Once we’d all calmed down from the excitement of seeing each other, Mum explained that my sister Dawn and her boyfriend, who lived with Mum and Dad, had come up with the idea of a pub dog. They’d made some enquiries and, after meeting Rosie at Battersea Dogs & Cats Home, they’d taken her in. Now, she was living a comfortable life at the pub but things hadn’t been easy for her before.
Rosie was around two years old when she was found flailing in a frozen lake by a member of the public. It appeared somebody had thrown her into the icy water, expecting her to drown, but she had clung on, despite a life-threatening and painful hernia in her diaphragm, until someone had pulled her to safety.
Mum explained: ‘Rosie was very poorly by the time she arrived at Battersea. They reckon she might have been used as a bait dog or for breeding, and when she suffered the hernia and was no good to her owners any more, she’d been thrown into that freezing lake.’
‘Gosh, that’s so sad,’ I said. ‘I don’t understand how anyone could do such a thing.’
Mum shrugged her shoulders, and Rosie settled next to her. ‘She’s so loving,’ Mum said, resting her hand on Rosie’s back. ‘It doesn’t make any sense, Maxine.’
I looked at Rosie, who was leaning against Mum. ‘I guess there are people out there without any heart.’
It was amazing how resilient Rosie was, though. She seemed to be settling in so well.
We’d not had a dog in the family before so Rosie was a very exciting addition. Every now and then I’d see her and think: Oh! A dog! Then my brain would catch up and I’d remember she was our dog.
That night, a friend of mine arrived with a Christmas tree for us. I’d found it back in Devon in the charity shop where I volunteered and had asked him to bring it by car when he came to London to save me lugging it by train. I set about putting it up in the flat, and when it was done, I thought: Crikey. That’s even bigger than the one downstairs. Mum will be chuffed!
Mum and Dad had a twenty-four-hour licence so the pub was absolutely packed till the early hours. Liam and I helped out in the bar but Billie came down with a cold on the night we arrived. She was seventeen but I still fussed over her, tucking her under a fluffy throw on the sofa and fetching her hot drinks. I checked in on her every couple of hours, and the second time I did so, I noticed that Rosie had snuggled in next to her. She had her head on Billie’s lap and Billie was stroking her. ‘Aw,’ I said. ‘Isn’t she sweet?’
‘She’s been stuck to me like glue all evening,’ Billie croaked.
It was nice to know Rosie was keeping Billie company while the rest of us were mucking in downstairs. The pub was big and we had a kitchen, too, so there was always something to do.
I helped behind the bar with Dawn, while Mum and Dad rushed here, there and everywhere. I was a trained chef so I was in the kitchen, too. Liam popped in and out of the kitchen. He wasn’t a chef but he had a real interest in cooking – I reckoned he’d inherited it from Mum and me.
As we hurried about over the next few days, I’d spot Rosie wandering around the bar. She spent most of her time upstairs but she liked to venture down and have a chat with the customers. She stopped by the tables of merry Christmas punters for a stroke or a cuddle and everybody adored her.
Rosie was so friendly and everyone who came into contact with her could tell she was a sweetheart. She’d spent 295 days at Battersea, almost ten times the average stay for a dog at the Home, and now she was surrounded by people. I could tell she loved all the attention.
Though it was hectic in the pub, Liam, Billie and I still found time to laze about, eat ridiculous amounts of chocolate and watch naff Christmas films. It was turning out to be the best Christmas we’d ever had, and it wasn’t even the big day yet!
On Christmas Eve there was a brilliant atmosphere as we all donned furry hats and Christmas jumpers. The air was zinging with excitement as couples, families and groups of friends gathered in the pub for a festive drink. The beer was flowing, and every now and then, a lively group would break into a festive tune. I smiled so much that my cheeks ached. For as long as I could remember, Christmas had been a massive deal in our family. Anything to do with Christmas, we had it, from three types of stuffing to crackers and furry hats. When I’d had children, I’d made sure it was the same for them. I loved the magic and mystery but the kids had a funny theory about the most famous man on the planet. When they were little, I’d ask them: ‘Is Father Christmas real?’
