This story
is dedicated to Mrs. Jean
Collen, her daughter Mrs
Gaynor Paynter, and her
family. Sheba, her
daughter’s family
dog, managed to escape
from their back garden
during a thunder storm
and has not been seen
since that time. Sheba is
greatly missed by all
those that knew her.
SHEBA -
DOG and COMPANION now
sadly lost
I was
surprised when I was a
student to learn that dog
fossils were often found
together with human
remains. Apparently, a symbiotic
relationship
developed early on
between dogs and man.
Dogs most likely ran with
humans during the hunt
for food. This
relationship continued
and obviously developed
and has grown into what
it is now.
One
quality which is often
highly developed in dogs
is loyalty. They can be
trustworthy and loyal to
a fault. A St. Bernard
will go out in the worst
of weather to search for
a lost soul; Huskies are
known to give up their
lives to pull their loads
including humans to
safety; almost every day
now, police dogs take on
the most vicious villains
armed with guns and
knives without any
thought for their own
safety; and occasionally
a dog will come along
like Greyfriars Bobby
who will spend the
remainder of his life in
mourning a beloved
master. Now, how many
people do you know who
would do any of these
tasks for you?
GREYFRIARS
BOBBY |
|
HIS
GRAVE |
|
HIS
MASTER'S GRAVE |
I
don’t know if you
have seen or even heard
of the play and film Come
Back Little Sheba.
This was the film where
the great Shirley Booth
won the Academy Award
for a Leading Actress.
Shirley Booth is little
known in the U.K., but
was once renowned in the
U.S. for her role as Hazel,
the good hearted maid
in the early 1960’s
television series of the
same name. Ms Booth had
been a Broadway star
at one time before making
films. The film also
starred Burt Lancaster as
her husband who felt
cheated into marrying his
wife due to a pre-marital
pregnancy. As a result of
a miscarriage followed by
complications, the couple
could not have children.
He took to drinking while
she took to trying harder
and harder to get him to
love her. For a time, a
truce was drawn between
them thanks to the
presence of a dog, Sheba.
Unfortunately, Sheba ran
off and the couple found
themselves once more with
nothing in common. The
film picks up their story
a number of years after
the disappearance of Sheba
and follows them
through several crises.
|
|
Shirley
Booth |
|
Shirley Booth as Hazel |
I
mention this story since
it illustrates a point: a
dog can become an
irreplaceable member of a
family and help hold it
together. I can
understand that many
people prefer to think of
a dog merely as a valued
animal to do a job of
work. Even so, working
dogs, such as sniffer dogs,
guide dogs, military dogs
etc still hold a
special place in the
heart of the one directly
responsible for them.
Dogs give so much and
what do they ask for in
return? – a little
food, a warm place to
sleep, a little kindness
and an occasional walk.
Now that isn’t too
much to ask in return for
all that they do, is it?
Noted psychiatrists have
said that no one can be
depressed who owns a dog
– or was it that no
one could resist laughing
following a lick in
the face! I
can’t recall what
was said or for that
matter by whom. Was it
Freud or perhaps Peanuts
who uttered this profound
statement? Exactly whatever
was said and by whom
is not the point. What is
important is the
sentiment behind the
statement, right?
Sigmund
Freud |
|
Snoopy |
As
I have said, my father
loved dogs and dogs loved
my father. While we lived
over the pie
‘n’ mash shop,
we had a number of
different dogs. Each dog
lived in the bake
house and so spent
most of their waking
hours in my father’s
company. He had a good
relationship with every
dog and every dog had a
good relationship with
him. Many dogs thought of
my father as the
greatest thing in their
world. Many times, I
have seen a dog go
crazy when he came
home late. Whether drunk
or sober, in good mood or
bad, the dog was
overjoyed and ready to
show him affection. I
realize that my father
was their primary
caregiver and took
them for walks and so on,
but even at my young age,
I could see that there
was a real affection,
each for the other. I
have never met anyone who
developed quite the same rapport
with a dog as my
father. That is, not
until recently when I met
someone here in the town
where I live. This man
and his dog are a joy to
see, as they seem to almost
talk through their
remarkable understanding
of each other.
My father
was amusing in that he
demonstrated absolutely
no imagination when it
came to naming his dogs.
He never had any trouble
finding a name. He never
worried about whether the
name expressed the
dog’s personality.
