Handbags and Poobags: Tales of a Soho Boxer Dog (6 page)

Chapter 11: THE PRESSING OF FLESH

Buoyed up by Basil’s new found social skills and the fact we had been cooped up inside with him for so long we felt that a trip away was in order.  We decided on Brighton as the place for Basil’s grand unveiling to the public, we have always loved it, we have great friends who live there and the best hotel on the seafront – The Grand – allows dogs to stay!  I imagine as a throwback to the days when wealthy socialite ladies used to carry round Pekes and Pugs during their annual jaunt to the coast?

Armed with numerous toys and treats (in fact his weekend away bag was bigger than mine) we headed off for the seaside. As this was to be Basil’s first stay in a hotel he had a brush and a bath and his collar was cleaned, and after an exciting drive full of ocean smells we arrived at the hotel. The staff were (and still are) amazing and welcomed Basil as they would a treasured guest, although we knew it helped that he looked like the cutest puppy on earth.  Sadly to mark the occasion Basil walked onto the reception carpet and promptly weed, I started to remonstrate loudly about his little indiscretion but Patrick with a furious, quietening look at me just pulled him smartly to the lift and no more was said or done. Sorry to everyone at The Grand Hotel.

A walk was in order, and after settling into our sumptuous room (complete with ‘
Caution: Dog in Room’
sign), the three of us set out onto the promenade.  Nothing could have prepared us for the commotion he caused! As debuts go this one was a veritable sensation.  Enlivened by the Summer sun and general holiday bonhomie in the air everyone was prepared to be ‘wowed’ by the gorgeous, tiny, silky puppy taking faltering steps along the seafront.  We seemed to create a kind of avalanche of reactions, crowds started to gather and as people realised something was going on they started staring, making a beeline for us and shouting out to friends to come and look. 

At one point we had a queue of people waiting to meet him, all eyes shining with tears or love or glee! It was amazing and totally took us by surprise.  We listened to everyone’s stories of how they had lost their own dog, or were desperate to get their own puppy or just those who wanted to express their joy at seeing him today. We magnanimously allowed gentle taps and strokes as we held him in our arms, we made sure the smaller kids at the back got through for a chance to say hi to him, we encouraged old folks not to be shy and come over as they hovered anxiously nearby. It was honestly like fielding a celebrity through the crowds, and gave us the same kind of kudos that day on the beach. (But I get it, I feel the same about puppies today, let me at them!)

As we bumped along the front we couldn’t get more than two or three steps without another eager approach or a cheery wave and a shout of ‘
Gorgeous Puppy’
. It was also my first experience of ‘
Look, it’s a little Charlie’
, this is something that happens still, owners of other Boxer dogs will see yours and give it their dog’s name! It’s a fun thing to do as it puts you all in that little ‘My Breed Too’ club and I always look at other slim, brindle Boxers now and say ‘
Look, he’s like our Basil’
.

Eventually we had to get Basil back to the hotel – it was a lot for a small pup to take in and we didn’t want to keep him out too long. We had to start turning people away, explaining he had had enough for one day, and hurried back to our sanctuary. 

That evening we took Basil round to our friends’ house for dinner and a lovely evening was had by all – a bit too lovely and we all got a bit drunk.  So when we got back to the hotel I insisted we stay up and take Basil to the bar for another drink. Sadly the bar is one place they don’t allow dogs, but after a bit of a discussion with staff a compromise was reached that allowed us to sit on the very edge of the bar with Basil lying on the reception carpet next to us. Having a dog wasn’t going to stop me carrying on enjoying the evening!

Hungover the next morning we decided to go down for breakfast – if you have a hangover the breakfast at The Grand is not to be missed, and we had forgotten the night before to order breakfast in bed. Still tired from greeting his public the day before Basil continued to snooze in the warm, cosy room, so leaving him with a teddy and a treat we went downstairs to gratefully feast on a full English.

