Chelsea is interrupted when Paul calls out to us from the office, ‘Girls, the owner of the sausage dog and the black fluffy dog just called. It’s an old lady whose friend saw you walking them past the bowls club.’
‘Chelsea, you’re amazing. You said those little dogs might belong to an older person!’ I say, scooping up the sausage dog and giving it a hug. ‘Fancy them coming from the same home.’
We update the remaining dogs’ posters and then make some copies.
‘Let’s take them for another walk and put some posters up,’ I say. ‘Somebody’s got to want these lovely dogs!’
‘You know, Chelsea,’ I say quietly, as we walk down the road, ‘the dog I’m most worried about is Hector.’ I have to whisper because I don’t want him to hear me. ‘He doesn’t really have any talents, except that he loves people.’
‘I know,’ says Chelsea sadly. ‘I really wish we could keep him.’
We get to the bowls club and see a few familiar faces. There doesn’t seem to be as many people here today, but a couple of people come out to say hello and pat the dogs.
‘Oh, I’m so pleased,’ says a little old lady when we tell her some of the dogs have found their homes. ‘Every dog deserves a good home.’
Suddenly Hector pricks up his ears and starts to bark.
‘Hector, stop it,’ I say. He’s being a bit naughty now and pulling on his lead. ‘Sit!’ He just looks at me and coughs from all his pulling. Poor Hector hasn’t even been taught how to sit.
The manager comes over to say hello and he offers to put some posters inside the bowls club. He’s about to tell us something else when Hector starts pulling and barking again.
‘Hector, stop it,’ I say. Chelsea leans over to help me hold the lead. He’s really going crazy now, jumping around and barking and carrying on.
‘Hector, stop it!’ I say firmly. I’m embarrassed because he’s not making a good impression at all. People expect vets to be good at controlling animals.
Hector won’t listen. He is pulling so hard we’re being dragged down the path. The other dogs are pulling against us in the opposite direction. Hector is scaring them and creating a huge fuss. People have stopped bowling and are looking over at us.
‘Hector! Cut it out!’ I yell. Hector spins around so his head is pointing towards us and he’s pulling backwards.
‘His collar!’ Chelsea gasps, just as he pulls it straight over his head and tears off down the street.
‘HECCTTTOOOORRRR!’ we bellow in unison as the barking dog runs through the carpark and disappears around the back of the bowls club. We can still hear him barking like crazy.
‘Please, hold these!’ I beg as we pass the leashes of the other three dogs to the people standing with us. I start to panic. I can’t bear the thought of Hector getting lost all over again. Being a vet can be terrifying.
We run in the direction of the barking. The manager follows us. Maybe he’s worried Hector’s going to attack someone.
‘I think he’s stopped running,’ Chelsea says as we race through the parked cars.
We turn the corner to see Hector standing next to something, barking and wagging his tail. It’s an old man. He’s fallen over on the stairs.
‘Hector,’ says Chelsea. ‘Is this what you were trying to tell us?’
The manager quickly helps the man up into a sitting position. ‘Are you okay, Bernie?’ he asks.
‘I’m all right,’ says Bernie. ‘I’m just a silly old fool for misjudging those stairs. I’ve twisted my ankle.’ He leans over and gives Hector a big pat then says, ‘I thought I’d be lying here for ages until someone heard me, but this fellow found me straightaway!’
Hector wags his tail happily.
‘Well, I’ll be darned,’ says the manager. ‘What a clever dog! You know, girls, when we were on the footpath I was just about to tell you the bowls club has decided to adopt a dog. Lots of these people live in retirement homes where they’re not allowed to keep pets, so we thought it’d be nice if there was a dog here. I was going to choose the Dalmatian, but I’ve just changed my mind. I live at the house attached to the side there, so at night he could stay with me.’
‘Oh, Hector! Did you hear that?’ Chelsea and I are hugging him all over. ‘Did you hear, Hector? You have a home. You’ll never run out of pats here. And you’ll be close by so we can visit!’
Some more people come and help Bernie to his feet and we all walk back around to the front of the club.
The manager tells us he’ll come to sign Hector’s papers and pick him up this afternoon.
We can’t wait to tell Paul the good news and we run with the dogs all the way back to the lost dogs’ home.
As we walk in I hear Paul telling a family that the dogs at this shelter have all been assessed for their behaviour and food choices. He’s showing them our posters about each dog.
I have a feeling it won’t be long before the other dogs find homes too!
Right now, it feels so good to be nearly a vet.
During my lifetime I have been very lucky to have had lots of different dogs as much-loved pets. All of them have lived long and happy lives and filled our home with love and laughter. One little dog, Scruffy, chose us when he turned up wet, flea-bitten and scrawny in the middle of a storm. We tried and tried to find his owner, but never did, so we kept him as our own. He was the most faithful, lovely little dog and lived with us for more than ten happy years.
As a little girl, I always wanted to be a vet. I had mice, guinea pigs, dogs, goldfish, sea snails, sea monkeys and tadpoles as pets. I loved looking after my friends’ pets when they went on holidays, and every Saturday I helped out at a pet store. Now that I’m all grown up, I have the best job in the world. I get to draw lots of animals for children’s books and for animated TV shows. In my studio I have two dogs, Jed and Evie, and two cats, Bosco and Kobe, who love to watch me draw.
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Text copyright © Rebecca Johnson, 2014
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The Lost Dogs Page 3
