Tea and Dog Biscuits

by Hawkins, Barrie

  ‘He’s enormous, isn’t he?’ I said, breaking the silence. ‘How old is he?’

  John chuckled to himself again, without looking up. ‘Eleven months.’

  ‘He’s huge for eleven months,’ I said.

  ‘He’s easy enough to handle, if you just remember he’ll do anything for food.’

  I was about to say that if Dorothy and I did decide that we would try the rehoming work – although it would be in our spare time – we might be able to take this dog in the not-too-distant future. I was about to say this when John looked up from watching the dog. Our eyes met.

  ‘Don’t change his name,’ he said. Then he hesitated. Perhaps he thought that sounded as if he was presuming we would take the dog, which it did.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘but…’

  ‘When I was a squaddie my best pal was a dog handler. His dog Monty was shot. When I got this lad, I named him after him.’ Now he looked away from me and down at the floor. He rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand. ‘It was in honour of him.’

  The big, black dog went up to John, put his head against his arm and nudged him. John put out both his arms and cupped the dog’s head in his hands.

  ‘I’m sorry, lad,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  I stood looking out of the window, looking down from high up in the tower block. It would soon be dusk and lights were starting to come on in buildings all over the hospital site. I compressed my lips. Imagine her having to be here today of all days.

  I thought I heard footsteps in the corridor outside and turned quickly from the window, hoping it would be Dorothy.

  Both beds in the little side-ward were empty. I pondered where Dorothy might be. Is she all right? There’s nothing gone wrong? Then, knowing what she would say to me, I made the effort to say to myself, Don’t panic, Mr Hawkins.

  The door opened and there she was. Seeing me, she gave a great big smile. All these years and she can still curl my toes when she does that.

  ‘Hello!’ She said it with such warmth and enthusiasm.

  Just two or three very long strides across the room and I had my arms around her, holding her tightly. ‘I wondered where you were, I was beginning to wonder if everything was all right,’ I said.

  ‘I just wheeled Mrs Dawes, the lady in the other bed, down to the day room,’ she explained.

  ‘Oh, so we might have a bit of time to ourselves,’ I said.

  ‘And it gives her a change of scenery,’ Dorothy said. Then gave me another big smile. ‘And a chance for me to give you your present.’

  ‘How can you have got me a present when you’re in hospital?’

  ‘Well, it is a bit of a limited choice in the hospital shop – but I had to get you something. I’ll get you some proper presents when I come home.’

  ‘I don’t want anything – you coming home will be my present.’ I’d put on a brave face up to then but now the bitterness and sadness came out. ‘I can’t believe you’re in hospital today of all days. We should be together today. Not miles apart.’

  ‘We’re together now – enjoy this time. And I’ll be coming home soon.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, you will.’

  ‘Don’t you want your present?’ she asked.

  I nodded and then, having released some of the emotion I felt, was able to enjoy a small laugh. ‘What is it? Don’t tell me, a packet of Kleenex? Or a bag of grapes?’

  She poked out her tongue. Then suddenly, ‘Is that my card?’ She had spotted something on her pillow.

  She opened the pink envelope and took out the card. On the front of it a big white dog was sitting gazing down at a kitten. She sighed, smiled, and sat down on the bed to admire the picture.

  I sat down beside her. ‘I had a surprise this morning,’ I said. ‘Somebody knocked at the door at ten to eight and offered me a dog.’

  She turned to look at me, nearly as surprised as I had been. ‘No…’

  ‘Some fella just turned up out of the blue. With an enormous black German Shepherd. Well, I think it’s a Shepherd… ’

  She interrupted me. ‘Oh, I wonder if it’s Mrs Dawes’ son. I told her we were thinking of doing some rescue work – I wonder if she told her son.’

  ‘The bloke said his name was John.’

  ‘Oh, I think she did say his name was John.’

  ‘I told him we hadn’t decided.’

  ‘Did he tell you he was homeless?’ Dorothy asked. ‘She said her John was homeless.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll ask her when she comes back. She didn’t say too much but I gather he had some sort of a breakdown and he’s been homeless for a while.’

