The Girl Who Thought She Was a Dog

by Clare Balding

  Fennel was growing into a healthy little girl. She had a short bout of kennel cough when she was four (the doctor diagnosed it as whooping cough but Twiglet knew better). She learned to eat politely around others, but back home she was completely herself, imitating Twiglet as he dug in the soil or rolled in grass cuttings.

  Every six weeks or so, Fennel needed to have her hair trimmed. She hated it and usually threw a full-scale tantrum, so one weekend Rosie came up with a plan – if Twiglet went to the hairdresser without a fuss, maybe Fennel would too.

  The only problem was that Twiglet didn’t need to have his hair cut regularly like a cockerpoo or a Tibetan terrier – his hair was short and it moulted.

  ‘We don’t normally get boxers coming in,’ said the receptionist at Dogs’ Delight.

  ‘I know,’ said Rosie, keeping her voice down. ‘He doesn’t need a cut, obviously, but a shampoo and dry would be great and maybe a nail trim as well?’

  The receptionist nodded, and led Twiglet off to start the treatment.

  ‘Look, darling!’ said Rosie. ‘Twiglet is off to get his hair cut and he’s not making a fuss, is he?’

  She led Fennel next door to the hairdresser. ‘You and Twiglet should be ready at exactly the same time. And I’ll tell you what – if you’re a good girl, we can go to the park afterwards.’

  Fennel hesitated in the doorway, but as Twiglet was going through the same experience, she figured she had better be brave as well.

  ‘OK, Mama,’ she said, and trotted inside.

  Forty minutes later, they were both ready.

  ‘Park, Mama,’ Fennel reminded her mum firmly, and it wasn’t long before she and Twiglet were rolling on the cricket pitch, trying to replace the smell of shampoo with that of freshly cut grass.

  They were happily scampering around when a strange dog approached. He was a stocky fellow, bluey-grey in colour, with a wide head and a strong jaw. A thin white stripe ran down the centre of his face and his chest was white, as if he was wearing a bib. He was all muscle and must have weighed as much as Twiglet and Fennel put together.

  His top lip curled in disgust.

  ‘My territory,’ he growled.

  Sensing trouble, Twiglet moved quickly between Fennel and the new dog.

  ‘It’s OK. We were just leaving,’ Twiglet explained, as calmly as he could.

  But Fennel had no idea what was so dangerous. She knelt down on all fours and crawled towards the new dog.

  ‘Park for sharing!’ she said in Doggish.

  The dog growled angrily.

  ‘Are you disrespecting me?’ he barked.

  ‘Fennel, don’t!’ Rosie shouted anxiously. ‘Just leave the nice dog alone and come back over here.

  Both Fennel and Twiglet turned to look at Rosie, and at that moment, the big dog opened his huge jaws and launched himself at Fennel.

  There was a terrifying blur of teeth as Twiglet threw himself into the path of the attack. In a split second he was on the ground, the muscular dog pinning him down.

  The dog’s owner sprinted over, looking shell-shocked as he tried to prize his animal’s jaws apart.

  ‘Tyson, release!’ he said firmly, as if this had happened before.

  After what seemed like an age, Tyson opened his jaws, leaving Twiglet limp and motionless on the ground. Rosie immediately picked him up and carried him to the car, Fennel following behind in speechless alarm.

  ‘His collar saved him, no doubt about it,’ said the vet. ‘I’ve given him a couple of stitches on the back of his head and some painkillers, and here are some antibiotics he’ll need for the next week, just to make sure the bite doesn’t get infected. He’s a very lucky boy.’

  Rosie looked at the teeth marks on Twiglet’s leather collar. If he hadn’t been wearing it, the dog’s teeth would have sunk into his neck. She couldn’t bear to think about it.

  ‘It’s OK, Mummy,’ Fennel said, stroking her arm. ‘Twiglet’s brave!’

  ‘Yes, darling. Twiglet is brave. He’s your guardian angel. Now, let’s take him home and get him comfy.’

  Fennel didn’t leave Twiglet’s side all night. She held his water bowl up to his face to make it easier for him to drink, and offered him soft, mushed-up food, putting it on the end of her finger so he didn’t have to move.

