Charmers and Rogues

by Ann Cuthbertson

  DISLIKES nothing. He was far too cheerful

  FINEST HOUR surviving a gin trap (illegal since the fifties)

  Richard Statham, Langport, Somerset

  PART SIX

  JOY GIVERS

  Tina, the bear

  TINA WAS a six-month-old orphan bear, her mother having fallen to a poacher, so I offered to adopt her. We bonded with great bear hugs, and she settled happily in my garden in King Albert Park, Singapore, where I lived for four years in the sixties. Tina lived in three trees: her play tree, which she gradually tore to pieces, her siesta tree, for resting after a good lunch, and her night-night tree.

  Every morning she descended her tree and came to sit on the wall beneath my bedroom window and barked at me to get up. I came down and sat beside her with my arm around her fat tummy and her arm around me, while she poked her nose and sticky tongue in my right ear and deafened me with her ‘I love you’ hum.

  Next came breakfast; a large dish of fruit and her favourite poached eggs, all spoon-fed to her by my Chinese cook’s eleven-year-old daughter. After breakfast, her bath was filled and she revelled in a long wallow, culminating in drinking her bath water, as all well-brought-up bears do.

  Then came a walk. She was easier to train than a dog, and would come when called (nearly always), walked at heel, and when walking through long grass got up on her hind legs and held my hand in case anything should suddenly jump out at her.

  It was widely known that she liked beer, and after her walks she would often receive gifts, but never became an alcoholic. She doted on honey, a useful bribe, but she discovered that it was kept in the refrigerator. Consequently she tore the door open one day and took both her honey and my next day’s meals.

  She hated thunderstorms. Seated comfortably in my armchair, I would first hear the storm beginning with heavy rain, then barking and much bustling, and then a thoroughly sodden bear would burst into the room and land heavily on my lap.

  I have had many wonderful dogs as pets, but Tina the bear was quite exceptional.

  LIKES honey, beer, baths

  DISLIKES thunderstorms

  FINEST HOUR destroying the fridge

  Sir Peter Whiteley, Devon

  Pixie, West Highland White

  IT WAS a note left on the kitchen table that finally won me over. Dear Daddy, I must have a dog or I will go mad. Love Millie.

  After months of psychological warfare waged by my wife, Jo and daughters, Millie and Eloise, I finally succumbed and, one Saturday in March 2008, Pixie, a West Highland terrier, inveigled her way into the family home, to the evident dismay of our three cats.

  Their disdain was equalled only by mine. I had never been a dog lover, and insisted I would have nothing to do with her. My resolve soon faltered, of course. The girls gleefully chronicled my every surrender: covert cuddles; runs in the park.

  The first year of Pixie’s life was eventful. First, she broke her hip in a mysterious accident on the beach. No sooner had she recovered from intensive weekly physiotherapy (including, I kid you not, sessions on an underwater treadmill), than she was being rushed to the animal hospital after overdosing on Nurofen (the packet had been knocked from a kitchen worktop, so the cats were our chief suspects); a few weeks later, she ran onto a busy main road and was hit by a car.

  It’s true, she has put up with a lot – I once spotted her wearing a nappy and being wheeled around in a toy pram – but she has an unfailingly sunny personality. And she hasn’t been near the vet for months. One mystery remains, though. I had always thought that, for dogs, ‘walkies’ was nirvana. Not Pixie. She has a stubborn streak. Sit-down strikes, lie-down strikes – we’ve had them all. Is it a Westie trait? Can other owners enlighten me?

  LIKES cuddling up on the sofa, chasing squirrels (and our cats), children

  DISLIKES being bathed, healthy organic dog food, exerting herself before mid-morning

  FINEST HOUR second prize at the Ham and Petersham Fair dog show

  Tim Jotischky, West London

  Ludo, Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever

  IAM fast asleep when someone shoves a filthy, smelly, wet floor mop in my face. Startled, I open my eyes. And there is Ludo, grinning, two inches from my nose.