He solved the name problem
by simply using the same
name for all dogs – Fido!
Whether large or
small, gentle or spry, we
never had a Rex or a
Prince or a dog by any
other name. They were all
Fido, plain and simple!
When my father was young,
apparently this was
common practice, just as
it was to refer to
strangers by the name John.
I remember my father
would ask a stranger for
some information by
saying excuse me John.
I recall once that
some man did not
appreciate being referred
to in this way and
complained. My father
apologized, but this man
kept on complaining.
After a minute or so of
his moaning, my father
stopped him by giving him
a mouthful. I was
present at the time and
felt that my father had
apologized enough too.
Whenever
it was time to get a new
dog, he would dress
himself up and most often
take off alone to the Club
Row Dog Market. He
said that getting a new
dog was serious business
and seemingly a wife and
a child were just too
much excess baggage to
take along on such an
important mission. On
rare occasions, my father
was known to buy a dog at
that other great pre-E-bay
emporium of the time
– the local public
house.
Of the
many Fidos that we
had while living at the pie
‘n’ mash shop,
there were two, which
stand out. Did I say stand
out? This, to say the
least, is an
understatement! These
dogs, although both with
us for only a short space
of time, were very
special animals and
gained a place in our
hearts that was never
dislodged. I can honestly
say that throughout their
lives, until they passed
away, both of my parents
mentioned these dogs at
least once every month
and perhaps more often.
They had had such a
profound effect on us.
The first special
Fido was
distinguished from all
others as he grew by the
name of Big Fido. I
was very small when this
wonderful dog came to
live with us, but I
remember him well. He was
a mongrel, as were all
the dogs that my father
brought home. He came to
us from the Club Row
Dog Market as a
starving puppy. We all
took to him immediately.
He was a very easy dog to
train and seemed to want
to cause us no trouble.
My father was greatly
taken with this dog. My
mother loved this dog too
as I did. He grew to be a
relatively large dog and
was basically white in
colour with light brown
ears and nose and with a
relatively large light
brown patch on the right
side of his back. This
dog had a wonderful
personality and proved to
be an excellent watch-dog
both in the shop and of
me. He was patient and
tolerant of me and never
ever nipped, bit or
barked at me despite my
childish way of playing
with him. I would enjoy
standing over him as if
he were a pony and I, the
rider. I was still small
at the time and so most
of my weight must have
rest on his back. He
never complained and put
up with this annoyance
unlike my parents who
were none too pleased
when I did this.
As I said,
Big Fido was a
wonderful watch-dog. My
parents would close the
doors of the shop each
evening at 11.00 P.M.
Rarely would my mother
allow any further sales
after this time. However,
especially on a Friday
evening, it would take an
age to get all the
customers out of the
shop. Sometimes, there
would be a huge
singsong in the shop.
There would always be
a great crowd of
customers that would
arrive after 10.30 P.M.,
once the pubs chucked
out, as closing time
was called. Most of the
customers would be merry
from the drink. They had
worked hard throughout
the week and were ready
to have some enjoyment.
This meant drinking vast
quantities of beer with a
final short
followed by a couple of
my father’s
delicious pies. A few
stout-hearted customers
with cast iron stomachs
would also want a few
pieces of eel to
accompany their pies.
 At
that time, there were
many Irishmen in the
area. They were navvies
– workmen who dug
the roads. These men
were either single or
without their wives and
lived at the Salvation
Army Hostel on Whitechapel
Road. These men
enjoyed a good
relationship with my
mother and were
respectful to her. Her
stepfather had been Irish
and drank vast quantities
of beer, but sadly he was
extremely belligerent
when drunk. My mother and
grandmother spent long
periods of time in
hospital from the
beatings that they
received from him when he
was intoxicated.
Apparently he was a big
and powerful man who was
renowned for his ability
to put, with ease, three
or four policemen into
the horse trough that was
once present before the Salmon
and Ball public
house. It needs to be
remembered that policemen
were not small men in
those days and generally took
no messing when
vexed.
Many of
the Irishmen had
beautiful singing voices.
And since they were away
from home and missing
their loved ones, it was
only natural that one of
them would start to sing.
By now, the drink had
taken hold and a
melancholy mood began to
settle over them.
Naturally, their longing
for home could only be
curbed by song. I would
creep down the stairs
from my bedroom and sit
hidden from view and
listen to the singing.
