Shame them into volunteering? No, that was the last thing they wanted to hear. Suddenly there was an outburst of tail wagging and barking - I had upset them with the accusation – and they were prepared to let me know in no uncertain terms that I had insulted them gravely.
The meeting was getting out of hand and the noise intolerable. I felt I was, for the first time, losing control and realised that an apology was due. So I retracted the accusation of cowardice explaining that I had gone a little too far only because I thought the subject so important and wanted my gang to be at the forefront of the volunteers.
This calmed them down and they asked me if there was no other way they could be of service to counter airline terrorism.
Not that I could think of, I replied, unless they were able to mount a 24-hour watch at our local airport on a voluntary basis.
Much shaking of heads again at this suggestion, so I dismissed the meeting with a rather curt reminder that perhaps one should not always consider oneself first and, in the spirit of the festive season, try to find some way to help their fellow dogs – and their owners.
This was a little bit of hypocrisy on my part, but no one noticed.
I suppose this is partly my fault as I always start off our meetings with a round-up of current events as they affect the canine community, but with a warning that they should listen or watch for themselves in case I miss anything of importance. Unfortunately their ability to translate is far below my own and most of what appears on radio or TV is just gibberish to them.
I addressed the meeting in short, sharp signals so there would be no misunderstanding and called for volunteers to take up the task, promising good food, warm quarters and a gentle retirement. I knew all this because some time back we had a visit from a sniffer and he told me about his working conditions.
As I predicted to myself, no one came forward, finding all sorts of excuses not to disrupt their comfortable lives. Even my second-in-command Gus, the Alsatian, refused to consider the opportunity my speech offered and I was forced to put forward names myself.
But whoever I called out remained solidly in their places, shaking their heads and issuing low growls of refusal.
Could I force anyone to volunteer, I thought? A brief moment to consider and I realised that would not work. As I was not prepared to give up on the idea I spent the next 20 minutes extolling the role and hinting that by not coming forward there was streak of cowardice in the ranks.
With the latest terrorist attack on a US airline, the call has gone out for more sniffer dogs – so I want to volunteer a couple of my gang. I would have offered my own services first, but I am afraid that age has meant I would be of little use. My agility is somewhat below par and my sense of smell – essential for the job – is also impaired.
A few years ago I would have been ahead of the queue, as I was keen to travel and the job entails visiting far off places to help with rescue after natural disasters. I suspect that the newly trained dogs are more likely to be placed at airports round the UK and I warned the gang that foreign travel was probably out of the question.
So I called a meeting in our newly refurbished headquarters – the barn had been repaired, old carpets laid on the floor and a podium of sorts erected – not without a great deal of hard labour – at one end from which I could address my troops.
Naturally I explained the situation for those too lazy or stupid to have picked up on the news. Not all are as avid viewers of television broadcasts as I am, in fact some just don’t bother with what is going on around them and rely on me for information.
Although she does the same for the Vet, he finds opening cans a task equal to trying to fly an aeroplane – with just as many crashes taking place. In just two days, the kitchen is littered with broken crockery, half opened tins of food, stains on the walls from containers which did open, but whose contents furiously boiled over in the pan, dirty cloths used to try, but fail, to clean up the mess on the floor, an overflowing sink when he forgot to turn off the taps and blood all over the table where he stabbed himself trying to open a small tin of baked beans with a large carving knife.
At other times I would have been amused at his antics, but stuck in the house while he went berserk in the kitchen made the whole pantomime less amusing.
Luckily on the sixth day a thaw set in and Mrs Kennedy was able to make her way to the house. She was stunned at the scene which greeted her downstairs and even more amazed at the Vet’s bedroom with clothes flung all over the place and bed unmade for days.
I was happy when he resumed our daily walks and allowed Mrs Kennedy to tidy up the place. My next move was to call a meeting of the gang and get the work on the barn started.
So, what could be a time of enjoyment, finishes in complete boredom. The Vet had to close his surgery as no one could motor or walk in safety up to the house and Mrs Kennedy, our housekeeper, had to ring to say she was snowed in and would not be able to come to work.
That, perhaps, was the worst aspect of the whole business. It meant that the Vet had to provide food for himself and me and attempt to keep the house tidy and dusted. These tasks were beyond his capabilities and there were times when I wished I could be of assistance, but to tell the truth, I am not much of a dab hand with the Hoover, the washing machine or the cooker.
There are limits to what can be expected of a super-intelligent dog such as myself, handicapped as I am by the body of an animal. If only I could transform myself, as those cartoon characters manage, into fully operational creatures capable of performing any task a human can do.
But there is little benefit of dreaming the impossible, so I watch as the Vet grows ever more frustrated at his inability to cook or clean. I am lucky as my food can, in an emergency, come from a tin and Mrs Kennedy always keeps the cupboard well stocked.
The bad weather is playing havoc with my schedule to make the new barn habitable for the gang. We managed to make arrangements to have floor coverings brought in – a clever plan by my number two Gus the Alsatian – the cracks in the woodwork were to be filled in by some of the boys placing filler with their tails and, the most difficult of all, hammering the door back in to place had been passed to a carpenter, owner of Chorkie, who was persuaded to come to the barn while out walking and offered to make it good.
