WILLIAM

PART TWO

by JEAN NORFOLK

He is your friend, your partner, your defender, your dog. You are his life, his love, his leader…

I grew to love the quiet times I shared with William at home. Yes, we did have them - when all the walking was done for the day and we could finally relax for the rest of the evening. When he had run off all his excess energy he’d be eager for the peace and seclusion of home with a nice cool drink and his meal to look forward to.

He loved sausages and I’d regularly heat up the grill and cook them for him at teat-time. It was so comforting and satisfying to see him tucking in heartily and enjoying his food. Another of his favourite meals was scrambled eggs, or fish with rice. He had quite a varied appetite, and loved everything from carrots and fresh peas (raw) to chocolate and biscuits, or a helping of whatever I was eating! If he saw me eating pasta he’d sit there and drool until he got some too. He loved chicken and liver, but didn’t care much for steak, although a slice of roast beef from the Sunday joint was devoured with relish!

Cornflakes for his breakfast with a drop of milk were a must when we returned from our early morning walk, although porridge was a very acceptable alternative.

I can only recall three things that he flatly refused to eat. They were strawberries, tripe, and dog chocolates. I was eating strawberries one day, and William sat looking up at me expectantly so I tossed one in the air. He caught it, then immediately spat it out again.

After reading somewhere that tripe was good for dogs, I bought him a very small portion just to see if he liked it. Well it certainly wasn’t good for William! He backed away in disgust and looked at me reproachfully for offering it to him. That was his first and last encounter with tripe.

One day, when William was a very young dog, I clearly remember baking and leaving a couple of sponge cakes to cool on the worktop in the kitchen. When I went back later I couldn’t understand where they had disappeared to until I saw William looking decidedly guilty… That was the only time he ever “helped himself.” As he grew older he would always sit and wait patiently for his meals, and I could quite confidently leave food on the table and know that he wouldn’t touch it.

When he had finished his evening meal he would curl up on the rug in front of the sofa, or in cold weather, in front of the fire, and sleep soundly for a couple of hours. Sometimes he chose to lie in front of the display cabinet in the living room. I let him decide where he wanted to sleep. If he lay in a doorway I’d stride over or walk around him rather than disturb him.

As I write this I can see scuff marks on the base of the cabinet where William used to lie and dream his “doggie dreams”. I lost count of the number of times I watched him “running” in his sleep, with his paws and his mouth twitching, and listening to his muted “woofs” as he chased whatever it is that dreaming dogs chase! Sometimes he would appear to be so deeply troubled I was tempted to wake him up.

Although he was still a very lively energetic dog, especially around visitors, he was now a very gentle, loving and loveable dog when we were alone. My early attempts to “get close” to him and show him affection had always been rebuffed. He hated it if I attempted to hug him, and always pulled away with a grunt of disapproval. Now however, his devotion and dedication to me began to emerge at last, and this gentle, tender side to his character really knocked me for six when he actually began to display his feelings tangibly.

One afternoon I was reading a book when he quietly came and sat beside my chair then lifted a paw and rested it on my knee. At first I didn’t dare to look at him because I feared that if I did, that lovely moment would be lost. I was sure he’d take away his paw and then bark loudly for attention and that little bit of magic would disappear forever. He didn’t though. I reached out my hand to stroke his head and his big brown eyes looked up at me with such adoration I just melted. Then he actually licked the back of my hand, and I knew that in spite of all the worries and the doubts that I had harboured in the beginning, we had just passed a very significant milestone.

He grew to be quite protective and possessive of me, as I discovered one day when I had a bad fall in the street. Three women rushed over to offer their assistance but William, who was somewhat perplexed to see me suddenly lying on the pavement, refused to let them near me. I believe he was convinced that they either meant me harm, or were responsible for my fall in the first place. He even got hold of the cuff of one woman’s coat and literally tried to pull her away from me. Fortunately, I was able to get up unaided and apart from a few grazes and an injured wrist I wasn’t too badly hurt. When William realised that I was all right he actually began trying to make friends with my three helpers.

Most times he hated it if I spoke to anyone else. If I stopped in the street for a chat he would bark non-stop until I moved on. Then he’d trot along happily beside me content in the knowledge that I was “all his” once more! If I went into the garden at home and spoke to a neighbour over the fence he’d charge outside barking loudly, telling me to stop. On numerous occasions, I’ve angrily ordered him back inside and shut him indoors just so that I could carry on a conversation in peace!

