Chapter Sixteen
As previously, Rachel took us into the area where dogs had been thoroughly vetted and deemed ready for rehoming.
As I approached Bess’s kennel, I was heartened to see her get out of her basket. She regarded me for a moment, eyes alight, and gently wagged her tail. My heart instantly swelled. Then, just like a switch being flicked, she jammed her tail between her legs and made to turn away.
‘It’s okay, girl,’ I crooned. Bess looked back at me. I gave her a reassuring smile. ‘I told you I’d be back, and I’ve kept my promise.’
‘Here you are,’ said Rachel, handing me a Halti and lead. ‘I’ll let you get Bess ready while I give Dylan a hand with Charlie.’
‘Thank you,’ I said.
As I took hold of the headcollar and leash, a cacophony of barking broke out. Charlie had spotted Dylan. The little mongrel had recognised him and was ecstatic that this particular visitor had returned.
From my viewpoint, I surreptitiously watched Dylan. He bent down and scratched Charlie’s muzzle, rubbed his ears, stroked his fingers along the brown-and-white spine, then gave the plumy tail a playful tweak. Lucky, lucky Charlie.
Would you like Dylan to do that to you, Maggie? asked my inner voice, slyly.
Don’t be absurd, I silently retorted.
I hunkered down, slipped the noseband over Bess’s muzzle, then fiddled with the headcollar’s strap.
You need to control your thoughts.
You’re the one that whispered in my ear, I replied indignantly.
Hmm. Fair comment. That reminds me. What’s the difference between a restriction and a line of dogs waiting for Dylan to stroke them?
What? God, I don’t know.
One’s a curfew. The other’s a fur queue. Ha ha!
Why are you burbling on about ridicul–?
Rachel was coming over. I pressed the pause button on my inner chatter.
‘How are you doing, Maggie?’ she asked.
‘Ready,’ I trilled, checking the Halti’s clip.
I stood up, knees creaking slightly, and gave Bess’s ears a gentle tweak. My goodness but they were big. Still, all the better to hear with. Hopefully. I wondered what Bess’s recall was like if ever off the lead.
I pushed open the kennel door and joined Rachel and Dylan.
‘Take as long as you like, guys,’ she said chummily. ‘I know you’ve both told me that you want to rehome these dogs, but this second walk is critical. I need to be convinced that you both want Bess and Charlie to spend the rest of their days with you. It’s a serious commitment.’
‘I know,’ I said.
Listen to what she’s saying, urged my inner voice. No more jetting off abroad at the drop of a hat.
I’ve never made a habit of jetting off anywhere, I responded irritably. And anyway – I added – haven’t you heard of kennels?
Do you really think Bess would enjoy being caged again while you sun yourself in the Med?
Then I’ll get a dog sitter – I silently answered – or, better still, holiday in England. That way I can take Bess with me.
‘Nothing is going to make me change my mind,’ said Dylan to Rachel. ‘Me and this boy will be buddies for ever.’
Rachel smiled.
‘Good to hear. Well, off you both go. Enjoy.’
‘Um’ – Dylan looked awkward for a moment – ‘is it okay with you, Rachel, if Maggie and I let the dogs off the lead for a stretch? We’re going to the woods again, so they won’t be near any roads.’
Rachel blew out her cheeks.
‘Ordinarily, I’d say no. However, between you and me, now and again I take some of our hyper inmates out across the fields so they can let off steam. Charlie is one of them. However, his recall isn’t great unless you have treats. Then he’s like an arrow. Let me grab a packet from our shop. Take them with you. Wave them about and Charlie will be as good as gold.’
Five minutes later, armed with the treats and filched poo bags, we set off for Trosley Country Park with our prospective dogs.
Charlie bounced along at Dylan’s heels. He reminded me of a tennis ball all set for a high-speed serve. Bess simply kept pace with me. She neither pulled on the lead nor appeared overly excited. However, I noticed those big ears were very erect. Every now and again they quivered slightly, responding to the sound of traffic, birdsong, and – once we were in the woods – twigs snapping underfoot.
There were lots of dogwalkers on the trail today. A Poodle, off lead, rushed over to Charlie who immediately barked his displeasure.
‘Sorry,’ said a female jogger, as she pounded past. ‘He’s with me. Bertie!’ she urged. ‘Leave that dog alone and come with me. I said COME!’
The Poodle dithered, then scooted after its owner.