The customers would sit
and listen in silence to
the singer and then join
him in the chorus. I
remember that some of the
songs would make me cry.
I was especially touched
by I’ll
take you home again
Kathleen
and When
you and I were young,
Maggie.
I was not the only
one reduced to tears by
these wonderful songs. My
mother would often weep,
which endeared her even
more to the clientele, as
would some of the other
more sensitive members of
the audience.
Occasionally, my mother
would be coaxed into
singing a song too and on
rare occasions, since he
was generally still busy
in the bake house, my
father would make an
appearance and sing too.
Everyone would receive a
round of applause for
their efforts and a great
time would be had by all.
Although I
enjoyed the solos, it was
the group singing or
glee club that I
enjoyed most. Some nights
the whole shop would be rocking
with song. Some
evenings, the singing
would go on for so long
that the local police, on
their beat, would
come in and ask the
singers to break it
up. In those days,
the police enjoyed a good
relationship with the
locals, and they would
most times leave, and not
insist on escorting the
customers out. Everyone
would then eat up and
file out of the shop in a
peaceful manner.
Occasionally,
there would be a
disagreement between
several customers.
Although this was rare,
when it did occur, it
could be potentially
unpleasant. Generally, my
mother was very good at
interceding and limiting
these fights. My mother
had been forced to box
against her brothers
as a child. Her
stepfather would insist
that the children of my
grandmother’s first
marriage – my mother
and two brothers –
battle each other and the
winner would be given two
slices of stale bread as
a prize. Since these poor
children received less
food than his natural
children, each child
wanted to be the victor.
Amazingly, my mother
generally won. She was so
good at fisticuffs that
her stepfather took to
tying one of her hands
behind her so as to give
her brothers a
fighting chance.
Naturally at that time,
there were no such things
as Child Services.
Should the
disagreement in the shop
become more intense, and
neither my mother nor
father was able to stop
it, Big Fido would
appear and settle the
matter. On one occasion
when it became obvious
that no human was going
to stop the confrontation
that was about to
explode, I saw Big
Fido rise slowly from
his place in the bake
house and walk slowly
but surely into the shop.
Big Fido went up
to the marauding duo and
gave one bark. This was
most often sufficient to
freeze the combatants and
cause them to think twice
about continuing their
disagreement. At this, my
father would then tell Big
Fido to sit, which he
did, exactly where he
was, and my father told
the fellows to eat up and
leave as soon as
possible. Big Fido would
sit where he was and wait
to escort the combatants
off the premises. Only
once did I see Big
Fido need to rise up
on his hind legs in order
to make his point. It
wasn’t that the dog
was huge, or looked
especially mean, or had
blood red eyes and
buckets of saliva
dripping from dangerous
looking teeth that caused
the battlers to stop and
think before continuing
further their argument
for he had none of these
intimidating features.
Instead, Big Fido relied
on his presence to persuade
others of the folly
of their ways. He never
barked unless it was
necessary. He never bit
anyone, because he did
not have to. His presence
was sufficient. And so no
one ever messed with Big
Fido.
 On
such evenings, if I was
lucky, I would be allowed
to help my mother count
up the coins in the till.
My mother would always
count the takings for
the evening and I would
prepare the float for
the next day’s
lunchtime service. While
we did this, my father
would finish cleaning up
the bake house and
prepare his pots and
other utensils for the
next day. Once these last
jobs were completed, we
would go for a walk.
My father always took
each of his dogs for a
walk once the shop was
closed and his work was
done, no matter how late
this was. Most dogs would
become over excited at
the mere mention of a
walk. Big Fido was
different to all of the
other dogs. Although he
loved to walk, he was our
most controlled and
sophisticated dog.
He behaved with decorum
and never leapt or jumped
up at the sight of his
leash, but waited calmly
but expectantly by the
door until my father was
ready. My father would
attach his leash and off
they would set. It could
have been a scene by Gainsborough.
