Not Just For Christmas

by Alex Brown

  ‘Oh, no, don’t do that. Hang on a sec. Taylooooooor,’ Amber bellowed over the buzz of the hairdryer, and then, when her teenage daughter didn’t appear, she added, ‘Why don’t you just go through to the back? She’s out there somewhere seeing to all the waifs and strays, no doubt. My daughter can’t say no, that’s her problem.’ Amber chuckled and motioned with her head for Kitty to go through the little arched door and into their cottage.

  ‘Thanks, Amber.’ Kitty opened the door and was immediately greeted by a big motley crew of four-legged furries. Cats. At least three slunk around her ankles before flicking their tails as if giving her the finger and wafting away nonchalantly. A big boxer dog slobbered on her Ugg boot and a shy little caramel-and-cream-coloured cocker spaniel eyed her fearfully from the corner of a large, beaten-up old leather sofa by the Rayburn, where several more dogs were sprawled, basking in the furnace-like heat.

  Picking her way carefully over the animals, Kitty managed to make it into the next room, which she assumed was once a dining room. It now resembled a menagerie with three large bird cages and several hutches strapped with water bottles housing rabbits, guinea pigs and gerbils by the looks of it. But where was Taylor? Kitty was just about to turn to leave when the back door flew open and she appeared.

  ‘Oh, hiya, Kitty,’ Taylor beamed. ‘Sorry, were you looking for me? I was just in the garden trying to sort out the pet-food bags in the shed,’ she explained, unzipping her fur-trimmed parka and scanning for a clear surface on which to leave it. But animal paraphernalia – feeding bottles, grooming equipment, squeaky toys, tennis balls – were littered everywhere. She settled for the back of a chair where two ginger moggies were snuggled up together.

  ‘Yes, I was.’ Kitty smiled – Taylor’s good humour was infectious. ‘Your mum said to come through.’

  ‘Cool. And sorry about the state of the place. Do you want to sit down?’ She paused. ‘Um … if you can find an unoccupied seat, that is.’ Taylor laughed and wound her long fair hair up into a big bun on the top of her head before securing it all with a band.

  ‘Oh, no, thanks, I won’t keep you. I’ve just come to buy the basics for a black Labrador – I thought a bed, bowl, blanket, maybe a toy – that kind of thing.’

  ‘Wow! Don’t tell me you’re getting a puppy for Christmas?’ Taylor twiddled a big golden hoop earring. ‘I know they’re gorgeous and everything but, honestly, you’d be doing me a favour if you took one of these abandoned pups instead.’ She waved her hand around the room. ‘Mum keeps threatening to round them all up and take them to the pound, but we can’t do that.’ She creased her forehead in resolve.

  ‘No, not a new puppy.’ Kitty shook her head. ‘It’s Monty, Ed’s old army dog. He’s retiring and needs someone to take care of him.’

  ‘Really?’ Taylor lifted her eyebrows. ‘Wow, well, that’s awesome. I bet he’s a real beauty. Those working dogs always are. And so brave,’ she gushed. As an animal lover, she was clearly in her element having any opportunity to talk about dogs. ‘Right, well, in that case, I’ll help you get everything together. Follow me.’

  Half an hour later, and Kitty had just finished positioning the beautiful, hand-knitted paw-print blanket that Taylor had given her into place on the lovely new dog bed positioned in a quiet spot in the café. Taylor had refused to take a penny for it, even though Kitty knew it must have taken her several hours to knit. Her admiration of it was interrupted by a knock on the window. Monty was here!

  A wave of anticipation mingled with apprehension flooded through Kitty. She swallowed hard before slowly letting out a long breath.

  I can do this.

  It’ll be fine.

  It’s what Ed would have wanted.

  She said the words over and over inside her head, using them like a lucky talisman, praying that the sight of Monty wouldn’t prove too painful to bear. She wondered if any essence of Ed had been retained by the dog, quirky things that Ed used to say and do. Would Monty remember his master, his best friend? Her thoughts were quickly interrupted when the back of the army vet’s van fell open and there he was.

  Monty.

  The one-eyed veteran with a glossy coat the colour of dark treacle.

