by Emma
didn't take the book from me but looked at me strangely.
'No, no, books. You know. Where you keep all your
earnings, receipts and expenditure.'
'Oh, booksl' I said. 'I haven't got any.' i thought I'd better
be quite honest and open with him from the start.
'Do you mean you haven't kept any?' he said.
i saw total horror written all over his face and I knew he
had the urge to pick up his briefcase and run. 'Er ... no,' i
said. 'I don't know how to. That's why I rang you.'
'Well, how do you know what you've earned? How do you
know what you've spent? What about tax?'
'Er ... yes,' i said. 'I have a rough idea.'
'A rough idea's no good.' He began to mop his brow with a
handkerchief.
'I'm sure i can find out,' i assured him, trying to stop him
leaving. 'Would you like a cup of tea?'
'Yes, i think I'd better.'
i was just beginning to reassure him that i could find out
what I'd earned and more or less had an idea of what I'd
spent when Hera came in. Hera is one of my Siamese cats - a
25
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very beautiful Long Sveldt Redpoint, a champion in fact.
She walked round the lounge carrying her tail high in the air,
giving little purring noises. Siamese cats tend to be a little bit
like Labradors and perhaps that's why I'm very fond of them
both. They are very dog-like creatures. They're also terrible
scavengers. Unbeknown to me, Hera had been on the
scavenge. Now don't get me wrong. Siamese don't have
delicate stomachs, but then I'm sure something would be
wrong with my stomach if I'd eaten two used tea bags, a
polythene wrapper, half a fish paper and a few tin-foil milk
bottle tops. Well, i guessed that's what she'd eaten.... She
decided to sit on the settee next to Mr Summers. i wouldn't
say he disliked animals - before he came to visit me - but he
wasn't very fond of Siamese cats, especially when one kept
trying to poke papers out of his briefcase. i could see he was
gradually sliding a little bit further up the settee when,
suddenly, Hera sat bolt upright and was terribly sick all over
him. I've never seen such a big man move so fast. With one
leap he was oil the settee and at the other side of the room,
standing there with his hands in the air, looking down at his
suit, not quite knowing what to do. i had to sponge him down
with very strong smelling disinfectant and promise to put the
cat out, before he'd continue with the paperwork.
Needless to say, Mr Summers declined to visit me again,
especially when he heard I'd acquired two more Labradors Buttons
and Bracken. Big dogs don't like me, he informed
me, and would i mind going to see him? i could understand
it, especially when Bracken was a puppy because anything
that didn't move out of the way quickly enough was chewed.
i seem to be painting a very black - or should I say chocolate
brown? - picture of Bracken, but really it's not true. He has
been very wicked in his time but he's also done lots of really
lovely things and i certainly wouldn't have been without
him. i think (not including Emma, of course, because i
really do never include Emma when i talk about dogs)
Bracken is probably the most intelligent dog I've ever met
and certainly the most expressive. He can change his face
from looking totally miserable to grinning all over in half a
26
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second. One of his best expressions, though, is his guilty
look. He seems to look at me from hooded eyes and cars
placed back. i call this his Rose Petal Look because his ears
curl round like rose petals. It was an expression i saw a lot of,
especially when Kerensa was a toddler. It's amazing how
one toddler and two chocolate Labradors can conspire to do
so much damage between them, and Bracken would be the
ring-leader. i was sitting in the lounge one day, thinking that
Kerensa was happily playing in the kitchen, when Bracken
came strolling in with that rose petal expression. 'Who me?
No, never!' His face spoke volumes. i knew something had
happened. i ran into the kitchen as fast as i could, to see the
fridge totally empty, plastic bowls and empty packets
littering the kitchen floor, Kerensa giggling happily away
and Buttons finishing off the last half-pound of best butter.
Bracken, by the expression on his face, had obviously
thoroughly enjoyed the pound of lamb chops, bowl of Angel
Delight, two pounds of lard and half a pound of sausages.
Who do you blame in a situation like that? Kerensa for
opening the fridge door? The dogs inciting her to do it, or
eating what she gave to them? The only thing was to sit and
have a good laugh about it. i was alwa.~'s amazed at a twoyear-
old having such ingenuity when it came to getting what
she wanted out of the dogs. She couldn't reach the kitchen
work surfaces or the drawers where the knives and forks were
kept, but she could if she made Buttons lie on the floor so she
could climb on top of her. And that's what I'd find her doing:
a large wooden spoon in her hand, two pounds of sugar and a
packet of soap powder mixed evenly along the work tops, the
floor and all over Buttons'coat. Still, i have got used to living
in this sort of total chaos and it doesn't worry me any more.