Making our way back upstairs a little bit later, fuller and happier, we heard an odd noise on coming out of the lift onto our floor. A kind of low, plaintive, stuttering note that flooded the spacious landing with rising and falling tones. It took us both a heartbeat to realise it was Basil – and he was howling! It was the first time we had heard it. We both literally flew round the corners and down the corridors to get to him – we actually broke into a run both feeling frantically for the room key shouting ‘
we’re coming baby’
and ‘
mummy and daddy are here darling’
– I swear that corridor got longer and longer the nearer we got to the room so desperate were we to get to him.

Throwing open the door we fell upon the poor howling pup, obviously scared and lonely in the hotel room without us. We felt terrible! Even the fact we had smuggled up some delicious sausages from downstairs for him didn’t make us feel any better – even though he soon cheered up at the sight of them. 

That dreadful sound is not one we hear often thankfully, but if me and my husband  want to upset ourselves or each other now we replicate the howling young Basil as it still has the power today to make us feel sad and terrible.

The weekend continued happily despite that breakfast hiccup and Basil got to spend a little bit of time running on the beach and dabbling in the surf. His terror of being left alone in an unfamiliar hotel room was nearly usurped by his terror of moving water as he greeted the sea for the first time, but he soon got used to it. 

Chapter 12: THE BRIGHT LIGHTS OF THE CITY

Working and going out in Soho with a good looking young dog gets you noticed and Basil soon started becoming a bit of a local figure, in fact he very soon took to his urbane lifestyle and became a proper town dog. 

Every morning I would pop into the newsagent opposite my office for my daily 20 Silk Cut, and if Basil wasn’t with me they always asked after him. We would then walk past my favourite local restaurant Balans, where I had (and still do) a very good relationship with the friendly, handsome staff. If my favourite waiter was standing outside having his morning cigarette we would always stop and chat and he usually had a sausage in his apron for Basil. If I was popping in for lunch (which I usually did) then he would let me know what meat was on the menu so they could put a couple of bones by for me to take home. 

For obvious reasons Basil came to love this man and soon he began jumping up at anyone standing outside the restaurant because he knew this was where his sausage and bone supply was coming from. Sometimes it was just innocent diners popping out for a fag. It took a bit of time to explain what was going on and no they weren’t expected to provide him with any meaty products.  Actually Basil was happy to jump up and shake hands with anyone we stopped to chat with, I never had the heart to mention the Pee Paws – these were usually professionals working in the food industry!

I had to take him out for little walks in the day especially while training him in the art of going to the toilet outside. Opposite my office there was a well-tended garden which is actually a small churchyard. We often used to go in there for a run around with a ball and to wait for an age while Basil deliberated whether or not to have a wee or a poo. One beautiful morning he decided to go for a roll around in some newly planted flowers, before I could get to him the garden-keeper came flying out of his little shed and gave the bewildered Basil a good ticking off before giving me one too. His barely grown blooms were crushed and so were we.

This little city garden was also a regular walking ground for Soho’s other canine residents, including the naughty pug who insisted on trying to debag Basil on sight (despite being a quarter of his size) and the two terriers who faithfully followed their flamboyant owner around with all three noses in the air, studiously ignoring us.  Even their poo looked like little pearls.

We used to throw a little ball against the tomb of William Hazlitt, a long dead local writer and radical, until we were put off, not by the garden keeper this time but by the barking that was coming from across the road.  It seemed that every time we indulged in a bit of ball play against the mausoleum another dog was aggrieved. I eventually managed to track the source and spied in a high up window surveying the whole of Soho a huge Boxer bitch looking intently in our direction and bellowing if I so much as took the ball out of my pocket.  Maybe Hazlitt had a Boxer dog in his lifetime and here we had a living canine guardian protecting his grave today?

Sometimes in the evening the temptation of a few drinks and a bit of company was too strong to ignore. I didn’t turn down every invitation and sometimes had to trail around Soho looking for a spot we could go with Basil. Central London isn’t very accommodating when it comes to drinking and dining with dogs so we were always at a bit of a loss if it wasn’t warm enough to sit outside.  Naughtily sometimes we ignored the No-Dog rule and often stowed Basil under a table or a bar stool so he could slumber or eat a few crisps whilst hiding from the staff. But we were often chucked out. You could still smoke indoors in those days and he often came home smelling of fags, poor chap.