  The war-weary dog was standing patiently on the pavement awaiting his command. When it came, the beautiful black Labrador limped valiantly alongside the vet, his injured front paw evidently causing him discomfort. As the harassed-looking vet headed inside the café carrying a giant bag of dried dog food, Monty waited behind again, careful that the human should take precedence and enter the café before him. Kitty pressed her hands together up under her chin, willing herself not to cry. The sight of the animal that had faithfully served her husband, kept him safe for all that time before the fatal explosion, was an incredibly intense moment. She was caught again in a maelstrom of emotions, some she couldn’t really explain, but all of them centred on the dog and the half-forgotten truth that she now remembered with crystal clarity. This dog, Monty, was no ordinary dog. He was loyal and utterly selfless in his quest to serve his master, just as Ed had been selfless in his devotion to his duty, a pledge that had cost him his life. Monty was a soldier, too.

  ‘You must be Kitty,’ the vet said, breaking her reverie and extending his hand, which Kitty shook as she nodded her head.

  ‘And this must be Monty.’ She went to crouch down to stroke him, to make a big fuss of the Labrador, reckoning he must be anxious about coming to his new home – feeling out of his comfort zone, perhaps, or war zone to be more precise – but the vet swiftly sidestepped to intervene.

  ‘Yes. But please be careful not to show him too much affection too quickly.’

  ‘Oh, gosh, why on earth not?’ Kitty quickly stood back up. Surely dogs needed affection – Monty more than some after his ordeal. Her heart went out to the one-eyed dog standing obediently with his head bowed as if trying not to be the cause of any fuss.

  ‘Well, he’s not used to it. He’s not like other pets. Soft. Cosseted. He’s used to working in order to get his needs met; he’s highly trained and food and affection are his rewards for hard work.’ The vet paused, pushed a hand through his mop of brown hair, and then added, ‘It has to be that way in the field. The army can’t afford for a dog to get needy, to want to seek out affection. It might distract them. No, army dogs have to stay focused at all times. It’s how it is. He’ll have to acclimatise slowly to Civvy Street.’ He shrugged as if he didn’t entirely agree, but, before Kitty could find out more, Mack’s car pulled up outside and she felt relieved that he was here to show her the ropes.

  Inside, and after saying hello to the vet and giving Kitty a hug, Mack wheeled over to Monty, put the back of his closed hand to the dog’s nose for him to sniff and then rewarded him by way of a quick rub behind his left ear. The dog’s one good eye shone and his tail brushed the floor as he leaned into Mack’s hand, revelling quietly in the attention from a fellow soldier.

  ‘OK if I get off now?’ the vet asked, looking at Kitty and then at Mack.

  ‘Sure, I’ll go through everything with Kitty, make sure she knows Monty’s routine, about his diet and all that. Did you bring the bag of food?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve propped it up by the counter. Good luck, Monty.’ The vet gave them a brief wave as he headed out to his van.

  Mack motioned for Kitty to come closer to Monty.

  ‘Come on, little fella, say hello to your new boss.’ In one swift movement, Mack pressed his thumb and two fingers together and flicked his wrist, and Monty immediately sat back on his haunches, his tail sweeping the floor from side to side as he awaited his next command.

  ‘That’s incredible! How did you do that?’ Kitty asked, shaking her head and making her blonde curls swish around. She’d never seen anything like it. When walking with Teddie on the village green, they had often seen dogs bounding around all over the place, mostly oblivious to their owners yelling out commands such as ‘Here, boy’ and ‘Fetch!’ But Monty clearly wasn’t like other dogs. He
really was special. Clever.

  ‘From seeing Ed do it a trillion times,’ Mack offered by way of explanation, a faraway look in his eyes as if remembering those times in the desert with Ed. Kitty let the words sink in. She knew Ed had trained Monty, which meant that everything the dog had learned had come from her late husband; Monty and Ed would always be inextricably linked. ‘Now, if you let him sniff the back of your hand first …’ Kitty did as she was told and Monty took a tentative sniff before tilting his head to one side. ‘Ah, he’s waiting for his stroke.’ Kitty obliged and ran her hand around the back of his velvety-soft ear as she had seen Mack do. ‘That’s right. Now you’ve thanked him,’ Mack explained, smiling. ‘It’s probably best if you show him around his new home now, tell him where he can sleep, eat, drink and do his business. On that note, he goes three times a day, 7 a.m., 3 p.m. and 10 p.m.’

  ‘Pardon? He has scheduled wee breaks?’ Kitty asked, incredulous.

