'Stick To Road Lads' Acrylic on canvas board 16 by 16"
This is the fifth in my ‘Strange and Sometimes Troubled Memories’ series
On the run-down estate where I grew up, dishevelled dogs would roam, unaccompanied, sometimes in small packs, mooching about the dystopian landscape.
I was scared of these semi-wild animals. Some would mostly leave me alone, sniffing around at a distance. I’d keep my eye on them, like a safari ranger, staying alert to the threat of danger, spotting movement in my peripheral vision, making sure nothing was getting too close. Other more notorious ones seemed to me like they had a taste for blood. They’d sense my fear at two hundred yards, lower their head and make a direct dash towards me. I’d have to quickly calculate the shortest route to safety. These strays trained me up to be a very fast runner and a nimble climber of fences, trees, and walls.
Being chased was a daily occurrence, a stalking mutt would telegraph an imminent charge and send my legs into a spin. My heart would drum against my chest as I heard the scrambling gallop and rasping breath behind me and feel a snap of air, just before I jumped and climbed out of reach.
I’d been attacked on occasion, not badly, but it was enough to instil in me, an unhealthy fear deep inside, that would follow me through to my adult life. It was worse at night, when I was a bit older, walking home alone, or gliding along the pavement on my skateboard, a shocking snarl, a sharp rise in terror induced adrenaline, as glistening eyes and salivary teeth shot out of the darkness, so unexpected and jolting, I’d scale a wall in a matter of seconds and watch the thing bouncing and barking below me, in unnecessary rage. I’d have to wait until it lost interest and wandered off so I could continue my journey.
One time, my mum had sent my older brother and I to the shop to get some milk, she said we could have 10p each out of the change to get penny sweets, my brother said ‘Ooh, thanks, don’t spend all your money at once,’ and I felt bad for her.
Picking out the sweets was a lovely thing, eyeing the little clear containers, filled to the brim with pastel coloured sugary treats, pointing through the glass and watching the pale, chalky, old man in a smart tan overcoat place my choices into a little white paper bag.
My 10p selection would consist of two white-chocolate mice, a chocolate saw (2p), a fizzy cola bottle, a fizzy dummy, a set of powdery chewy teeth (also 2p) and two aniseed balls, chosen for longevity. Some of the fizz would rub off the sour sweets and onto the chocolate and create a blissful taste combination. The shop keeper would hold the corners of the paper bag and spin it before handing it to me, I’d later see the same thing done by bakery staff when I was buying a half chocolate covered rice crispy treat or an iced bun, and that deft, paper bag spin, not only impressed me but gave me comfort.
Once outside the shop I’d open the crumpled bag, smell inside and then take the powdery teeth out, wedging them against my own, and make a suitable dopey sound whilst baring them at whoever was with me, it had to be done, (ok... I still do that now to this day, even though I’m pushing fifty.) The sweet flavour would dribble into my mouth and resisting the urge to chew them became futile. I’d wrap the bag back up and save the rest for later.
On the way back from the shop I was lagging behind, my restraint hadn’t lasted long, and I was peaking into the bag again, trying to tease out a white mouse from the bottom, holding the bag up to get a better look.
The most infamous dog on the whole estate, who it was rumoured had made a man throw up in fear, darted out of nowhere. He pounced on me like a lion and took me down, my bag of sweets fell from my hand. I had my arms stretched out holding him back by his furry matted chest as his snarling mouth was inches from my face like some kind of hairy Xenomorph.
My brother had heard my screams and without a thought for his own safety, sprinted over and with a force made greater by his run, he kicked the beast up its butt so hard it lifted into the air. I scrambled up, grabbing my bag of sweets and saw my brother running in a zig-zag line to escape the dog which had now made him the primary target. He evaded the capture by jumping up to grab the rim of a fence and pulled himself over the top. I ran to our garden blubbing all the way, then saw my brother make his way down the street, a ‘Manic Miner’ using walls and fences as platforms to bounce along. My sobbing turned into a wail when I realised my bag of sweets were missing the two aniseed balls, my brother brushed the grass off my back and said everything would be alright.
This wouldn’t be the last time he saved me, years later He helped me escape my unfortunate life in Bradford and move on to better things in London.
As I child I loved all animals with the exception of frightening dogs.
There was one pooch on the estate which was a large, wiry, Greyhound which stood taller than me. I’d once seen it trotting over and I froze in fear, but my younger sister said ‘Don’t worry, he’s a nice one.’ He came over and let us softly stoke his head and back and I saw gentleness in his lovely eyes. He became a welcome sight and I named him the BFG (big, friendly, greyhound.)
