Chapter 2: Dogs on the Loose

When Lola Meets Stanley – Psychology of The Hump Explained – First walks – The Bull That Watches & Waits – A Notorious Bark – The calming effects of traffic – Signing on the dotted line – Incident at the Re-homing Centre (no actors or dogs are injured in the making of this scene).

paw print

Trudy rings us a few days later.
‘Canal boat man’s changed his mind,’ she says.
‘Has he? Oh. Why?’
I think of that famous line in Jaws. ‘You’re going to need a bigger boat.’
‘I don’t know why,’ she says. ‘It doesn’t matter. All I need is for you to say whether you’re going to take Stanley or not.’
I hesitate. I’m still a bit worried he won’t fit through the cat flap. Or pet flap, I should say. But maybe I’ve remembered him wrong. Maybe he isn’t that big after all.
‘Hello?’ says Trudy. ‘Hello?’
I imagine her hair, flashing violently behind the counter. ‘Yes or no?’
‘Why don’t we come and take him for another walk?’
We arrange a time. She hangs up.
At least it wasn’t a video call.

paw print
The shelter hadn’t told us too much about Stanley. We knew he was nine, that he’d been neglected, underfed, under-exercised, to the point where his back legs were weak and half his teeth had fallen out. We knew he’d spent those nine years in the company of another dog, Biscuit, the ratty little tan terrier we’d seen in the pen with him on that first visit, knuckling up and down the place like a gangster planning reprisals. Apparently Stanley had doted on Biscuit but Biscuit was indifferent at best. The two of them had been ‘surrendered’ to the shelter because the owner couldn’t cope. The ‘surrendered’ description sounded odd, like the welfare inspectors had surrounded a bungalow, and after a tense standoff, the dogs had come out with their paws up. Either way, they’d made it out of a horrible situation reasonably intact. Biscuit had gone to another place (presumably with tower guards and searchlights). So Stanley was in the pen by himself.

He barely looked up when we approached.

paw print
The first time Lola sees Stanley is in the parking lot at the rehoming centre. She immediately climbs on his back and tries to hump him. It’s as much a surprise to us as it is to Stan. We’ve never seen Lola hump anything, let alone a male dog. And a tall one, at that.
‘Yeah – well – it’s actually pretty common,’ says Lauren, one of the dog wardens, pulling them apart, then walking with us out over the field that backs on to the centre. ‘Bitches’ll do it, even the spayed ones. The thing is, it’s not so much sexual as a sign she’s a bit over-excited.’
Stanley doesn’t seem that bothered, though, which we take as a good sign. If he can ignore that he can ignore anything. We figure Stanley is so focused on the walk he’d ignore a banjo-playing leprechaun (or only pause long enough to scarf his Lucky Stars and then hurry on). And pretty soon Lola has forgotten about it, too. We trot along in neutral formation, lurchers left and right, straight ahead. Making polite conversation. Stepping round the muddy puddles in the lane.
We pass an enormous bull, its massy black head looming over a fence, a ring through its nose and one through its eyebrow, possibly. I want to take a photo but Lauren shakes her head. I think she’s worried about Stanley, not the bull. Which makes me a little twitchy. Stanley doesn’t show any sign of trouble, though. The bull watches us go.

We see another dog warden coming the other way with two Staffies, her wild curly hair flying out round a yellow headband, the dogs shouldering ahead on the fullest extent of the leads like chariot horses. She looks impressive, a modern Boudicea in fleece and wellies.
‘Let’s just move over here a bit…’ says Lauren.
The next thing I know, Stanley is barking and flying out on the lead. Not just any kind of bark, though. A deeply resonant, hound-round, bellowing ker-hoomf. The kind of bark that would make a mammoth clench. The kind of bark that would have Sherlock Holmes pulling out his pistol and hurrying grim-faced over the moor.
‘Hi Karen!’ says Lauren, hauling him back.
Karen is having her own struggle with the two Staffies, who – if not quite as homicidally committed as Stanley – still sound pretty murderous. She only has the energy to smile and wave, as we hurry on in the opposite direction.
I turn to see the bull still standing there, staring after us. I get the impression he’s there most days, to get the latest action.

Eventually we find ourselves on a footbridge over the motorway, watching the zoom of cars and lorries passing backwards and forwards beneath our feet. We stand there a moment, catching our breath. The traffic is actually quite soothing.

‘Don’t worry,’ shouts Lauren, pushing her hair out of her face. ‘You can train that out of him. You just have to remember – he’s been through a lot.’
We all look at Stanley. He wags his tail.

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Back at the centre Trudy is waiting behind the reception desk with her clipboard.
‘Well?’ she says. ‘How did you get on?’
‘He barked at some staffies but other than that he was fine.’
‘Good,’ says Trudy. ‘So… what do you think?’
‘We’ll take him!’
‘Excellent. Jenny will finish the paperwork.’
She hands the clipboard to Jenny who starts working through the form.

A large red-faced man wearing the rehoming centre fleece suddenly bursts through the door.
‘Old lady down, two loose on the field,’ he says, then hurries out again.
‘Bloody hell!’ says Trudy. ‘Hold the fort, Jenny.’
She hurries outside after him.
‘I’ll go and check on the woman,’ I say.
‘He used to be a paramedic,’ says Kath to Jenny, who’s looking so flustered now she can hardly speak.

Outside there’s a shaken-looking elderly woman leaning against the passenger door of a car. A middle-aged guy is standing next to her, dividing his attention between the woman, the two dogs and the staff members running around on the field.
‘Are you okay?’ I say to her.
She nods.
‘Any new pain anywhere?’
She says no.
‘I’m having my hip done next week,’ she adds, like that’s a bit of luck.
The guy with her turns out to be her grandson. He tells me what happened. How the larger of the two dogs pulled her over when they got out.
‘He’s never been good on the lead,’ says the guy.

Back inside, Kath has finished going through the paperwork with Jenny, who’s struggling with the card reader. She takes the card out, shoves it in, takes it out again and gives the machine a little slap with it.
‘I recognise that big guy,’ says Kath. ‘He teaches karate at our daughters’ old primary school.’
I have a strong image of him, running over the field, his arms held wide, trying to round the dogs up in Trudy’s direction.
‘I think he’s a black belt,’ says Kath.
‘It’s gone through!’ says Jenny. ‘Finally!’


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