You Must Be Jo King Page 6

  “Oh, is that right? Pull the other one, George, you’ll hear bells jingle!”

  “Actually, Jo, it’s possible the dog might be a bit of a problem. Fran’s not a dog lover, so this could be a bit tricky.”

  “Not a dog lover! So you haven’t got that in common then.”

  Stuff sisterhood.

  Sighing and sounding like the long suffering martyr he considered himself to be, he said, “I’ll ignore that, Jo, you do seem frazzled and sarcasm is your forte after all. Look, as soon as I’m back I’ll be in touch and we can talk dogging then. Er… you know what I mean.”

  I put the phone down.

  Lucy and Josh were dripping behind me. They had linked arms comrade fashion and with the dog at their feet they were defiant, united against the enemy: me,

  Lucy huffed. “When you’re quite finished with the phone, Mam, we’re ringing child-line!”

  Handing the phone to Lucy, I thought it only fair to mention there was every possibility of Esther being otherwise occupied; after all, she had the problem of Mrs Chisholm’s Big Slipper to sort out.

  10

  STAY! NO WAY

  I have decided to set myself three ‘goals to achieve’ in my newly single life. Although I’ve been putting it off, being under the illusion that eventually dogs must surely sort themselves out but which hasn’t happened with Millie, number one on my list is training the dog. This needs to happen while I still have a house with some decent furniture in it as Millie is determined to decimate the lot. Goal number two is to be nicer about Fran (well in front of the children, anyway) and purely for George’s sake. Last but definitely not least is to get myself a life and, after stagnating for the last eighteen years as a wife and mother, I wouldn’t say no to a life infused with a bit of romance, if that’s not too much to ask.

  So, as there’s no time like the present, I have decided to start the ball rolling and do something about training the dog. Trudy from the vet’s, aware of my ignorance in all matters canine related, has given me the number of Sue, a renowned and much respected dog trainer.

  Upon ringing Sue to arrange my first session, I was left in no doubt that Sue meant business. I had feebly explained that I was a novice dog owner and as such, I wondered if I might be allowed to be cut a bit of slack. Sue was having none of that. It seemed nobody, but nobody went from Sue’s classes without benefitting from her much-in-demand expertise and there was no possible reason to believe that I wouldn’t also be a benefactor.

  And so, with more than a smidgen of trepidation on my part, arrangements were made for me and Millie to attend the new session which was to begin that afternoon at Sue’s farmyard home.

  Millie knew there was something up. She sensed it. She sniffed the air as we pulled up. Countryside! Manure! Utopia! She leapt from the car dragging me with her. She was over-excited. She’d never been so near a farmyard before and the smells she was encountering were something that needed investigation and she was determined to investigate. I was dragged through a muddy field and into an even muddier farmyard while she sniffed and pawed and rolled on her back onto the remains of something dead and too horrible to contemplate.

  “If you’re quite ready over there, we would like to get started,” called a woman’s voice directed at me. It was obviously Sue. She was standing at the outside of a group of people and their dogs who were waiting for me to join them. Millie looked up at the sound of Sue’s voice, noticed the other dogs, forgot the distraction of the decaying dead thing and bounded over to meet them; dragging me with her. Sue tutted and rolled her eyes, she was plainly going to have her work cut out. I could almost read her mind, ‘there’s always one’. She was wearing a brown, dog-tooth checked riding jacket, jodhpurs and knee-high boots. She held a riding crop in her hand which she kept hitting against her thigh. I mean she might have just dismounted from a horse for all I knew so why I should have found this get-up intimidating I’m not sure, perhaps it was the thigh thwacking that batted my morsel of confidence into the next field and beyond. Her hair was cropped no-nonsense short and her face scrubbed so clean it would be positively virgin territory to a mascara brush or a bit of lip gloss. She wasn’t tall, yet if there was a wrestling match staged between her and a bull, my money would definitely not be on the bull.