  ‘Please be all right, Twiggy,’ she whispered in Doggish. ‘Please be all right.’

  Fennel slept beside Twiglet for seven nights. He was very weak for a few days and his wounds were sore, but eventually he recovered. The bond between him and Fennel was stronger than ever.

  ‘I think Twiglet saved her life,’ Rosie told Uncle James when he came to see the patient. ‘I don’t know what would have happened if he hadn’t been there.’

  ‘I’d heard about boxers being good guard dogs, but he is something else,’ Uncle James replied. ‘Twiglet really cares about Fennel. He’d do anything to protect her.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Starting School

  Eventually, the time came for Fennel to start school. But on her first day she didn’t seem excited at all. She dragged her heels and deliberately left her book bag behind to delay her departure.

  Twiglet trotted down the stairs with her book bag in his mouth, dropping it at her feet with a shake of his head. He sat next to Fennel on the back seat of the car and tried to reassure her that everything would be OK.

  ‘You’ve got to do this,’ he woofed at her. ‘You need to learn to read and write and add up numbers and do all the things that dogs can’t do.’

  ‘I don’t want to,’ Fennel whined quietly in Doggish. She glanced at her mum in the driver’s seat, and leaned closer to Twiglet. ‘I bet no one at school has any fun. They won’t know how to wag their tails and they’ll all smell funny.’

  School turned out to be exactly as Fennel had feared. The other children didn’t understand when she switched between English and Doggish, at break time no one would play fetch with her and the teachers told her she had to sit cross-legged like the rest of the class, not on her haunches. She missed Twiglet awfully.

  ‘What’s the matter, love?’ Rosie said at home time as Fennel came out of school, her face red and blotchy. Fennel refused to talk about it. The next day, she started crying as soon as she got up and sniffled all the way to school.

  Twiglet hated having to leave her there. He exchanged a forlorn look with Rosie as they watched her walk, shoulders slumped, through the school gates.

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ Rosie confided in Uncle James after a fortnight had passed with no improvement.

  ‘Let me and Matt take her and Twiglet for a walk,’ her brother suggested. ‘If she’s going to tell anyone what’s the matter, she’s likely to do it when she’s out with Twiglet.’

  So that weekend, Uncle James and Uncle Matt took Fennel and Twiglet for a gorgeous walk through the beech trees and down to the river. They played catch on the playing fields and Uncle James and Uncle Matt swung Fennel between them, flying her up into the air.

  ‘How’s school?’ Uncle James asked lightly as they turned for home.

  ‘Humph,’ came the reply.

  ‘I hated school to start with,’ said Uncle Matt. ‘There was a boy who told me I looked like a radish and made everyone else call me ‘Radish’. One day, they left a whole pile of radishes in my book bag. I never really recovered from that; I still can’t eat them!’

  Fennel giggled. ‘How could anyone think you looked like a radish?’

  ‘It’s just what some children do,’ said Uncle James. ‘It’s all about power. If they see someone like you who’s funny and bright and beautiful, they try to make you feel inferior. It’s the worst side of human nature.’

  ‘They say I’m weird because I sniffed them on my first day.’ Fennel finally admitted. Twiglet walked close beside her to offer support and she reached out to stroke his head. ‘Now whenever they see me, they bark and start chanting “Dog, dog, dog”.’

  ‘Well, I’d rather be a dog than a radish,’
said Uncle Matt, so sincerely it made Fennel smile.

  ‘I’d rather be a dog than a human being,’ she replied.

  Uncle James walked in silence for a few minutes.

  ‘I’ve got an idea,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we all try to be a dog for five minutes? Look at Twiglet – he’s happy just being himself. He doesn’t need to make another dog feel small to make himself look bigger.’

  Twiglet wagged his tail happily. He was glad Uncle James had noticed his finest quality – that he was happy in his own skin.

  ‘Let’s do it now,’ Uncle Matt suggested, running ahead of them. He zigged and zagged and looped back towards them, dive-bombing Fennel, who was in fits of laughter. She wagged her bottom and rolled on the grass before Uncle James sat on his haunches and tried to scratch his ear with his left foot.

  ‘Cor, that’s harder than it looks,’ he chuckled as he fell over.

