From the Brink …
For as long as I could remember, our house was full of noise. My brother and I grew up on my parents’ farm where we had land and livestock to tend, plus a small army of working dogs and family pets, like Springer Spaniels and Jack Russell Terriers. Life was busy and our house was packed. It wasn’t unusual to find one of our lambs amid the dogs sleeping by the fire in the evenings. I adored our lifestyle, and when I was seven years old, I vowed to have dogs of my own when I grew up.
At nineteen, I moved into my own home and took in my first puppy, a Great Dane. In time, my family grew with twins, Joe and Betty, and later, when we moved to a twelve-acre smallholding, so did the number of pets. I was particularly fond of Great Danes, which I had learnt from experience were intelligent, sensitive and loved to relax. Later, I took in Maverick and Sky from a Great Dane rescue home, as well as two Terrier crosses, Kevin and Bertie, from Battersea Dogs & Cats Home.
I made some firm friends at Battersea and stayed in touch with some of the staff.
One evening, I was checking my emails when one in particular caught my eye. I clicked into it and found a picture that made me gasp. It was of an emaciated dog called Faith. She was a Great Dane cross and, judging from how she looked, she was lucky to be alive.
Below that shocking picture, there was a message from my friend at Battersea, explaining that Faith had been found close to death in a ditch near Battersea Old Windsor. It was likely somebody had dumped her there, knowing she could die in the bitter cold.
As I read the details, I felt desperately sorry for the dog.
At the end of the email, the sender asked: Wouldn’t Faith be happy with you???????
I looked at my lovely dogs, snoozing beside the open fire in our cosy living room, all with full bellies, and I knew the answer. Yes, of course Faith would be happy with us. She thoroughly deserved a life like that of Bertie, Kevin, Maverick, Sky and Lola, a six-year-old rescued Great Dane. I typed back: Yes! I’d love Faith to come and live with us.
She’d come along at the right time. I’d been thinking of getting a playmate for Lola. While Bertie and Kevin were thick as thieves, and Maverick and Sky were older and happy to keep each other company, Lola was on her own. As a result, she’d lost her drive to play and run and was putting on weight. She’d actually become very lazy. If Battersea concluded that Faith was suitable for our household, she might turn out to be the perfect friend for her.
I knew from experience that Great Danes didn’t cope well in the kennel environment so when a rehomer from Battersea called to discuss things in more detail, I told her: ‘I can take Faith as soon as possible.’
‘She’s very underweight and is still under the care of our veterinary team, but she’s getting stronger. As soon as she’s well enough, hopefully in a week or so, we’ll bring her to your home to see how she gets on with your other dogs and we can take it from there.’
‘That sounds like a plan.’
Sometimes things don’t go as you hope they will. The week Faith was due to visit, I became seriously ill and was in hospital for two weeks. I emailed Battersea and told them what had happened. They were very understanding: they would place Faith in foster care until I was well enough to have her.
In mid-November, I returned home and arranged with two rehomers at Battersea to bring Faith to my house in the countryside. It was unusual for my first meeting with Faith to be at my home, and for her to be introduced to the other members of my family on our territory, but since I’d been so ill, I was unable to make the four-hour drive to the Home, and on that occasion the rehomers made an exception.
Days later, when Faith was due to arrive, the dogs started barking all at once. That meant only one thing in our home: somebody was nearing our front door. I moved the bigger dogs to another part of the house and brought Bertie and Kevin into the living room.
The bell rang, and when I opened the door, two rehomers from Battersea stepped inside with Faith, who was still underweight but much better than she had been in the pictures I’d seen of her. It was immediately clear to me that she had some German Shepherd in her: she had the longer muzzle and a pointy nose, rather than the square, jowly look of my other Great Danes. She also had one ear up, the other down – adorable.