When the weather permitted, he loved being outside in the garden and spent hours simply watching people pass by, or snoozing on the lawn. No matter who said “Hello” to him, he’d get to his feet and walk slowly towards them wagging his tail and barking a greeting. He just adored people in general – as long as they made a fuss of him – and ignored me!

Unlike some dogs, William hardly ever jumped up on the furniture. He preferred a nice soft rug to the sofa and in the fourteen years I had him I can only recall one occasion when he climbed up onto my bed.

It was a hot, humid day, not my favourite kind of weather! I felt really ill, so I decided to lie down for a few minutes in the bedroom. William was outside lying in the shade, and I knew he would bark if anyone called. I fell asleep, and was woken about twenty minutes later by a very anxious looking dog as he shuffled up alongside me, whining as he licked my arm and my face. He was genuinely concerned about me and had come to investigate my absence. I reached out to hug him, and in that moment I realised what a joy he was!

His cardboard box “bed” had of course been replaced with a proper dog bed shortly after his arrival some years earlier. When he first got it, he took great delight in dragging it around whenever visitors arrived, even though he was just a puppy then and the bed was huge compared to his size. I would race around after him trying to rescue it and hide it away out of sight. Consequently, being used as a bed, and on occasions a plaything by William, it had been washed so many times that it was now looking decidedly faded and worn. Following the incident with William climbing up on to my bed I decided to buy him a new one.

This time he got a beautiful red velour “top-of-the-range” model which he loved and thankfully he made no attempt to drag this one around and show it off to visitors. I discovered later though, that he didn’t approve of me washing it when it got grubby. If it had been freshly laundered, he’d refuse to sleep in it for two or three days, showing preference for the rug by the sofa instead. Then he’d gingerly try out his bed several times before finally deciding to spend the night in it. Who was it, who said, “A dog teaches us to turn around three or four times before lying down”? That was certainly true of William!

I always said “good night” to him before I went to bed, and his reaction still makes me smile when I remember it. He always guarded his bed with great tenacity. He regarded it as his territory, which of course it was, and once he had curled up in it and settled down for the night he deeply resented any intrusion whatsoever. My gentle pat on his head and whispered “good night my darling”, would be met by a deep throated “Grrr!”

He always slept soundly and in fact most nights he snored so loudly the walls almost shook! Some nights, when a pillow over my ears didn’t work and my nerves could stand it no longer. I’d be forced to call out “William!” and the snoring would stop immediately.

He will be yours faithful and true, to the last beat of his heart. You owe it to him to be worthy of such devotion. Anonymous.

Although we didn’t encounter many dogs on our first morning walk, we did meet quite a few later in the day. One of these was a lovely lady dog named Cougar, who was a couple of years older than William. In total contrast to his black coat, hers was a beautiful golden brown, and it was exhilarating to see them racing around together and having fun. William didn’t seem to mind that as she was quite a bit bigger than him she was totally in charge of the situation. He just loved her company, and although he was always exhausted after his runs with her they became the highlight of his day.

When Cougar and her owner moved away from the district he was broken-hearted for a while. For some weeks he fretted and pined for her, but eventually he seemed to realise that she wasn’t coming back and even though we still walked by the river every day without fail, he never found another doggie friend that “lit the spark” as she had done.

Like most dogs, William was a territory marker, and every corner we turned, every gateway we passed, was a signal for him to lift his leg and leave his “calling card”. If he spotted anything new that he hadn’t noticed before, a sign post, a discarded newspaper, a newly installed litter bin, anything at all really, he would walk round and round, sniffing inquisitively, before lifting his leg and marking it.

The most embarrassing thing he ever did was on an occasion when we crossed the high steps to the bridge over the canal, which from that point runs alongside the river. It was a beautiful sunny day, and as we reached the top of the steps, a well-dressed man carrying a briefcase suddenly appeared from the other side. He paused to watch a boat negotiate the lock and placed his briefcase down beside him. I totally forgot about William’s penchant for “marking” and before I realised what was happening he had lifted his leg over it! I was mortified, but all I could do was apologise profusely. The man simply picked up the briefcase, shook it, then glared at William, and me, as he walked off without saying a word.

One day after heavy overnight rain, the river was high and flowing very fast, and I had a heart stopping experience with William, quite close to that same footbridge. Looking back I realise that it was largely my own fault.