  ‘Yep, he sure does. You can’t have a dog wandering off for a wee when out on manoeuvres. It’s just not practical.’

  ‘Well, I’d better set an alarm in that case to make sure I don’t forget to let him out into the garden.’

  ‘Oh, Monty will remind you.’

  ‘Remind me?’ She creased her forehead. ‘How exactly?’

  ‘He’ll nudge the side of your thigh and then sit and stare at you until you cotton on.’

  ‘You’re joking!’

  ‘Nope. He really will. You’ll see.’

  ‘And does he ask for his meals? You know, get out a little sign saying “feed me”?’ Kitty laughed, enjoying the banter, but her smile froze in amazement when Mack replied quite seriously.

  ‘Yes, 8 a.m. and 8 p.m. He’ll nudge you again as a reminder, but he hasn’t mastered writing yet, I’m afraid.’ They both laughed and took turns to pat and stroke Monty, the dog clearly enjoying their attention as his tail took on a life of its own. ‘Oh, and if the army vet said not to fuss over him too much, just ignore that. He’s your pet now, and I reckon this old war dog deserves to live out his retirement with a bit of pampering. Just don’t be dressing him up in frilly pink tutus and suchlike.’ He shook his head and rolled his eyes. ‘Ed would have hated that for his beloved dog.’

  Kitty smiled, remembering the time when her husband was home on leave. They had been walking together in the violet-carpeted woods down in the valley when a miniature poodle had darted out of the hedgerow wearing a tiny camouflage top and trousers. Ed had muttered, ‘Will you look at the state of that’ as the owner, a fifty-something guy, had come puffing up behind them desperate to know if they had spotted his little dog. Ed and Kitty had giggled like teenagers all the way home.

  Chapter Four

  The following week, on a Sunday, when the café was closed, Kitty was over the moon with the easy way Monty had settled in. Teddie adored him, and the lovely Labrador seemed more than happy to let his new young friend do pretty much whatever she liked to him, which mostly seemed to involve trying to ride him like a pony. Teddie had taken to draping a tea towel across Monty’s back to replicate a saddle while she giggled ‘Giddy-up’ and ‘Whoaaaah, easy, boy’, as she had heard Matt, Bella’s dad − who was also the village farrier − say when they had gone to watch him shoe a horse last summer. But Monty wasn’t daft, and, with a look of divine patience in his one good eye, he would hunker himself down, flat on the floor, whenever Teddie tried to straddle him. Kitty wondered if Ed had taught him that trick or if Monty instinctively knew that it probably wasn’t a good idea for an exuberant four-year-old to ride on his back. Either way, it made Kitty feel happy. It was almost as if Ed, working through Monty, was looking out for his daughter, and Kitty adored Monty for giving her that sense of closeness – a link to her husband.

  Kitty leaned against the doorway of the lounge and watched the two of them together. Teddie sprawled in her beanbag with Monty resting his chin on her knee as she read to him from her favourite book, The Gruffalo, and, with the Christmas tree all twinkly in the corner, it really was a magical sight. Monty seemed to have really taken to Teddie, appointing himself as her companion, her guardian almost. Ed would have loved to see them together … Such a shame he’s not here to enjoy this lovely scene.

  ‘Are you warm enough, sweetheart?’ Kitty asked, smiling fondly as she carefully opened the log burner to throw in another hunk of wood.

  ‘No, I feel really cold, Mummy.’ Teddie stopped reading and shivered dramatically. Kitty smiled at her daughter’s stellar acting skills as she went to get her a blanket from the basket by the armchair, though Teddie, after gently lifting Monty’s head, leaped up and dashed off to her bedroom. Moments later she returned with her special patchwork quilt. Sybs, the manager of Hettie’s House of Haberdashery in the village, had thoughtfully made it for Teddie when she was a baby, stitching squares of Ed’s old clothes together to create an everlasting memory of the daddy she never knew.

  ‘Oh, darling, please be careful with that. You know it’s special.’ Kitty started, helping Teddie to tuck the quilt around her body. ‘And no juice while you’re snuggled under Daddy’s clothes, OK?’

  ‘I know, Mummy.’ Teddie grinned and tilted her pursed little rosebud lips up for a kiss. ‘Love you.’

  ‘And I love you too, darl—’ Kitty stopped talking immediately.

  Monty was clawing at the quilt.

