My Dog Tulip

by J. R. Ackerley

  I apologized for her behavior, but I need not have done so. The Blandishes had taken no offense. On the contrary, they were positively enchanted by her beauty and the femininity, as they termed it, of her conduct; and every time she drove poor Max out of his own sitting-room, Mr. Blandish was, indeed, so excessively amused, remarking with a chuckle that she was a sweet and proper little bitch and that he could see they would get along famously together when her time came, that I could not help wondering from what source of knowledge such optimism derived and found my gaze dwelling speculatively upon Mrs. Blandish, who was a pretty little woman considerably younger than her husband.

  Tulip's time would come, said he, between her seventh and ninth day. The nuptials, he added jovially, would take place in his back garden. I ventured to remark that my own information was that a later day in the second week might he better, but he replied firmly that I was mistaken, his reliable little book recommended the seventh to the ninth days and I could safely leave matters to his judgment. His assertiveness overbore me, but I was dissatisfied nevertheless. Ignorant though I was, it seemed to me a pity that the two animals should have no opportunity to get better acquainted before the moment arrived, and I therefore suggested diffidently, that, since we were neighbors, they might be exercised together occasionally between now and the event.

  "What a good idea!" cried Mrs. Blandish. But her husband was instantly and flatly opposed. It was Mrs. Blandish, he observed drily, who took Max for his walks while he himself was at work, and he could not permit her to have any part in this business, at any rate in his absence. When we left, Max was again withdrawn from hiding to say goodbye to Tulip, but he could not be induced to approach her closely. This restored Mr. Blandish to his previous good humor.

  "His other wife bit him in the shoulder," he chortled, rubbing his hands; "but he won't at all mind a few more bites when his time with Tulip comes! " He said this with such gusto that I glanced again involuntarily at Mrs. Blandish, who was smiling roguishly at him with her small, even teeth.

  DEAR TULIP MAINTAINED, with diabolical consistency, the perverseness she had hitherto shown: she chose (cleverly, some might think) to come in to heat in the midst of the most arctic winter this chilly country had suffered for fifty years. But it was my first experience of her in this condition and I was enchanted. That small dark bud, her vulva, became gradually swollen and more noticeable amid the light gray fur of her thighs as she walked ahead of me, and sometimes it would set up, I supposed, a tickle or a trickle or some other sensation, for she would suddenly squat down in the road and fall to licking it. At such moments I could see how much larger it had grown and the pretty pink of its lining. Then there were spots of blood on her silvery shins. She did not bleed much, nor did she smell; I should not have minded either. I was touched by the mysterious process at work within her and felt very sweet towards her.

  She also felt very sweet towards me. She was always coming to me as I sat reading or writing, and would push her rump up against by knee, gazing at me over her shoulder with an intent look I learnt to know well. She would stay there for a long time, motionless, looking earnestly up at me, until I put down a hand to stroke her head and back, or (which she greatly preferred) her stomach with its little button nipples. Then, as soon as I stopped, she would mount my leg, standing up like a kangaroo to clasp me round the thigh and try to work herself against me. I would gently deter her from these practices, from which, it seemed to me, she could derive nothing but physical harm, and she would often then go out into the passage and, reaching up to the coat rack, clasp my old tweed overcoat in her arms instead. I had to deter her from this also, for she kept catching the upper claws of her front legs in the stuff of the coat, and this hurt her and caused her to cry out.