  She looked down at the dog on the card, gazing at it for some moments. Then, still looking at it, she said, ‘I gather he was pretty desperate to find somewhere for his dog.’ I watched as she rubbed a finger gently on the card as if she was stroking the dog in the picture.

  I got up and went back to the window. Lights were on now in most of the windows across the hospital site. I could see my car in the car park below and had a sudden thought: Had I paid and displayed? I had had other things on my mind at the time.

  ‘We might have taken him if I hadn’t been in hospital,’ Dorothy said. Then she added, trying to sound upbeat, ‘He might still need help when I’m out of hospital and things have settled down.’

  I was still looking out of the window. There were the sounds of footsteps and voices immediately outside the door. It seemed as if our little bit of space together was coming to an end. Without looking round from the window I said, ‘I suppose you’re not allowed outside yet.’

  I looked round for the response and Dorothy shook her head.

  I turned back to the window. ‘It’s just that I thought you might like to see him, that’s all,’ I said, trying to sound casual.

  ‘See who?’ Then her mouth dropped open and she took a deep breath. ‘You’ve taken him…?’

  I turned and nodded.

  ‘Oh, Barrie!’ She jumped up excitedly and ran across to me. ‘While I was in hospital! Our first rescue!’ She put her arms round me to give me a congratulatory hug. ‘Where have you left him?’

  ‘In the car.’

  She took her head off my shoulder to look at me.

  ‘That’s why I asked if you could go outside – to meet him.’

  She gazed at me for a few moments then turned to look out of the window. She stared down at the old Volvo estate parked below. It was still light enough to make out a big, black dog, curled up, in the back. Dorothy’s eyes widened. She looked down at the Volvo and its occupant for several moments without speaking. Then she turned to me. ‘Oh, Barrie… taking in our first orphan… what a wonderful thing to have done on our anniversary.’

  She gazed at me, a smile on her face. Then the smile disappeared slowly. She furrowed her brow. ‘Barrie… how will you cope?’

  The question surprised me. ‘We had a dog for fourteen years,’ I replied. ‘I do know a bit about it.’

  ‘But what do you know about this dog? What problems has he got?’

  I shook my head. ‘Problems? I don’t know.’

  ‘Didn’t you ask the chap?’

  ‘No. I… . I didn’t think to.’

  Dorothy managed an encouraging smile.

  Food, Glorious Food

  I looked back. And up. In the fading light I could see Dorothy at the window where I had stood. She waved and then blew me a kiss, but I turned away quickly in case she could see I was screwing up my face to stop myself from crying. In all the years we had been together this stay in hospital was the first time we had been apart.

  As I approached the car I saw this big, black dog sitting in the back and had the cheering realisation that at least I would not be going home to an empty house tonight.

  As he saw me coming, Monty stood up, but had to keep his head down; he was much too big for a Volvo estate. He gave a cautious wag of his tail. The thought occurred to me that he had been in the car quite a long time and I
wondered if he needed to cock his leg. Visiting time at the hospital had ended and there were people coming to their cars. I hadn’t thought to ask his owner what he was like with strangers, especially in fading light. The hospital was on the edge of the city and in just a couple of miles I would be out in the country. I knew of a lay-by where I could stop. A few minutes driving and I’d be there.

  Sitting behind a tractor, however, an old tractor, a very slow tractor, along a winding country road, I began to hope that the boy in the back wasn’t desperate.

  I pulled into the lay-by at last with relief. Now nearly dark, I got out, went to the back of the estate to let the boy out and made a discovery: I needed a lead for him. I hadn’t bothered to take a lead as we weren’t going for a walk. I had just opened the back of the car and he had jumped in. John had said he loved cars; he wouldn’t be the slightest bit of trouble in the car. And he’d been right.

  Let him out here, in this lay-by, with no lead…? There wasn’t anybody about, just a car parked at the other end of the lay-by. Still, I decided I wouldn’t chance it. Then there was a scratch… scratch… scratch at the rear window. I looked at Monty. Was he asking to be let out? I wondered if he just wanted to get out because I had.

