Christmas at Battersea: True Stories of Miracles and Hope

by Battersea Dogs

  I called Kayleigh and asked her to bring over a crate for Paddy to feel safe in, then took him upstairs to give him a bath. He was not only filthy, covered with oil, mud and other dirt, but he was a bag of bones too. As I gently washed him, I discovered he was also covered with bite marks, scratches and wounds, while his left ear was forked from a very recent tear. I wondered if the poor dog had been used in dog fights, or had led some other equally violent and miserable existence. But as I bathed and shampooed him, Paddy’s shaking subsided and something wonderful happened. He climbed up the side of the bath and licked my face. It was as if he was saying: Thank you. It was a special moment between us and I felt a sudden connection to him.

  The next day, I took Paddy to work with me, as planned, so that the dog warden and I could meet for the handover. All day long, we played telephone tag – I missed her calls, and she missed mine. When I was somewhere that would make a good meeting point, she was stuck in traffic on the other side of town.

  Finally, at six o’clock, she called. ‘If you’re willing to house him for twenty-eight days, I can send you a form now.’

  She explained that twenty-eight days was the time frame in which we could expect him to be claimed by his rightful owners. He was a lovely dog and I thought: Who wouldn’t want him? Of course his owners will come and fetch him. I agreed to keep Paddy at home with us for the time being and my next port of call was the vet. If Paddy had any problem, Amanda and I had a duty of care to get it fixed, but also we didn’t want Bailey to catch any infection from him.

  The vet found Paddy was full of worms so she got him started on medication and gave him an antibiotic shot, just in case.

  When I took him home, we continued to use the crate and, over the course of a few days, introduced him properly to Bailey. Amanda didn’t want to take them for walks together in case they had a scuffle, so I went ahead. I found they walked together beautifully, both stopping every now and then to sniff each other.

  I felt even sorrier for Paddy, who had been such an unloved and abused dog, yet despite everything he had suffered, he had the biggest heart and wanted nothing more than to be loved. When I returned to the vet, she told me if Paddy hadn’t been treated, the severity of the worm infestation would have killed him. In that moment, I realized something.

  Even if his owners came forward, I would have real trouble giving Paddy up to them. They’d clearly neglected him and I felt angry. Amanda and I were both leaning towards keeping Paddy, and our only concern was Bailey. Would the two of them get on in the longer term? If they did, it was the perfect solution for Bailey’s dislike of being alone. We’d been doing some separation-anxiety training with him and, although it was helping somewhat, we sensed he really needed a friend.

  The twenty-eight days came and went, and reluctantly I called the warden.

  ‘Nobody has come forward. Paddy is yours, if you want him.’

  ‘He’s going nowhere!’ I said. ‘Paddy is staying here with us.’

  By now, he and Bailey had bonded and loved playing together in the garden or chasing each other around the house. Sometimes they had a bit of a spat if Paddy tried to muscle in on Bailey’s toys, but mostly the days passed peacefully. That Christmas, two dogs were snoozing in front of the fire. More than wanting our attention, though, Paddy and Bailey wanted each other’s. Even when they were snoozing, one would stretch out his paw to touch the other, or rest his chin on the other’s leg.

  Paddy was really coming into his own. He had put on weight, his coat was glossy, his eyes were bright and his stumpy tail was always going at a hundred miles an hour.

  It was wonderful to see the transformation not only in him but in Bailey too. They had become best friends and what Amanda and I called tumble buddies. There was a new soundtrack to our home, with the regular crashes and bangs into furniture or kitchen cupboards as they wrestled each other to their hearts’ content.

  Paddy and Bailey were always either sleeping or rolling around together. Bailey’s anxiety decreased and Paddy, who was the same age as Bailey, felt he’d always been with us. He’d gone from being the dog who hadn’t wanted to interact with anyone to being the bouncy little Paddy who wouldn’t leave us alone.

  Paddy’s temperament is lovely, and whenever I remember the emaciated and scared dog I found on the road that day, I can’t understand why he was ever abandoned, or put through the violent ordeal he suffered. Ultimately, of course, it was to our benefit that nobody wanted him.

