by Jean Gill
So it was no surprise that Snow had been jumping on straw-piles from the age of six weeks, announcing to the world that she was STAYING. She’d heard the Human discussing Which One with another Human and It Was HER. No matter how many times Mother cuffed her and told her not to think she was Top Soum de Gaia Show Queen, not for a few years yet, she sparkled her little teeth and shook her little ears for anyone who could be watching. Stratos and I worked on our drools and caught her a few times, which made us feel a bit better. And even though Mother declared that Champion Qualities have a long way to develop beyond eight weeks and – with a glare at Snow – good character is Very Important, Stella was irritated enough to compromise her own champion qualities with a sly snap at Snow’s neck.
After a while, we stopped reacting. Every time Snow started, I reminded Stratos that we wanted adventures and everyone knows that adventures are elsewhere. Little did I know. And then, just when we’d grown immune to Snow chanting all the time, Stella told us She was going to Fly. Not that we were stupid enough to believe her, of course, but we rolled her in a puddle just for having the cheek to try it on. We’d seen flying. The chickens did it sometimes but not very well. Even though they were two enclosures away from us we could see them through the wire fence, squawking, clucking and flapping. Then there were the buzzards, hawks and eagles. If you were lying on your back after being rolled, you might hear a screech or a whistle and there, high, high in the sky, glided a speck. Not really what we called flying, or rather what Septimus called flying. That required frenzied activity.
My eldest brother had a real thing about flying. According to him, a jay was perfect. He liked the hop, run and power launch; he demonstrated for us, sometimes flying up as high as the apple crate. Then a hop, a run and a tease along branch, followed by a low swooping flight among the trees in the orchard, or in this case, one bounce along an apple crate, followed by a hard landing on concrete. But he still thought he could do it one day if he got the technique right and he spent hours by the fence on the left of our run, the orchard-side.
So when Stella said she was going to fly, we all thought she was making it up to spite Septimus, even though no-one could work out why. We were just sorting her out in a mass pile-up when Mother arrived. Some deft snaps, a paw to the left, a paw to the right and the puppy pile re-arranged itself into suitably cowed individuals. Of course, Stella said straight off that we were picking on her when all she’d done was tell us that she was going to fly. We waited for Mother to tell her she was too old for making up stories. All she said was, ‘And?’
‘And they didn’t believe me,’ Stella whined. At least I will say this for Snow; she wasn’t a whiner. And when I met up with her later on, she tried to put in a good word... but that’s jumping too far ahead.
Mother bared her teeth at us all, just a little reminder how far we could go with her – I’d estimate it at less than one claw-space. ‘Stella is going to fly,’ she stated. ‘The Human says so.’ And with that, off she stalked, ears back, tail low, clearly not in the best of moods. It would have taken a very brave or very stupid pup to chase her and play ‘how far up your bum can I sink my teeth’ and none of us were that stupid. Septimus slunk off to be alone and watch the orchard with his sad, dreamy eyes. When Stella was out of earshot, the rest of us discussed whether or not Stella might nose-dive when she was learning to fly, and crumple her sweet face. It wasn’t as if she was likely to do what she was told... at which thought we cheered up considerably and went back to wondering what was in store for us boys.
I suppose I ought to describe our Human to you. It’s difficult not to be influenced by what came later and to view events through my puppy innocence about the world but I’ll try. Our Human was a female giant who towered above us, who said things and made them happen. When we started getting hungrier and Mother was snapping at us as we sank our little teeth into her tender parts, the Human brought us some very tasty new food. Of course we tried to suck on it and spluttered it all over the place. She organised us. Each of us had a bowl. If one of us tried to help himself to someone else’s food, he found a Human foot blocking his way and nudging him back to his own bowl. Like Mother, she didn’t like us using our little teeth on any part of her, even on the cloth she wore around her legs, and she would push us away with her feet, more and more roughly. We grew to hate her feet and we jumped away from them. We hated the broom even more, a giant stick rushing towards us and prickling our little legs. Sometimes she used the broom to push us out of the way, to ‘save her shoes,’ she told another Human, who often came with her to see us.
