og moves in a mysterious way

It all started around the end of last year. Although having already made what was going to be our ‘very last move’ (where have I heard that before?) we decided that what we really needed was MORE SPACE - both for us and, of course, the dog. In January we found what we wanted, sold our house, and began to pack. Tessa found the sale procedure very unsettling to start with, however she soon became quite adept at guiding people round the house and making sure that they did not wander off on their own - some of them found this quite daunting, (she is about sixty-three kilos now - ten stone if you still think like I do) but she was, after all, only doing her job as she saw it. By the middle of August we were still waiting for our new house to be vacated despite several deadlines, and finally our very patient buyers issued an ultimatum - move out or lose the sale. So at the end of the month we went into a rented house, and told the other lot to forget it. We ended up only having a few days to sort out somewhere to go, so we were kind of limited, especially with having Tessa. Furnished places in general don’t allow pets we discovered, in particular large hairy dogs, also, most landlords want a six months’ minimum lease - we had actually found another bungalow and only needed to wait for the legalities to go through.

Our ‘holiday house’, as the kids euphemistically dubbed it, turned out to be fairly horrendous; grubby and unfurnished. The first job was to put Tessa’s new temporary collar disc on, and make sure the garden was ‘dog proof’ - how we take these things for granted! There was a wall down one side, and thick privet hedges down the other. We watched her examine the possibilities of escape, and blocked off the obvious weak areas, since she has never been a dog to push through small spaces (she even barks for assistance if the back door is only half open). For two days all was well. Then, one evening, there was a knock at the door, there stood a strange lady who smilingly enquired if we had lost our dog. She had seen it emerge from under the hedge, cross her garden (she lived next door) and set off down the street. With a muted shriek I flew out of the front door and shot off in hot pursuit of the runaway. She was in the process of inviting herself to dinner with the people three doors down - they said it was all right, they liked dogs, but I’m sure I noticed a sigh of relief as I carted her away. We let her straight out into the garden again and she strode purposefully towards a small, Yorkshire Terrier-sized gap and, squeezing her eyes tight shut to avoid the twigs and thorns, puffed and panted till she had forced her way into next door’s garden and freedom once more. The fugitive was immediately recaptured and placed in close confinement until the next morning when, in wind and pouring rain, (what else?) we carefully fastened the rolls of wire that had protected the plants in the flower borders at our previous house along the bottoms of the hedges. This, as you may imagine, did not go down well. Our home-loving pooch, who had never so much as looked at an opening to freedom before, spent most of the next few days mooching along the borders examining minute spaces for possible escape routes - tough luck kid, we’ve been tested by the best!

In general we tried to keep to our usual routine, to make things as easy as possible for our girl. Since being little she has always had her morning milk in a yellow plastic bowl, you know the kind. One of her puppy tricks was to bring it into the lounge and dump it in front of us when she wanted some grub. She hadn't done that for some time, so you can imagine how amused we were when, one day shortly after we had moved to our temporary residence, she trotted in and sat next to John with it in her mouth. But when she didn't put it down, we looked closer and found that she couldn't. There is a half-moon shaped hole in the rim of this kind of bowl to help your grip, it had done that all right. Her lower jaw had gone through it as she had pushed to pick it up, and it had lodged firmly behind her bottom canines....unbudgeable, immovable. She had been pulling and pushing to try to remove it, and the sharp edges of the hole had cut into her gums behind her teeth. Finally, she had done what any sensible dog would do, and come to Mum and Dad for help. Luckily she is a very placid animal, and sat quietly while we got a pair of wire cutters and chopped the bottom of the rim right away, releasing her, and ensuring that it can never happen again. All owners of dogs that grow large take note, we have always tried to be so careful, but this accident was one which we had never anticipated, and luckily we were there to deal with it relatively quickly.

The ‘holiday house’ may have been unfurnished, but it certainly was not unoccupied. Within days we were all being eaten alive - by fleas. They were everywhere, and the poor dog was smitten for the first time in her life, she was not amused. ‘The Exterminator’ was sent for, and we foisted ourselves on relatives for the day while he did his ‘thing’. Unfortunately we were unable to do anything about the garden....it was dirty. Now I know this is a characteristic of gardens, but this one was DIRTY, I can’t really explain it any other way. Tessa’s white bits got greyer and greyer, so did her black and tan bits, come to that, and it was with great relief that, six weeks later, we moved into our new abode.

One of the first jobs was to bath the dog. I don’t know how you do it, but we have only once tried to lift a protesting Bernese into the bath - we managed it in the end, but it was a Titanic-flavoured disaster, everyone and everything became involved in the operation. I also found out just how far water can be spread - surely information such as that must be of some use to Science. Now it is done on a fine day, in the garden. Several large buckets of lukewarm water are assembled, a plastic jug for wetting, another for shampooing. Attired in old clothes we remove our shoes and socks, dog is grabbed and anchored, and we begin. It is a moot point as to who gets the wettest, but by the time all the water has been used up we usually have a clean dog, and very clean feet.

Tessa did not really enjoy the move, she was nervy and jumpy for weeks afterwards, and who can blame her? Three houses in as many months. If it is stressful to us, who understand what is going on, more or less, how much more so must it be to an animal who sees every familiar thing disappear to be replaced by strange noises and smells? I am glad to report, however, that she is now well settled in her new home. She has a nice large mature (dog proof) garden to defend from next door’s cat; the Park is only across the road, and lying by the side gate she can monitor those using it. She has her regular ‘wavers’ and ‘hello, Tessas’ who pass the gates, and has developed a burning ambition to catch herself a duck from the pond - they, I may add, have other ideas! She has found herself a favourite place to rest, and has lately begun to prune some of the larger bushes for us.

At four years old she is a real gentle giant, our grandchildren play with her, climb on her, and curl up on the floor and nap with her, she allows it all with patient resignation. Long may it last.

December 1999

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