16/02/2018
ALONG PENNY CAME
"Remember mentioning you'd like to own a dog but you didn't want a puppy because of all the mess they make?"
This was the unexpected greeting I received from my wife Barbara on her return from visiting her mother in Tattenhall, while her father, George, who'd kindly brought them home in his car, was left to struggle in her wake with the carrycot containing our son David and all the necessary equipment required to maintain a child of eight months old.
The year was nineteen seventy-one, it was a Monday evening in mid-July, and we’d only recently moved into our new home. Seeing as we’d hardly been given the time to settle in ourselves, the last thing we wanted right now was a dog.
"Yes," I replied, taken a bit by surprise and not really knowing what was coming next, "but that was when we were more organized," trying to remind Barbara of the original plan.
"Well," she continued as if I hadn't even spoken, while at the same time gazing at me with great big pleading eyes and a mischievous smile spread right across her face, "how do you fancy a Basset Hound?"
Our only pet until then had been a budgie named Popeye, which I'd purchased, along with a cage to keep him in, and a box full of seed to keep him alive, from a labourer on the building site I'd been working on.
At the time, we’d been living at my parents’ house, and even now, all these years later, I can still remember bringing the bird back on my motorbike. It was to be a present for Barbara, and as it sat there rocking to and fro on its little swing, to anyone who saw us pass by we must have given the impression of a circus act, him, the trapeze artist, and me, obviously, the clown.
Before I could reply, Barbara proceeded, hardly taking in a breath of air, and hoping to get the story out before I had time to butt in again and object.
"Its five years old and the man who it belongs to is retiring from his farm and going to live in a small flat somewhere in the city where there’s nowhere to walk it unless you go to the park - (a quick gulp of air) - anyway he won't be able to take it with him due to there being no room because as I said it is only a flat after all and there's no garden so - (a swallow) - the dog has had to go and live with his daughter and her husband for the time being and they have nowhere to keep it either as they only have a small house and they both work - (a necessary but very brief pause before she collapsed through lack of oxygen) and can only have it on a temporary basis until they find it a good home."
Finally, there was a large gasp, and then silence, the gulps, swallows and gasps having replaced all the punctuation marks but in all the wrong places.
"What do Basset Hounds look like?" I asked vaguely, having never really recalled seeing one, and forgetting for a moment that I didn't want one anyway.
"There not very large, they've got short legs and their bodies are quite long." Once again, the explanation was blurted out as if she were afraid of being interrupted.
It appeared Barbara had been doing her homework, so by now I had built a picture in my mind’s eye of something resembling a sausage dog.
"Anyway," she continued, "the people are bringing it for us to look at."
"When?" I quickly retorted, the time already being eight thirty, so I was presuming, no, praying, it would be the following evening, or even better, later in the week.
"They'll be here any minute," came the reply, giving me little time to object. The only option I had now was to await the arrival of the creature, which thanks to Barbara, would soon be arriving on our door step.
Being as we didn't possess a car at the time, there was no probability of driving to see the dog on its own territory, that would have at least lent me the opportunity to find out the problems first hand and perhaps provided me with the chance to plead my case, not that I’d been allowed to have one.
"How did you get to know about this Basset Hound?" I asked, intrigued as to how a day out at her mothers had ended with the forthcoming arrival of an extra mouth to feed.
"It was advertised in a shop window down the village, so I gave the people a call and they said they'd bring her round for us to look at."
"Ah! So it’s a bitch," this being the first time Barbara had mentioned its gender, giving me a slightly better insight as to this canine visitant.
"And does this bitch have a name?" I enquired.
"Yes, it’s Penny."
Just at that precise moment the doorbell rang, bringing Barbara to a state of uncontrollable excitement as she rushed to the door to answer it. You would have thought it was the man from the pools bringing our winnings by the way she moved, but then that was my wife all over, and possibly the reason I love her so much, still, and hopefully always will be, a great big child at heart.
I remained in the kitchen, where after a short while I could hear voices in the hallway and the clatter of what turned out to be large toe nails on the tiled floor.
Gazing at the doorway leading in from the hall to the kitchen, I gasped with astonishment as a large head with long floppy ears and great big drooping eye sockets projected through the opening.
Although the head was close to the floor, it seemed to me rather large for the small dog I’d originally envisaged, so I could only assume she was a larger dog crawling in commando like on her belly.