Everything was organised and she was very careful to make sure that the bowl was full of clean fresh water each day, and that we had – I think it was more than three feeding times each day - but it’s a long time ago and I forget things now. I do remember that you could tell feeding time by the pointer on the farmhouse wall and she was never late. She organised cuddling us too, picking up each one in turn, saying his name, rolling him over and tickling his tummy, smiling and laughing sometimes. Those were the good times. I’ve already told you about little teeth, little ears and ‘the position’. At about six weeks, we met more Humans, little ones, and she told them ‘good for socialisation,’ and the little Humans followed the same routine of picking each one of us up, giving a cuddle. One little Human used to whisper in my ear, ‘You’re my favourite,’ and it felt like a breath of love, a promise that something special could happen between a Human and a dog. Now, I wonder whether he said that to all the puppies.
The Human gave us some toys, fluffy dogs and plastic bones, which gave us something new to fight over. It felt good to have new textures in your mouth and it was much safer playing tug-of-war with Stratos over a blue rabbit than using your teeth on Stratos himself. The word ‘blue’ is interesting. You Humans don’t have good hearing and your sense of smell is so bad it’s useless so you’ve had to make up for this by developing your eyesight in strange ways. Nothing useful, like seeing in the dark, but you can see things further away than we dogs can. Even when something stays very still, and we would have to wait for the give-away movement, you can pick it out. And you Humans can discriminate colours. Unfortunately, like a city dog discovering the scents of a country walk, the average Human is obsessed with colour and goes completely off the track. So our Human thought it was important that we had different coloured toys when what we would have liked were some different scents for our noses or shapes for our mouths. We sorted it out though. We could tell the blue rabbit from the green rabbit with no problem; the blue rabbit smelled of dead mouse and the green rabbit smelled of rosemary. Obviously we all preferred the blue rabbit and the Human pointed this out to people as an indication of how intelligent we were. She was right.
With more Humans coming and going for our ‘socialisation’, we’d got quite used to the routine now and if someone was sleepy, it really wasn’t exciting enough to wake up just for a pick-up and cuddle that we could catch up on the next time. And that’s how Stratos missed his first chance. It was the very day of our eight-weeks, early afternoon and hot. And I mean hot. We were all lazing around, occasionally opening one eye to check on how far one little cloud had moved in the blue, blue sky, or sniffing a whiff of rose, cherries or cheese, whatever came our way. Stratos was flat out, lying on his back, snoring like a chainsaw. I heard the Humans coming, all those chattery noises they make, like a gathering of jays, except that jays have more sense than to group together and make all that noise. I was happily musing on why jays are better organised socially than Humans, who don’t seem to realise how much noise they make collectively, when the Human’s voice made a more individual impact. ‘They’re absolute darlings,’ she was saying. ‘The best litter I’ve ever had, so much promise, and of course they’re all reserved already...’ Reserved? First I’d heard of it. And she had that voice, not the one she used with the usual Humans, or with us normally. Even then, I knew it was different and now I’ve heard that tone again and again so I know exact
ly what’s going on. Humans trying to win votes, Humans with their in-laws to dinner, Humans behind counters in shops.
My Human picked up Snow. ‘This is the little girl I’m keeping. Look at her head...’ Snow gave a sleepy crumple to show her little eyes and teeth ‘... and her static pose...’ Hawled upright, Snow gave a version of ‘the position’ that suggested she would collapse back into slumber if a feather blew against her back legs. ‘And this one,’ the Human picked up Stella, turning her round for admiration and getting some ‘oohs’, ‘aahs’ and ‘isn’t she lovely’ from the four new Humans, two big, two small, ‘this one is spoken for.’ Stella re-joined her sister, shuffled into a more comfortable position, nose tucked inside Snow’s elbow, and was soon chasing sleep rabbits, back legs cycling as she raced through dream woods, where none of the rabbits were blue.
Then, to the surprise of everyone, not least the puppy she scooped up, our Human displayed Savoie-Fer to the newcomers. ‘And this little boy is going to even higher mountains.’ This was news to all of us. ‘He’s been chosen by a Breeder in the Alps as his new stud so we’ll see you again at the shows, won’t we, sweetie.’ I’m not sure which was more shocking; ‘sweetie’ – which we had certainly never ever heard before – or ‘stud’ which we had heard often enough, usually followed by our father’s name. But Savoie-Fer, or Savoie-Frère as we called him, a Stud? Don’t make me piddle myself laughing.
