There is little doubt, however, that the Afghan hound owners, being the originals, considered themselves the most superior. Their dogs seemed to think so too — certainly Mrs Prenty’s dogs had an air of superiority and so did she. The outcome of all this social manoeuvring was that the Aidensfield and District Afghan Hound Owners’ Association was formed, the idea being to organize club meetings, sometimes with talks from experts on matters like grooming and breeding with the climax of the year being the annual Aidensfield and District Afghan Hound Show. The Prenty Challenge Cup would be awarded to the best dog of the year; in prestige, it would be something akin to a miniature Crufts.
The non-Afghan-owning ladies, however, not to be outdone, decided to form their own societies, associations and clubs, each with their own shows and thus there were formed the Aidensfield and District Borzoi Association and Show, and similar associations and shows for labradors, golden retrievers, spaniels and collies, the last named scoring Brownie points by having an obedience section. There was even an association and show for Yorkshire terriers and another for Rhodesian ridgebacks.
One interesting factor about the Aidensfield and District Afghan Hound Owners’ Association, however, was that their dogs were all females. Every one was a bitch, a fact which was said to echo the general feeling about some of their owners.
No one outside the Association was quite sure why this all-female trend had developed and various theories were propounded, although nothing on the matter was ever publicly stated by the owners of the lady dogs, it was generally felt that their owners’ delicate upbringing in a ladylike society might not have enabled them to cope with boisterous and randy male dogs. As things were, these devoted ladies could mollycoddle their female dogs as if they were daughters; most of the other villagers reckoned the bitches were more amenable to control than any daughters might have been.
Another factor was, of course, that if all the dogs belonging to the Afghan Association were female, then it would be highly unlikely that any of them would accidentally become pregnant by dogs owned by fellow club members. The owners could freely show off their bitches without rude attention from sex-mad dogs. Their virtue was thus safeguarded, their figures would never be distorted and the ugly question of suckling pups would not arise. Harmony and discretion would reign.
Being the village constable, I heard about these new dog clubs and was quite surprised that the Afghan Association was restricted to only female owners and to female dogs. The other dog clubs were open to male members and to male dogs, but the Aidensfield and District Afghan Hound Owners’ Association was adamant. No randy male dogs would be allowed at the association meetings or at the annual show, and thus the risk of unwanted canine pregnancies would be avoided. It was the sort of logic one might expect from feminists, being their idea of equality and common sense.
In some ways, their caution was understandable because lots of other lady dogs in Aidensfield had had unfortunate experiences with a highly sexed and very determined masculine dog called Alfred. Alfred, the Lothario of the local canine world, lived with Claude Jeremiah Greengrass on the outskirts of the village and had an awesome ability to woo in spite of the most determined attempts to stop him. Whenever a bitch was in season anywhere in the area, Alfred would leave the comfort of the Greengrass establishment to fulfil his heart’s desire as many times as he could muster before he was caught. He would travel miles to complete his lustful urges, being known to leap five-bar gates, cross snow-bound moors and wade through treacherous rivers to bring a little love and romance to his lack-lustre existence. As a result of Alfred’s promiscuous roaming, lots of little Alfreds had been whelped in Aidensfield, sometimes to the considerable surprise of their owners, who’d been expecting something looking more like a cocker spaniel, a hare hound or a pedigree Alsatian.
Alfred’s achievements had resulted from his ability to capitalize upon the skills he had acquired in poaching for his worthy master; he was able to circumnavigate most attempts to frustrate his urges. After achieving the purpose for which he had risked life and limb, he would then leave the scene of his triumph with a happy smile upon his hairy grey face.
Lots of strange-looking pups had resulted from these activities and many a show-dog had had her reputation of purity ruined by the ardent Alfred. If there was a female dog on heat anywhere within Aidensfield and district, the lustful lurcher would seek her out and release his pent-up passion in a most vigorous, and sometimes spectacular, manner.