It turned out I was wrong again, and as she continued advancing forward with greater haste, the next part of her anatomy to come into view were the front legs, not very long, but thick and powerful, like those on a Gothic oak table, and attached to these, were great elongated claws protruding out from the ends of her feet like the talons on a bird of prey. Then followed the body, which seemed to take forever to complete its course and reminding me of the pigs we kept on the farm where I lived as a child, with large drooping teats that almost touched the floor. I could only surmise that during her five years on this earth she must have given birth to a great number of pups, which by now had taken their toll on her figure, if you could call it a figure, leaving her sagging where she should have been uplifting.
The body, when finally in full view, was followed by a matching set of back legs and a long swishing tail that wouldn't have looked out of place on the end of a Pantomime cow. As she stood there, I tried to make my mind up as to whether she’d been put together by Doctor Frankenstein, or a sadistic Mother Nature after a bad day at the office, either way, the good doctor or celestial design department, had not looked favourable on this misshaped creature during her creation.
So, this was Penny, Penny Basset as she was to become known by everyone that ever had the pleasure to meet her, or Nanny Pappet, as my little son David later called her while still trying to come to terms with the English language.
Apparently, Penny was rather large for a Basset Hound, as I was to find out later from the Hughes's, the couple whose care she was at this very moment entrusted to, although it turned out I'd been spot on about the fact that she'd been the bearer of numerous litters of pups, this being due to the fact she'd been used for breeding.
Despite her irregular shape, she was a friendly looking dog, with beautiful tricolour markings. Her main colour was white, but here and there, dotted about her huge body, were large black and brown patches. The head was brown with a thin white stripe down the middle, leading to a long white snout with a jet-black plastic looking nose, which, because of her habit for hiding food all over the garden, was later usually seen with a pile of soil balancing on the end. But when she turned to face me, it was as if the rest of her body no longer mattered, for she had the most gorgeous of countenances, which, with her furrowed brow, her big sorrowful eyes, and her long elephant like ears, would have weakened far more resilient men than myself, and possibly the reason that my heart finally melted into submission and overruled my head into allowing Penny to stay.
How much of the original introduction by my wife had been true, I didn’t know, but it was true the Hughes's, who were in their mid-twenties, were obviously concerned that their father’s dog should go to a good home, in fact, having told them we'd booked to go on holiday in a few weeks time, they suggested that if we decided to adopt Penny, they'd be happy to have her back to stay with them while we went away.
Mr Hughes proudly informed us that Penny was from very good stock, her pedigree name being Dalbury Chamberton, and to prove this, presented us with a set of documents that read like the starting line up to a Grand National race.
To make conversation, as well as stall for time while I pretended to make up my mind about this elongated pooch, I asked Mrs Hughes if Penny did any tricks.
"Of course", she gloated with a great deal of pride in the tone of her voice, "watch this," and while she commenced to show us what was in her mind the most fascinating trick anyone had ever had the experience to witness a dog perform, I could only stand and marvel as to the technique animals had of teaching us humans the precise things to do without us even knowing.
Producing a sweet from her coat pocket, while at the same time dementedly slapping her thigh and using the most affectionate of commands, she addressed the dog.
"Wag your tail Penny, wag your tail."
Low and behold, if the dog didn't immediately begin to wag its tail. The only problem was, she didn't know how to stop her, whereby Penny continued wagging her tail with enthusiasm until Mrs Hughes was completely cleaned out of sweets.
So, Penny Basset, or Nenny Pappet, whatever you want to call her, became the first of many pleading eyes and mischievous smiles to come. I was to be manipulated by my wife and children alike into allowing all kinds of creatures into our home from that day on. Dogs, cats, rabbits, guinea pigs, hamsters, more budgies, gerbils, fish, a tortoise, even a lamb, would all come and go, each one finding a place in our hearts, of which all would be sorely missed and fondly remembered when finally having to take their leave.
It would become commonplace over the years to see our sombre little procession making its way out into the garden to bury a guinea pig, budgie or hamster, although after a while I had to stop Barbara using non-biodegradable containers, because every time I went out to do some digging, I kept unearthing the grim remains of a past loved one, who by then was usually in an advanced stage of decomposition within its plastic sarcophagus, which, usually had the hieroglyphics of a bird and the inscription Stork on its lid.
For all their trouble though, and let me assure you there was plenty, over the years they brought a feeling of warmth and completion to our home, teaching the children they had a responsibility to love and care for all God’s creatures, young or old, large or small, whereby for a job well done they would receive love, loyalty and companionship in return.
