing as she chased their wheels.
Once, she escaped and got into the school playground and chased the screaming children round, trying to persuade them to play, while the headmaster looked thunderous and David, pink and puffing, tore after her, shouting commands that were totally ignored.
Another time she dashed into the churchyard, and in her excitement upended the elderly gardener and his wife who were weeding the path – the wife ending up on her back showing her knickers.
The first time Daisy was in season, she became obsessed with finding freedom and love. She jumped out of the back window of our car one dark winter’s night in the middle of town, and then dodged and danced around the street holding up all the traffic.
She was also a terrible thief. She ate a whole Christmas cake and then was horribly sick down the sofa, and she pulled over the Christmas tree, smashing all the baubles, because she had spotted a chocolate decoration right at the top. She also stole a whole box of liqueur chocolates, box, wrapping and all, and greeted our return with a dreamy, squiffy gaze.
Charmers and Rogues Page 3