  It was the first time Fennel had felt able to relax and have fun since school had started.

  ‘You can do it every day,’ Uncle James explained. ‘Be a dog with Twiglet for five minutes in the morning and five minutes again in the evening. Then when you’re at school you’ll feel better about being a girl.’

  ‘And if they call you “dog”, just smile and say thank you,’ advised Uncle Matt. ‘It’s their mistake to think it’s an insult. You know it’s really the biggest compliment of all, and if you take it that way, they’ll soon get bored and move on to something else.’

  Fennel nodded. ‘I’ll give it a try.’

  ‘Good girl,’ said Uncle James. ‘Now, who’s for hot chocolate?’

  And her uncles took a hand each and swung Fennel home between them, with Twiglet trotting along behind.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Fitness

  It wasn’t long before Fennel’s school days became more bearable. She would have a few minutes of being extra dog-like with Twiglet each morning and, bit by bit, she found it easier to make new friends. In fact, her classmates soon started to appreciate Fennel’s natural instinct for playing catch or piggy-in-the-middle, and applauded her when she made a particularly good save in football. But her friendship with Twiglet never wavered – and the two of them remained inseparable as the next few years went by.

  One sunny day, just after Fennel had started Year Two, she had an idea. She and Twiglet were rolling around together in the park, while Grandma watched fondly from a bench. Fennel felt so proud of the connection she shared with Twiglet and how at ease they were around each other. She looked at her best friend, and announced quietly to him in Doggish: ‘I want us to go to Crufts.’

  Crufts was the biggest dog show in the world, and Fennel had been glued to the television for the whole of last year’s competition at the Birmingham NEC.

  Twiglet rolled on to his back and looked at her with curious eyes. She grinned and turned to her Grandma. ‘Can we go to Crufts next year?’ she said out loud.

  ‘What a lovely idea!’ Grandma exclaimed. ‘What would you like to watch? The showing and the flyball?’

  ‘I don’t just want to watch,’ Fennel said. ‘I want us to compete!’

  ‘Well, there’s no harm in trying to enter,’ said Grandma. ‘I’ll happily take you along. You’ll have to qualify at the local show first, though, and you’ve only got six weeks to get in tip-top shape. You’d better start practising!’

  And so, for the next few weeks, Fennel and Twiglet practised every day. Fennel trotted Twiglet up and down the sitting room. She put him on the kitchen table and examined him, feeling his teeth and under his tummy for any lumps or bumps. She groomed his coat until it gleamed.

  When the day of the show came, Rosie gave Fennel a long hug before she left to go to work. ‘I’m so sorry I can’t be there today, sweetheart.’

  ‘That’s all right, Mum,’ Fennel replied. ‘It’s only the local show. You’ll be there when we compete at Crufts!’

  Twiglet gave a bark of agreement, and Rosie kissed them both on the tops of their heads.

  ‘Of course I will. Good luck!’

  When it comes to dog shows, there are very strict rules. Twiglet and Fennel were entered in the class for boxers, of course, and as the judge approached, Fennel did her best to make her face wrinkly and to adopt the broad-chested stance that judges look for in boxers.

  There was a confusing moment as the judge went to examine Twiglet’s teeth and found Fennel offering her mouth as well. He didn’t seem to know what to do, so he examined them both. The other owners tutted and shook their heads. Some of them laughed but Fennel didn’t care.

  They watched the rest of the competitors from the sidelines, excitement mounting. When it came to handing out the prizes, Fennel and Twiglet lined up expectantly. Fennel knew she had shown herself and Twiglet as well as she possibly could and was very confident of receiving at least a commendation. The ringside announcer was calling forward people and their dogs to give them prizes. The list was getting longer and longer – and still their names had not been mentioned. Fennel started to worry. Maybe she had just made them both look stupid.

  Finally, the last prize was handed out. They had won nothing. Fennel and Twiglet trudged back to Grandma, both their heads hung in disappointment.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Fennel whispered. Twiglet nudged her hand with his nose.

  ‘Don’t worry, darlings,’ said Grandma. ‘At least you gave it a go.’