  There were five of us at the new training session and we were introduced to each other. There was Star, the German Shepherd with owner Gillian; Stanley, the Afghan Hound with owner Jim; Betsy, the Cockerpoo with owner Stacey; and Pip, the little black and white mongrel with owner Joan. Introductions over, we were then led by Sue into a disused barn whereupon everyone was instructed to line up against the far wall with their dog. Sue then proceeded to climb a seven-rung step ladder from where, sitting on the top platform step, she called out our instructions, well barked them really, but that just seems too much of pun.

  Dogs were to be kept on the left and in a sitting position. Leads were to be held by the left hand and taken across the body with the slack taken up by the right hand. At the command of Walk we were to step forward, always with the left foot, while simultaneously leading the dog. If the dog strained on the lead, the lead was to be tugged backwards with the command Heal. If the dog responded well, praise and treats were to be given.

  And so, with these instructions ringing in our ears, off we marched around the perimeter of the barn. Star was living up to his name. He stayed loyally beside owner Gillian as if he was protecting a roast beef dinner with all the trimmings. Stately Stanley pranced gracefully like a dressage pony. Betsy frolicked, eagerly doing her best to please owner Stacey. Pip yawned, he just wanted a lie down, have forty winks, this wasn’t his scene, so that owner Joan had to jolly him along. Millie, being unused to orders or structure wasn’t sure if she approved. Copying the other dogs yet totally bemused by the whole episode she reluctantly kept at my side allowing me to think that perhaps all was not lost. But, after the second lap, Millie had had enough. There was more to life. She had her eye on Betsy, felt sure with a nod in the right direction she could get Betsy on side for a bit of roll-about fun. She just had to get rid of me and this damned lead. And with that in mind she spun on her hind legs and pulled and tugged and circled me so that I ended up from the waist down trussed up like an Egyptian mummy. I was so tangled in the lead and as Millie was now choking to death, there seemed no alternative but to loosen it off. Until that is, Sue yelled from her observatory tower, “No. No. No. Do not even think about that, Joanne!” She disembarked from the steps by sliding frontwards down them and she strode over, thwacking her thigh as she came. Millie, sensing an impending threat pressed hard against me. Sue tucked her riding crop under her arm, unceremoniously grabbed Millie by the collar, loosened the lead and while untangling me, said, “Well that didn’t go quite according to plan, now did it?” Then addressing the others, “Okay folks the show’s over, as you were.” She then took Millie and the lead and proceeded to show me how it should be done.

  Millie went from being class clown to top dog. She now positively adored Sue. At last, this was someone she could look up to, respect. She would jump through hoops for Sue, should that be coming up. Betsy was history.

  After a sturdy, stomp around the barn, Sue returned Millie to me, expressing her hope that I had learnt something from my observations, because in her experience – extensive experience – she might add, unruliness was very rarely down to the dog, without exception the fault lay in the hands of the owner. Suitably chastised and trying to ignore the sympathetic looks from the other owners, I meekly nodded my agreement.

  Then, with a determined thwack of the thigh, Sue decided it was becoming too hot for the dogs in the barn and so the next part of the session was to be done outside, in a sectioned off corner of a nearby field.

  Everyone agreed that the fresh air was exhilarating after the stuffy, smelly barn and so it was with renewed enthusiasm, that we lined up to set about the Sit
and Stay exercise. The dog was to be pressed down gently on its hindquarters into a sitting position with the command Sit. This was to be accompanied by a ‘forefinger in the air’ hand signal. That accomplished, the owner was then to face their dog and walk one step backwards while simultaneously commanding the dog to Stay. The Stay command was to be accompanied by a ‘flat of the hand’ signal. If the dogs responded positively it was to be praised and given a treat. Two steps backwards and still all was going swimmingly. I couldn’t believe my luck. Millie was obviously still, either in rapturous awe of Sue or else she was just enjoying the treats. But then, when we were to turn from the dogs while still giving the Stay command, Millie took off. Perhaps she had just become bored, having a miniscule boredom threshold, or perhaps she felt, as I’d turned my back on her and without the restrictions of the lead, she could do as she pleased. In any event, she ran to the privet hedge which sectioned the exercise plot and crawled through it, completely ignoring my ‘flat of the hand’ signals and yells of Stay. She was now in the main part of the field.