At one point I wanted to be a vet, (like a lot of children do,) along with archaeologist, film star, stunt man, rock star and artist. My mum would tell me that animals were horrible things, and dirty, and so were the houses of people who kept them, she gradually instilled in me an insidious prejudice where there was none before.
It was only when I met my first serious girlfriend and found her house full of cats that my mind began to change. I realised I loved spending my time with these funny, furry little creatures, each with their own unique personality, and I felt duped by my mum’s propaganda. The lingering fear of dogs still controlled me though.
I never thought I would grow to like dogs, it was unthinkable that I’d ever have one as a pet until I met my dog loving partner, Bella. She’d adored dogs all her life but had never been in a position to home one. Our living situation had become more stable and she wanted to make her dream into a reality. It was time to get over my fear.
When I need to learn something, I tend to go all in, and obsessively read as many books on the subject as I can. I started with the more established classic dog behaviour books, then through the use of the internet, my trusty back up learning system, I realised a lot of older methods of training were out-dated and cruel. I adjusted my approach and read every positive training book I could get my paws on. These have more modern, kinder views on dog behaviour and teach you how to deal with them in positive ways to create happier furry friends.
I learnt everything I could, from reading books and silently observing positive dog-training internet forums. I became quite the canine expert, my new understanding of these beautiful creatures, put confidence and calmness in the place of fear.
I realised there were no bad dogs, only bad owners, arseholes who mistreat them and make them react out of fear, their defensiveness is then interpreted as aggression, or sometimes does turn into aggression, but the poor things, essentially only wanted love and care... humans suck.
The love for animals I had as a child before my mum tainted my views was now fully restored. When we lost our first beloved rescue pet, Normie, the best cat that had ever walked the earth, I fully grieved for the first time in my life, despite having already lost both my grandparents, my dad and a couple of friends. When that little creature was taken from us, it broke our hearts. We could barely function.
While Norm was still with us, we started looking for an interspecies sibling for him in the form an orphan dog in need of a home.
Through some twists and turns of fate, a sister was found. When we looked at the little sad pictures of this poor dog being coaxed out of a cage with a treat on a dog rescue site and I saw the caption ‘Nora’ I knew she was the one. ‘Nora and Normie’ sounded nice in my head.
We weren’t very experienced with rescuing dogs at the time and went with an inexperienced small charity. We had to pick Nora up from a kennels a hundred miles away where she’d been temporarily homed.
She didn’t resemble the slight puppy in the picture, she was much larger, but also much cuter.
Her body was the colour of an Alsatian, except for a fluffy blonde chest, she had the facial markings of a husky, disproportionally large ears and the body shape of a corgi, with tiny legs and big paws which emitted a scent of baked biscuits, although when we picked her up she smelt like she’d never had a bath. I remember holding her for the first time on the day we met and was instantly bonded beyond belief.
We didn’t realise at the time that she’d come all the way from Romania after being rescued from a brutal kill shelter. She’d spent a week travelling in the back of a van with a number of other survivor dogs.
She’d been described by the rescue as calm, gentle and loving, she was in fact, shut down, scared and untrustworthy of people.
Luckily, we’d read up on rescuing dogs too.
We gave her all the time she needed so adjust to her new home, but she was so scared at first, she’d just tremble in fear and stand oddly with her front legs crossed, I’d have to carry her outside into the back garden to go to the toilet. She was thankful of a crate we put in the corner, containing a dog bed and with a cover over three sides to give her a sanctuary, she spent a lot of recovery time snoozing in there and would only come out for food. She was emitting a pungent odour though, we had to bathe her, I stood in the tub and held her, shoving high value treats in her mouth while Bella shampooed and rinsed her. She smelt so good after that accumulated dirt and fear, had been washed away. I’ll never forget her scent; it filled my heart with love.
Eventually she learnt to trust us and would lay outside of her crate on a fluffy rug, only breaking her sleep to eat or go for slow walks with us around the block and sometimes, around the meadows a short drive away, where there was plenty of space. She was a calm little dog and became very loving towards us.
She eventually trusted us enough to spend her nap times sleeping between us on the sofa, Normie our cat would badger her because he wanted to share her warmth, she’d often tell him off.
We never rushed her and let her become accustomed to us in her own time, she eventually came our of her furry shell and was engrained in our small family unit (Bella, Jack, Normie and Nora). She would sleep on my legs every evening on the sofa, looking up every so often for a belly rub.
One of the most beautiful and pleasing days of my life was when we came home and found Nora and Normie cuddled up together, sleeping on the sofa. She’d finally accepted him too, and from then on, they would always go out into the garden together and snooze in the dappled light under a golden acer.