  Scratch… scratch… SCRATCH! That last pawing at the window pulled the ‘A Dog Is for Life’ sticker off. Monty seemed tense – or was it my imagination?

  Sudden inspiration: He loves food. John had said repeatedly, ‘He’ll do anything for grub.’ In the car was a bag of grapes Dorothy had given me to take home; she had said nearly every visitor had brought her a bunch and she couldn’t face looking at another grape for the rest of her life. I fetched the bunch out of the car. I would hold them behind my back, not let him see them until he’d done what he needed to and then I’d dangle them enticingly.

  I opened the back. Monty looked at me, hesitating. I realised then I should have asked John what words of instruction he knew. What should I say to let him know he can get out?

  I tried, ‘OK.’

  Success! Monty jumped down, looked around him, made straight for a nearby tree, then stopped to look at something that had caught his attention. He was gazing at the little car parked at the other end of the lay-by. He trotted off towards it.

  ‘Monty!’

  Monty quickened his pace.

  ‘Monty!’ If he was listening, this time he would have heard the anxiety in my voice.

  He broke into a trot. I felt a rush of anxiety well up in my chest. I hurried after him, whipped the grapes round into view and dangled them at arm’s length.

  ‘Monty! Look – grapes!’

  Monty was hurrying to the tiny car – whose passenger door was open. It was almost dark now and the car’s interior light was on.

  Monty got to the car, lowered his head and stuck it in. I started to run.

  The front half of Monty disappeared into the car. I started to panic.

  The back legs disappeared into the car, just his tail sticking out.

  Running so fast now, I had a job to slow myself down and crashed into the car door. I ducked down to see inside the car. Monty blocked almost all the view, but I could see a very small man behind the wheel. He had slithered down his seat so far that his chin rested on his shoulders.

  Monty’s big, black head hovered above him.

  Puzzlingly, the little man held his right hand up in the air, as if he was holding something, but there was nothing in it.

  I stared at the scene. I didn’t know what to say or do. The little man was also motionless, gazing up at Monty. Then he spoke. ‘Good boy,’ he said softly.

  He turned his head, very slowly, to look at me.

  ‘He ate my sausage roll,’ he said.

  I switched off the Volvo and took a deep breath. I was glad to be home after my adventure with Monty.

  I turned round to look at him. He stood up – as best he could in a Volvo estate – and wagged his tail.

  ‘You villain,’ I said.

  He wagged his tail faster and wider.

  ‘Wait there until I get a lead.’

  I wasn’t going to let him out of that car without a lead a second time, in case there was somebody within a mile or two with a sausage roll.

  Indoors, I looked round for the lead he had on when his owner brought him that morning. Had John taken it away with him? We had only been in the kitchen but it wasn’t to be seen.

  I did have a lead, Elsa’s old one. I knew where it was of course, along with her bowl and her collar and her name-tag. Could I use it for another dog? My thoughts dwelt on that for several moments. I became aware of how quiet and still the house was.

  Visions came back to me of dragging Monty by the collar out of the little man’s tiny car and then, bent over, leading him back to the Volvo by his collar, then up and into the Volvo, still clinging on to the collar. I needed a dog lead.

  I went into my study to get it and saw that the light was flashing on the answer machine. I switched on playback.

  ‘Er… this is John – I brought you Monty. This morning. Look, I was too upset but there were some things I should have told you before I left. He’s never—’

  The message ended abruptly. A pause, then a second message came on.

  ‘Hello, it’s John again. I rang earlier – I ran out of credit. He’s never lived in the house…’

  So he’s not house-trained, I thought.

  … so he’s not house-trained. You can’t let him sleep in the house. Oh, and he absolutely adores cheese – I think he’d do cartwheels for a bit of cheese. Give him my love, will you? Give him a great big hug for me, will you? Tell him I love him…’

  The machine clicked off.