  And whimpering. And whining. His tail slunk down between his back legs.

  Kitty gasped and pressed her hand to her chest, willing herself not to cry at the pitiful sight. Teddie tried to push Monty away.

  ‘Stop it! Naughty Monty. Stop it! You must look after Daddy’s clothes,’ the little girl begged, pressing her hands against the dog’s chest, but Monty was inconsolable. Kitty had never seen anything like it. Monty was rubbing the side of his head into the quilt now, the whining intensifying. Now Teddie was crying too, her little body racked with sobs. Kitty stepped straight in and tried to drag the quilt away from Monty, but this just seemed to make him even more determined to cling on, his cheeks puffing in and out like a piston as he hyperventilated with anxiety.

  ‘Mummy, please make him stop. Pleeeeease.’ Teddie was trembling by now and Kitty was scared, too. Scared of what the dog might do next. His large, sharp claws were perilously close to Teddie’s face as she tried to hide underneath the quilt, desperately tugging it up over her chin. Kitty reached out and tried again to pull Monty away, but what if the quilt was torn or destroyed? Then the special quilt would be ruined. Kitty couldn’t bear the thought, especially when there was precious little else left of Teddie’s father for her daughter to hold onto. Or, worse still, what if Teddie got hurt? This decided Kitty, who, in her strongest mummy-means-business voice said, ‘Let go of the quilt, Teddie.’

  Teddie, without a quibble, immediately did as her mother asked and Kitty promptly grabbed her daughter under the arms before hoisting her up to safety.

  With Teddie’s face burrowed into the side of Kitty’s neck, her legs wrapped tightly around her waist, Kitty quickly soothed her by rubbing her back before sitting her on the sofa away from Monty.

  ‘Now, don’t move,’ she instructed her daughter as she returned to the dog, attempting again to prise the quilt from under his body. But it was no use. Monty seemed to be clinging on for dear life, whimpering and panting with anxiety, his eyes filled with sorrow. Oh, God! Kitty felt as though her heart was going to break for the poor dog. Monty had obviously picked up the scent of his master, of Ed, and was distraught, having missed him so much too. But what could she do?

  Kitty was pondering the options when her phone beeped with a text message. It was Mack. Right on cue. Thank God they put in that new phone mast covering this section of the High Street. How’s it going?

  She went to reply, but then figured it would be easier just to call him and explain. Quicker, too, to see if he could help.

  ‘All right pet, you OK?’ Mack asked on answering.

  ‘Um, no. Not really. Something awful’
s happened, God, I’m really sorry, Mack …’ She paused to catch her breath, conscious of the words babbling from her mouth. ‘Sorry, I don’t think it’s going to work. I can’t do this.’ Then she promptly burst into tears.

  ‘Hey, come on, it’s OK, what’s happened?’ Mack’s voice was soft and soothing. Kitty pictured his face at the other end of the line, strong and kind, and managed to get a grip. Taking a deep breath, she told him what had happened. ‘Oh, Christ, I’m so sorry. Is Teddie OK?’ he asked right away, his voice full of worry and concern.

  ‘Yes, she’s fine, no physical harm done, but she’s pretty upset.’ Kitty glanced at Teddie, who was snuggled up with her toy rabbit on the sofa with her little arms clasped tightly around its neck, her eyes flicking back and forth to Monty, who had stopped whimpering and clawing the quilt, but was firmly ensconced on top of it with no sign of relinquishing his master’s scent.

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Mostly shaken up, I guess. And a bit heartbroken for Monty.’ The dog, on hearing his name, lifted his head and tilted it to one side, which made him seem even more melancholy. Kitty looked away as she bit down hard on her bottom lip. She looked at Teddie again. ‘Any chance you could come and help calm him? Or at least get him off the quilt, please?’

  ‘Oh, Kitty, under normal circumstances, I’d be there right away, but …’ There was a pause. Kitty held her breath, racking her brains for another solution, and then she had an idea. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. You’re busy. I could call the army base. Maybe they can give me some advice—’

  ‘No!’ Mack cut in urgently. ‘Please don’t do that. We’ll figure it out somehow.’ There was silence at Mack’s end of the line.

  ‘Oh.’ Kitty was taken aback by Mack’s reaction. ‘Well, perhaps you can ask the vet what to do, then, if you’re at the base, that is?’