‘But as you’re the first to come, you can have the pick of the other boys...’ I cocked an ear but it was so hot and I didn’t know the first thing about these people so I wasn’t going to rush in with licks and tail-wags, was I. No, I’d just listen, think and wait. Male New Human was talking to his female and his little ones. ‘Now remember all the things we talked about. It’s not just which one looks the cutest, it’s about character and we want a pup that’s confident.’
My Human interrupted, ‘Do you want me to tell you about them?’
Monsieur New Male smiled at his female, ‘Thanks but we’d rather choose for ourselves,’ and when he thought my Human wasn’t looking, he did a funny thing with one eye, shutting it quickly and cocking his head to one side at the same time. ‘Now then, you puppies.’ He loomed over us, then suddenly yelled, ‘Here, puppy, puppy!’ in his booming voice. I was nearest to him and I couldn’t help it; I jumped. The girls snuggled closer together. Sancho and Savoie-fer rolled to their feet and yapped. Only two of us were apparently unmoved. Stratos didn’t move a muscle. There he lay on his back as if men shouted near him every day. He’d stopped snoring though, which told its own story. And Septimus was lying apart, totally focused on his jays, muttering his latest observations on flight to himself.
Humans have such slow reactions that I’m sure they missed what happened next. A jay took off from the orchard, jumped onto the fence by Septimus, and hopped, skipped and danced right into the middle of our pen, behind the New Humans, where it pecked repeatedly at a plank of rotting wood. The moment the jay reached the fence above him, Septimus jumped almost as high, turned in mid-air to gallop towards his flight hero. I could hear him wuffing, ‘Just one little aerodynamic question,’ as he used Stratos’ stomach as a trampoline, knocked me to one side and Sancho into our two sisters, dashing towards his jay as if his life depended on it. Which as it turned out, it did.
‘You little beauty!’ declared the booming voice triumphantly as New Human scooped up Septimus before he could run past. ‘See everyone? This is the Alpha Male in this litter, no question. Am I right?’ and he turned to our Human.
‘Yes,’ she said brightly. ‘I’m amazed at how you did that.’
‘Experience,’ he beamed, while his female said nothing. ‘See the way he came
when I called him? See the way he was respected by the others? See how scared the others were? This is the dog for us. We’ll call him Killer.’
‘Can I hold him Dad, can I, can I?’
‘Cool! Killer, Killer, here boy!’
The Female’s voice was quiet but cut across them with ease. ‘Perhaps he already has a name, dear,’ and she looked questioningly at our Human.
‘Septimus. We’ve called him Septimus because he was the seventh and last
puppy. And of course it’s an S registration year.’
‘So that’s what’s on his birth certificate,’ the Female continued.
‘Yes and it will be on his pedigree when you get the official form back from
the S.C.C.’
‘And you’ve been calling him Septimus so he’s used to it...’
‘Yes,’ our Human played along happily, although as I remember, we’d been
told our names but in practice were all called ‘Puppy,’ so at least Booming Voice had been in with a chance of us coming to our name when he shouted.
‘I know Killer’s a lovely name, suits him really well, but it would be a pity to waste all that early learning, don’t you think, dear? And you’ve been telling us it’s important that a dog knows its name as soon as possible ... here let me try.’ She took Septimus in her arms and cradled him to her, so loving you could feel the warmth just watching, and she purred, ‘Timmy, who’s the most beautiful, who’s the best, who’s the brightest, Timmy, Timmy...’ and Septimus was so excited and happy - and relieved – that he piddled, narrowly missing New Female who laughed. ‘Now that’s a good sign. How’s about it everyone?’
Little female was reaching out already. ‘Timmy,’ she tried, and my brother
wagged his little tail as he was passed into another pair of arms, New Female giving instructions on how to hold him.
‘Yeah, Timmy’s OK. Killer’s good,’ Little Male looked at Big Male, ‘but I
dunno. My friends might expect a rottweiler or something, and he’s a bit white and fluffy....’
New Human shrugged. ‘OK, Septimus... Timmy. But make no mistake, son.
This dog will be as good a guard dog as any rottweiler – and bigger!’