This was me still trying to fit my new dog into my old life and it probably wasn’t the most responsible behaviour. But Basil always seemed unperturbed at being in a loud, busy pub or standing in a rainy street whilst trying to hail that elusive empty black cab (and one that takes dogs).  This did become a bit of a problem trying to get home after a few drinks in Soho. If you think acting in a drunken manner will put off potential cab drivers then standing hopefully on the corner with a dog will certainly do so. I’ve been turned down so many times because I had Basil with me I took to hiding him behind my legs and shopping bags, only revealing him at the last minute as I’d bundle him up into the back of the car. Once a driver turned round to spot Basil being surreptitiously pushed into his taxi and he swore and shoo-ed us out.  As he sped off leaving us by the side of road I shouted out ‘
you’re lucky, normally I’d be throwing up in the back of your cab, not just leaving a few dog hairs behind’
. Terrible behaviour, the poor guy could have had an allergy!

The cab drivers that did stop for us were usually dog lovers themselves so we’d end up having chats about our pooches on the journey home. Sometimes Basil would get on the seat and look out of the window much to the amusement of cars we’d pull up next to at the lights.

But waiting for a cab is always more preferable than trying to take a dog on a late night drunken London bus and I just wouldn’t do it. Not for my own safety – I’ve been mugged, propositioned, insulted, pushed over and asked for a fight on the No29 and I’d still happily hop on it if I saw one trundling down the road – but for Basil’s. I probably wouldn’t be able to protect him from a group of scary chaps intent on taking him off me.

We decided to compile a list of pubs that allowed dogs and stick to it. This resulted in a fabulous find just 15 minutes’ walk from our home.  This was a friendly pub full of other dog owners and amazing staff who swoop on their canine clients as soon as you arrive with offers of treats and water bowls. It can take longer for a human to be served.  We spent many happy summer days sitting in the garden, drinking cava and watching Basil be petted by the bar staff.

Our local pub in Camden knows Basil really well! Because it was only three doors down from our home we would go there quite a lot so it was very easy for him to remember it. Often when we’d amble past on an innocent walk at any time of the day, he’d rush up to the door, jump up and look through the window, trying to get in. It’s rather embarrassing behaviour really as you don’t want everyone to assume you go to the pub so often that even the dog knows the way – even if it is true.

Chapter 13: THE COMING OF AGE

We know that Basil’s birthday is May 23
rd
from his Kennel Club certificate. As his first birthday started getting closer I decided that he should have a party. I always have a party and it seemed unfair for him not to. From my trawling of the internet to find dog-related websites I knew there was a farm in the Midlands that specialised in making unusual dog foods.  For a hefty fee they would be able to laser print a picture of your pooch in edible dye onto a birthday cake that could be eaten by humans and canines… seemed a great idea. They also provided other party comestibles such as fish flavoured ice-cream and dog biscuits that spelt out Happy Birthday.  I decided to get ordering.  The date was in the diary and I started issuing invitations to everyone who knew Basil and had a good response back. 

On the day Basil had a bath and brush in anticipation. It was to be held in the office at lunchtime and so I decorated it with balloons and party food.  The cake had safely arrived and looked amazing, the fish ice-cream was slightly smelly, there were presents wrapped up and more dog biscuits and treats laid out than Basil could eat in a week! I stopped the team working and made them come over to Basil’s birthday celebration area, Patrick and a few local friends arrived (those that couldn’t make it sent apologies, cards and presents) and a party was had. Of sorts. It’s kind of hard to toast the birthday boy when he can’t speak and doesn’t know what’s going on. Still he ran around a bit with his new ball, tried some cake and ice-cream, got thoroughly over excited and had his photo taken for the cake-farm’s website – just like any kid at his first birthday party I suppose. Everyone stood around with forced smiles on their faces, patting the dog and gingerly trying the human/dog hybrid food.

Eventually people started drifting back to their desks or left and despite me trying to declare the whole thing a resounding success, a lovely guy who works in my office, summed it up best by sitting down and muttering: ‘
let’s never speak of this again’
.  I believe you can still find the photos online somewhere.

