WILLIAM

CHAPTER TWO

by JEAN NORFOLK

Every boy should have two things; A dog and a mother willing to let him have one. Anonymous.

I was fortunate that William was partially house-trained when I got him, and apart from a couple of unavoidable little “accidents” when he first arrived, he never disgraced himself. Of course, I walked round on old newspapers for the first couple of weeks “just in case” but I soon realised that I didn’t really need to. He was brilliant. He knew where the door was and when he went and sat there I knew I had to open it quickly!

At that time I had a beautiful cat too, by the name of Caroline. She had grown up with sweet and gentle Susie, and her once calm and peaceful existence was shattered by the arrival of William, who scared the life out of her! Each evening I had to go outside and pick her up to carry her indoors. She flatly refused to come inside otherwise. William’s clumsy, boisterous attempts to get close to her and have some fun were met by loud hisses and sharp extended claws.

I later discovered that Caroline was the very first cat he had ever seen, and although I was upset to witness Caroline’s obvious mistrust and dislike of this new member of our family, I did find Williams efforts at making friends somewhat amusing. He couldn’t understand why this strange new creature refused to play, and instead of joining in his games lashed out at him in anger whenever he approached her, and tried to give her a playful nudge.

After a couple of weeks of constant vigil on my part and endless “refereeing” when they came within sight of each other, I began to see a slow, but steady improvement in their relationship. The animosity on Caroline’s part lessened, and I noticed that instead of inflicting painful scratches on him, William’s playful antics were now simply rebuffed by a quick swipe of her paw with no need for my intervention. It was quite some time, however, before I could go out and leave them alone in a room together.

This initial mistrust and constant bickering however, was simply the prelude to what was to become a beautiful, loving relationship. In the weeks to come Caroline took on the task of washing William. He would sit or lie down wearing an expression of pure bliss as she licked his face and cleaned behind his ears. As he got older, he in turn became her guardian angel, chasing off other moggies who might be hankering for a fight (Caroline was very timid and would run a mile rather than stand up to another cat) or making sure she was safe from other dogs. Each night they would curl up and sleep together.

When you look back over the life of your dog, their time as a puppy seems so short. Most of the memories you have tucked away are those of an adult dog, and apart from one or two that are indelibly etched in your mind of your first experiences with him, it’s almost as if he came to you as a full-grown dog in the first place.

I clearly remember however, shortly after William’s arrival, how I booked a taxi to take him to the vets for his first injections. Not knowing what he would be like travelling by car, I armed myself with a couple of old towels in case of accidents, but I needn’t have worried. As long as I kept him entertained and let him nibble my fingers he was fine. His teeth and claws then, were still those of a puppy and not capable of doing much harm.

I remember paying the taxi driver and telling him not to wait for me, as I would be returning home by bus. What a huge mistake!

>William was no trouble whatsoever at the vets and didn’t seem to mind the injection at all but it was dark by the time we left the surgery. Having been told by the vet not to let him walk anywhere in public until his first vaccinations were completed, I had to carry him just over half a mile to the bus station in town. By now he was putting on weight, so carrying him was no easy task!

I was greatly relieved when the bus arrived, and I could at last sit down with him on my lap and give my aching arms a rest. A number of passengers who boarded the bus were obviously dog-lovers and I struggled to hold my wriggling excitable black pup as they “ooh’ed and ah’ed” as they reached out to stroke him. William lapped up all the attention, especially from one young lady who sat next to us. She “growled” at him and playfully teased him throughout the entire journey home.

For the next few weeks I carried William everywhere. As he piled on weight I began to lift him onto a wall that we passed each day, where I thought it would be safe for him to walk. The relief of taking the strain off my aching arms if only for a couple of minutes, was bliss! He walked this wall so many times as a puppy that, when he grew bigger, he would jump up onto the wall in preference to walking on the pavement.

The gardens of the flat where I lived were not suitable to allow him to run free so I felt compelled to take him out each day, even if it meant I had to carry him most of the way. It was a huge relief when his injections were finally completed and at last he could walk freely and begin enjoying life, as a dog should.

I took him to a quiet spot by the river where it would be safe to set him free for the very first time. As I unclipped his lead, my heart was in my mouth. I had armed myself, with his favourite treats just in case he ran off. I was convinced that when I released him he would “leg it” and I’d never catch him again. I needn’t have worried. He ran about ten to fifteen yards away, obviously delighted to be free at last, then when I called out “William!” he immediately bounded back to me with – I’m certain – a huge smile on his face. I was hooked!

At first he had worn a cat-collar because even the smallest dog collars were too big for him. Now he was growing so quickly that his collars constantly needed changing for larger ones, and he loved it whenever he got a new one. He would “swank” around showing off his latest collar, and he had quite a few during his lifetime, each one received with sheer delight. He loved it when I, or members of my family, prompted him with “Show us your new collar William!”

He was always a very lively excitable dog and he never really outgrew this. He was so full of life and boundless energy. As he grew, his strength and vitality were such that I could hardly hold him back on his lead. He literally dragged me everywhere!

