He is an intelligent fellow, but did he possess that added attribute all great leaders must have to succeed – cunning?
Over our time together, I have done my best to persuade him to act a little less the gentleman and more the subtle cad, but to little avail. He always has been the gentle giant and I don’t suppose he will change now. The perfect number two, but not perhaps the ideal number one.
Keeping these thoughts to myself, I decided to encourage Gus to accept that he would take over the gang in my place, but at the same time I would keep an eye open for a possible different successor.
Sneaky, but necessary.
Should I falter as head dog, the gang would disintegrate. I have brought up the subject of what would happen when I finally give up my position with my number two, Gus, the Alsatian, on a number of occasions, but he has always assured me that I would go on for ever, loyal companion that he is. We both know that is not true and we have to face the fact that one day, he will be in charge. But will the gang stay loyal to him?
We agreed that this was a tricky question to answer and a subject to be avoided at gang meetings. So far, no one has raised the issue of succession, or whether if I was to step down, we would have to hold an election for leader.
But there is no such thing as democracy in our society – leadership goes to the strongest dog, or even occasionally bitch. It is a role worth fighting for, as I did all those years ago when a vacancy had to be filled. I like to think that it was not just brute strength that won me the position, intelligence counted too. I beat my opponent by using physiological manoeuvrings until he stood aside admitting I had the better of him physically and mentally.
Since then, no one inside the gang has seriously challenged me and I have reigned with little opposition. On the few occasions when there were rumblings in the ranks I found a solution favourable to myself with ease – and without resorting to physical action. Brain power alone won me through – but could Gus rely on similar talent?
The constant cold weather is really affecting the Vet. He walks around the house swathed in four or five layers of clothes, muttering to himself that he has had enough of this weather and was going to sell up and move somewhere warm.
Our housekeeper Mrs Kennedy knew that he would never budge from his house and reminded him that he made the same vow every winter regardless how severe or mild. But I had some sympathy for him as the extreme cold of late was creeping into my bones and I found it very difficult move away from the sitting room fire.
Actually the Vet and I are just about the same age if you calculate seven to one in my favour. He was in his early 60s and I was the equivalent of nine human years – and we were both beginning to show it.
He was getting more and more short-tempered with his clients and I was finding it difficult to accept the continual complaints from some members of the gang. But, unlike him, I could not afford to loose any of the lads, while he did not seem to care if clients walked out. I presume that he had made enough money over the years to guarantee a comfortable retirement, while I needed leadership of the gang for my old age – and my prestige among the various other groups of dogs which roamed the area.
I was right. Twister became quite agitated and turned down my offer with furious tail wagging and growling. He proposed that the two of us should settle the question by combat, winner taking over the other’s gang.
I laughed this one off, pointing out the difference in our ages and my many disabilities. However, I said, having foreseen this possibility, I would like to introduce my champion who has agreed to take my place should the meeting end in combat.
I swung around and barked out a command. Immediately Bernie appeared from the bushes and strolled to my side.
The look of surprise on Twister’s face was a delight to behold and he asked for time to consult his boys. Graciously I agreed and waited.
Twister came back and said it had been decided that this probably was not the time to discuss a take-over and we should remain as we were. Another meeting could be arranged at an unspecified date.
We parted quite amicably and I thanked Bernie for his attendance, saying it was unlikely I would need his services again – but one never knew.
Luckily for all of us the day turned out to be quite mild. None of my boys would have an excuse not to turn up and the walk through the woods would be almost dry under paw, so I would not arrive looking wet and bedraggled.
The meeting was timed for mid-morning and I had assured my boys that I would try to get it finished in quickly so we could all be home in time for our regular meal.
So there we were, my gang behind me in a semi-circle and Twister’s lot arranged just behind him. He and I met in the middle and the signally began. It had been arranged that he would start and he really was quite an eloquent fellow, tail signalling and growling without pause. His case was quite simple – he wanted to take over my gang. He listed a number of advantages and did his best to get my boys on his side.
I could see from the reaction of some that he might be getting through to the more dim ones, so I thought it was about time for me to have my say. I pointed out that not only were we numerically superior to his gang, but through my efforts over the years, they had been moulded into a fighting force of some note. I did not point out that it had been quite some time since we had taken part in any gang warfare, but Twister was new to the area and new nothing of the history.
