WILLIAM

CHAPTER SIX

by JEAN NORFOLK

Histories are more full of the examples of the fidelity of dogs than of friends. Alexander Pope.

People would ask me “Where are you going for your holiday this year?” and I’d say, “What holiday?” When I had William I never ever went away and left him. I could never have considered putting him in kennels and going off without him. I don’t think either of us would have survived if we had been apart, even for a couple of days. He would have pined away without me and I would have been too worried and upset to relax and enjoy myself. As long as he was there, my life was complete, and besides, I hate travelling anyhow.

With the odd exception, William’s world existed within a radius of about three miles of our home, but within that three miles there were dozens of favourite places that he enjoyed, especially when I took him somewhere that we hadn’t visited recently. He had an uncanny memory, not only for faces but also for walks that he had enjoyed, probably months earlier.

He knew the way to a local park, even though we only went there on rare occasions. When he realised where we were headed, he’d pull on his lead, and quicken his pace in his eagerness to get there. The park was used by local football teams for matches and training purposes, so obviously dogs were restricted as to where they were allowed to run free, but there was a large area of rough scrub to the side of the football pitch which was used by dog walkers. If it was safe to release him, I could let William enjoy a run there. One thing he didn’t like though, were the trains that passed behind the trees along the edge of the field as they delivered coal to the local power station. Even though they were some distance away from us, William would run back to me with his ears down, and tail between his legs if he heard one approaching. Once the train had gone by, he was fine.

On leaving the park he always pulled to the right where we were safely away from the busy traffic. I believe that really he preferred this route because he relished the thought of annoying a couple of dogs that ran free in a large compound and who always barked an angry warning as we passed!

He loved his treats when he was out walking so I always carried a supply of dog biscuits and chews in my pockets, and sometimes a bag containing a sausage roll. Whenever I went to the bakery department of our local supermarket I always brought back a sausage roll for him as his special treat. He would sniff around for it in my bag when I got home, although sometimes I managed to save it for him to eat during our walk.

Occasionally we took a route past the home of a beautiful German Shepherd guard dog that was always chained up and always barked furiously whenever he saw William. Soon I began bringing back two sausage rolls from the bakery - one for William and one for the German Shepherd. I wouldn’t have dared to approach him too closely, especially when I had William with me, so at first I used to simply toss it over the gate for him. Later, as he got accustomed to his tasty treats he would watch out for me returning from the bakery and it was simple to feed him the sausage roll when William wasn’t there.

I began to feel quite smug that I had “tamed the tiger” and made friends with this beautiful dog, who had quite a reputation locally for being vicious and aggressive. His friendliness towards me however, totally disappeared whenever I was accompanied by William. He still hated him!

One day a few months later when I stopped to give him his sausage roll, I saw his chain lying loosely on the ground and there was no sign of my canine friend. I was told that the owners of the house had moved away, taking their dog with them, so we never encountered the German Shepherd again.

William loved taking a walk along the narrow footpath beside the canal, which took us beyond our usual limits and carried on into the heart of the town, then on to an outlying village. Alas, we didn’t walk this path very often though. I have a phobia about being close to water and I suffer awful bouts of dizziness. On this particular walk the path is very narrow in places and I don’t consider being just inches away from the canal as the ideal situation for a pleasant walk. William of course, intent on sniffing and exploring was blissfully unaware of the way I felt. He regarded this walk as a very special treat. I tried to conquer my fears for his sake, but was always so overcome by feelings of total panic, that I knew I would have to leave the path at the next exit point – fortunately there are several – and return home along the main road. I hated doing this because it meant that William had to be kept on his lead instead of running free.

It’s strange how liberating your dog off his lead somehow eases your tensions and anxieties. It’s like a release valve that allows all the pressure inside you to escape and your dog’s delight at being free is shared by you too. I remember how I always breathed a huge sigh of relief whenever we reached a quiet spot and I could unclip his lead and relax for a few minutes, knowing that my dog was happy and content.

