Until very recently I was never a dog-person. As a kid, dogs were pack animals that were best avoided; they commonly roved our council estate 10-15 strong and in all shapes and sizes, their fur often mangy, their tails invariably curly and their rear-ends proudly displayed for all the world to look away from. Fights were commonplace, vicious affairs involving furled lips and terrifying teeth; horrendous snarling and not a little blood. No, I was never a dog person; they frightened the life out of me, their disgusting calling cards a constant reminder of the foul enemy in our midst.
But as time passed and Britain became more civilized, the packs disappeared and genuine dog-ownership became the norm; I became indifferent to dogs and felt pretty certain of going unmolested by a stroppy stray – much better! I even grew fond of one or two specimens: Sally, next door’s mongrel, in particular. Sally was a black and tan something-or-other cross that deserved people much better than her otherwise pleasant owners. They’d leave her to fend for her self for days on end and even go off for a week’s holiday without making arrangements for her welfare. Perhaps they knew the Hatton household would give-in to the subtle barked reminders from the back garden as our knives and forked clanked in the kitchen.
Sally once thanked me – and no mistake. I beckoned her to the adjoining side-gate one afternoon and walked with her to the local butcher. She understood the word ‘bone’ and that I was going to treat her. At the shop, Sally obediently sat by the door and patiently awaited my return with a newspaper package under my arm. She knew what it contained but despite her hunger she kept her cool and trotted beside me all the way back to the side-gate of her back garden. I let her in and met her by the fence. She angled her head at me, licked her lips then rose to take the newspaper bundle in her jaws, but she didn’t immediately rip the package apart and wolf the contents, no! That wonderful, intelligent Sally placed the bundle on the lawn and ran back to lick me with unmistakable gratitude!
The current dog in my life is Bear. Bear is, by profession, a sheep-dog, and he’s lovingly owned by my other half, Elizabeth. Now we’ve all heard of those wonderfully ‘intelligent’ dogs that know just what you’re talking about and I’ve no reason to discredit such claims, but it must be said that Bear is the cleverest canine I’ve ever encountered. Bear is, seemingly, telepathic; what’s more, he can discern normal chat from personal endearments. He’ll lay chin-on-paws for ages while Elizabeth and I discuss the day’s news and the weather but the second a mildly affectionate word passes our lips he’s there, keeping us well apart!
Whoo-hooo!!
The thing is, Bear rarely gets out of the back garden nowadays: Elizabeth has a shoulder injury so the dog very rarely gets a good run; to take him to an exercise field involves walking him along a busy road where he frantically tries to round-up everything from cyclists to juggernauts! Elizabeth’s frail frame simply cannot take any more strain. On top of this, next door’s dog and cat drive him insane – almost literally, I now understand. The poor creature spends hours racing up and down the terraced, hillside garden, straining to see over the dry-stone wall for a ruck with the neighbours. They sit unperturbed soaking-up the sun or having a snooze while the ever-lively Bear runs his self silly trying to rouse them!
One day last summer I persuaded Elizabeth to bring Bear to my home in the valley. I have access to a private, riverside meadow which is well away from roads, people, livestock and other dogs so we took him there, crossed our fingers and released him. Bear didn’t belt-off out of sight never to be seen again as Elizabeth had feared; he merely trotted around the perimeter stopping to sniff and to mark his new territory. I’m sure he hadn’t understood his new freedom to do what he liked because it was an age before Bear noticeably took stock of his new circumstance and pelted-off in a huge circle, tongue lolloping and ears pushed back with the sheer speed of his flight. I say again: I have never been a dog-person but it was truly marvellous to see that dog stretch his self in a display of sheer joy. Back at base and after much fuss and praise he received his crunchy reward and shot-off again, kicking up the dry, yellow grass. At times he’d suddenly stop and swivel his head like a meerkat to pick out something of interest – then he was off, racing with all the abandon of Black Beauty on that well-known ridge. But the best was yet to come!
Mmmm! This is nice!
When he next returned for another bout of petting and a biscuit, I clipped his lead to his collar and took him through the riverside copse to where the Wye ran low and safely alongside a shingle beach. Now I am aware that it is considered ridiculous by some to anthropomorphize but I swear I saw Bear thinking ‘Wow!! What have we here?’ He’d never seen a river before and he stood eyeing the flow in both directions before straining to be released. Down he trotted…down to the shallow waters edge; firstly for a drink, then to paddle. He stood in wonder (he really did!) then ventured a little further out until the water caressed his belly – and down he dropped, neck-deep to luxuriate in the coolness of the clear Wye water. I tell you – it was a joy to see! And when the wet, matted Bear rose to run pell-mell along the shallows we absolutely knew he’d found his doggy paradise: full of life and sort of…well, he appeared to be laughing, Elizabeth’s beloved sheepdog raced back and thanked us for such a fun time, I’m sure he did: his gratitude was just so clear to see!
…now for a gallop.
Plunging headlong into deeper water the confident Bear – without so much as a 1 width stripe to his credit – swam for the very first time, frequently looking back for our approval: ‘look at me! I’m swimming!’ I kid you not.
It took more than several attempts to get Bear back into the boot – he simply didn’t want to leave his new domain; and back indoors an entirely different dog contentedly strolled around before lying on his back, legs akimbo, and falling asleep.
Good boy, Bear!!