Faith was on a lead, and as Bertie and Kevin barked their curious hellos at her, she seemed bewildered. But Faith was as interested in them as they were in her. My dogs settled down beside me, and now that Faith was off the lead, she came over to me. She was friendly, if a bit nervous, but as I stroked her, she visibly relaxed and her ears flopped down. She wasn’t on high alert any more. She pushed against my hand, begging to be stroked some more. Whenever I stopped or slowed, she nudged me.
‘It must have been the German Shepherd strong will that got her through that horrible time,’ I told the ladies from Battersea. ‘That’s how she survived.’
They nodded.
I’d been kept in the loop on Faith’s progress while she’d been at Battersea and was told she was now on four meals a day and steadily putting on weight. Nevertheless, her bones still jutted out, which was a stark reminder of the terrible condition she’d been found in.
‘What monster could leave a dog in that state?’ I wondered aloud.
There was no answer to that question so I continued: ‘Well, it doesn’t matter any more because, if she stays here, I will give her the life she deserves.’
I was handed a letter from Faith’s foster carer, Helle, which detailed what she’d been feeding her. She added that Faith was food-driven and would eat anything we left out, so I should be careful about that.
Afterwards, the rehomers and I introduced Faith to Lola in an enclosed area outside. They hit it off immediately. They ran around after each other and it was nice to see them playing so well together. Through the fence, Faith caught a whiff of Sky and Maverick, and there weren’t any problems there either.
It was clear to everyone that Faith was a good match for our home so I signed the relevant paperwork and the rehomers gave me a few days’ supply of food for Faith and wished me all the best.
That night, I kept Lola and Faith together in the kitchen and the other dogs in another part of the house. Faith slept well through the night and it seemed she was comforted by Lola’s presence. Next day she had a proper introduction to the other dogs and was excited by all the company and attention. Every now and then, though, she became overwhelmed and came to find me, hovering with a look that pleaded: Help!
I’d give her a cuddle and then she’d be off again with her new friends.
Whenever Lola went outside, Faith followed her and they’d play for a while before Faith ran out of energy and came in. She didn’t understand that her bed was hers alone and it was her special place to rest so she didn’t get into it. When she did, she wouldn’t stay in it for more than a few minutes. Joe, Betty and I took turns in the evening sitting beside her while she was in it, stroking her and giving her treats when she climbed in until, eventually, she’d grasped that it was hers.
Faith got on fine with Sky and Maverick, but Maverick suffered physical problems that left him uninterested in play. Lola was quick to show Faith the ropes, telling her: No, steer clear of him! The same went for Sky. I always joked she was an old dog in a young dog’s body and she showed no interest in Faith. She was much more interested in keeping Maverick company.
As Christmas was round the corner, I bought a tree, put it up in our lounge and Betty helped me decorate it. On Christmas Day, we had lots of friends over and everyone got up early to take the dogs for a walk. When we returned, we cracked open the champagne extra early and celebrated. With Faith in the house, everybody seemed more excited than usual.
We sat down to lunch at two o’clock and afterwards opened our presents. The dogs had stockings filled with chews and were treated to slices of turkey. I’d never seen so many wagging tails! After that, the house quietened as I got a fire going and we settled in to watch a film. Maverick took his place by
the open fire, Sky curled up on the sofa directly next to him, while Lola basked in the warmth nearby. Faith was happier in her own bed next to my chair, but Bertie and Kevin took turns on my lap. It was the same scene as when I’d first received the email from Battersea, except now I was no longer imagining Faith as a part of our family – she was a part of it.
In the New Year, I increased Faith’s portion sizes and her weight gradually went up. Her ribs were no longer protruding, and her hip bones didn’t jut out. She had bags of energy and couldn’t sit still for long. Luckily, our smallholding was the perfect place for her. Our land was fenced in so the dogs had the run of it whenever they wanted and nosed around our horses and pigs.
Whenever Joe got the quad bike out, Lola loved to run after him. It was a favourite of the Great Danes in our household to chase after and outrun it. At first, Faith was terrified but Lola circled back and nudged her forward, then set off after Joe once more. It didn’t take Faith long to catch on and join in.