  I’ve tried to blot this next bit from my memory, but it comes back to haunt me. I can see Millie in a corner of the field, in pounce position waiting for me to get to almost touching distance before she bolted. This went on with Millie running from corner to corner of the field and me chasing after her until I was too exhausted to try to get her back. Sue strode over while the other owners observed. She tried all of her ‘extensive experience’ to get Millie to come to her but Millie thought she’d just come to join the fun and so became even more excited. Sue shrugged, shook her head resignedly, said at least the field was securely fenced and with a few hard thwacks on the thigh, strode off

  I tried persuasion; Mill-ie, come, Mill-ie, treat, until it became GET.HERE.NOW. It was becoming dusk. I saw the last of the owner’s cars drive off. Steam was now coming from Millie who was a crouched heap in a far corner of the field.

  I gave up, admitted defeat. Exhausted, I sat in the field in a foetal position and closed my eyes. All I wanted to do was to grab the stupid dog, beat a hasty retreat, go home and file the episode in the ‘things never to be repeated’ folder. I mean I had never, ever expressed any desire to have a dog. This dog had been George’s silly idea. I mean he wasn’t vindictive so what had possessed him to do it? If he’d given the kids a cat or a rabbit it would have been a lot less bother and I wouldn’t now be sitting in a muddy field, a figure of fun, too exhausted to move, wishing the dog would run away and never come back.

  But then I heard panting. It was coming closer. I didn’t move. Then she was nudging my arm, I still didn’t move. She nuzzled my neck, I didn’t respond. She began to whimper, but I wasn’t falling for it. I had a feeling that she would still bolt if I made a move. Probably thinking I was dead, she crawled limply under the arch of my legs where she lay, a steaming, sweaty, tongue-lolling, worn-out heap. I sensed the shadow of a figure standing over us. I opened my eyes and looked up. It was Sue. She wondered if I wanted my name down for next week’s session? I silently shook my head and with a nod of agreement and a thwhack of the thigh, she walked away saying, “You know where the gate is when you’re ready to leave.”

  “Crickey Mam! Look at the state of you! I thought you were taking Millie to be trained!” said Lucy, incredulously.

  “What sort of training was that!?” Josh wanted to know. “You look as if you’ve been combat training with the SAS or something. And where’s Millie?”

  “She’s in the garage, cooling off till I get round to rubbing her down. When I’ve been showered and changed, I’ll tell you all about it?” I said, wearily.

  Training the dog is still on my ‘goals to be achieved’ list.

  11

  STRANGE ENCOUNTERS OF THE CANINE KIND

  ‘Smile and the world smiles with you’. This is to be my motto for today, because this is the first day of the rest of my life. It’s Monday morning, back to school, back to work and back to normal.

  Josh was complaining because he couldn’t find one of his school shoes and that was before he’d even looked in the dog basket. Lucy was screeching blue murder in her bedroom because most of the cover of her Spanish exercise book had disappeared. The bit that was left was blue with the texture of blotting paper.

  “If the book had been put onto a shelf or zipped into your schoolbag, Lucy, the dog would not have been able to get at it, so if it’s in shreds it’s your own fault for leaving it where the dog could get at it,” I said, all calm and smiley.

  “That’s like so not fair,” she said, “Mr Bosanka will kill me.”

  “I very much doubt that, Lucy.” I smiled benignly.

  “I’m not scared of old Bosanka,” said, Josh, “me and my mates call him Bosanka the Wa…”

  “Do not go there, Josh,” I threatened, smilingly. “Now, if the two of you don’t get a move on, the bus will go without you.”

  “Why are you smiling like that, Mam? It’s freaking me out,” said Lucy. I tweaked her nose playfully while ushering them out of the door still munching toast and shoving stuff into their bags. Then, humming a merry tune, I followed behind them to the car, to start my day in the office.

  As I opened the gates to the drive, a petite, Posh Becks look-a-like, looking as though a puff of steam could knock her out, came round the corner on the opposite side of the road, walking her dog. Walking actually being a euphemism for Posh gripping the lead with both hands in a frantic attempt to stop the dog from breaking into the run which would be guaranteed to pull her off her feet. The dog, a huge brute of a thing, was later identified to me as a Rottweiler.