Kerensa loves animals. It's a good job or she'd have
probably been the first t",o-year-old c-,-er to run away from
home. She always wants to be involved with the cats and
dogs, asking to help feed them, or brush them, or train them.
i have tried to involve Kerensa with the animals, to let her
help me, because it makes her feel needed. She's an only
child and having all those dogs about her might tend to make
27
her think she's one too. In fact, it probably did when she was
younger. I'd let her help me carry the food bowls down to the
cats - until i discovered that she was pinching great lumps of
Whiskas and raw liver before the cats ate it. And there was a
point when no dog bowl with water in could be left down on
the floor because Kerensa would be found on all fours licking
out of it. Despite all this, Kerensa is the healthiest little girl i
have ever seen. And as for helping to train the dogs, well that
nearly created even more problems. But we solved it when
we found a stuffed dog on wheels. His name is Bicky; he looks
a bit like a yellow Labrador and is guaranteed never to run
off
, Mummy, i want a proper collar and lead for Bicky,'
Kerensa announced one day as Don and i were in the
kitchen having a cup of tea.
'Oh, yes. What for?'
'To train him, of course,' she said indignantly.
i handed her a piece of string out of the kitchen drawer.
'No, no!' she shrieked. 'I don't want that. i want a proper
collar and lead!'
She settled for nothing less than a choke chain, put on the
correct way, and a long training lead. Don and i watched as
/> she led Bicky into the garden. She stood him on her left-hand
side, took the lead in her right hand and said, 'Heel, Bicky.'
She marched up the garden saying, 'Good dog. Heel. Come
here, Bicky. You bad dog. Sit!' (Bicky, needless to say,
ignored this command.) 'Stay!' she boomed up the garden.
Still holding the lead, she walked away from him, turned and
stood to face her stuffed dog on wheels. 'Bicky ... come!'She
gave such a violent jerk to the lead that Bicky rolled up the
garden at about twenty miles-an-hour and bowled her over.
She picked herself up ofl the floor and smacked him. 'You
bad dog!' she said. After giving him a thorough going over
she came into the kitchen.
'Daddy, Bicky won't sit down.'
Don looked at me as if to find a suitably convincing
answer. Then inspiration struck. 'He's a bit stifr in his back
legs,' he said. 'He's getting on, you know. He might not like
28
to sit down. Just let him stand up when you do the stays, will
you?'
'Mm, yes, all right then, i suppose I'll have to.' Off she
marched to do some more heel work. i was beginning to
think that Barbara Woodhouse had nothing on Kerensa's
thunderous commands.
i
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29
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CHAPTER THREE
WHENEVER DON AND i get an invitation to go up to
Yorkshire, we accept. Not only is it beautiful to look at, but
the people are so warm and friendly. i think i must have
some Yorkshire blood in me because i always feel at home
there. If i were going to leave Nottinghamshire, then it
would only be for Yorkshire. So when i received an
invitation to appear on a chat show in Yorkshire, of course i
accepted.
'Oh great!' Don said, when he saw the invitation. 'We
could meet Harold and Betty up there. It's quite near them.
Haven't you a book signing in Hull?'
'Yes, that's right,' i told him. 'They can show us where the
book shop is.'
Harold and Betty live in a little village called Brough, just
outside Hull.
'I'll give them a ring and see if they'll meet us up there.'
It was arranged that Harold and Betty would meet us in
Hull. We'd do the television programme first and then go on
to the book signing. Emma, by this time, was far too old to be
dragged about in cars and in and out of television and radio
studios, so Bracken was voted as her understudy. A good job
he made of it too ... most of the time. Getting Kerensa a
baby-sitter also meant getting a dog-sitter for Emma so that
Don and i and Bracken could go off up into Yorkshire. The
television show was live, with an audience. i like doing chat
shows with an audience because a camera is so cold to work
to. If you think you've made a joke the camera won't laugh,
but i can tell from the reaction of an audience whether it was
funny or not.
We had a cosy little set in front of the audience: a round
settee and table with a bowl of flowers (the microphone was
30
hidden in the flowers) on a beautiful sheepskin rug, which
really set the scene. i was to walk on with Bracken and sit
down next to the interviewer, Shelley Rhodes. I'd met her
years before when she'd worked for a newspaper and had
come down to see me after my operation to write a piece
about my miracle, so i felt even more at home than ever.
Bracken was going to enjoy himself, i could tell that from
the look on his face as soon as i sat down next to Shelley.