Lola was five years older than Faith and, as I watched the two together, I developed a theory. I reckoned Faith had been weaned early from her mother and hadn’t received a lot of attention from her, apart from being told off. She didn’t understand that she had to observe the other dogs’ boundaries and, as Helle had warned in her letter, had a habit of gobbling the others’ food. Lola didn’t let her get away with it. If Faith went for her food, Lola told her in no uncertain terms: Hey, it’s not OK to nick mine!
In time, Faith learnt to behave and her confidence grew. She realized that if Lola went somewhere it was safe for her to go there too.
I worked from home so every morning I took the two of them for a long walk into the fields down the lane from our home and again in the evening. By now Faith was 20 kilos, up six from when she’d been found by Battersea but she was still underweight, which meant she felt the cold. On our walks in the winter air, she wore a special quilted coat to keep her warm.
Faith and Lola were together all the time and Faith took her cues from her friend. She learnt to play and run, and her energy rubbed off on Lola. She was no longer the lazy, snoozing dog I’d come to know. Instead of sticking beside me on long walks, she was chasing after Faith, who loved running ahead. Lola shed the extra weight she’d been carrying and was only in her bed when she was sleeping.
By spring, Faith no longer needed the coat and had blossomed into a lovely, bouncy, energetic dog. Last time we weighed her, she was forty-two kilos, which is just about where she should be. She’s no longer the skeletal dog I first saw in that picture: she’s muscular and healthy and does everything with passion. She has a real survivor’s attitude and has moved onwards and upwards, not letting her sad past hold her back.
It is seeing her now, healthy, happy and with an amazing quality of life, that makes the rescue process so worthwhile. She’s so loving and, of all my dogs, she’s up there with Kevin as the rescue dog that has changed most.
He was young when we got him and he was quite the devil dog. He’d bite you as soon as you’d look at him because he was so scared and stressed out. Now he’s the soppiest thing.
In my years rescuing Great Danes and terriers, I’ve realized that, no matter what their breed or history, all they need is time, routine and love. It’s amazing how quickly a rescue dog, like the ones you find at Battersea, learns to trust you. Of course, there’s always a bit of a concern when you’re taking on a new dog that she or he will get on with the existing household, but experience has taught me to give them time to settle in.
If you are thinking about getting a dog, everything will be fine, as long as you have the time and patience to help the animal get into your routine. The work Battersea does is phenomenal and they need owners like you and me to help them keep doing what they do. It takes time and effort but it’s worth it.
When Faith arrived, she hadn’t had a chance to learn the basics of living with a family or other dogs. She had had limited interaction and play with her mum and siblings but it was obvious that she wanted to be a good dog and simply didn’t know how to go about it. Now she’s got the picture. She’s still got some growing up to do but she’s getting more relaxed and secure in herself as time goes on. She is the sweetest dog.
Betty and Joe are animal mad and, like me, grew up in a house filled with them. They’re nineteen now, but they learnt to walk by hanging on to one of our Great Danes, who would stand perfectly still until the twins had pulled themselves upright and taken a step forward.
Memories like that make up our family’s history, and without our dogs, life simply wouldn’t be the same. Faith was the missing member of our family and I didn’t know it till she was here. Now we feel complete.
3. The Friendship of a Lifetime
I was strolling through Battersea Park in the late autumn, and as the leaves dropped to the ground, disturbed by probably the last warm breeze before the bitter gales of winter swept in, I felt a jumble of emotions course through me. Wherever I looked, couples and families were enjoying their outings, relaxed and carefree. Even the people I saw wandering around on their own had company in the form of their much-loved dogs.
But for me London had become a lonely place. I was thirty-five years old and coming out of the latest of what I could only describe as a string of failed relationships. I’d hit rock bottom. I took a seat on a bench and contemplated how I’d got there. I didn’t have all the answers, but I knew some things for sure. I didn’t have a job, I didn’t have any money, and I didn’t have anybody to love or to love me back. Where had it all gone so terribly wrong?