  I gave Posh a good morning smile, although with sunglasses the size of bin lids covering most of her face and concentrating on trying to keep her feet on the ground, I couldn’t tell if she saw me. However, it soon became apparent that the dog had.

  Having opened the gates I turned to walk back to the car when my legs were suddenly buckled by something like the force of a cannonball. It dragged with it, the stumbling, screeching and totally ineffectual Posh as it proceeded to grip my waist with its huge paws, pinning me to the car bonnet, whereupon seven stones of heaving, drooling and panting dog began thrusting at me from behind. It was probably this that wiped the smile from my face.

  Posh continued to screech and, with her sunglasses and baseball cap flying off in different directions, she tried, but without any success whatsoever, to pull the dog off me. I struggled to breathe under its weight, but managed to push its enormous paws away from me as a man passer-by, grabbed the lead from Posh and tugged until the dog lost its grip and gave up.

  Posh apologised profusely. She just didn’t know what had come over Jeremy. Of course there was no doubting what had come over me – bloody Jeremy.

  By this time, an audience out collecting their morning newspapers and mother’s with pushchairs had gathered around my gate. I heard a man’s voice sniggering and saying to whoever was listening, “That lends a whole new meaning to that dogging carry-on that does.”

  And how they all laughed.

  Straightening myself up and wriggling my skirt down to where it had started out and with as much dignity as I could manage, I walked back to my front door, fumbled with the key in the lock, opened it and went in. Once inside I fell back against the closed door, took some deep breaths then wobbled my way into the kitchen. Flopping into a chair, then toppling out of it again, because Millie had been at one of the legs, I wondered what on earth had made that dog do that. I mean I wouldn’t mind being pounced on by, say, Daniel Craig or Ewan McGregor or even Ade from the hairdressers would do at a push, but a dog! That’s really sad, even by my standards.

  I needed some time to pull myself together, to get changed, wash the dog drool out of my hair. I was already late for work. I had to ring Ian. It was beyond the realms of possibility to expect him to believe that I had been sexually assaulted by a Rottweiler, so I’d tell h
im the car wouldn’t start.

  “Ian, I’m sorry but I have to wait for the AA, I can’t get the car to start.”

  “For Christ’s bloody sake, Jo, we have a disciplinary at ten o clock.”

  “I know, Ian, sor-ree.”

  “Have you heard of buses, Jo? Big red things on wheels. You get on, pay your fare to some miserable sod with a shite attitude, take a seat then get off. Comprehendo, Jo?

  I wanted to say, “Red! That’s soh yesterday,” instead I said, “Yes, Ian, I’ll get there ASAP.”

  “Friggin’ great. I’ll have to tell Shaun friggin’ Elliott we can’t do his lateness disciplinary, cos the human resources assistant is friggin’ late. Well done, Jo.”

  I put the phone down. I might report him, he shouldn’t speak to me like that. Smiling! I just wanted to cry.

  I was still feeling sorry for myself when the door opened and my children walked in. Lucy was floppy and red-eyed and Josh had his arm stretched up and over her shoulder, protectively, but he was too short and Lucy was too tall and the gesture just didn’t work.

  Self pity disappeared quicker than Gary Glitter from Top of the Pops. I jumped up and along with Josh, helped the collapsing Lucy into one of the non-collapsing chairs. What on earth was going on? Why was Lucy in this state? Why weren’t they on the bus and on their way to school?

  Call it a mother’s intuition, but a quick glance at Josh was all it took for me to realise that Josh’s brotherly concern was thinly disguising a smidgen of repressed glee which also meant that whatever had happened to Lucy, it probably wasn’t exactly life threatening.

  Trying desperately to keep the excitement from his voice, Josh did the explaining. He said while they were waiting for the school bus, a little brown dog, out on its own, had grabbed Lucy’s leg with its paws and sexed it. Josh said while the dog was sexing Lucy’s leg it had got its willie out and he had actually seen it. He said he’d never seen a dog’s willie before; it was a little pink thing.