  Now when we walk them in the mornings, they jump into hedges, meet their friends along the way or go off together to sniff for foxes. Later we head off to work without worrying about them.

  In Bailey and Paddy, Lenny’s legacy lives on, and we will continue to give them all the love and attention our family has to offer.

  12. From the Shadows and into the Light

  It was a wet Friday night, and as the rain poured down outside, the phone began to ring.

  Beside me on the settee, my husband Michael had fallen asleep so I reached to answer it. ‘Hello?’ I said.

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ said a voice. ‘Can you come downstairs and help me bring some things up?’

  I thought it was an odd request from my daughter, Claire, given that we lived in a first-floor apartment and I was seventy-six! Nevertheless, I slipped on my shoes and opened the door, ready to help as best I could.

  It was then that I heard a quiet bark by my feet. I looked down and my eyes widened. There on my doorstep was a small black-and-cream Pug with a curly tail. He was sporting the biggest grin I’d ever seen and had so much energy – he was like a firework about to go off.

  I wondered what was going on. Then Claire stepped out of her hiding place a few feet away and smiled.

  So that’s what she had been up to.

  ‘Do you think Shadow can stay for the weekend, Mum?’ she said.

  My answer, of course, was yes, but before I could say anything, Shadow had galloped past me and raced – or waddled, in the way Pugs do – into the living room, jumping on every bit of furniture in sight.

  I laughed as Claire enveloped me in one of her usual bear hugs. We turned just in time to see Shadow jump up on Michael’s lap. He woke, confused, with a start. ‘Oh! A little dog! Look, Mildred!’

  But what happened next was magical. Michael’s confusion softened into a beautiful smile. It was one of my favourite things about him and I loved seeing it. Sadly, for a while, his health had been deteriorating, and the cancer now had him firmly in its grip. He was growing weaker by the day. But, for a lovely moment, there was a twinkle in his eyes as he stroked Shadow.

  Claire came in, pulled off her coat and slipped out of her shoes. We cut straight to the chase because Michael and I were desperate to hear about Shadow.

  ‘Where did he come from?’ I asked.

  Claire, who is the chief executive of Battersea Dogs & Cats Home, said Shadow, a Pug cross, had been found wandering the streets of London, foraging in bins and rubbish before somebody had brought him to Battersea. She said: ‘Mum, I know you and Dad haven’t been the same since Winky died, and when I saw Shadow, I knew he’d be perfect for you.’

  Winky had been our Whippet rescue that had died a few years earlier aged eighteen. We’d loved taking her for walks and had missed her terribly. Though it wasn’t normal for a Battersea dog to be rehomed like this, Claire was able to make an exception for us. She knew our circumstances and how much time we had to devote to a dog, as well as the experience we’d had with Winky and all our family dogs before her. So, Claire became our own family’s rehomer – even down to the home visit! And Shadow had come to see if we were all a match for each other.

  ‘I know you’ve wanted a Pug for a long time,’ Claire went on, ‘and when I saw him out of my office window, I knew he’d be perfect for you.’

  It was true. Months earlier, I’d confided in Claire that since we’d lost Winky a certain something had been missing from our lives. I had told her that I’d love a little dog to keep us company. N
ow, she’d delivered to us the perfect candidate to fill the empty spot in our hearts and lives.

  Claire reached over and took my hand. ‘But you don’t have to have him if you don’t feel he’s the right fit for you and Dad. There are lots of animals waiting for a loving owner like you.’

  ‘Why on earth would I say no?’ I said. ‘Of course we want him!’

  Claire smiled and so did I. She went out to her car and brought back a new dog bed, food, toys, a collar and a lead for Shadow.

  In the morning, I took Shadow to the park for a walk. People stopped to chat, and anyone who set eyes on him was immediately as smitten as I was. I could tell he would quickly become a local celebrity.