‘It’s okay,’ said Dylan, giving Charlie a reassuring pat. ‘I get it. You’re not a fan of other dogs saying hello when you’re still restrained. Not a problem. I’ll let you off.’
Dylan unclipped the lead and Charlie instantly took off.
‘Crikey,’ I said, as the mongrel belted off. He then disappeared down a fork in the path. ‘Do you think he’ll come back?’
‘I hope so,’ said Dylan, looking bemused. ‘Let’s put Charlie’s recall to the test.’
Dylan stuck two fingers between his teeth and let out a piercing whistle. A second later and Charlie shot out of some trees to our right.
‘Good boy,’ said Dylan, producing a treat.
Charlie skidded to a halt and gobbled up the biscuit. He was instantly distracted by a squirrel on an overhead branch. Letting out a joyful bark, he took off again.
‘Right,’ Dylan grinned. ‘That’s Charlie safely entertained for the next hour or so. What about you, lovely lady?’
The question caught me off-guard. My mouth fell open and my vocal cords shrivelled.
‘Come here,’ he said softly.
I stared at him, transfixed. Omigod. He wanted me to go to him. Quivering with anticipation, I stepped forward.
‘Let’s remove that headcollar,’ he said.
He’s talking to Bess, you berk, hooted my inner voice.
Oh, I mentally gasped.
‘Yes, let’s have it off,’ I twittered.
‘Give me the lead,’ said Dylan. His hand brushed against mine. Instantly an explosion of zingers went through my palm. I could literally feel all the flexion creases burning by way of reaction. I wondered what a palmist might make of it.
Fortune teller: Uh-oh…
Me: What? WHAT?
Fortune teller: Sorry, I’m just being a palmist alarmist…
Ahem, my inner voice interrupted. Dylan is speaking to you. Pay attention.
‘Sorry,’ I gasped. ‘What did you say?’
‘She’s loose. Look.’ Dylan nodded at Bess. ‘She’s off the lead but not leaving your side.’
‘O-Oh,’ I stuttered. The zingers were still fizzing and popping. ‘That’s amazing,’ I added.
What’s amazing? The dog or the zingers?
I ignored the little voice and glanced at Bess. She was making no attempt to chase after Charlie. That said, I could see her scanning the nearby trees and bushes. She was looking for her hyperactive mate.
Charlie catapulted out of some undergrowth, straight in front of a couple who were walking a Border Collie. Bess let out a yip, as if to say, “Watch what you’re doing!” But she made no attempt to join in with Charlie’s fun.
‘What a good girl,’ I said, delighted that Bess was behaving so impeccably.
‘The joy of an older dog,’ Dylan chuckled. ‘A well-behaved lady.’
‘She is,’ I happily agreed.
‘Come on,’ said Dylan. ‘Let’s see where that rascal has gone.’
We set off again, and took a trail that meandered for a mile. Charlie made periodic reappearances, as if to say, “I’m here, don’t fret,” before whooshing off again.
Bess never left my side. She was unfazed by other dogs coming over. She showed no desire to chase after the occasional jogger or squirrel. She remained calm when a horse rider trotted past, despite me jumping with fright when the pony let out an ear-piercing whinny. Just like a human being, Bess liked to snack, and she cadged a few treats off Dylan every time Charlie responded to rewarded recalls. In short, Bess was wonderful.
The path eventually looped back on itself and led into a clearing. It was here that the Bluebell Café was located.
‘Coffee?’ asked Dylan, as we paused outside.
‘Yes, please,’ I said gratefully. My stomach chose that moment to imitate a washing machine on its final spin.
‘Hungry?’ Dylan laughed.
‘A bit,’ I confessed. The air was heavy with the scent of frying bacon, and I sniffed appreciatively. ‘Mm, smells divine. Also, it’s been a while since breakfast.’
‘Go and bag a table,’ said Dylan. ‘I’ll get us a couple of bacon butties.’
‘Here,’ I said, slipping my handbag off my shoulder. ‘Let me give you some money.’
‘My treat,’ Dylan insisted.
‘Okay,’ I smiled. ‘That’s very kind of you.’
‘A pleasure,’ he said. ‘You take Charlie’s lead, and I’ll get the grub.’
Once again his hand brushed against mine. And once again zingers scorched my fingers before hotly zigzagging up my arm. Lovely.
Lovely, lovely, lovely.
Possibly my eyes glazed over.
‘Are you okay?’ said Dylan, giving me a curious look.
‘I’m lovely,’ I sighed.