  Ludo is always happy; he greets each day with enthusiasm, a trait I sometimes find hard to share. Like now. But usually, by the time I have run or, more often, walked around our nearby lake, I feel ready to face the world with my dog’s exuberance. Well, almost.

  Ludo lives up to his name, which means ‘I play’, which is odd, because he was only called that because the cat is called Domino. She also lives up to her name, which, more or less, means ‘mistress of the house’, although her name was obvious because she is white with black spots.

  Ludo charms everyone he meets with his trusting eyes, broad beam and waggy tail. People often ask me what his parents were, which is annoying.

  He is a Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever: after some slow reiteration, they can sometimes repeat it back. To the initiated, they are just Tollers. Tolling means luring ducks within gunshot range.

  Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retrievers are quite new here, and were only recently recognized by the Kennel Club and allowed to exhibit at Crufts. I think they will take over the doggy world.

  Ludo is nine, but still has the bounce and speed of a two-year-old. You can throw sticks all day and he will still ask for more, although he feels it the next day.

  But I digress: the filthy mop needs his walk. Perhaps I’ll run. You may see us: Ludo is bright orange, so hard to miss – except in autumn, when he is hard to find.

  LIKES squeaky toys, balls

  DISLIKES being left behind when the pack goes out

  FINEST HOUR passing his puppy-training exams with flying colours

  Alison Green, Surrey

  Dobson, springer spaniel/red setter cross

  DOBSON WAS the most handsome dog in the world, and had a map of India on one side. Although we never knew his exact age, he was born in the autumn, so I gave him an official birthday, like the Queen, on 3 October, the same date as mine. I think he was probably given as a Christmas present, as he would have been ready to leave his mother at that time of year.

  He was handed in to the animal shelter during the school holidays when he was about eighteen months old: it was thought he was dumped to avoid the kennel fees while his owners went away.

  I think he knew how to behave, but just found it too difficult. He developed a taste for seat belts early on, and managed to chew through many in his lifetime.

  Before I had him neutered – which calmed him down a bit – he managed to get at some food placed on the cooker extractor fan. I never understood how he did this, short of getting the folding steps out of the hall cupboard. He also used to eat house flowers during this fraught period, but only the chrysanthemums. He succeeded in extracting them from a tall, thin vase on a windowsill without disturbing the vase or the other flowers in it. Once, he was swimming in the park and picked up a seagull and swam to me with it. I was surprised; the seagull was irate.

  I’ve lost count of the times I have been to the vet with him, with ear infections, seeds in the ears and once with a badly swollen leg after swimming in a stream and being bitten. Then there was the time he had an injury after, I suspected, an altercation with a swan.

  He was put to sleep in July after weeks battling cancer. I scattered his ashes in all his favourite places. There never was a creature with such joie de vivre. He will live in my heart for ever.

  LIKES water, carrots, life in general

  DISLIKES any form of chocolate, the vet

  FINEST HOUR sending up a pheasant for the first time from a hedge at close quarters. Also winning four rosettes for doing clear rounds in agility contests

  Sandra Hurst, Gloucestershire

  Benjy, rescue terrier

  BORN IN 2000, Benjy is half Yorkshire terrier and half Jack Russell. He behaves as if he were 100 per cent Jack Russell, but his coat is silky and f
ine.

  Benjy was a year old when we got him, and we were his third set of owners. The first owner was a girl who moved into a flat where no dogs were allowed; the second was a family that neglected him, and who had a Staffy who bullied him.

  We saw Benjy advertised in a local pet shop. We were surprised when we walked into the house where he lived: he was confined to a small downstairs room and was under the table, and not allowed into the rest of the house. We fell in love with him immediately. My husband David picked him up and he wouldn’t get down. We handed over the money and left. No one even said goodbye to him.

  Benjy was sick in the car on the way home, and has been the same ever since. Luckily we discovered a natural spray called Adaptil DAP (Dog Appeasing Pheromone), which you can use in the car before you set off. It has a calming effect, so now he can travel most times with no bother.