I had a counter proposal for him – his boys could join us and Twister would be junior leader, behind me in rank, but equal to my number two Gus the Alsatian. Naturally I had discussed this suggestion with Gus beforehand and assured him that Twister was most unlikely to accept.
The meeting has been arranged - not exactly the rumble in the jungle confrontation of two great boxers, more like a wrangle in the woods between myself and Twister, leader of the rival gang aiming to muscle in on my group.
The negotiations were conducted on our side by our number three, Charlie the Basset Hound, who had instructions to only agree to a spot which would allow the whole of my gang to turn up. We outnumber Twister’s mob by about two to one, so there would be safety in numbers if things turned nasty.
Then there was my secret weapon, Bernie, the St Bernard, whom I had managed to contact and persuade that his presence by my side would be a big favour to me.
He would not be exactly by my side, as this would be construed to be somewhat cowardly on my part, but would be strategically placed behind some bushes ready to spring to my aid if necessary.
A meeting between us was fine as long as it stayed on the level of tail signals and snarls, but should things turn nasty and he wanted to fight, I was bound to lose. My gang did not recognise this situation and still looked upon me as the dog who could take on all comers and win. This was partly my own fault for boasting regularly of my own physical prowess, neglecting to remind them that my victories were in the distant past.
What I needed was a champion - a broad, strong, fighting dog who would accompany me to the meeting and intimidate Twister into submission without a fight. And I knew just the lad.
There was a St Bernard living a few miles away who had never been persuaded to join any gang. I had tried a number of times without success. However, he owed me a favour as I had once saved his life by diving into a frozen lake and dragging him ashore.
I told the gang I would set up a meeting with Twister and set off to find Bernie the St Bernard.
Growls of consent form the floor meant that, much as I was against the idea, I would have to agree. Their gang leader, as we all knew, was a monster of a bull dog called Twister who belonged to a rather common family in the next village. He was young, vigorous and smart from what we had heard - and anxious to become the boss of bosses to all the gangs in the area. That included me and my boys.
So far, we had managed to keep him at bay by directing his attention to the other groups where he had some success in bringing them over to his side. If that carried on our advantage of numbers would soon be wiped out.
Twister and I had met only once previously and that meeting was regarded as something of a victory for me as I had persuaded him to stay in his own area if he wanted to recruit new members and not to trespass on our territory.
That was some time ago when I was in my prime and he took a threat from me seriously. I had little doubt that our positions had changed and now he was brimming with good health while I was showing signs of age.
Things are beginning to turn nasty. Rival gangs seem to be lining up to take us on and, while there has been no actual fighting, we have been harassed going to and from meetings with howling and growling coming from the bushes. My boys are getting nervous and are demanding that I tell them what I intend to do.
So naturally I called an emergency meeting to which everyone turned up. In my address I reviewed the situation and, pulling no punches, signalled that it looked as if we would have no alternative but fight the strongest of the opposing gangs causing us the most hassle.
Worried looks all round. For most of the boys their fighting days were long past and, like myself, they were looking forward to a trouble-free old age by the fire and with just the minimum of strenuous exercise. Now I was calling them to arms.
It was Charlie, the Basset Hound and our new number three, who signalled first. While admiring me for my leadership, he felt taking on the rival gang in a straight fight was not the answer. Although numerically we in pole position, our lack of recent fighting experience and our high average age counted against us.
Nods of consent from the assembled dogs. So, Charlie continued, it would be preferable to avoid physical contact and try a little diplomacy. He suggested that I arranged a meeting with their leader.
If they were human, they would have been called hooligans; we just regarded them with contempt.
One of two of their leaders tried to arrange meetings with me, but I always declined the invitations, on the grounds that I was happy with my group and had no wish to be part of a larger organisation.
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But they declined to take no for an answer – hence the regular efforts to infiltrate my gang and cause havoc. The hope was that my boys would turn against me, but so far that has not happened.
I realised that if the subversion continued, I would be forced to concede a meeting with the more powerful of the group leaders just to demonstrate my own independence and strength of arms – a large gang behind me able to fight if called upon.
I had heard on the grapevine that the other gangs were never more than four or five strong, while I had some 15 members. I was confident that we would triumph in any battle.
Not that I thought a physical fight likely. All I had to do was attend a meeting and convince the other leaders that I had the intelligence to win through. My appointment of Charlie to a senior rank was part of this plan.