  So where was Monty going to sleep? I pondered that little problem on my way back to the car, now armed with a lead. A dog that size that wasn’t house-trained… The garage was the obvious thought – so don’t let him out yet. We’ll need a blanket or a duvet for him.

  Where does Dorothy keep bedclothes? The top of the wardrobe proved wrong, as did the cupboard above the immersion heater. I didn’t think to look in the drawers under the divan.

  So what else could I use? I needed a new dressing gown – my old one had holes in the elbows – he could have that.

  Walking up and down the garden, back and forth, Monty safely secured on Elsa’s old lead, I had a new question to ponder about our first orphan: Would he cock his leg while on a lead? Up and down we went, then along the village street, then back again. A couple of times it was beginning to look hopeful… but nothing happened.

  It was gone ten o’clock now and I’d had nothing to eat since lunchtime except for a few grapes. I led him into the garage, where I’d laid out his dressing gown and two breakfast bowls, one with water and one with some Big Value dog food John had left for him. Monty’s eyes widened when he spotted the food and he dragged me towards it. He ate so fast it had gone by the time I unclipped his lead. I told him what a good boy he was and backed away towards the door. Would he try and follow me out? Would he try and bolt past me? No, he sat down on his haunches, and then slid down onto all fours. Clever dog – he knew what he was there for. I backed out of the side door of the garage and closed it with a sigh of relief. I needed some dinner, but what I needed even more was a cup of tea.

  ‘Good night – I’ll see you in the morning,’ I called through the door.

  I made for the house, feeling satisfied with a job well done and looking forward with happy anticipation to that cup of tea and a sit in my armchair.

  Indoors, the kettle was soon on. I thought I could hear something above the noise of its boiling and switched it off to listen. No, all was quiet.

  Then I heard it: Howl! Howl! Howl!

  Through the silence that descended on our little village in the late, dark hours of a Sunday night, a large, black dog was howling: a soulful cry that would have been heard by our ancestors huddled around the campflre thousands of years ago. A cry that could send a cold chill down the spine of Wilberry residen
ts, awakened from sleep, lying in their beds.

  Then it stopped…

  I stood motionless for several moments. Maybe it had just been his initial reaction to being left. Several more moments of silence, then: Howl! Howl! Howl! Hooowl!

  I shut my eyes. This was a BIG problem. This was a very quiet village. The sort of place where some people go to bed at ten o’clock and if you stayed up to walk round the village at eleven o’clock there would hardly be a light on.

  Howl! Hooowl! HOOOWL!

  I marched out to the garage. ‘No!’ I shouted through the garage door. I was about to shout it again when I realised I was making as much noise as the dog. ‘Be quiet, you naughty dog,’ I hissed through the door. Within, all was silent. I waited for several long moments, ready with a stern voice if there was another outbreak.

  Several minutes of peace and quiet passed. That’s done the trick, I thought.

  I made my way slowly back to the house – and that cup of tea. I strained to listen out over the noise of the boiling kettle, but outside all seemed quiet and still.

  Tea was brewed. Many minutes had passed now and all was still peaceful in Wilberry. I stirred my tea – and dropped my spoon on the floor when I heard, Howl! Howl! Howl! Howl! Howl!

  I was out the front door in a flash and racing to the garage. But what was I going to do?

  Perhaps he just doesn’t like the garage. Or, more worryingly, perhaps he’s lonely?

  Where else could I try for him? The chicken house? It’s small, big enough only for four or five hens, but that may be a good thing; maybe he’s used to a kennel. There’s straw in it to make it cosy, and it’s nice and clean and new. We’d bought it for chickens we were going to get when Dorothy came out of hospital.

  Monty was delighted to see me when I reappeared and clipped Elsa’s lead on again. He trotted happily down to the chicken house at the bottom of the garden.

  I opened the door. ‘In you go,’ I said.

  Monty looked round at the dark interior then down at the floor. He jerked his head back in surprise: presumably he’d never seen a straw floor.

  ‘You’ll be cosy in here,’ I said.

  I waved a hand to indicate for him to go forward. But Monty stayed outside, staring in.