 Our
walk generally followed
the same route. Firstly,
we walked up to the corner
where Cambridge
Heath Road met the Whitechapel
Road. The public
house, the Cambridge
Arms, straddled the
corner. By now, it
was long since closed and
all patrons had gone
home. Despite the
proximity of this pub, my
father never frequented
it often. He much
preferred The White
Hart, which was on
the opposite side of Cambridge
Heath Road and formed
the corner of this road
and where Whitechapel
Road became the Mile
End Road. My father
and Big Fido would
set off at a good pace,
leaving my mother and me
behind. Once they turned
the corner onto the Whitechapel
Road, they came to a
wide area of pavement,
which at that time of
night, was empty of
people. My father would
remove the leash and Big
Fido was now free to
run, leap, jump and bound
to his heart’s
content. This open area
was large and so Big
Fido was able to
develop a good lick as
he raced against himself
back and forth.
 My
father would walk slowly
across the open area so
that Big Fido had
plenty of time to
exercise. Once we caught
up, we would then
continue walking along
until we reached Whitechapel
Underground Station. Big
Fido was an amazingly
intelligent dog and would
always wait for my
father’s direction
before crossing a road.
During this walk, there
was only one small street
to cross and he would
wait patiently for my
father before crossing.
He would do the same
during our return walk.
By now Big Fido had
enjoyed his run and would
be content to remain
alongside my father and
return home. Once my
father opened the door of
the shop, Big Fido would
race through the shop and
into the bake house and
bound up to his throne
and go through his
nightly ritual to find
the perfect position for
sleeping. I would arrive
once this had been
completed as I was
allowed to wish him a good
night and sleep
tight. I would pat
him and stroke him, but
would not be allowed to
stay too long as it was
very late and I had to go
to bed. While this was
going on, my father would
be filling his bowl with
fresh water in case he
should require a drink
during the night. With
that, lights were turned
out, and Big Fido was
left in charge of the
shop and to ensure that
no robbers got in should
they even dare to try.
Big
Fido remained with us
for about two years,
certainly not more. We
were never quite sure how
he came to be killed. He
was run over one
afternoon by a lorry,
which did not stop. The
fact that the driver did
not stop really upset my
parents. They found it
hard to believe that the
driver or anyone could
knock down a dog and keep
driving. The shop was
open and the doors were
wide open as they usually
were during work hours. Big
Fido had been
trustworthy to walk
around the shop as the
mood took him as he was a
great favourite with the
customers. Naturally,
this was long before
animals were banned from
restaurants for health
reasons. Apparently, Big
Fido had suddenly ran
out of the shop and
bounded off the pavement
and started across the
street. This was very
unlike him. My mother
believed that Big Fido
must have mistaken
someone on the other side
of the road for my father
and believed that he was
being beckoned to join
him. My father was out of
the shop at the time and
was taking a short break
in The White Hart across
the road.
My father
always wore white when
working. He wore a white
shirt and white trousers
and had a long white
apron before him. When he
went out, he would remove
the apron and don a white
coat. My mother believed
that Big Fido saw
someone similarly dressed
to my father and,
mistaking this person for
my father, took off in
excitement and
anticipation. The result,
as I have said, was
disastrous. The traffic,
except for the villain of
this tale stopped, and a
crowd quickly gathered.
The commotion caused the
pubs and shops to empty
and soon my parents were
outside once they
realized what had
happened.
I did not
learn what happened next
for a number of years.
Apparently, my father
brought Big Fido inside
and my mother immediately
closed the shop. My
father arranged to have
this precious dog buried
in a customer’s
garden who had been fond
of him. This was arranged
quickly and the
internment was completed
before I came home.
My parents
and I, especially my
father, were in a daze. I
was very upset. My mother
and I both cried for most
of the day. However, I
suspect that our sense of
loss and pain did not
compare to that felt by
my father. He spent the
day in the bake house and
did not eat anything and
did not even go out for a
drink. He was that upset!
We
did not get another dog
for a while. My parents,
especially my father, did
not have the heart to do
so. My father kept Big
Fido’s bedding
in place for a while, but
eventually removed it and
I suspect he did this as
he was beginning to think
about getting another
dog. After all, one was
needed to keep the cellar
free of mice brought in
with the bags of flour. I
am certain that he never
thought that he would
find another dog to equal
dear Big Fido. However
it is amazing what life
will bring especially
when we least expect it
and we were all very,
very surprised at the
wonderful little dog that
next came to share our
lives.
Li’le
Fido, as she was
known, was also an
amazing dog. She was game.