‘Guardian, not guard dog,’ our Human corrected. ‘Patous have been bred for
centuries to guard the sheep in the mountains. They’ll take on a wolf to protect their sheep – and their family – and that means you now.’ She smiled her bright smile at the Small Humans. ‘Come on in the house to do the paperwork and I’ll show you photos of the spiked collars they wore in the old days to protect them against the wolves – and to keep them awake. Not a lot of people know that the collars were meant to be uncomfortable to stop lazy patous sleeping on the job.’
‘There are wolves here again now, aren’t there?’ New Human was booming
again as he and our Human headed for the door out of the compound. Quietly, the Female took Septimus in her arms and there it was again, the look and the feeling all round a Human and a Dog, that you’ll never forget when you’ve sensed it once. You can call it Love if you like but there ought to be a special word for it. Somehow she even included the Small Humans in the whole feeling. A Family. Septimus had become a Family Dog. And I just knew he was going to be good at it. I hoped there’d be jays for him to watch. ‘Good hunting, little brother,’ I wuffed and the others joined in.
There was an ostentatious yawn and you could even hear Stratos stretching. ‘Have I missed anything?’
‘We’ve lost our Alpha Male,’ I told him. ‘Septimus. He’s got a Family now.’
‘Septimus,’ Stratos drawled. And lay down again, stretching his back legs out
like a frog’s, front legs straight out, head between them as he muttered into his paws, ‘Hot today. Heat addles your brains, you know.’ He couldn’t even be bothered to rise to comments like ‘Who’d notice the difference with you!’ that someone inevitably sent his way. I often wonder, what if it had been a cold day. What if there hadn’t been a jay. Would it have been me instead of Septimus? Or could it have been the real alpha male that New Human was looking for? Could he have picked Stratos? And would it have saved him? Would the Female have been strong enough?
Chapter 3.
Our ninth w
eek was a busy one. The day after Septimus left, another New Human arrived. This one didn’t boom, didn’t stomp and our Human used almost her normal voice when she spoke to him.
‘Clever name you gave him,’ she was saying as they approached us. ‘ I understand Savoie of course but why ‘fer’?
He smiled. ‘You know the old chestnut, the advice we give all our clients about training patous?’
Her brow wrinkled, then smoothed. ‘Fer... meaning iron...of course! You need an iron fist in a velvet glove! Very good! You really do have the savoir-faire.’ She laughed at her own joke – a poor one to judge by the reaction – then she pointed to my brother. The New Human crouched, spoke gently and held out his arms, all his movements slow and sure. I can’t speak for the others but I felt as if I were being drawn towards the Human on a thread of kind words and even though I knew he was not The One, I wanted to be near him. Savoie-Fer must have felt the same, or more, because he was first to reach that outstretched hand, to sniff, accept and start licking his master-to-be. Monsieur Savoie spared some cuddles for the rest of us puppies but his eyes were only for his own. You could tell he liked what he saw. Gently, but with confidence, he checked over Savoie-Fer, who couldn’t stop wagging his tail, even through the count to two, which of course he passed.
‘Yes,’ Monsieur Savoie said, ‘Yes. He will do very well.’ Our Human beamed enough to eclipse the sun and talked so fast about genes and pigmentation that I thought she’d bite her tongue when the words crashed into each other. Monsieur Savoie nodded, smiled and thought his own thoughts as he said softly, ‘Come on then big boy,’ and lifted Savoie-Fer into his arms. That’s when I realised that Septimus had been right; a puppy could fly, in the arms of a Human. Savoie-Fer was squealing, ‘Let’s go! Let’s go!’ and wriggling dangerously, given how high up he was. But those arms were not as relaxed as they looked. Strong as iron. ‘See you, Stud,’ I wuffed. ‘Good hunting little brother.’ I didn’t see him again as it happens but you’d have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to hear about him. His father’s son and more. Champion of France, Spain, the Universe and Everything was commonplace in our family but Savoie-Fer added Crufts. Crossing the Channel is not as easy as you’d think; they do things differently there. And after Crufts, his puppies littered Europe. Good for you, Stud, I’d think, when I heard of yet another addition to the royal line.Next to go was Sancho. His Humans were two Females and our Human’s voice reached a new pitch with them. She kept starting sentences and not finishing them. ‘And the puppy is for....’