Now for his birthday we usually make do with a new football, a steak and a couple of cards just between us in the family, although he does still receive a card from the office, even if having another party is just not mentioned.

A fun thing about having a dog is that for every single occasion you now get given dog-themed cards – birthdays, Christmas, Valentines etc – people always think they are the first to find that card for you with the picture of a girl in high-heels walking a dog. And Boxer dog faces do lend themselves well to cards that say disparaging things about age like ‘
A tad older…
?’ or ‘
It’s not so bad
!’

Patrick and I do send each other birthday and Christmas cards pretending to be from the dog – you can actually buy ones that say ‘
Happy Christmas from The Dog’!
They get more and more elaborate as the occasions go by, and for my last birthday poor Basil had his paws dipped in ink to press the print of them into my card.

But yes, Basil was growing up. Despite still acting like a puppy – and he has continued to do so his whole life, which is a definite Boxer trait – his fur had changed, it had grown from that unbelievably soft velvet into something a lot coarser.  He also no longer had that lolloping puppy gait that makes one so easily identifiable from just a small fully grown dog.  When viewed from far away I always think puppies look like they are just a bit fuzzy around the edges.

And his bark had changed. This is the equivalent of a boy’s voice dropping when he becomes a teen. After a few squeaks and starts his adorable yelp turned into a big dog bark. It’s quite surprising when it happens and all three of us got a shock when this deep woof came out of his mouth, we all looked round in surprise to see who had done it!  ‘
Our boy is growing up’
remarked Patrick. I felt a bit miserable about it. 

Now he could ‘talk’ properly Basil took to woofing as much as he could, he seemed to enjoy testing out his new found skill. Patrick or I would be sitting on the sofa and Basil would walk right up to us put his face as close as possible to ours and ‘Woof’ as loudly as he could. It was alarming and charming all at the same time. Thankfully this particular habit only lasted a few months and now he only woofs when someone comes to the door, which can be rather useful when you can’t hear the doorbell.

He also started indulging in a bit of what we call ‘gentleman’s time’ and licking his bits and bobs and being slightly more interested in what goes on down there. Like a real life teen. I hesitate to use the description ‘lipstick’ because I find it rather distasteful but you know what I am talking about? Sadly for Basil becoming sexually active was not to be in his future and we had him ‘done’. He still likes a bit of ‘gentleman’s time’ and without really knowing why he’ll come and stand over your foot when you have your legs crossed and hover there trying to get a rub from a toe or two! Bless him, all those natural instincts never to be used.

Basil sadly had been docked as a tiny puppy, this practise is all but illegal now and I have to say that I would have loved for him to have a big, waggy tail.  Poor Basil though, he has a tail that looks like a thick thumb hitching a lift, it twitches from side to side as fast as it can when he is happy. Sometimes it twitches just on hearing my voice, which I will always love him for. Because it is so small he has to wag his whole behind when he is especially excited. When you come home he will be wagging his back end so hard he usually ends up going round in a circle. He’ll also have a toy or sock in his mouth to welcome you through the door.

I do love approaching the house when Basil is indoors because he does the typical canine greeting of bouncing up and down as high as he can for you, ears flapping everywhere. As you are reaching around in your bag for your keys and looking through the glass you see: Dog. Nothing. Dog. Nothing. Dog. Nothing. Dog. Nothing. I sometimes stand outside longer than I need to because I enjoy the show so much.

So yes Basil was starting to do ‘adult dog things’ and he had grown up to be a gorgeous looking boy too – still eye-catching with his red and black stripes, he had also taken on the familiar Boxer mask like face with a distinctive white stripe down his nose. And of course, he’s got four white adorable socks and a snow-white bib. He has an open, eager face that always looks like he is smiling and he lollops around good naturedly.

Sadly he has rubbish teeth though, right from when he was a pup, his mouth is full of missing molars and cracked canines. But thankfully, he has never grown those long extended drooling chops, so pertinent to the breed, or put on a huge amount of weight. In fact he has a rather dainty figure that is often commented upon. He is certainly the slimmest member of my household. Despite our previous misgivings he happily hasn’t turned out like his short, fat mother or his large, lumbering father (that’s his canine parents by the way, not his human ones!)