  I’d learnt from friends who had them that Pugs were wilful and determined but, above all, loyal companions. They were playful, too, and very sociable. Later that day we had friends over for dinner and Shadow rushed about excitedly, saying hello to everyone, as I’d expected he would. Excitement got the better of him, and for a few minutes, he rushed around like a mad little monkey. But when he realized everyone was carrying on as normal, he calmed down, found a place by my feet and laid his head down to rest.

  Next day, our son, Sean, and his little girls, Ashleigh and Trinity, came to meet Shadow. Ashleigh said: ‘He’s not very pretty, Grandma, but he’s still quite cute, isn’t he?’

  And he was. Wherever we went, people wanted to stroke him or ask about his background. I told them about Battersea and how Shadow might be staying with us for good.

  By now Michael was too weak to walk, but later I drove him and Shadow to the park and set up a picnic chair for Michael to sit on. Shadow raced around while Michael threw a ball for him. Before Michael had become ill, we’d both been keen walkers and had spent many a weekend wandering through the woods near our home with Winky. After so long without a dog, it felt lovely to be outside and feel the spring sunshine on our skin. Michael was glowing too.

  On the Sunday evening, it was time for Claire to leave our home in the West Midlands and return to London with Shadow. During the time he’d spent on the streets, he had developed a terrible infection in his teeth and most of them were due to be removed; extensive dental work was scheduled for him.

  Though we’d had Shadow only for the weekend, Michael and I were close to tears when we said goodbye to him and couldn’t wait for his return.

  Two weeks later, Claire called. ‘Shadow is fit and ready for you. I’m bringing him home.’

  The next day, Shadow was back with us, as excited to see us as we were to see him. He raced all over the flat until he ran out of steam, then sank into his new bed by the fireplace and promptly fell asleep next to Michael’s armchair.

  Shadow was home.

  I stared at our dog and wondered how anybody could have had the heart to abandon him.

  His story was a sad one: Shadow was nine years old and had never been truly cherished, despite his love of life and passion for being with people. He’d been thrown out to wander the streets of London, scavenging to stay alive. He was a lovely, gentle, kind little dog but no one had cared about or for him. His condition showed that he had never been fed a proper diet or enjoyed regimented mealtimes. His teeth were a story in their own right and among the worst the Battersea vets had ever seen. Almost every one was rotten, blackened to the root, and his breath was so bad it could have cleared a room at twenty paces. Shadow had fifteen teeth removed while the remaining few were scraped and polished to get him ready to enjoy his new life. I wouldn’t have wished Shadow’s history on any poor animal, but the silver lining was that he was mine. Little Shadow would never want for anything again.

  Claire had brought us a rehoming pack from Battersea, with a booklet that gave details of Shadow’s injections, plus all manner of advice and information. So, while Shadow snoozed, I sat back and immersed myself in all things Battersea and new dogs.

  Though Michael’s health was failing fast – he couldn’t stand and didn’t often speak – Shadow fell in love with him instantly and with all his heart. From the moment he came into our home, he developed a special bond with Michael. He would jump on to Michael’s knee, plonk his bottom down and gaze up at him with those shiny brown eyes. That goofy, toothless grin made Michael smile and I often wondered if that was what Shadow was trying to do. For the first time in many months Michael felt some joy and that helped ease our pain tremendously.

  Shadow certainly knew how to get things done. Every morning, I woke at seven to take him for a walk. If I was a minute late, Shadow poked and prodded me until I got up. We’d stride out for two good long walks every day, and when Michael was up to it, I drove us all to the woods near our home and set him up in his picnic chair on the grass near the car park. Shadow, already clearly a show-off who loved stopping to chat to people, ran back and forth between Michael and me. Michael would throw the ball for him when he could and that was just lovely: a time of peace and a time of happiness.

  At home, Shadow basked in the late-afternoon sunshine that flooded through our floor-to-ceiling bay window. He loved watching the world go by outside, and whenever somebody pulled into the car park outside our home, he let out a bark. I told Michael: ‘Shadow would make the very best car-park attendant, don’t you think?’

  Michael nodded and gave a soft laugh. We had been married for fifty years and I never tired of hearing his lovely laugh.