My father not only liked
her, he admired
her spirit. He said that
she was the best mouser
that we ever had. She
was a small dog and could
follow any mouse that
dared to try to share the
cellar wherever it chose
to go. Due to his size,
poor Big Fido had
been unable to do this
and could only chase them
into hiding. However, do
not think for a moment
that he was not a good mouser,
as he was. It was
just that he was limited
in not being able to
crawl into small places.
Li’le
Fido came to us as a
puppy. Someone that my
mother did not like came
into the shop a few
months after Big Fido had
been killed and mentioned
that his dog had just had
a litter and asked if we
wanted one of the
puppies. This did not
mean that the puppy would
be free of charge, since
he was not a generous
man. As I said, my mother
did not like this man. I
am sure that she had her
reasons since she was not
one to give someone the
cold shoulder or the
look unless they
deserved it. My
father’s ears
obviously pricked up at
hearing this offer and a
visit to see the pups was
made for later that day.
Obviously the visit went
well, since when he
returned he was
accompanied by this tiny
brown and white puppy.
Li’le
Fido, as she was
immediately named, could
easily have been a
relative of Big Fido
in that her colouring was
identical even down to
the patch of light brown
on her side. The only
difference between the
two dogs, beside their
obvious difference in
size, was that the patch
of light brown was on the
left side of her back.
 Li’le
Fido was a female
pup. This was something
that my father always
tried to avoid. In those
days, dogs were not
generally neutered and
female dogs forever
risked having puppies.
This meant the arduous
task of finding homes for
them. Tragically, it was
not uncommon at that time
to see bundles of kittens
and puppies floating
along in a canal. The
more thoughtful would
include a large stone or
brick in the bag so that
it would sink and speed
the demise of the
contents. Today, much is
made of having dogs
neutered and here in the
US, the most famous of
the daily game
shows,The Price is Right always
ends with the compere pleading
with viewers to
consider getting their
pets speyed.
I am sure
that my father fell
victim to Li’le
Fido’s eyes.
They were of the deepest
brown and very large. To
add to her initial charm,
she seemed to have a
perpetual smile on
her face. Although she
turned out to be a
friendly and loving dog
to us all, naturally she
took to my father more,
as so many dogs had
before her. I am certain
upon their initial
meeting, she chose him
as much as he chose her.
Once he arrived home with
his new dog, he
had already totally
enamored of her charm.
His talk was full of her
attributes. When my
mother asked about the
other pups that he had
seen, he dismissed the
question with a quick
curt comment that
basically said that they
were of no interest in
the presence of this
little lady.
Immediately
Li’le Fido fit
into our society. She
never had an accident.
She seemed to have been
born house-trained. She
was always good natured
and eager to please not
only my father, but also
my mother and me. She was
willing to play with me
and, like Big Fido,
she never gave me the
feeling that I was being tolerated.
She demonstrated her
courage instantly once my
father helped her down
the steep steps to the
cellar, whereupon she
spotted a mouse and took
off after it. Within a
few days, puppy or not,
she captured and killed
her first mouse and
proudly presented it to
my father. He said that
her tail wagged with such
force from pride that he
thought it would come off
and be flung across the
cellar.
As
Li’le Fido grew,
which wasn’t much in
size, she quickly found
that special place in all
of our hearts. Although
she reminded us so much
of Big Fido, she
did not replace him in
our memory, but rather
found her own place
alongside his. She was a
delight and great fun to
be with. I would love to
carry my father’s
huge mug of tea from
upstairs down to the bake
house, mainly in
order to enjoy her
response. I would walk
slowly down the long
straight staircase that
led to the shop, and as I
did, I would call out to Li’le
Fido. Soon I would
see her waiting at the
bottom of the stairs. She
would be very excited
with anticipation. Once I
got to the bottom, she
would jump in the air to
see what I was carrying.
I suspect that she hoped
that it would be a treat
for her. Although I say
that she jumped in the
air, she was no Jack
Russell Terrier and
did not exactly leave the
ground. Her jump was
more a raising up on her
hind legs followed by a
weak leap that would take
her off the ground by
about a quarter of an
inch! This may not seem
like an especially
giant leap, but she
was game and gave
it her all. She would
continue these leaps as
I crossed the sales area
to the bake house. As
she grew, the intensity
of her excitement
increased and eventually
it reached such a pitch
that she became unable to
control her urinary
sphincter muscle and
little drops of urine
would escape her much to
the annoyance of my
parents. These would have
to be cleaned up
immediately and poor Li’le
Fido would scamper
off knowing full well
that she was in disgrace.