They’d shout: ‘Yes!’
Then I’d say: ‘Who is Father Christmas?’
The reply was always the same: ‘NANNY!’
Now, the kids were grown-up and, still, Mum made sure the magic remained.
On Christmas Day, we followed the usual tradition. We got up early and, still dressed in our pyjamas, gathered in the living room. We had a cup of tea, then Mum and I disappeared downstairs into the kitchen. We returned half an hour later with platefuls of scrambled egg, smoked salmon and bottles of Bucks Fizz. That was the way our Christmas Day had always begun.
Then we’d nominate a person to hand out the presents one by one. Usually it was Paula, but she hadn’t arrived yet so Liam was happy to step up to the plate. It was only ten o’clock and already we were giddy with the festivities: Billie was wearing three Christmas hats, one on top of the other. Liam handed out our presents and we opened them and showed them to everyone.
We’d remained in our pyjamas because we didn’t know what new clothes we’d be getting, and luxuriated in this family time because, later on, we’d be opening the pub to customers. It was going to be a busy day.
Next, we got dressed in our smartest outfits, including any new bits we’d received, because that was what we always did, and went downstairs to open up. By midday, while the rest of the family were behind the bar, Mum and I were in the kitchen preparing our family’s Christmas dinner. It was going to be one heck of a feast. We’d have sixteen relatives and friends later so we cooked two huge turkeys, with three different stuffings: sage and onion, chestnut, sausage and apricot. There were six different vegetables, and pan after pan of crispy roast potatoes. Every now and then, Rosie would appear at the kitchen door, which we’d blocked with a baby gate, and stare longingly at all the food. It smelt delicious to us so only God knows how Rosie’s nose was coping with the aromas.
Behind her, the pub was crammed full of punters with Christmas hats and the radio playing all the best-loved tunes.
At three, we served the last drinks, then pushed four tables together and set them for dinner. There were decorations, crackers, and everybody had a name card with a lottery ticket tucked inside for good luck in the New Year.
Mum and I served the food, and Rosie milled around the edges, waiting for a bite of something. We treated her to scraps of turkey and she looked in doggy heaven. She had made herself right at home, as if she’d been with us for years, not weeks.
After dinner, we pulled our crackers, told terrible jokes and laughed the afternoon away. When we were done, two of Mum’s staff came in to open up the bar so that we could, as a family, retire upstairs to enjoy the rest of our evening.
Rosie settled into her bed with her new reindeer blanket and the toys she’d been given for Christmas, while we found a spot on the sofa or a chair to laze on and watch TV. We shared bags of sweets and revelled in how lovely it was for everyone to be together. It was such a rarity. From time to time Rosie would get up and sofa-surf, seeking love and kisses or just to sit next to someone new.
Days later, Billie, Liam and I were on our way home. I was used to spending time away from my family, but this Christmas had been so special that I didn’t want it to end. We stood outside The Rose for ages, saying goodbye, then chatting, saying goodbye again, then talking.
Eventually I said: ‘We’re going to miss the train at this rate!’ We laughed, said our final goodbyes and got into a taxi. I knew if I’d turned round one more time, I’d have seen tears in their eyes, just like the ones I had in mine.
We returned to Devon and I talked to Mum every couple of weeks for a catch-up.
When she called in February I knew instantly that something was wrong. ‘What is it, Mum?’ I asked.
‘Something’s come up for your dad and me. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime.’
‘Well, what is it?’ I said.
‘We’ve been offered the chance to run a marina in the Bahamas, complete with bar and restaurant.’
‘Great,’ I said. ‘Congratulations!’
There was a silence at the end of the line, and then I twigged why. ‘What will you do with Rosie?’
Mum explained that Dawn and her boyfriend would be moving into shared accommodation and were heartbroken that they couldn’t take her with them. ‘I thought we were going to be in this pub for good, but living in the Bahamas has always been our dream and this job has come out of the blue from an old contact of ours. I don’t think your father and I can pass it up. I wondered if you would take Rosie for a couple of months while we get settled.’
I’d never had a dog before. Was this a good idea?