When the Aidensfield and District Afghan Hound Owners’ Association decided to hold its first annual show, therefore, the organizers were mindful of Alfred’s reputation and decided that the event demanded top-quality security measures. No one was quite sure whether or not the village hall defences were capable of thwarting Alfred in his most determined mood.
I was quite surprised, therefore, when they asked me for my recommendations. I was summoned to a meeting between Mrs Mildred Prenty, Chairman of the Association, and two ladies called Leonora Haddock and Ermintrude Appleyard. They had been elected to form a sub-committee with special responsibilities for the good conduct of the show. Over tea and cucumber sandwiches, while wedged between two silky-coated lady Afghan hounds, I listened to their worries.
Eventually, I said, ‘Ladies, I cannot see any problem. Alfred will only pursue lady dogs when they are in season, and the answer would seem to be that all bitches on heat are therefore disallowed. They must be forbidden to enter the hall while the show is in progress. That would eliminate all your problems.’
‘But Mr Rhea, you do not understand,’ simpered Miss Haddock. ‘All the dogs on show will be bitches, there will be no male dogs in the show and so the rule about bitches in season should not be necessary.’
‘From my own rather limited experience,’ I countered. ‘I am led to believe that it is one of the courtesies, if not a specific rule in some cases, that bitches in season are not entered for any dog shows. The responsibility rests first with the owners, surely, and then with the adjudicators.’
‘In mixed shows, that is understandable,’ beamed Mrs Prenty. ‘But I see no problem with an all-female entry. This is why we are seeking your advice. We need to keep all male dogs out of the hall during the afternoon of the show.’
‘Clearly, a notice to that effect would be enough,’ I tried to play down their concern. ‘Most dog owners would oblige if they knew the reason — but can’t I persuade you to disallow all bitches in season?’
‘No, that is not among the rules of our Association,’ said Mrs Prenty. ‘That is why we are an all-female association; we want equality with those owners who show male dogs. We cannot and will not accept that females are different.’
‘Then you need a good authoritative person on the door of the hall,’ I suggested. ‘And you are fortunate in that Aidensfield village hall does have a foyer; by keeping the inner door closed while coping with arrivals, you could regulate the entry of visitors — and dogs.’
‘I think we could do with two door persons,’ beamed Mrs Prenty. ‘One to staff the outer door and one to control the inner one, with strict instructions to contain every incomer in the foyer until satisfied he or she is not smuggling in a male dog.’
‘Absolutely right!’ I said.
‘Then will you be doorman?’ smiled Mrs Prenty.
‘It depends whether or not I’m on duty,’ I said. I had no wish to become doorman to this gathering but when she gave me the date, I checked my diary and found I would indeed be on duty from 2 p.m. to 10 p.m. that Saturday afternoon.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I can’t oblige, but I shall be on duty that afternoon and will make sure I visit the hall as regularly as I can.’
As I left them to their deliberations, I wasn’t sure about the sense of allowing bitches in season to partake in a dog show, even one restricted to bitches, but it was their problem, not mine. As the weeks ticked by, I could see that the proud owners were giving their bitches the very best of beauty treatment. The most outstanding
was undoubtedly a beautiful and silky bitch called Jacquanetta. She was owned by Leonora Haddock and was clearly the favourite to take the Afghan of the Show award.
On the day of the show, a Saturday in late July, I walked across to the village hall to find that the security arrangements were in operation.
Large signs outside the hall, equally large ones on the internal doors and a forbidding lady in tweeds, called Olga Pitkin, standing at the main entrance, were suitable deterrents to any masculine dogs. I did see several dogs hanging around outside the hall, however; there’d be a dozen or more and among them was a Yorkshire terrier, a Jack Russell terrier, a Scottie, two whippets and a Pyrenean mountain dog. All were scenting the air and getting restless. The lady on the door kept shooing them away, sometimes resorting to a shepherd’s crook to propel them from the entrance.
I went over to her. ‘You’ve not got a bitch in season in there, have you?’
