WILLIAM

PART ONE

by JEAN NORFOLK

The gift which I am sending you is called a dog,
and is in fact the most precious and valuable possession of mankind.
Theodorus Gaza

If I had known who his father was, I might never have had William in the first place, so I’m eternally grateful that, to begin with, I was totally in the dark as to the nature of his paternal origins, otherwise I would have denied myself the opportunity of spending fourteen of the richest years of my life with him.

His father, coincidentally, was named Prince; so I guess William, either intentionally or unintentionally kept the “Royal” connection going. Prince was a dog who was allowed to roam freely wherever he wanted to, from morning to night. He stayed outside guarding his patch and seeing off all intruders until he was called in at bedtime. He was the most unattractive, mangy looking mutt you could ever wish to meet, yet somehow there was something in his character and the quizzical way he looked at you, that tugged at your heartstrings and endeared you to him. He would fight any other dog he met, no matter how big or how small, and he bore the scars to prove it. The mere sight of another dog was enough to set his hackles rising and any canine that dared encroach on his territory was speedily dealt with! If ever there were a bitch on heat, Prince would quickly see off the opposition and be first in line to offer his services. If I had been told that one day I would actually own one of his offspring, I would have said “Never in a million years!”

William came into the world on 31st December 1990, so I never had a problem remembering his birthday. His previous owner told me that he arrived just before he and his wife went out to celebrate on New Years Eve, and I remember thinking “What a lovely time to be born!”

For me however, William didn’t enter my life until some weeks later, on the day I looked after a friend’s dog. Eighteen months earlier, my own dog Susie had been put to sleep and I vowed that I would never have another one.

I can’t recall a time when there wasn’t a dog in my life. Right from childhood I have always loved animals, especially dogs, and they have always been part of the family. Losing Susie had been so painful, I was determined that I would never risk going through such heartache again.

As I walked past William’s (then) home with my friends’ dog, the man who lived there came out to me as I passed. “Got yourself another dog then?” he asked.

“No, I’m just looking after him for a friend” I replied.

“Well I’ve got a ten-week-old puppy if you want him”, he said, “come and take a look.”

“No” I said, shaking my head, “I’m not having another one.” But I went with him anyway, after all, there was no harm in just looking at the pup was there?

“His father is a black Labrador from over there,” he said, indicating the housing estate across the road. It wasn’t until some weeks later that I discovered exactly which black Labrador! By then of course, it was too late.

I had encountered William’s mother several times previously whilst out walking Susie, and I knew that she was a quiet well-behaved dog.

The man went indoors and returned with a black bundle of fur in his arms. “We call him William”, he said, “and he’s just starting to respond to his name, but you can change it to something else if you decide to have him.”

He was absolutely beautiful! I reached out my hand to stroke him and he immediately locked his sharp little teeth around my fingers, refusing to let go. I shook my head resolutely and said, “No, I’m not having another dog!”

Although I still missed Susie dreadfully, I was just beginning to appreciate the freedom I now had to do exactly what I wanted to do with my days instead of being tied by the limitations and demands of owning a dog, which are many when you live alone. For three or four days I agonised as I tried to push the image of that lovely bundle of black fur out of my head and my heart, but I couldn’t. Finally, I picked up the phone.

“Have you still got the puppy?” I asked, half expecting my hopes to be dashed. I almost shouted for joy when the man said “He’s still here, and he’s yours if you want him.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes!” I said.

I remember the man’s wife thrusting William into my arms and saying shakily “Here, he’s yours now.” As I hugged him for the very first time I realised that after months of heartache and lonely “freedom” my life was now once more inextricably linked with that most beautiful of creatures, a dog.  My life was no longer my own - it was his.

An hour or so later when puppy and his possessions had been deposited at my home, I was left alone with him. He came with a knitted rag doll and a ball along with his bed, which was simply a cardboard box with a couple of old jumpers in the bottom. Up until then, this little pup had shared his life with his mother, and half a dozen children, the owner’s grandchildren, who visited regularly. Consequently, he was a puppy who was used not only to the presence of his mother, but the undivided attention of a group of adoring kids, who like him were always eager to play.

At that time I lived in a flat with a shared garden, and he must have come down to earth with a huge bump when he moved in with me. At first he found it hard to adjust to the quiet of the flat, and the sudden curtailment of his freedom. Previously, he had had a large garden where he was allowed to run free. Now, unless I went outside with him, he was confined within the flat.