On the other hand, I didn’t work so I had time to devote to looking after Rosie and I knew the kids would be pleased.
Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
‘OK,’ I said. ‘I’ll have to check with the landlord that I can have a dog, but otherwise I’m happy to take her in.’
Mum was so relieved. ‘I know you’ll take good care of her. Besides, I’ll be much happier knowing Rosie’s staying with a family member she’s already met.’ After a pause, she added: ‘We’ll come up with a plan for the long term.’
That day, I cleared the idea with my landlord, and when he gave me the go-ahead, I told the kids the news. Billie was chuffed. ‘I can’t wait!’ she said.
Liam was happy too, but he had one stipulation: ‘I’m not taking her for walks, Mum. I can’t handle picking up her poo.’
That made us all laugh.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I’ll be the one walking her.’
Mum and Dad’s move to the Bahamas was imminent so, two weeks later, they drove down with Rosie. She rushed to me in an excited blur as soon as the door opened. Mum and Dad had brought with them a box of her things, including her bed, toys and food. I put them inside and we set off for the local pub.
We had lunch there and chatted for a couple of hours. When it came time to say goodbye to Rosie, Mum got very upset. I could understand why. I’d formed a bond with Rosie over just ten days. She had been with Mum and Dad for months. Mum said a tearful goodbye to me and we hugged each other tightly. Then she dashed to the car to have a sob in private.
Dad wasn’t in such a rush. He was his usual, cool self and gave Rosie a pat on the head. ‘Bye, Rosie. Bye, girl.’
As he straightened and came to hug me, I could see his eyes were filled with tears.
Dad was an ex-Marine and I reckoned he didn’t want to admit Rosie had got to him. Even though his voice didn’t waver, his face gave him away. It was clear Rosie had had an effect on him, too.
After I’d waved them off and watched their car pull away, I took Rosie’s lead and we strolled home. That night, we spoilt her with treats, cuddles and lots of reassurance but, like the brave girl she was, Rosie took it all in her stride.
Mum called all the time to check on her and I reassured her that Rosie was doing well. Every morning I snapped on her Battersea lead and took her to the beach near our home in Paignton, Devon. In the winter, it’s open to dogs so I was able to let Rosie off the lead. I was a bit nervous at first and Rosie was unsure of the sand squidging beneath her paws and the crashing of the waves. She stuck close to me and then, after a few minutes, she shot off!
Rosie ran and ran and ran. She chased the seagulls and splashed about in the sea and I smiled to see her having so much fun. Eventually, she returned to me, looking very pleased with herself. Did you see me, Mum? That was the best thing ever!
Everywhere I went people stopped me to talk about Rosie. ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’ they’d say. ‘What a gorgeous girl.’
I’d tell them about her sad past and they’d gasp. Then I’d tell them the amazing job the Battersea vets had done, fixing Rosie’s hernia and nursing her back to health.
Billie loved having Rosie around and the two of them had a special bond. Rosie was so loving, kind and gentle, like Billie. They spent a lot of time cuddling up together, and when Billie was nearing the house, Rosie would be waiting for her by the front door.
Liam was the one to roll around on the floor with Rosie, playing rough and tumble with her. It was the only time she ever growled, even playfully, and I reckoned Liam was Rosie’s secret favourite visitor.
It was no surprise that we all reached the same conclusion: Rosie was staying with us for good. I told Mum our decision and, though she was sad for herself, she agreed it was probably best for Rosie.
I’d never thought of having a dog before, but now that I had one, I wished I’d known years earlier what having a dog would do for me. If I had known that the anxiety and depression I’d suffered for so long would ease with a dog in the house, I would have searched for one like Rosie to call my own. For so many years, even leaving the house had been a big deal for me. I’d had to psych myself up to go to the shop and buy some milk. Often, the anxiety had consumed me, leaving me trapped and alone, unable to go out or complete the simplest of tasks. I’d hated going out by myself or having to talk to people I didn’t know. With Rosie around, my life changed.