When he first came to live with me I was overjoyed to have him. A home without a dog is a soulless, empty place. After the first few months however, I began to wonder if I had in fact made a huge mistake in taking on this particular dog, whose strength and exuberance intensified with each day that passed?

My previous dog, Susie, had been so quiet and gentle, whereas William was like a huge tornado tearing around the place. He constantly sought attention from everyone he met. I told myself that, given time, he would calm down and outgrow this wild turbulent phase of his life. I longed for the easy rewarding relationship that I had shared with Susie, but I was beginning to realise that it wasn’t going to be that way with William. At least, not yet.

In many ways William was like his father, Prince: noisy, domineering, and fearless with other dogs. I clung to the hope that he would change, as he grew older.

I had a favourite blue jacket, which had been a gift from my daughter, and I decided to wear it one day when I took William on one of his regular walks alongside the river. By this time he was about two years old. The jacket had two pockets in the front and narrow buttoned straps on the cuffs. William, as always, thought it was wonderful when I took off his lead. He ran around excitedly for a couple of minutes, then totally unexpectedly he took a flying leap at me and grabbed one of the pockets on my jacket. I heard a loud rip and looked down to see the pocket hanging by a few threads.

When we arrived back home I stitched the pocket back in place and decided that from then on, the blue jacket would be my dog-walking jacket. I wasn’t going to allow him to ruin anything else during his rough and tumble games. On subsequent walks, he pulled off both pockets, tore off the wrist straps, and made numerous other rips and tears in the jacket. Other dog-walkers that I met regularly thought I must be mad to even consider keeping such a dog!

Each evening I sat down to repair the day’s damage or washed and pressed the garment knowing full well that he would do exactly the same thing next day. If I spun round to prevent him grabbing one of the pockets, he would tear a piece out of the back instead!

I became a well-known figure as I walked by the river either covered in mud from William’s dirty paws or with my jacket hanging in tatters, sometimes both! No amount of scolding or reprimanding him made the slightest difference. William considered it all terrific fun and he loved every minute of it!

Fortunately, his “let’s attack Mum’s jacket” phase only lasted for a few months or so, which was a huge relief for me in more ways than one! Firstly I could at last dispose of the jacket that had taken up so much of my time in repairs and laundering and secondly because my arms and legs were no longer covered in bruises caused by this hyperactive bundle of energy, as he leapt up at me with such enthusiasm.

Like his father, William disliked most other dogs. He loved bitches of course, but those of his own gender were largely intolerable as far as he was concerned, so if I saw another dog approaching I kept him on his lead.

He only ever had one fight in his life however, with a Border Collie named Scooby who, like William, wasn’t too fond of other dogs either. The fight lasted all of twenty seconds. No injuries, result, a draw.

Sometimes when I took William for a short walk near our home at the end of the day I would look around to see Caroline walking along behind. She loved to join us, and it was lovely to have her there, although I only allowed her to accompany us on short walks close to where we lived.

One particular evening we were enjoying our usual evening stroll together when a large brown and white dog named Ben, who lived a short distance away suddenly appeared. William yanked his lead out of my hand and Ben ran off with William in hot pursuit. Caroline, startled, shot straight over the nearest fence in panic and ran back home.

I saw to my utter dismay that the two dogs were heading straight for the busy main road. I decided that there were two possibilities. Either one or both of them would be hit by a passing car or William would have the fight of his life without me being there to intervene. Feeling sick with apprehension I ran after them as fast as I could.

Finally, I came to the house where Ben lived, and discovered to my relief and delight that there was a third possibility, which I hadn’t even considered. For two or three minutes I stood half-hidden by bushes and watched spellbound as William and Ben rolled over and over and playfully wrestled in the middle of the lawn. I could hardly bear to call out and spoil their fun, but I knew I had to.

When I called his name, William’s ears fell, and looking decidedly sheepish he tucked his tail between his legs and walked slowly towards me, obviously expecting a rebuke for what he had done, but how could I be angry with him. To see him in such a lovely carefree situation, clearly enjoying the company of another dog was a joy. I could have hugged him!

Some months later I noticed that Caroline’s mouth was bleeding and she was taken to the vets. It was discovered that she had cancer and I was advised to have her put to sleep. I was heartbroken, and in the weeks that followed William missed his old playmate dreadfully. He sat for hours looking and listening by the door, waiting for her to put in an appearance, then gradually he seemed to accept that she had gone, and the William I knew, slowly re-emerged.

When he was about four or five years old, I had to pay a visit to the doctor with chest pains and following tests I was told that I had developed angina. Friends and relatives immediately began to point accusing fingers at William. Whether or not my daily “tugs of war” with him were a contributing factor, I’ll never know, but I was certain of one thing - I could no more have considered getting rid of him than I could have considered cutting off my right arm!

For better or for worse, he was mine, and all the doubts I had harboured during those first few difficult months with him were forgotten. I loved him to bits and no power on earth would have persuaded me to let him go.

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