William’s aversion to traffic noise only seemed to apply when he was left alone. He didn’t seem to mind how dense the traffic was, as long as I was there with him, so leaving the canal walk behind and coming home by road didn’t worry him at all.

Unlike most dogs, William quite liked cats, probably because of his earlier association with Caroline.  We regularly passed a house where the owner had five cats. They would sit outside either on the car bonnet, or on the garden wall, and would stare at William with that look of disdainful arrogance that is reserved exclusively by felines for whenever a dog appears on the scene. One of them – obviously friendlier than the rest – would walk right up to him, tail erect, and would stand nose to nose with William who wagged his tail in greeting as they sniffed each other inquisitively. I don’t know whether he would have been quite so accommodating towards these cats though, had he not been on his lead!

Horses, however, were regarded with more than a little trepidation on his part, especially after a little incident that occurred early one morning when I took bread to feed a couple that were kept in a field near our home. On this particular morning they came right up to the fence to be fed, and one of them reached over and bit William on his back. Not hard, but enough to elicit a little yelp of pain. After that, he was always wary of getting too close to them.

He was a very intelligent dog and seemed to relish learning new tricks. “Give me a paw William” was a doddle for him, and he quickly obliged when I said “No, not that one, I want the other one!” He would heave a sigh as he put one paw down and offered the other.

Fetching my slippers was one of his favourite tricks, although it invariably meant a tug of war before he’d let me have them! If I said, “Let me look at your teeth” he’d curl his top lip and growl as he displayed his pearly whites.

“Now I wonder where that yellow ball is?” I would say, and off he would scoot to fish around for it in his toy box then race back to me with the ball in his mouth, and tail wagging furiously as he anticipated a game in the garden. He loved to play his version of “hide and seek”, with me hiding little treats, a dog biscuit, or a bit of chocolate under cushions or behind a door, then challenging him to find them, and he always did. Being entertained was one of life’s joys for William.

My attempts at gardening though were constantly thwarted by him, but I didn’t mind really. He was far more important to me than my success as a gardener. For three years I saw my clematis thrive and begin to bloom, then slowly wither and die when William made a beeline for it each morning and lifted his leg over it. A couple of other plants around the borders suffered the same fate and a Virginia Creeper in the back garden was reduced to bare stems without a leaf in sight!

Once a year the local carnival parades through our town and is normally preceded by a brass band. As the first “boom, boom” of the drums sounded in the distance, William’s ears would go up as he anticipated their arrival. He would stand with me and members of my family amongst the crowds on the grass verge, watching the band and the decorated floats as they passed by and he loved every minute!

If there was one thing he didn’t look forward to though, it was having a bath! It was impossible to do this in the bathroom as he fought and struggled too much, so I had to wait for a warm sunny day and bathe him outside. Everything had to be prepared in advance. Two or three large bowls of water, shampoo, a jug and a couple of large towels. He would stand there shivering, even on a hot day, until he was lathered up and then rinsed clean. The final rinse was my cue to quickly jump out of the way or else I got a shower too, as he shook himself vigorously before being covered in one of his towels and rubbed dry. He really loved this bit! After a final rub down with his second towel he would race indoors and roll over and over on the living room carpet, grunting with delight and filled with elation in the knowledge that the nightmare of bathtime was over again for a while.

Sometimes, I would buy an evening newspaper from our local shop, mainly because it gave me a reason to take him for another short walk before bedtime, and he loved it when I allowed him to carry the paper home. He would look up at me and bark loudly which was his way of asking, “Can I carry it?” I would fold up the paper so that the sports section (which I never read) was on the outside before handing it over to him, and he’d trot along happily beside me wagging his tail and proudly carrying his paper. On reaching home again, I’d throw away the (now rather wet and soggy!) sports pages, and sit down with a cuppa to read the clean and dry bits. Bliss!

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