  It was scarcely to be expected that Mr. Blandish would relish being reminded of his engagement, for the country had lain under snow for many days. He complained that, and sounded as if, he had a heavy cold, but he kept his word and appointed an afternoon in the following week, Tulip's eighth or ninth day: since I was too inexperienced to know precisely when one started to count, whether at the first faint smear of blood or when the discharge became more copious, I was uncertain which. The day dawned colder, if possible, than any that had preceded it, and it was in no very cheerful frame of mind that I deserted my fireside and set out with her across Putney Common. Tulip, however, was in an ecstasy of joy; this was the first snow she had ever seen and, warmly clad in her fine sable-gray coat, she flew about in it with childish glee. She was still bleeding a little, and my most recent piece of lore on the subject was that dogs would not copulate with bitches until the flow of blood had ceased. Be that as it may, we were accompanied as usual by a small escort of ardent admirers. They did not trouble me much, however, partly because they all looked too small to be a serious menace, partly because she herself was so obedient. And eventually she lost many of them for me by delaying tactics worthy of Hippomenes—if that was her intention and she was not, on the contrary, a bungling Ariadne with a too brittle thread. I had already noticed that her urine, in her present condition, appeared to provide her wooers with a most gratifying cordial, for they avidly lapped it up whenever she condescended to void it, which she frequently did. So heady was its effect that their jaws would at once start to drip and chatter together, not merely visibly but audibly. Now, squatting here and there upon other dogs' droppings or whatever odor attracted her, like some famous chef adding to a prepared dish the final exquisite flavor, the crowning touch, she left behind her in the snow as she flew a series of sorbets, and her crazed attendants were so often and so long delayed in licking them up that they eventually fell far behind.

  Though his heavy cold persisted, Mr. Blandish received us amiably. I told him that Tulip was still bleeding, but he said that did not matter, he had his reliable little book and we would now see a marked change in Max's demeanor. This was perfectly true. The moment Tulip's scent reached him, he quickly discarded his servile role and was seen to be capable of manly emotions. Unhappily there was no corresponding change on Tulip's side. Never mind, said Mr. Blandish cheerfully, picking up the umbrella stand which had been overturned by Max in his headlong flight, everything would be quite all right when the two animals were left alone together in the garden, they would soon "get down to business" then. But to be left alone together in the garden, it could not have been more evident, was the last thing that either of the two animals wished; Tulip's single purpose was not to be separated from me, while Max needed peremptory orders to withdraw him from the servants' quarters. Eventually, however, both of them were pushed out of the back door, at which Tulip barked and rattled until I commanded her to stop. Silence then fell, while Mr. Blandish and I gazed hopefully out of the kitchen window into the bleak and snow-patched garden. It was all the view we had, for the two dogs were nowhere to be seen—until Tulip's face with its pricked ears rose suddenly up to confront me accusingly through the glass.

  I then told Mr. Blandish that if she was to pay any attention at all to Max I felt convinced she would have none to spare while so much of it was focused anxiously upon myself, and that I had better set her mind at rest by joining her outside. I added politely that, in view of his seedy condition, it would be unwise of him to take the risk of coming too.

  "No, dear, you really shouldn't!" chimed in Mrs. Blandish, who had just come in. "Let me go out with Mr. Ackerley."

  No speech could have been more considerate or more unwise.

  "Nonsense! " said Mr. Blandish. "I cannot allow you to venture out. I shall be quite all right," and struggling into a thick overcoat and a pair of galoshes he accompanied me into the garden, where Tulip cast herself into my arms with an ardor I could have wished to see directed elsewhere. Max at first could not be found; he was eventually located skulking under the laurels at the front of the house.

  The end of this fiasco will already be apparent. I do not remember how long we stood stamping our feet in that icy garden exhorting the tw
o dogs, when they were momentarily together, to sexual intercourse, nor how many times Max was propelled from and stampeded back into the house. Tulip, whose fixed determination clearly was that he should approach neither me nor her, enjoyed herself hugely. Considering that Max was almost twice her size and weight, his conduct seemed to me craven.

  At length Mr. Blandish, who had omitted to bring his hat, began to feel a chill on his bald head and said he must have a covering. I offered to fetch it for him, but he said no, Max would bring it, it was one of his household duties. He spoke with pride,— it was obviously another of Max's "turns." He therefore shouted up to Mrs. Blandish to send out his cap, and with it, Max, like a well-trained servant, albeit warily, soon emerged from the French windows.