I normally kept William on his lead until we had passed the sluice gates from which point the river connects with the canal, and sometimes he went right to the edge to look over into the water below. On this particular day he was running free and after I had walked a few yards I looked back to see where he was. I was mortified to see that he had slipped over the edge and was in danger of falling into the river. His head and shoulders peeped over the edge of the concrete path around the sluice gates mechanism whilst his rear end hung precariously in mid-air! He was struggling desperately to hold on whilst his back legs scratched and scraped at the concrete in a frantic attempt to get a grip somewhere and haul himself back up. I ran back as fast as I could, convinced that he would fall into the swirling waters below before I could reach him, and he’d be swept away and drowned. Then miraculously, just as I reached out to grab his collar, he managed to pull himself back up. He then calmly carried on sniffing around on the grass as though nothing had happened! Following that event, I always made sure that he was kept safely on his lead until we were well past those sluice gates.

He loved to stop and rest at the wooden seats facing the river at the end of our walk when the weather was fine. If I tried to walk past them without stopping he’d look at the seats then look up at me, sending me a silent yet very meaningful message that he wanted me to walk across the grass and sit down for a while. When he realised I was going to do just that he’d race across excitedly and settle himself down on the grass as he waited for me to sit on the seat beside him. Although I teased him sometimes by pretending to walk by, in actual fact I looked forward to our little rest just as much as he did. It was a perfect relaxing finale to a pleasant walk, and I loved the quiet calm of just sitting there with my lovely dog beside me as we enjoyed the beauty of the wildlife and nature around us.

We spent many happy hours there over the years, watching the swans and ducks on the river. Occasionally I took bread to feed them, and William would gobble up any bits that fell to the ground. He hated it when I fed the birds and not him!

Sometimes when the day was bright and sunny, a tiny single-engine plane would put in an appearance overhead and at times it flew so high that it almost disappeared from sight. I remember trying to focus on what had become no more than a tiny pinhead as it flew higher and higher, then as it lost altitude and came back into view the plane would duck and dive as the pilot performed crazy loop the loops just for the sheer hell of it. Although I hate flying, I was always envious of this guy (or woman) who was in the position of being able to express their joy for living in such a high and lofty place. It was reminiscent of the childlike delight and carefree abandonment displayed by Gene Kelly in “Singing in the Rain” as he splashed and stomped around in those lovely puddles, filling us all with envy because we secretly ached to emulate him - and most of us cherished memories of a time when we actually had!

William watched what seemed to be our own personal air-display with interest. He amazed me sometimes when he spotted a plane or a helicopter. If he saw one he would stop dead in his tracks and watch until it disappeared from view. Perhaps he was waiting to see loop the loops? I don’t know.

In warm weather, friends and acquaintances or even strangers passing by would sometimes join us on the seat beside the river, and William loved it when we had company. He enjoyed being fussed over, and he never forgot a face. If anyone spoke to him or patted him, maybe just once, he would remember them, even if it was some months before he saw them again.

I’ve watched him on many occasions, stop and stare into the distance when he spotted someone walking towards us. Thinking it was a total stranger approaching I’d say, “Come here William, it’s not anyone you know”, but he knew differently! Totally ignoring my calls to come back, he’d race joyfully to greet them. Then I’d realise that it was someone we had met, perhaps very briefly, some months earlier. I might have forgotten but he hadn’t!

Although he loved meeting people, for obvious reasons I didn’t take him to visit friends or relatives very often as he was far too boisterous, but I do vividly remember one occasion when I did. My youngest son and his wife invited me to Sunday lunch and I was told to bring William along too. He behaved quite well during the car journey to their home and then immediately upon our arrival he spotted a white leather rugby ball that my grandson had left in the middle of the lawn. He pounced on it and we all heard a loud “Hisssss!” as William’s teeth punctured it and the ball deflated. He refused to let anyone have the now totally flat ball and my grandson said, “it’s ok, let him have it”.

William kept the ball with him during our entire visit and when we returned home it came with us. He carried it everywhere! In the months ahead it lay outside on the lawn and was the first thing he looked for when he went outside in the morning, and the last thing he played with each night. He tried to sneak it inside many, many times and I’d see his face peeping around the kitchen door, ball clamped firmly between his teeth as he looked hopefully at me. “Can I bring it in this time?” His toy box, with its assortment of balls, dog pulls and squeaky toys, was totally ignored in favour of a burst rugby ball. If visitors called he’d race to grab it and show it off to them. He really loved that ball. It remained outside in all weathers until finally, about eighteen months later it had become so disgustingly chewed and filthy that I quietly sneaked what was left of it into the bin when he wasn’t looking. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to miss it too much.

Chewing his own toys however, was the only destructive thing he did. He never once chewed slippers or furniture no matter how long he was left alone, and he really hated being left alone. If I went out by myself I’d hear and feel a bump on the door as I locked it behind me, and I knew it was William settling himself in his usual spot, on the mat behind the door, waiting for my return.

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!