‘Well, actually, yes, Mr Rhea. Three or four, in fact . . . you see, Mrs Haddock’s Jacquanetta is such a lovely dog and we know she has come in season, only yesterday in fact, and we dare not ban her, being Mrs Haddock’s bitch. And if she was allowed in, then we could not ban the others who were in season . . .’
‘So you’ve got several bitches on heat in there? There’s no wonder half the dog population is gathering outside! You’ll have to keep these doors firmly closed,’ I said. ‘If any of those lustful dogs get half a chance, they’ll be in there.’
‘I know, that’s why I am here,’ she beamed. ‘None shall pass, Mr Rhea, I know how to deal with randy males!’
There was no answer to that remark, and so I left her to her guard duties.
I undertook a patrol around the village, advising on car parking, checking that car owners locked their doors against thieves and generally making sure things were in order. It was a nice gentle way of spending a couple of hours on a Saturday afternoon. At least, that was my view until I saw the familiar unkempt shape of Alfred the lurcher loping along behind a hedgerow. His master was not with him; I could see no sign of Claude Jeremiah and wondered why Alfred was skulking along the hedge in that furtive manner. But then, of course, everything he did was furtive; whatever Alfred did was usually devious, troublesome or illegal. Judging by the urgency of his manner, I felt sure he was heading for the village hall to attempt to partake in a spot of doggy courting, but in this instance he had a lot of competition. There were some very fit and aggressive dogs waiting on the green. Alfred would be unaware that this pack of lovesick hounds had already gathered; furthermore, he would never get past Miss Pitkin, her shepherd’s crook and her system of closed doors. I was confident that the security network would defeat Alfred.
But I was wrong.
Unbeknown to anyone, Alfred had not attempted to enter the village hall via the obvious route. He had probably observed the crowd of panting dogs outside and had surely seen Olga Pitkin and her stick as she defended the front door. Being a cunning dog, he must have realized that all attempts to enter via the main door would fail.
With considerable intelligence, therefore, he sneaked around to the back of the hall. In a small room at the back the tea ladies were busy; the electric boilers were heating the water, the ladies had prepared all the cups and saucers, they had put bread and cakes on plates and were ready to distribute the teas. At a given signal, the MC would announce that teas could be purchased at the hatch, these ladies would then transfer their carefully prepared products to the point of sale. It was very hot work in the kitchen, what with the crowd of hard-pressed ladies and the steam that rose from the boilers. One of the ladies had opened a sash window, raising the bottom portion some three inches and lowering the top portion about a foot to produce a circulation of cool air.
Had anyone kept an eye on that window, they would have seen the distinctive grey snout of a lurcher as it sniffed the air through the open portion at the bottom. As the ladies set about selling their wares Alfred pushed his head through the gap, easing the window higher as he struggled to gain entry; eventually, he succeeded in pushing the window high enough to admit the whole of his body. He crawled through like a snake, writhing until he was able to drop the eighteen inches or soon to the floor of the tea room. From there it was but the work of a moment to sneak into the main body of the hall, where all the lady dogs were displaying their charms.
From eye witness accounts which later circulated the village, it seems that Alfred succeeded in keeping his presence concealed from everyone during his critical journey across the floor of the hall. He did this chiefly by sneaking under display tables and chairs until he arrived at the stand upon which Jacquanetta was displayed. Acting with the speed of a poacher’s trained companion, he launched himself at Jacquanetta with all the skill necessary to achieve his purpose. Before any human being realized what was happening Alfred was locked in close embrace with his sweetheart. The moment he was sighted, however, there was pandemonium. Women screamed, chairs were knocked over, cups and saucers rattled to the floor, stands were overturned and sticks were discovered as a horde of angry women began to chase Alfred. He disentangled himself from Jacquanetta in a manner which brought tears to his eyes, and once again using his poaching skills managed to conceal his movements beneath chairs, tables, stalls, female legs and long dresses. Miss Pitkin, armed with her crook, sallied forth into battle as guardian of the show, and the chase began in earnest.