  "Thank you, Max," said Mr. Blandish, extending a casual hand. But Tulip was having no nonsense of that sort. First by one barely distinct garden path, then by another, did Max (who had been taught not to walk on the beds) endeavor to carry out his master's wishes, which soon turned into vexed commands,— but he was headed off and driven back over and over again, until, totally demoralized, he dropped the cap in the snow and slunk off for good, his proud mission unfulfilled.

  This marked the end of Mr. Blandish's indulgence and our visit. I diffidently suggested that it might be worth while seeing whether the animals got on any better together when Tulip's heat was further advanced, but he replied, rather stuffily, that he feared he had no time to arrange it. On that we took our leave. "You bad girl!" I said to Tulip as we trudged away through the snow,— but she was now, when she had me back to herself, in her most disarming mood, and as soon as we were home she attempted to bestow upon my leg and my overcoat all the love that the pusillanimous Max had been denied.

  MY VET COULD help no further. Tulip's receptive period, he agreed, would continue for some days, but he had no more Alsatians on his books. He observed, tiresomely, that he had told me that mating dogs was not always a simple matter, and added, even more tiresomely, the belated information that when they were inexperienced it was often necessary to hold the bitch's head and guide the dog into position: the application of a little vaseline to the bitch sometimes helped to excite and define the interest besides acting as a lubricant. But I am not easily deterred. I had seen a number of Alsatians on Putney Heath at various times, and I went in search of one now. I drew a blank. But the following day fortune favored me. A solitary gentleman with his dog was visible in the distance. I hastened after him and caught him up. It is even easier to talk to people about their dogs than about their children, and in this case the animal himself provided the introduction by coming up to be petted.

  "Nice dog," I said, thinking what a poor specimen he looked. "What's his name?"

  "Chum," said his owner gloomily.

  "He's friendly for an Alsatian."

  "That's just it! He goes up to anyone, and often goes off with them too. Other dogs as well. Sometimes I have quite a job to get him back, he's grown so disobedient. I don't know what's come over him. He was more of a pal once...."

  "Has he a pedigree?" I asked politely, examining Chum with increasing dismay. Was he really good enough for Tulip? His ears managed to stand up, but he had scarcely any ruff and a pale, lean body like a greyhound.

  "Oh yes, I paid quite a bit for him. I specially wanted an Alsatian, they're said to be so devoted."

  "How long have you had him?"

  "Getting on for three years. And he's well looked after. I take a lot of trouble to please him. Oh yes, he has the best of everything, and I always feed him myself. Yet he's jumped the garden wall twice lately and run away. The police brought him back on both occasions. I don't know what to do…"

  "He seems fond of you," I said. Chum, who had a blunt, foolish face, was gazing up at him sentimentally.

  "Yes, he is, you know," said the gentleman, brightening a little. "That's the funny part of it. He's as pleased as Punch to see me when I come home—sometimes he won't eat his dinner till I've left him, no matter how hungry he is; yet the next minute he buzzes off. I've made a run for him in the garage now; well, I can't trust him alone in the garden any more, and the wife's got enough to do already without having to keep an eye on him. She's not that keen on dogs, anyway. Fact is, I'm afraid he may be a bit lonely, for I can't spend as much time with him now as I did before I married, and I've been wondering whether he mightn't settle down better if I found him a wife, too."

  Was ever wish so miraculously granted! I at once described my own problem with Tulip, and Mr. Plum, as we will call him, for such he seemed to be, positively begged me to bring her along to his place on the following Saturday afternoon: his engagements unfortunately precluded him from inviting us earlier. Mr. Plum's place was off Putney Hill.

  "NOW DO TRY to be serious!" I said to Tulip as, with a tin of vaseline in my pocket, I rang Mr. Plum's bell. He at once emerged and led us to the garage, which was built onto the side of the house. Here Chum was discovered at home, lying on a heap of clean straw, surrounded by quantities of dog biscuits, in a huge wire netting cage which had been constructed in that part of the garage which did not contain Mr. Plum's car. Uttering no bark, he welcomed us all, and particularly Tulip, into his lair. But, although the signs were momentarily encouraging, I apprehended almost at once that we were probably in for much the same sort of afternoon that we had spent at the Blandishes'. Tulip was friendlier to Chum than she had been to Max. She played and flirted with him a little, while, he on his side, though half Max's age and quite without experience, put up an infinitely better show than his predecessor. The warmth of his feelings was, indeed, plainly and frequently visible. But though he tried constantly to take her, awares and unawares, she slid out of his grasp every time and repulsed him. As before, her attention was fixed upon myself.