That was all arranged before the snow fell from the heavens in such amounts that getting to the barn was impossible and meetings were postponed until better weather arrived.
A disappointment for all, particularly those of us imprisoned at home, deprived of walks and other exercise.
The problem was that our village has one main road in and out. At both ends there is a steep hill, which makes travelling impossible as the ice builds up. Cars cannot make it up or down and we have already experienced three or four accidents where people have tried to take their children to school, only to have been beaten by the weather.
Of course dogs are not so affected by the snow, in fact given the opportunity, we quite revel in the chance it provides for fun and games. But people of the Vet’s age will not venture out and, what’s worse, do not want their pets to leave the house – except to go in the garden for essential toilet reasons.
The old man struggled with the lead but failed to attach it to my collar. With a huge sigh he tied it round my neck with a loose knot and decided it was good enough to keep me by his side.
So, off we went into the woods using paths I did not know. But I was determined to make my escape at the right time and was careful to note which direction we took, so that I could run in the opposite way.
I guessed that at his age and in the frail condition he appeared to be in, we would not be out for a long time, so after about 15 minutes with him wheezing noisily, I judged it was the right time to slip the lead and make a run for it.
Luckily for me he was just not physically capable of following and I was soon clear. I had sharpened my senses since the previous night and was soon on the right track back to the barn, our new home.
The gang was waiting and I recounted my adventure. They all looked puzzled. No one knew of the cabin in the woods and so I decided to take them there to satisfy their curiosity.
I found the clearing without difficulty, but there was no building, nothing to substantiate my story.
The gang concluded that I must have fallen asleep and spent the night in the woods – it was all a dream. If that was the case, I asked, how come I was feeling no hunger or thirst?
They had no answer, but then nor did I.
The old man’s mess, the heavy dust everywhere, the smell of stale cooking which pervaded the house now seemed to weigh me down and I realised I had to get out. I walked to the front door and began howling and scratching, so loudly that the old man woke up with a start.
“Ah, you want some fresh air,” he said, “and so do I, we will go for a stroll.” With that he eased himself from the chair and went to a large hook on the wall to fetch a heavy leather lead with a bright chain, obviously well used by the previous occupant.
Now my collar was of the old fashioned type with only a small metal ring on which to attach a lead. When the Vet and I went out, he never bothered with the lead except to carry it in his hand. I was left free to roam and was just as careful as the Vet if we came to a main road, using the dogs’ Highway Code. This was similar to the one used by humans except it instructed us to look both ways three times before crossing and use our superior hearing to warn of traffic in the distance.
Getting away from the old man in the morning proved more difficult than I had imagined. Although he served up a solid breakfast, I was worried because the front door remained closed and bolted and he seemed in no hurry to venture outside.
As a dog owner, I presumed that he would want to take me for a walk – much as he must have done with Charles his pet who had most recently passed on to that dog heaven in the sky.
However, it seemed that his habit was to sit before the fire most of the morning
and expect me to do the same. The only time I saw the sky was when he opened a back door and encouraged me into the yard which was tightly fenced in. After allowing me to run around for a few minutes, he called me in. Back he went to his seat and continued to mutter to himself, saying that I would soon settle in and become part of his family. As I could discern not other human or animal in the place, I wondered what he meant.
Around noon, he stirred himself and went into the back room where rudimentary kitchen appliances were put to use, cooking a meal for both himself and me. I certainly had no complaints about the food in this place and almost convinced myself that staying here was not be a bad option, until I remembered the comforts of the Vet’s house and Mrs Kennedy’s care.
While he dozed off after eating, I took a turn round the place searching for a means of escape. The other main room was obviously the old man’s sleeping quarters with a large bed which appeared never to have been made up properly since I was a pup. I had not realise how fastidious I had become in my old age, being used to Mrs Kennedy’s thorough cleaning of the house every day including my own corner of the kitchen.
I declined any help and decided to make my own way. This was a small mistake as I soon found myself taking a wrong turning and going further into the trees than I liked. Too proud to howl for help, I was completely lost in no time. My sense of smell and direction have deteriorated with the years and I was resigning myself to spending the night under the branches when I came upon a small building, something like a log cabin which was unknown to me.
Lights were on in the windows so I strolled up to the front door and scratched on it. As it opened, a shaft of light appeared and caught me in its beam. The voice behind the light seemed to belong to an old gentleman who kept asking “whose there”. After a few moments he looked down and saw me. “Why, it’s Jake, the Vet’s dog,” he declared, “whatever are you doing in the woods at night on your own.” Had I been able to communicate I would have asked him the same question, but instead I strode passed him with head held high and found myself in his living room where a large fire was burning and the smell of fresh cooking filled the air.
He told me to sit by the fire and soon brought me a large bowl of stew which I ate with gusto. He sat in his rocking chair muttering to himself that a miracle had happened – I had been sent by divine intervention to replace Charles his own pet who I gathered had died just the day before.
The silly man must have thought that I had run away from the Vet and was looking for a new home. Oh dear! He had been so kind to me, but I could not let him believe I wanted to live in a hut in the middle of the woods.
However, the morning would be soon enough to let him understand my position. Meanwhile there was a comfortable place by the fire, food and water, so no harm in stringing him along for a few hours.
I curled up by his feet and was soon asleep. Tomorrow I would make my getaway.