  Benjy walks miles with David, and is well known in the village. They meet up in the Playskool with ten other dogs and their owners. He has fallen in love with a lady Jack Russell called Megan. She is younger than him and treats him roughly, but he is smitten and he looks for her every day when passing the top of her road. Our grandchildren have grown up with him and he loves them. He will be thirteen next March, is in good health and enjoys life. We can’t imagine ever being without him.

  LIKES biscuits, walks and Megan

  DISLIKES the vet, birds and cats

  FINEST HOUR stealing David’s ham sandwich the first day in his new home

  Mr and Mrs David Harrison, Sittingbourne

  Sam, golden retriever

  SAM IS fourteen. His pace these days may be described as funeral minus: cars stop in our village to let him pass.

  People wind down their car windows and ask, ‘How old is she?’ He isn’t insulted; he takes it all in his stride.

  Sam landed on his paws in life. Our daughter found him late one night rooting in bins, and adopted him. He was six months old. No one claimed him in the following weeks. ‘Please,’ she asked us, ‘can you take him on for me?’ Nearly fourteen years on, he remains ours. He loved Abbie, our four-year-old retriever, and, since she died, he shares bossing the household with our two Burmese cats.

  From the early days he liked to hold his lead in his mouth. We put it down to insecurity. If he had his lead, we figured, he couldn’t get lost. He has some other strange habits. Having worked through his car-hating phase and his early escaping fetish, he now loves the car and stays close to home.

  A few years ago he entered a phase of digging to Australia. He led other dogs into bad habits; they watched him with interest and suddenly craters appeared everywhere. He has worn out his paws and teeth and developed arthritis. No wonder.

  Possessing zero road sense, he once headbutted a car. He’d run ahead of me, and under a gate. When I reached the road, the driver was a nervous wreck. Having exonerated the driver from any blame, I discovered Sam had shot down the road like a missile. For a week or two, he was jumpy when a car accelerated past. It didn’t last.

  He also brings presents to visitors. Once, he approached us at the door dragging the cat bed with a bewildered cat sitting in it! Another time, we were hosting a renowned male bass soloist. As we opened the front door, returning from a concert, there was Sam, tail wagging, and in his mouth the only ‘presents’ he could find. Having trawled the house, he had decided upon the visitor’s pants and socks, which he proceeded to nudge at his shins until he picked them up. Retriever . . . absolutely!

  LIKES any rodent scent that invites digging

  DISLIKES having Vaseline put on his nose

  FINEST HOUR those pants and socks!

  Martin and Sue Winbolt-Lewis, Bramphope, near Otley

  Charlie, furball and rescuer

  WHEN OUR beloved golden retriever died at the age of thirteen, our lives stopped as well. My wife Jan and I totally lost direction in our retirement, and found endless reasons to do nothing for two years.

  On one exceptional occasion, when we visited the coast, we met a man trying to socialize a small dog he’d just got from a rescue centre. We had been considering helping a dog in reduced circumstances, and our chance meeting seemed to be a signal. What followed was a catalogue of fluke occurrences, any one of which would have stopped our progress, but they all fell in our favour. We visited The Dogs Trust in Canterbury and there was Charlie. He’d just been handed in at nine months, and had not been examined, but we were allowed to put our name on the list. A week later he’d been checked over, we’d been checked over and he was permitted to leave with us. It was obvious that the ordeal of being given up had unsettled him, and it was quite a while before he felt that ours was his new home.

  Slowly his confidence returned and his true character emerged – and what a character: loving, intelligent, humorous and friendly. Charlie, now two and a half, gets me up at six and follows me into the bathroom where he points to what’s next. He anticipates everything, pointing us in the right direction all day. He knows it’s Bonio time when he hears the EastEnders music, and finishes his day by cuddling up to us on our bed for five minutes before he retires to his own.