  Mr. Plum was wonderfully kind and patient. He gave her presents and did what he could to placate her and to understand the cause of her nervous excitement. Might it not be a good idea, he asked, to leave them together for a bit? Perhaps Tulip would concentrate better if my distracting presence were removed, and (he looked at his watch) Mrs. Plum had a cup of tea for us in the flat. I did not think it at all a good idea, but, except for the matter of vaseline, which I now mentioned and which he said we must certainly try out later, had none better to offer, and a nice cup of tea, after the chill of the garage, would be most welcome. We accordingly edged our way out of the cage and shut the wire door. Thwarted in her attempt to push out with me, poor Tulip rose up frantically against it, while Chum tried in vain to take her in the midst of her woe.

  The striking thing about Mr. Plum's flat was its cleanliness. The kitchen, into which I was led, was almost dazzling; it was more like a model kitchen in an Ideal Home Exhibition than a room actually lived in and used.

  Everything was spotlessly clean and tidy, everything shone, the blue and white enamel paint on the walls, the polished linoleum, the white wood table and pale blue chairs, the gleaming pots and pans; everything looked brand new, everything was neatly arranged in its proper place, not a speck of dust was to be seen. Except, reprehensibly one felt, in the shaft of wintry sunlight that fell from a high window and illumined, like a spotlight, the erect figure of the mistress of the house. A pretty, neat, unsmiling young woman, Mrs. Plum stood in the midst of her immaculate kitchen, holding in her arms the most doll-like baby I ever saw. Two cups of tea were already poured out. They stood, precisely placed, with a sugar bowl, on the table, and Mrs. Plum, inclining her head a little as I bowed to her, invited me to accept one. I thanked her and took it up. It was not tepid, it was cold. It must have been poured out for a quarter of an hour at least. From this I inferred that one had to enter into Mrs. Plum's scheme of things, that punctuality played an important part therein, and that we were late. Presumably Mr. Plum's tea was as cold as my own but he did not flinch. I then congratulated Mrs. Plum on the beauty of her kitchen, and added that it was a marvel to keep a place so clean when it contained a dog.

  "He's not allowe
d into the house," said she, in a grave voice. "Dogs make things dirty."

  Throughout this short interlude Tulip's faint but heartrending cries had been audible from the garage. Unable to bear them any longer, I suggested to Mr. Plum that we should return and see how the courtship was progressing—though I was under no illusion that her cries were due to physical pain. He agreed, and when I had thanked Mrs. Plum for her delightful hospitality we made good our escape.

  Tulip was exactly where we had left her, by the wire door, though now sitting down, presumably for safety's sake, while Chum hovered wearily in the background. For the next half-hour we did our best to effect a conjunction between them. I smeared Tulip lavishly with vaseline and tried to hold her still while Mr. Plum strove to guide Chum, whom fatigue had made erratic, to a more accurate aim. But it was all of no use. Tulip either squirmed her posterior aside or sat down upon it, and at length began to appeal to me with such obvious distress, uttering quavering, beseeching cries and rising up to lick my face, that I realized that our efforts to please had turned into cruelty and said we must stop. Mr. Plum, sweet fellow, at once agreed. But we were both of us disappointed and perplexed. What was Tulip trying to tell us? Had I lost her ready time? Had I brought her to Max too early and to Chum too late? Was neither dog personally acceptable to her? Or did she simply not know what to do? Or was her devotion to myself all the love she needed? Or could it be, as Mr. Plum suggested, that the mise-en-scène was unpropitious and that she might relax more if the action were transferred to my own flat? This was a characteristically sensitive thought, and when he then offered to bring Chum to call upon Tulip next day I accepted with gratitude.