My father would tell
her off and call her a
silly cow or a
silly mare! This
always made me laugh and
soon I, along with Li’le
Fido would be in
trouble! No one could be
angry with her for long
and soon she was out from
her hiding place and all
would be forgiven and
forgotten. All it took
was a glance from my
father and the two would
resume their relationship
as if nothing had
happened and they would
be back in the good
graces of each other.
Just like Big
Fido, whenever there
was the threat of trouble
in the shop on a Friday
or Saturday night, Li’le
Fido would come into
the shop to take note of
the scene. While Big
Fido had the
necessary presence and
authority to quiet
and dissuade patrons from
pursuing their
disagreement further with
one bark, Li’le
Fido need several
barks and an occasional
nip at the ankles to
achieve the same goal. No
wild kicks from the
marauding duo would
frighten her. She was,
after all as my father
had described her, game.
She had large teeth for
such a small dog and I
feel certain that she was
able to inflict suitable
pain to cause a person to
stop and think about what
he was doing. Li’le
Fido never lost a
battle and would enjoy
the praise and thanks
heaped on her once the
defeated left the shop.
Naturally, she enjoyed
these accolades and
behaved with suitable
modesty and grace as
befitting a true
champion.
Walks with
Li’le Fido were
fun. Unlike Big Fido who
would wait patiently to
go for his walk, Li’le
Fido could hardly
contain herself. No one
had to mention going
for a walk to her.
She quickly learned the
routine of the shop and
knew that once the doors
closed and certain
essential chores were
done, it was time to
walk. Hardly being able
to contain her
excitement, she would
begin her ritual of
preparation. This would
start with a number of
scampers from her throne
in the bake house up to
the front doors. She
would leap with the grace
of a young gazelle from
her throne onto the bake
house floor and then
race herself out across
the tiled floor of the
sales area and then under
the little gate that
separated this from the
open shop. She would then
turn and race along the
centre gangway of the
shop and bump into the
doors. Once she had
collected herself, she
would turn, attempt a
leap into the air and
then race back the way
that she had come,
cumulating in a
magnificent and graceful
leap up onto her throne.
Here she would remain
statuesque for a second
or two and take in where
we all were in our
preparation to walk. If
we were not ready, she
would then repeat this
circuit and do so again
until she was finally
called to attention by my
father. Once she was
called to heel, her leash
would be placed, and as
meek as a lamb, she
would accompany him out
into the shop area and
through the doors and
into the night.
 To
say that Li’le
Fido enjoyed her walk
would be an
understatement and not to
give full description of
the pleasure that she
obviously got. Although
she did not pull on
her leash, she would walk
very fast and stop and
turn to my father
periodically, as if to
say will you please
hurry up and turn the
corner so that I can go
for a run! Naturally
my father knew this and
would speed up. Once they
turned the corner, just
as he had with Big
Fido, he would remove
the leash and Li’le
Fido would take off
and run the circuit which
had been taken so many
times in the past by Big
Fido. She was full of
energy and ran with
amazing speed. My mother
always believed that Li’le
Fido was part
greyhound! She was
different to Big Fido in
that she was tireless and
always had to be called
to be leashed. She would
return, but her eyes
would look sad, since she
never seemed to have had
enough exercise and would
looked shocked that
us weaklings and faint
of heart wanted to
move on. She would perk
up once we began the walk
up to the Underground
Station.
I used to
love to go alone with Li’le
Fido for a walk. My
parents allowed me to
take her out occasionally
as long as I did not
cross a major road. I
felt very grown-up at
being allowed to do this.
If truth be told, I
suspect that Li’le
Fido felt that she
was in charge of me since
I was very young. In
fact, she did protect me
and saved me from being
attacked by a bully of a
dog on one occasion. Old
Bob was a dog who was
often seen wandering
around our neighbourhood
and causing trouble. He
did not appear to belong
to anyone and relied on
scraps of food that he
found or on what he could
steal. He was a
relatively large dog with
little obvious charm or
features to recommend
him. I suspect that he
had been turned out and
thanks to his natural
guile had managed to
survive. Sadly, his hard
life had made him
somewhat mean and people
tended to avoid him when
they saw him coming. I
was not overly fond of
him, I have to confess,
and following an
unpleasant interaction
with him, I was given no
reason to change my mind.