Just as these thoughts whirred around in my mind, a furry face appeared in front of me. The Springer Spaniel jumped around at my feet and stared at me eagerly. ‘What are you looking for?’ I said.
He disappeared under the bench and popped out a few seconds later with a tennis ball in his mouth. I expected him to run off now that he had what he’d come for, but he wagged his tail and brushed up against me. For a moment, he stilled, resting his body against mine, and I stroked his head. It felt nice and I could tell he was enjoying it too: his breathing slowed and his head drooped. I felt my mind clear and, for a moment, peace.
Just then I heard a shout and the dog’s ears twitched. It was clearly the voice of his master and, with a momentary glance at me, he was off. I watched them play together and thought how lovely it must be to have a dog to call your own, to love and be loved back unconditionally, without fuss or fanfare.
Weeks passed, and I couldn’t get the idea out of my head. One day, I left my home and walked the short distance to the place I hoped would answer my prayers: Battersea Dogs & Cats Home. I walked slowly around the kennels and stopped at every one. Are you the one I’m looking for? I wondered, peering in. The expressions on the dogs’ faces made me think that perhaps they were asking themselves the same question about me. But none of them spoke to me in the way I hoped my dog would.
That day, I didn’t have any success and the same thing happened on my second visit.
But on the third, I got chatting to a rehomer, Sarah, and told her I was hoping to find a terrier, maybe a Jack Russell. I wanted a strong, spirited animal with a resilient character and reckoned a terrier would fit the bill nicely. I said: ‘I saw three back there, could I meet them?’ When I told her the names of the dogs I had in mind, she explained they needed more experienced owners, not a new one like me, to cope with their needs.
I felt a bit deflated, until she said: ‘Mark, how do you feel about a puppy?’
My eyebrows must have shot up because Sarah led me to the puppy area and let me take in the activity before me. There were half a dozen puppies of different breeds and sizes running about. They instantly put a smile on my face. ‘What a sight!’ I laughed.
Sarah smiled back. ‘What do you think?’
I scanned the kennels for a moment and that was when I spotted him. There, in the middle of an enclosure, was a St Bernard puppy, sitting bolt upright in his bed. But it wasn’t him who had caught
my eye. It was the tiny Jack Russell puppy latched on to the St Bernard’s bed that had my attention. He was less than half the size of the other puppy but he was dragging the bed, with the St Bernard in it, across the floor.
I’d been hoping for a small dog with a big attitude so I pointed him out. ‘That’s the little man for me.’
I sat on the floor and called to the puppy, which bounded over to me. He was interested in every movement I made and every word I spoke to him. He nibbled at my hand, as puppies do, and licked my palm when I held it flat. We spent ten minutes playing and getting to know each other, and at the end of our session, I knew he was the one.
I had a chat with Sarah about my circumstances – the regular jobs I’d been doing as a gardener had dried up and I was currently unemployed, but that meant I had twenty-four hours a day to dedicate to a dog – and she agreed that the puppy, who was three months old, and I were a good fit. ‘You can come and pick him up next week,’ she said.
A rush of emotion went through me. For the longest time, I’d been looking at my life quite negatively, and here I was, deemed fit to look after a puppy. Suddenly I felt very proud. It was validating and made me believe in myself.
I walked outside into the winter sunshine and made myself a promise. Whatever was going on in my life, I’d keep my work van insured, taxed and on the road with a full tank of fuel. I knew if I achieved that, I’d strive to find gardening work, and when I managed that, I would always have money. Then, no matter what was going on, I could take my puppy out and about with me and for adventures in and around London.
Up until now, I hadn’t coped well emotionally when things had gone wrong, but I could feel in my bones that my commitment to the puppy would do me a world of good.
Christmas at Battersea: True Stories of Miracles and Hope Page 4