But when Miss Pitkin left her vigil on the doorway, all those other dogs which had waited so patiently outside saw their opportunity and rushed into the melee. There was a lot of barking and snarling, a lot of dog-fighting and a lot of love-making as Aidensfield village hall turned into a canine battlefield.
I heard the commotion and went to investigate, but as I entered I realized the entire show was an utter shambles and several women had been reduced to tears. It looked as if a whirlwind had gusted through the premises, destroying all before it and reducing highly bred dogs to quivering lumps of hairy flesh. And as I strode among the turmoil of dogs, people and village hall furnishings, I saw the distinctive figure of Alfred sneaking at a fast pace towards the tea room. I followed, thinking he was using the opportunity to steal some food.
But I was in time to see him disappear through the open window, albeit with a ham sandwich in his jaws, and I realized how he had breached the security systems of the Aidensfield and District Afghan Hound Owners’ Association to wreck their annual show. That was the first and last dog show to be organized by the Association, but some months afterwards a lot of strange-looking pups appeared on the streets. None could really be called handsome or of show quality.
Not surprisingly, there were several Alfred look-alikes among them. Alfred had had his day.
* * *
The Afghan/Alfred incident, as it became known, did concentrate the minds of those who wished to show their dogs. The ladies who had insisted on bringing their in-season bitches to the show were constantly reminded of their folly; their social pride had backfired upon them and no one was sorry.
But others began to argue that if in-season bitches were not allowed at the shows, there was no point in having an all-female entry. Male dogs could and should be allowed to compete. This then led to the other associations asking about the logic of having several such clubs, all paying separate fees for the hire of the hall, separate fees for speakers, separate bills for printing posters or the expense of organizing separate association events. If one of the clubs hired an expert to talk about dog hygiene, then the topic would surely be of interest to all the clubs. There were very few topics which were of interest only to owners of specific breeds. The outcome of several informal discussions led everyone to believe that it made financial sense to incorporate all the associations and to have one show for all members’ dogs, irrespective of breed or sex. Numbers would be greater, costs would be shared and more opportunities would be created.
This led to a meeting of the committees of all the doggy associations in Aidensfield and the outcom
e was a decision to scrap all the individual clubs and to form one society as a replacement. While it was appreciated that most of the members would be dog owners whose desire was to breed and show their specimens to the world, it was also pointed out that many village people did own dogs which were not, and never would be, show material. There was a large number of mongrels in Aidensfield, most of whom were loved by their owners and it was felt they should also be allowed to join the society. They might enjoy and benefit from talks by experts; they’d learn from demonstrations about grooming, health and general welfare. Admitting ‘ordinary’ dog owners did present problems so far as the name of the new organization was concerned but after a great deal of argument it was declared that it should be known as ‘The Aidensfield and District Dog Lovers’ Society’.
It was felt that this name highlighted the love that existed between man and his so-called best friend and it included anyone who felt that the club would be of benefit to them and their pets. The outcome was a huge surge in membership — lots of country people kept dogs of one kind or another but few had access to expert advice about the training or care of their pets and so the new club became very popular.
One of the most ardent members was Claude Jeremiah Greengrass who felt that the lessons in canine control and behaviour, hygiene, welfare and treatment for illnesses would be of great benefit to his Alfred. As time went on, it became clear that Alfred was a highly intelligent animal, often knowing how to sneak away from the class to steal a piece of sandwich or how never to lie down or sit when instructed. Claude could make him obey, but few others possessed the knack. This was a device taught to their dogs by poachers so that no one could catch them when they were ‘working’ — indeed, some old poachers taught their dogs to come to heel by the command ‘go away’, and to leave the area by saying ‘here, boy, here’.
CONSTABLE BENEATH THE TREES a perfect feel-good read from one of Britain's best-loved authors (Constable Nick Mystery Book 13) Page 10