  Before he had retired, Michael had been a civil engineer, and after Claire and Sean had gone to school, I’d joined the police force, then retrained as an occupational therapist and later worked with a bereavement service, where I was the chairperson. The service had grown over sixteen years from a handful of volunteers to more than fifty counsellors, who helped give people strength and courage to cope with bereavement.

  Though my work there kept me busy, the pace of our lifestyle was very different now from what it had been in previous years. That was especially so after Michael had suffered a serious stroke and then, later, the cancer. We no longer went dancing or for long walks; instead, we just enjoyed each other’s company, which I didn’t mind at all, but Shadow gave us both a boost.

  One afternoon I noticed Michael didn’t have the energy to stroke Shadow. Shadow had already sensed something was wrong and was sitting quietly beside him. I called our doctor, who arranged for an ambulance to take Michael to the local hospital. He was admitted and I visited twice a day for several weeks. Of course, dogs weren’t allowed, but every day Michael said, ‘How is Shadow? Where is he?’

  I’d explain that he’d made some new friends in the park, or had an evening with the grandchildren, who came to our home two nights a week after school.

  Then Michael said: ‘I wish I could see Shadow again.’

  The next day, I put Shadow into the car and drove to the hospital. When we arrived, I went around the side of the building to the window of the ground-floor ward where Michael was. I knocked on it, and when I had Michael’s attention, I held Shadow up to the window. Shadow wriggled and panted in my arms as he caught his own reflection in the window but that made it all the more fun. Inside the ward, smiles raced around the faces of patients, nurses and doctors. Most importantly, Shadow brought a smile to Michael’s face and that made me very happy.

  Every day I returned with Shadow until, a few weeks later, it was decided Michael should be moved to a hospice.

  The night before the move, we gathered at Michael’s bedside and, though he was now unconscious, we all talked to him and told him the latest about the Olympics, which he had been watching keenly. I believed that, although he wasn’t able to open his eyes and look at me or talk, he could hear me.

  After the rest of the family had returned to their homes, I stayed with Michael and chatted to him while I put moisturizer on his hands and face. At nine p.m., I kissed him goodnight. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ I told him.

  I went home and straight to bed, only to be woken at two o’clock by the phone ringing.

  I listened to the nurse at the end of the
line and I thought: Did I hear that right?

  Michael had passed away at one forty-five a.m.

  I put the phone down and my mind raced with if-onlys.

  If only I’d known the end was quite so close I would have stayed the night. If only I hadn’t left. If only I had stayed …

  Sean and I went to the hospital and sat with Michael. He looked so very peaceful and I knew, after all the illness Michael had suffered, he was in a better place now.

  I’d spent all those years helping others cope with grief and, now that it was upon me, I felt an odd sense of calm. Michael had always supported me in everything I had done and I knew he would be looking down on me now and looking after me.

  At home, Shadow kept glancing at Michael’s chair and I know he sensed something had happened because he didn’t leave my side for a second. Wherever I went, he followed.

  I threw myself into planning Michael’s funeral to try to keep busy. It seemed odd, but planning the service and cremation Michael had said he wanted was a comfort to me.

  On the morning of the funeral, I told my family Shadow and I would meet them at Sean’s house when we were ready. Everyone was concerned about my being alone, and I understood that, but, for a reason I couldn’t explain, I wanted to be on my own with my little boy that morning. I didn’t want anyone around me, only Shadow. I knew that, as long as I had him, everything would be OK.

  I got myself ready, brushed Shadow nicely and, with him sitting beside me in the car, drove to my son’s house. Throughout the service, where I read from the Book of Corinthians, and the wake, Shadow stayed right by my side. Having him to stroke and cuddle was a real help.

  Claire’s dog, Wilma, was there too, as was Sean’s. Though the day was heavy with grief, there were the inevitable moments of lightness that, mercifully, find their way into all such sorrowful occasions. Every time one of the dogs wove in and out of someone’s legs or rolled over for a playful, silly moment, they prompted laughter and smiles.