  ‘But I so wanted us to go to Crufts together.’ Fennel was speaking very softly and Grandma could barely hear her. ‘I just wanted to show them what it’s like to have a dog who is so understanding and kind.’

  She smiled sadly at Twiglet, who licked her hand comfortingly.

  As they walked back to the car, Fennel heard cheering. Twiglet heard it too and cocked his head. The noise was coming from an arena in the middle of the showground. They could hear an excited commentator and lots of people whooping and hollering.

  ‘Do you want to go and have a look before we head home?’ Grandma asked.

  Fennel nodded – anything to take her mind off the embarrassment of the failed showing class. As they neared the arena, Fennel spotted lots of coloured poles arranged into mini show jumps. There was a red-and-black ramp going up steeply on one side and down the other, like a pointed bridge, a see-saw, a tunnel and a series of bendy poles.

  ‘I think you’ll enjoy this,’ said Grandma.

  They stood at the side of the arena for half an hour, watching dogs fly round the course, their owners pointing to jumps and encouraging them to go faster.

  ‘It’s amazing!’ said Fennel excitedly. ‘The dogs seem to know exactly where to go next and they’re really enjoying it.’

  ‘They love it,’ said Grandma. ‘It’s very good for their fitness and you can see the good ones really work as a team with their owners.’

  ‘A team,’ repeated Fennel quietly. ‘Yes, that’s exactly what they are.’

  The seed of an idea was planted and, by the time they got home, Fennel knew what she wanted to do.

  ‘How did it go, darling?’ asked her mum as they came inside.

  ‘Oh, we didn’t win anything,’ replied Fennel briskly. ‘But it doesn’t matter because I’ve got a better idea.’

  Rosie looked at her daughter in astonishment.

  ‘If you need me,’ continued Fennel, ‘I’ll be in the garden. I need to build an agility course …’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Crufts

  Fennel and Twiglet now had a new plan to get into Crufts: they would enter the agility competition. Fennel filled out all the paperwork and every day they practised in the garden. She dedicated her weekends and half-term holidays to training.

  Fennel did all the jumping alongside Twiglet, to make sure he knew exactly what he needed to do. She still moved very well on all fours, which was hardly surprising as she’d been doing it her whole life, so she started their first session by crawling through the tunnel to show Twiglet how it worked. At first, he’d followed slowly, but he soon got t
he hang of it and was able to jump and wriggle through the bendy poles too. He didn’t much like heights, so the ramp was a problem, but Fennel raced up and down it herself to prove there was nothing to be afraid of. They got faster and fitter and more accurate every week, and by the time March came along they were flying through the course.

  A week before Crufts, they got their official passes. Fennel felt a thrill as she looked at the bold green logo.

  ‘We’re nearly there, Twiggy!’ she whispered in Doggish as she stowed the pass in her pocket.

  ‘So close!’ he woofed back.

  When the big day arrived, the whole family piled into the car and drove to the Birmingham NEC. Twiglet tried to distract Fennel from her nerves by doing accents. His German shepherd impression was excellent but his favourite impression was a dachshund. They have very deep voices but, because they’re really small, the voice seems to come from the bottom of their tail. It’s a tricky one to master but Twiglet was brilliant at it and Fennel giggled all the way.

  After they’d found somewhere to park, the family started the long walk towards the NEC, with Fennel and Twiglet in the lead. There were dogs all around: some trotting beside their owners, others being carried and some on huge trolleys laden with brushes and blankets that were being wheeled towards the main entrance.

  ‘It’s the Utility and Toy Groups today,’ Rosie read from her programme, as Twiglet paused to cock his leg against a tree. ‘That’s all the little dogs like chihuahuas, Pekingese, bichon frise and those gorgeous little fellows.’

  She pointed to an Italian greyhound dancing past them on his toes. He looked so fragile that Twiglet feared his legs would break, but he seemed a bonny little thing.

  ‘And what’s in the Utility Group, Fennel?’ Matt asked.

  Fennel had been doing her homework so she knew the answer without looking at the programme.

  ‘That’s all the dogs that weren’t bred for helping on a shoot or for herding animals, so it’s got all sorts,’ she said. ‘Dalmatians, poodles, Tibetan terriers and schnauzers.’