Her new found confidence came with its own problems. Now that she wasn’t shut down and saw us as her family, she became even more angry at the outside world and didn’t like people or other dogs to come anywhere near us.
People would approach us, magnetised by her beauty and say something like ‘oh my god, look at her, can I say hello?’
We’d say, ‘Sorry, she’s had a bit of a hard life, she doesn’t like people coming up to her.’
They’d ignore our words and say ‘It’s ok’ and go down to stroke her. She’d go into a rage and make the sound of a crazed beast much bigger than her cute little body would suggest, completely startling them, some would fall over backwards, some would scream.
Even when we got her a little high-vis jacket that had the words ‘I NEED SPACE’ printed on, people would still approach her. If a dog came within 10 metres of us, she’d go ballistic.
We then learned everything we could about reactive dogs.
More than one acquaintance said something along the lines of ‘I’d get rid if I were you’ as if we’d just give up on her. I instantly disliked and lost respect for anyone who made such remarks
A lot of pre-emptive manoeuvres were needed from then on, when out walking to minimise the chance of unwanted meetings, moving through spaces with military precision to avoid contact, something I was used to doing for myself. She’d get treats if she looked at us instead of going into a rage when a person or dog came within a certain radius. We met a great pair of positive dog trainers, who knew about this stuff, and were also dog walkers, they worked with us to help her to trust the world again.
Over time she got better and would walk happily with groups of other dogs with the walkers twice a week, we would go along too sometimes and be so proud of her progress. She learnt tolerate people too but she preferred to be left along, we really were alike. She’d still kick off sometimes but everything was now manageable.
The first time we took her to the beach, her whole demeanour changed and she became the calmest happiest dog in the world. She meandered through the soft golden sand dunes with us with sunshine on her smiley face. She even ignored other dogs and people, that is, until on the way back to the car, she took a dislike to a lovely looking long haired, Dachshund and steamrollered it. Luckily the owners were understanding and we learnt a lesson to keep more of an eye out for her signals of displeasure.
As soon as Normie, our cat passed away, she took his place sleeping on our bed, like she knew the empty space needed filling, up until that point, we’d say our goodnights to her and she’d sleep on the sofa. She struggled because of her little legs to get on the bed, so we sawed the legs off it, and to this day we have a low-level sleeping arrangement.
I could write a huge amount about all our pets, the only reason I’ve been slight with my mention of Norm, is because my other half Bella has written a whole book about him, she is close to finishing it so I wouldn’t step on her toes.
I could write endlessly about Nora too, but I’m pleased to say she along with our last dog Oma, will also be the subjects of upcoming books by my better half.
Nora left us as suddenly as Normie had. It’s so wonderful that we get to spend our times with these beautiful creatures. They enrich and enliven our experiences, but it’s so brutal when they are taken away.
Oma came next. She was our third pet and second dog. We took her on as an elderly rescue at 11 years old. It said on her information that she was a calm, inactive dog that needed a retirement home to rest and live out her days on a comfy sofa.
She reverse aged within a week of arriving with us, and behaved like a bouncy puppy. She would sprint between us on our morning walks and was a happy old girl, so full of life. Oma was like an emotional support dog and came with us to keep me calm on my first private views for exhibitions I’d got into. She loved people and would make friends everywhere she went with us.
She was mainly black with a soft white chest and a salt and pepper smiley face. She had long thin gangly legs which looked even longer to us because our eyes were so accustomed to Nora’s stout frame, she danced around like a massive, deranged spider.
Again, I could write about her all day, she was so cute, affectionate and a little bit crazy. Unlike Nora, she didn’t need any time settling in and on our first day at home, she fell asleep between us on the sofa, laid on her back with her paws in the air, whilst we rubbed her belly.
Oma was taken from us suddenly and awfully, two weeks ago. She was with us only two years and eight months but seemed like a much bigger chunk of our life, we crammed a lot of happy times in.
Each day is a struggle to get through since she left us, I can’t concentrate on painting and my energy levels are zapped. Bella and I get each other through it somehow, and it will get more bearable over time, we’ll never stop missing her though, just as we never stopped missing Normie and Nora.
Our house is now empty. The pain of losing Oma, melds with the grief which still sits in our bellies from the loss of her siblings. Each of their last days play over and over in a loop in my mind sometimes and I have to steer my thoughts to the good times we had instead.
Soon we will welcome a new dog into our lives, even as we are grieving, we have to be practical, because as much as it hurts losing them, these pets mean more to us than anything, they turn our empty house a loving home.
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