 The
interaction occurred one
day while Li’le
Fido and I were out
walking. We had not gone
far, when suddenly Old
Bob came bounding
towards us.
Unfortunately, there was
no shop or house nearby
for us to seek shelter
in. Naturally I was
fearful that he would
attack Li’le Fido
and since she was
much smaller than him, I
was concerned that she
would become seriously
hurt. As quickly as I
could, I managed to pick
her up and hold her up as
high as I could and out
of range of the gnashing
jaws of Old Bob.
Old Bob came
rushing up to us and
jumped up to attack Li’le
Fido, who was not
whining or cowering, but
barking back at her
tormenter while wriggling
between my hands. Since I
found it hard to maintain
her in my grip, she
quickly shook herself
free and leapt to the
ground. Li’le
Fido did not seem to
realize that she was much
smaller than Old Bob and
showed no fear as she
readied herself to face
the bully. She now
quickly positioned
herself between him and
me. She then began to
snarl, splutter and bark
at him. She was obviously
defending me from
the brutish animal. Old
Bob seemed surprised
that such a small dog was
daring to challenge him
and stopped short
in his tracks. This
hesitation encouraged Li’le
Fido and she dared to
move forward.
  Thanks
to a magnificent effort, Li’le
Fido was able to
spring forward, and as
she did, she landed
squarely on Old Bob. Obviously
inspired, she seized the
moment and grabbed the
opportunity to bite him
on an ear. Old Bob let
out a blood curdling
yelp, more likely from
surprise at the audacity
shown by Li’le
Fido since both of
his ears looked
well-chewed from previous
run-ins. Fortunately, an
old lady, also with much
courage, arrived on the
scene at that time and
came to our aid.
Immediately, she called
for Old Bob to be
off and, as added
encouragement, she threw
her shopping bag at him
to speed his departure!
Evidently the old dog
realized that he was no
match for two women
and decided that here, retreat
was the better part of
valour! Without a
further bark or snap from
him, poor Old Bob turned
tail and took off up the
street and away from us.
I was very grateful to
that old lady, and also
to dear Li’le
Fido, and thanked her
for her kindness. Li’le
Fido welcomed his
unknown ally and the two Amazons
spent a few minutes
together expressing their
mutual admiration. As my
father said, Li’le
Fido was game.
 We
never knew what happened
to Li’le Fido.
One day, she just
disappeared. She had too
much sense to run out of
the shop and out into the
street and risk being
killed. My mother
believes that somehow she
was coaxed out of the
shop during a busy
lunchtime and was then
taken away. There were
many customers who had
offered to buy Li’le
Fido. All offers were
politely refused. Some
potential buyers were
upset at my parents’
unwillingness to part
with her. This caused my
mother to suspect that
one of the disappointed
buyers had stolen her.
However, whatever the
explanation for her
disappearance, Li’le
Fido was gone and
never did return.
 To
say that we were devastated
at the loss of Li’le
Fido would not be an
exaggeration. My father
was very upset and spent
a lot of time searching
the neighbourhood and
asking anyone and
everyone if they had seen
her. Customers were
disappointed not to see
her in the shop and
shocked to learn that she
had disappeared. Sadly,
in those days, dogs were
often stolen, especially
a dog of distinction and
intelligence like Li’le
Fido. Once we began
to accept her loss, we
all hoped that wherever
she was that she was
being treated well and
that she was not missing
us as much as we were
missing her.
 Neither
Big Fido nor Li’le
Fido was forgotten by
either of my parents
– or by me for that
matter. They would often
talk of them and recall
their ways and behaviours
and they would smile and
laugh when they
remembered the good times
and the joy that each
brought us. And whenever
they remembered the
passing of Big Fido, they
would go quiet as
they relived that
afternoon once more in
their minds. They would
wonder about the fate of Li’le
Fido and wonder if
she had been well taken
care of and had been
happy. Both my mother and
father were convinced
that Li’le Fido never
forgot us. Although I can
remember these wonderful
dogs, I have to confess
that it has been a long
time since I have thought
about them. Writing this
story has brought back my
memories of them, and I
cannot say that this has
not filled me with a
certain sadness.
Unfortunately, time does
not heal all things.
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| MIDNIGHT |
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DINAH |
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