Wherever I went, he followed me, constantly hankering for my attention and wanting to play and biting me whenever he got the chance! I saw a different side to his character though on the very first night he spent with me. I placed his “bed”, now with a soft woolly blanket inside, next to mine, and I slept the whole night through with my hand inside the box, comforting him as he whimpered and whined for his mother and the familiarity of his old home. There was no biting now; he was just grateful for contact with me. If I took away my hand, he cried again so what could I do? I remember the feeling of stroking thick soft fur and the sweetness of feeling whole again in the company of a dog, albeit at that moment a very small one! It didn’t matter. He was mine and I felt that warm sense of completeness that only a dog can bring.

I had told his ex-owner that I had no intention of changing his name. He responded to William and it suited him. He was black and beautiful, and if I had gone through a list of a hundred doggie-names I couldn’t have come up with anything more perfect for him.

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.

No matter how little money and how few possessions you own, having a dog makes you rich.
Louis Sabin.

William wasn’t a vicious dog by any means, although he might sometimes have come across as such, mainly because of his deep loud bark. He was a dog with an overpowering desire for a social life, which was why all visitors were greeted so noisily and enthusiastically. Living in a household with just one other occupant wasn’t the ideal environment for a dog like William. He loved company and went wild with delight whenever visitors arrived.

Those who knew him were unphased by his barking, but strangers would think twice if they saw or heard him. He was an excellent housedog and I could always sleep soundly in my bed at night knowing he was there.

It was a huge relief for me and I’m sure for my neighbours when we finally left our flat and moved into a bungalow. We now lived just five minutes from William’s favourite walks by the river, and even better was the fact that he now had a garden of his own where he could run freely. After the limitations of the flat it was wonderful to simply leave the door open and let him come and go as he pleased, knowing that the garden was fenced off and he couldn’t escape.

Although he loved his garden, he still looked forward to his walks with eager anticipation and at the mere mention of the word “walk” his ears would go up and he’d race around like a lunatic until I was ready to take him. When I tried to put on my jacket and shoes without saying a word, he instinctively knew what I was planning to do and would perform his wild and crazy ritual anyhow!

In the fourteen years we spent together, I walked him at least three times a day, regardless of the weather, sometimes having to push myself to the limits when I was ill and aching to stay home and go to bed. I recall one Christmas when I had a particularly bad bout of flu. I was wrapping myself up and walking him, maybe not so far as usual, then crashing out on the sofa when I got back until it was time for his next walk.

I was amazed one day when I did a bit of mental arithmetic and discovered that I had actually taken William on over fifteen thousand walks. That didn’t include the odd trip to the shops or the post-box in between, and as each of his walks covered a couple of miles I guess we must have easily walked over thirty thousand miles together! If I went out anywhere without him, people would ask me “Where’s your dog?”

William would sit quite happily outside a small local shop when I went to collect my newspaper and would wait quietly and patiently for my return. Then he’d give me a couple of barks to welcome me back. If I visited another shop a little further afield, he barked non-stop from the moment I went inside until I emerged again. The assistants would say, “We always know when you arrive – your dog tells us!” I think the reason he disliked visiting this shop so much was because it was close to a busy street, whereas our local shop is in a quieter area.

When I took him on his first, and last, visit to a supermarket, I had a very frightening experience, following which I knew I could never risk taking him again. He was obviously very nervous as we walked across the car park and he fought like a tiger as I struggled to tie him to one of the “doggie hooks” provided outside. I could hear him barking frantically as I hurried to get the one or two items I’d gone for, then I rushed back to him. He was deeply distressed and I had great trouble holding him back. He pulled me along obviously desperate to get away, then as we crossed the busy main street during a gap in the traffic, to my horror; he collapsed right in the middle of the road.

I was conscious of horns blaring and traffic stopping, then a car door opened and a man, obviously coming to see what was wrong, walked towards me. Just then, as I stroked William and spoke to him, he got to his feet again, shook his head, and slowly recovered. The man from the car asked if he was all right and as I was thanking him for his kindness William pulled me across the road. Within a few minutes he was happily walking along beside me apparently none the worse for his nasty experience and I was making a silent promise never to take him to the supermarket again, and never did.

Living alone with just a dog for company might seem like a pretty easy life to some people, but it can be really difficult when it comes to fitting in housework, gardening and shopping, alongside the inevitable “doggie time”. Some days I would return home carrying bags of heavy shopping and longing to simply sit down and put my feet up with a cup of tea, but I couldn’t, because it was time to take William out again, and he always came first.