Every day, Rosie got me up and out, chatting to strangers and taking long walks by the sea. It was cathartic in so many ways and, before I knew it, I wasn’t nervous about going outside any more. It boiled down to one very important factor: with Rosie, I no longer had to go out alone. She became my best friend and, the more time that passed, the more I felt as though it had been written in the stars for Mum and Dad to get that amazing job abroad and for Rosie to become mine. All the planets had aligned, and life had led Rosie to me.
Before she’d come to stay, I’d never understood the bond a person can share with their dog, or why someone might need a week off work if their dog passed away, but now I understood it totally. Rosie felt like my third child. Before I had her, I hadn’t known that a relationship like mine and Rosie’s could exist between a human and an animal.
I found myself talking to Rosie, and I was certain she understood. Every morning, she somehow knew if we’d go out or if I’d do the housework first. As soon as the thought came to me that this would be a good time to head out for a stroll, Rosie would charge around the house in a hyper mood and shake her lead off its hook in the kitchen.
Soon after Rosie’s arrival, I made a decision that I’d been shying away from for a long time. I went to my local estate agent and said: ‘Can you find me a house with a big garden? It’s time for a change.’
He booked me in for several viewings, but it was a house in the town centre that caught my eye. As soon as I opened the kitchen door and stepped into the back garden, I thought: Rosie will love this. So, we moved just a few minutes away to that house with a wonderful garden. It was near the park and Rosie loved the duck pond so much that she’d race around it every time. She made quite a name for herself.
When locals spotted us on the beach, they’d point to Rosie and ask: ‘Is that the loony from the park?’
I’d laugh. ‘That’s the one.’
It seemed to me that Rosie had come into my life at just the right time. Billie and Liam were in their late teens, busy working and seeing their friends. I’d never really stopped to think what life would be like without them around, and besides it being a lot tidier, it was much quieter too. Without Rosie, I don’t know what I would have done.
One day, Rosie seemed subdued and kept shaking her head. I took her to the vet, who diagnosed an ear infection. Over a year or so, the infection returned several times and further investigation showed Rosie had a benign lump in her left ear, which was causing the repeated attacks. She had s
urgery to remove the diseased section of her ear canal, and returned home with a surgical collar. With her head and neck partially shaved, I noticed scars on her ear and scalp that had been previously hidden under her fur. It broke my heart to know that Battersea’s theory about Rosie having been a bait dog with others set on her, was in all likelihood, with the evidence before me, correct.
No wonder she hated it when I had a row with the kids, as you inevitably do with teenagers. If we raised our voices Rosie’s ears would flatten against her head and she’d cower away from us. I knew now that the shouting must have triggered memories of her former life. It had been hard to live with the idea that she had had a tough time before she’d come to us and now, looking at the marks on her bare skin, even harder to know that those awful things had indeed happened to her.
But what could we do? I was just grateful that she was with us now and living a peaceful and comfortable life.
Time passed, her fur grew back and the infections did not return. The following Christmas, the kids and I were at home, just the three of us and Rosie. It was nothing like the extravagant hoo-ha we’d had in the pub, but it was just as special. We all wore our Christmas hats and Rosie donned a pair of felt antlers. Every time I looked at her with them on, I burst out laughing. What a sight we were!
On Christmas Eve, my best friend came over, and when he placed our presents under the tree, he made the mistake of touching one of Rosie’s. I’d wrapped it up and placed it there, hoping Rosie wouldn’t twig what was waiting for her, but as the present let out a loud squeak, she rushed over.
The cat was well and truly out of the bag.
Rosie knew it was hers and she pressed it with her nose. SQUEAK!
She looked at me, eyes frantic. Mum! Mum! I know it’s mine, I know it’s mine, I have to have it, I have to have it! She came to me, then ran back to the toy and whined. I KNOW IT’S MINE! I WANT IT! GIVE IT TO ME!
It was too much delirium to tolerate so I gave it to her. She ripped off the paper and held the toy in her mouth. Then she set to work. Less than a minute later, the plastic was destroyed and the squeaker lay chewed to pieces on the floor. Rosie was looking chuffed with herself.
Christmas at Battersea: True Stories of Miracles and Hope Page 21