He surveyed the audience carefully and weighed the
cameras up. He gets an expression in his eyes that i know
means: This could be a terrible bore, but don't worry I'll
think of something. It's fascinating to me to be able to look
into eyes and see expressions and different colours. i never
realized how eyes and their expression and colour could
give a character to someone's face, either human or dog. i
can often judge a dog's temperament just by looking at its
eyes, especially the colour. Emma has very dark, brown,
soft, trusting eyes. Bracken has eyes the colour of a ripe
pear. Buttons, who, in my opinion, is rather uncharacteristic
of a Labrador, has cold, gold eyes. In a dog, that
always denotes to me that it can be quite nasty, not to be
trusted, probably scheming. All those things Buttons can
lay claim to. Of course, she's perfectly all right with the
family, particularly Kerensa, but when strangers are about,
you can't trust her.
'You haven't brought Emma with you,' Shelley began the
interview. 'This is Bracken, is it?'
Bracken looked at her, put his ears back in that rose petal
expression of his and grinned. We tried to get on with the
interview but Bracken had spotted the microphone hidden
in a flower. He pushed his nose in and began to rootle into
the flower bowl. i could imagine the sort of snuffling,
banging noises that everyone was hearing and tried to drag
him out without looking as if i was using force, which was a
bit difficult because Bracken is rather heavy. i could see a
man wearing headphones at the other end of the studio
jumping up and down waving his arms.
'And then what happened?' Shelley asked me.
3i
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Then what happened? i thought. What have i just said?
Goodness me, i had to think hard. It was difficult to
concentrate on answering questions, and on a camera, an
audience and Bracken. At long last, i managed to get him
away from the flower vase, a few yellow petals from the
chrysanthemums still clinging to his nose. He lay down on
the rug ~ind i turned my full attention to the interview.
'And is Emma still healthy, Shella? How old is she now
i was just about to tell Shelley that she was well and
happy, when the audience began to laugh. What had i done?
i hadn't made a joke. i looked round to see two dear old
ladies on the front row almost doubled up with laughter. It
was bound to be Bracken. It was Bracken. He had a mouth
full of sheepskin rug and he was trying to drag it oilwith him.
i was pretty sure he wouldn't succeed because Shelley and i
were sitting on it but the noises he was making, the barks and
muffled growls of threats to kill, were enough to make
anybodylaugh.
'Er ... where was i? Yes,' i said to Shelley. i knew the
answer must be yes or no but i couldn't remember what it
was. By this time Shelley was laughing as well.
' Bracken, leave it,' i whispered. i tried to prise him offthe
rug but the more i pulled, the more vehement he became
that he was going to get the better of this thing, whatever it
was. There was only a very short time for the interview and
needless to say it came to an end before i had a chance to say
much at all, but the audience enjoyed it. i hope the people at
home could see what was happening. Luckily for me, the end
of my interview marked a commercial break so i was able to
drag Bracken ofr the rug - no easy feat i can tell you - which
was a little soggy and minus a few tufts of wool. Bracken
walked reluctantly off the set, cars drooping, a sulky
expression on his face and dragging his back feet along
behind him. Don was still laughing when we walked out of
the studio.
'Well, petal, i don't think you did your book any good.
You didn't say much about it at all, did you? But the
audience enjoyed it and Bracken certainly did. We'd better
32
hurry up, we're meeting Harold and Betty soon. i don't
think there's much more mischief Bracken can get up to
today.'
He was wrong ...
Harold and Betty were waiting for us at the car park in
Hull. They are always early. So prompt. i wish i could
manage to do that. i seem to live in a chaos of being late.
'It's not far from here,' Harold said, after the usual
greetings. 'You can take the car round if you like, Don.'
'Oh no, let's walk,' I said. 'It'll be much nicer and it will
give Bracken a bit of exercise.'
Betty immediately fell in behind with Don and Harold
took my arm. He knew i could see but he always felt the need
to look after me. 'There's a kerb here, Sheila. One step down,
just a little one.'
i looked at him and smiled. 'Yes, Harold.' We walked
across the road.
'Oh, mind that post. Come this way.'
'It's all right, Harold. Honestly.'
'Oh, I keep forgetting,' he said. 'I always want to look
after you.'
'I don't mind, Harold. It's very kind of you.'
But hejust couldn't help himself. Hejust went on telling
me when we reached the kerbs, whether they were up or
down, taking me round posts, stopping when people were in
the way and however much i insisted i could see, he
wouldn't have it. He just chuckled at me and said he liked
doing it. It reminded me of the time we went on holiday with
Harold and Betty. We were in Cornwall - before i could see,
that is - and Harold and Don decided that they'd like lobster
for dinner. I'd never had it before.
'You'll love it,' Harold kept telling me. 'You really will.