I remember going out on hot sunny days and spending a couple of hours weeding the garden or cutting the grass, then somehow having to summon up the energy to take William for a long walk immediately afterwards. Dog owners are constant clock-watchers! Although I wouldn’t have been without him for anything in the world, it would have been wonderful just once in a while to hear someone say “Let me walk him for you today”, or “let me cut the grass.”

I was never a fair weather dog walker. I’ve walked him through rain, wind and raging blizzards. No matter what the weather was like, I never ever neglected his walks. Thunderstorms of course were different. I hate thunder although it never bothered William. He would sleep soundly through the severest storms.

Fireworks held no fears for him either, and the evening of 5th November traditionally saw me baking Christmas cakes whilst William slept soundly until the neighbours fireworks had all gone. I found it difficult to understand how he could be so upset by the hustle and bustle of a supermarket yet remain totally at ease with thunderstorms and fireworks.

Now if there’s one thing that you are guaranteed when you have a dog, it’s early mornings! I was always up and about well before six-o’clock so that I could take him for his first walk when the day was fresh and new, especially in summer. I love the feeling of peace and the silence that comes with the days awakening.

I recall so many idyllic mornings, walking back home beside the river listening to the birds singing and watching the sun just beginning to appear over the horizon. With William’s dark shape darting around on the grass just ahead of me, it seemed like we were the only two beings left in the world. The sky, early on a warm summer morning, really is a sight not to be missed.

Our journey home took us in an easterly direction and sometimes it was just as though we were walking into a huge beautiful painting. Some days it was totally breathtaking. An endless selection of art-works that seemed to be meant exclusively for our own delight and pleasure, and we were never offered the same picture more than once. Each day was different and somehow more spectacular than the day before. Shades of pink, grey, gold and orange, merged with fiery reds to create a scene of such amazing brilliance. No artist on earth could ever capture anything so aesthetically beautiful.

As we walked, the entire picture went through a kind of metamorphosis, so that by the time we reached the end of the path, this incredible display of nature was now totally changed, yet equally awe-inspiring.

One morning, very unusually, I saw a man walking towards me. He was talking on his mobile phone and then as he put the phone away in his pocket he turned around and looked up at the sky.

“I’ve just rung my wife to tell her to take a look out of the bedroom window” he said. “It’s unbelievable isn’t it?”

I had to agree with him, and I’m sure that if dogs could talk, then my dog would have agreed with him too. William and I saw some wonderful sunrises together.

Although we rarely saw other dogs on our early morning walks. We did see a rich variety of wildlife. Rabbits, wary of revealing themselves during daylight hours, enjoyed the peace and quiet that comes just after dawn as they grazed on the lush clover that grows there in abundance.

William totally ignored them, preferring to do what most dogs do – sniffing around. The rabbits seemed to sense that he meant them no harm and only occasionally did one dart back down its hole in the riverbank.

Once, just once, I saw a kingfisher. A sudden flash of brilliant blue swept past me in a second as I stood looking across the river, and before I realised, it was gone. I never saw it again.

A kestrel hunting for food was a regular and beautiful sight, and one morning I was totally enraptured to see a deer on the top of a small tree covered mound when we had almost reached the end of the river path. Fearful of alarming this beautiful creature, I softly called William and put him on his lead. I wasn’t sure how he would react when he saw it, but I needn’t have worried. We left the path and walked to the river edge and the deer, obviously aware that the path was now clear, suddenly ran like the wind right past us and headed back along the route that we had just walked. William hardly noticed and simply gave the deer the merest glance.

Our walk came to an end beside a small footbridge where local people regularly come to feed the swans and ducks on the river. In warm weather, a lovely old chap named Joe, who lived close by, would carry a couple of slices of bread in his hands each morning and we occasionally met him when we were almost home.

One particular morning stands out in my memory. I said “Good morning” to Joe and watched him as he headed off across the grass carrying his bread. He almost always walked with his hands clasped behind him, and he did so on this particular morning. I can still picture him in fawn trousers with white shirtsleeves rolled up as he walked away from us. Then William spotted the bread and realising that Joe was about to feed it to the ducks he raced after him. Before I could do anything, he grabbed it out of Joe’s hands and scoffed the lot! After that Joe always made sure that his two slices of bread were kept well out of sight if a certain dog was in the vicinity!