  Strictly speaking, we rescued Charlie, but in fact, he rescued us. Life has returned to normal. But we still miss our retriever. Like all the other dogs in the neighbourhood, she would have loved Charlie. This photo is used as a wallpaper for our computer to remind us about what’s important in life, just in case we lose our way again, although that’s not likely with Charlie around.

  LIKES stealing slippers

  DISLIKES aggressive dogs

  FINEST HOUR bringing happiness to everyone he meets

  Phil and Jan Horton, Kent

  Orla, Labrador cross

  AS SOON as he had acquired the necessary words, my son Edward made it clear that his greatest desire would be to have a dog. It took until he was fifteen for us to feel brave enough to accede to his wishes, and even then my husband had serious reservations about the effect it might have on the cat.

  In autumn 2008 we brought home a squirming bundle from a litter of eight. We had chosen Orla for her boldness and energy; traits that left us a little dazed in her first few days at home. However, Edward was always there to show her love, and she soon began to work her charm on the rest of us – with the exception of the cat, which, disgusted, retreated upstairs.

  A reluctance to be house-trained was the least of our problems. Once, she chewed up my husband’s precious chessmen: heirlooms he had bought when just a boy. Thereafter he refused to speak to Orla for two full days.

  We are all besotted with her. She knows just how to get what she wants by placing her soft velvety head on our knees and gazing up with her beseeching brown eyes.

  She keeps us fit by encouraging long walks, she makes us laugh with her absurd behaviour (tail-chasing and rolling on chews), and she warms our hearts with her affectionate nature. She has brought so much joy into our lives; to see her dancing through sunlit meadows, chasing the shadows of butterflies, lifts the spirits like nothing else.

  Maybe we should have given in to Edward earlier, but we might never have known our beautiful, delightful Orla.

  LIKES chasing shadows, rolling in fox poo

  DISLIKES not being allowed to eat the cat’s food

  FINEST HOUR winning my husband over by presenting him with countless abandoned golf balls. (Worst moment: retrieving a player’s golf ball that had just landed six inches from the hole)

  Christeen Malan, Otford, Kent

  Foxy, Sri Lankan beach dog

  FOXY’S HOME is a large patch of sand in south Sri Lanka, which I first visited five years ago.

  She came and sat every night on my terrace. She was suffering from emaciation and mange, yet was so friendly. She soon realized I was a soft touch, and followed me constantly.

  After two days, a bath was due. She had never had one before but she just loved it, and groaned with pleasure.

  Next was a visit – by tuk-tuk, no less – to the vet’s, where I arranged for her
to be treated and spayed.

  I then set about fattening her up, and the locals couldn’t believe I was giving her steak.

  She became my protector, and other dogs couldn’t come close. We had hours of cuddles, long walks and the kind of attention, love and fun she had never experienced. I have to admit she even shared the bed.

  The sad day came when I had to leave. I cried all the way to Colombo, but arranged with the staff to feed her in return for a monthly fee.

  I have been back to the same spot in Sri Lanka every year since, and I only have to walk on the beach when I arrive and whistle, and she is there like a shot, going mad with excitement.

  I have often thought about bringing her back here. But she is happy in her familiar world, especially now that she is well fed, healthy and a cut above the other dogs (she is very proud of her collar). She has her own vet, who checks on her every six months, as well as two carers. I have even organized a suitable retirement home for her, for when the time comes.

  I simply can’t wait till next February to see her again.

  LIKES steak and tummy rubs

  DISLIKES prawns and fish bones

  FINEST HOUR remembering my whistle after twelve months

  Stephan Deare-Bilham, Chiswick

  Mila, deaf Old English sheepdog

  OF THE eight puppies in the litter, why did we go and choose the deaf one? The more we think about it, the more we are certain that it was Mila that chose us.

  After taking professional advice, we began the long and patient job of training her to understand a series of hand signals. She soon learnt to look at us for signals, and not to look when she didn’t want to obey!

  And it was a wonderful feeling, the day we plucked up the courage to let her off the lead in a quiet field, knowing that she had freedom, but would come back to us at the appropriate signal (arms in the air).