My Dog Tulip

PHONE RINGS

PHONE CONTINUES TO RING

INDISTINCT SHOUTS

Silence, please!

(Take care, sir.)

CAR HORNS BLARE

KEYS JANGLE

WHINING

My dog is an Alsatian bitch.

Her name is Tulip.

I have never owned a dog before her.

Alsatians have a bad reputation.

They are said to bite the hand that feeds them.

Indeed, Tulip bit my hand once, but accidentally.

She mistook it for a rotten apple

we were both trying to grab simultaneously.

One of her canines sank into my thumb-joint to the bone.

Oh, well, we all make mistakes, and she was dreadfully sorry.

She rolled over with all her legs in the air, and later on, when she

saw the bandage on my hand, she put herself in a corner,

the darkest corner of the bedroom,

and stayed there for the rest of the afternoon.

She could hardly do more by way of apology, for she becomes

so hysterically excited at the mere hint of being taken out

for a walk that she rushes into the kitchen to grab

the vegetables, and scatters them all about the corridor

as if they were rose petals marking her ascension to heaven.

It seems to me both touching and strange

that she should find the world so wonderful.

# Piddle piddle seal and sign

# I'll smell your arse, you smell mine

# Human beings are prudes and bores

# You smell my arse, I'll smell yours

# Human beings are prudes and bores

# You smell my arse, I smell yours. #

When children are difficult, the cause is often traced to their home

and it was upon Tulip's first home that I blamed her unsociable conduct.

She had originally belonged to some working-class people who,

though fond of her in their way, seldom took her out.

She was too excitable.

For nearly a year she scarcely left their house but spent her time,

mostly alone, in a tiny backyard, for they were at work all day.

She could hardly be expected, therefore,

to learn the ways of a world she so rarely visited.

The only training she ever received was an occasional thrashing

for the destruction which her owners discovered when they returned home.

HORN BLARES

Alsatians, in particular, do not take kindly to beatings.

They are too intelligent and too nervous.

BARKING

It was from this life, when she was 18 months old, that I rescued her,

and to it that I attributed the disturbances of her psyche.

Thereafter, it was clear that

if she could have her way she would never let me out of her sight again.

STEAM TRAIN WHISTLE BLOWS

HISSING

WHISTLE BLOWS

BARKING

While I was extremely grateful to the gallant stranger who had come

to my rescue, Tulip's subsequent behaviour may have caused him

to regret his kindness.

The journey home was, however, mercifully short,

and I held high expectations of a less fraught stroll

along the towpath of the Thames to my flat in Putney.

She was so unused to being out in the world that she could not

differentiate between the swollen river lapping the towpath

and a mere puddle.

She rushed into it and immediately sank.

I hastened to her rescue, but I could scarcely help

laughing at the sight of her when I heaved her out.

She was less amused than I.

This unexpected immersion had one useful consequence, however -

the coal dust from the yard in which

she had been confined by her former owners was washed clean away.

And so it was that this beautiful creature came into my life

and transformed it.

By the end of that eventful first day,

she too had undergone a metamorphosis,

from beggar-maid to princess,

and it was I, the somewhat shabby hero of my own storybook,

who had rescued her and won her heart.

In the journal of General Bertrand, Napoleon's Grand Marshal,

this entry occurs: "1821, April 12th.

"At 10.30 the Emperor passed a large and well-formed motion."

I sympathize with the general.

However, Tulip's bowel movements cause me even greater concern

since she has two small canine anal glands, which Napoleon did not have.

Therefore hers require two-fold the supervision.

KETTLE WHISTLES

These canine glands produce a secretion,

which is periodically released

by the passage of a... General Bertrand-pleasing form.

If, however, a dog is continually loose in the bowels,

the glands become congested and can form abscesses.

It was a misty September morning

and I had taken Tulip out to relieve herself,

which she was peacefully doing.

It always pleases me to see her perform this physical act.

Her ears lie back, her head cranes forward,

and a mild, meditative look settles on her face.

While we were thus harmlessly engaged,

a cyclist shot around the corner towards us.

Since Tulip was safely on the pavement I would have not

noticed this person at all if he had not addressed me as he flew past.

Try taking your dog off the pavement to mess!

One should not lose one's temper, but the remark stung me.

"What, to be run over by you? Try minding your own business!"

-I am, an' all!

-He bawled over his shoulder.

What's the bleeding street for?

"For turds like you!" I retorted.

"Bleeding dogs!" he screamed. "Arseholes!" I replied.

There was no more to be said. I had had the last word.

Nevertheless, I am able to see other people's points of view.

I know of few things upon which it is a positive pleasure to tread.

Whenever I take Tulip out, therefore,

I offer her the opportunity to drop twigs where there are trees.

Here, amid the flotsam and jetsam of French letters

and the swollen bodies of drowned cats, dogs and birds

left by the tide,

she is often moved to open her bowels.

If not, we pass on to another species of refuse dump.

The dead are less particular and more charitable than the living.

It is a charming little cemetery.

To what better use could such a place be put?

And are not its ghosts gladdened that so beautiful a young creature

as Tulip should come here for her needs, whatever they may be?

Tulip sometimes embarrasses me, too.

She delivered herself once in front of a greengrocer's shop,

and this on the way home from a long walk on Putney Common

where she had already left as much as I supposed her to contain.

I knew the grocer and his wife for a surly, disobliging couple.

Hoping that they would not observe Tulip, I hastened by,

hissing at her to "Hurry up, for God's sake!"

as I passed.

I glanced back, intending to disown her if she had been observed.

Tulip had just finished and was following me

but at that very instant

the man and his wife flew angrily out and caught my eye.

Useless now to pretend ignorance, yet I continued on my way.

They hurled insults after me.

'Ere! Mister!

Look what your bleedin' dog's gone and done!

Then my conscience smote me.

True, they were horrid people, but Tulip's gift would not help to

uplift their hearts to a sweeter view of life.

As soon as this noble thought occurred to me, I retraced my steps.

"I am sorry about my dog," I said.

"But if you'll give me some newspaper or a bucket of water

"and a brush, I'll clear it up for you."

It took me some time to swab it up but I was thorough.

SCRUBBING

"Well, that's done," I said cheerfully.

It was now her turn to pretend not to catch my eye.

"You could say thank you," I added mildly.

Why should I?

She retorted, with a brief, contemptuous look.

Standing there with my hands full, I had an impulse to drop it all

back on the pavement.

Women are dangerous,

and I feared now that Tulip's death cries as she went under a bus

while dodging some vegetable missile would sound like music to this one.

I restrained myself.

For as long as I could remember I had been searching for an ideal friend,

but I have never really found

the person who fitted my exacting requirements.

There was always some flaw - too tall, too short, too outgoing,

too shy, too insecure, too independent.

As the years passed and the opportunities grew fewer,

I had a mental image of the ideal friend as a plain jug

containing a delightful mix of good companionship

and intellectual stimulation,

the shape, age and size of which no longer had any importance for me.

I still felt that if I only turned this corner instead of that,

or boarded this bus rather than that one,

I would find the ideal friend waiting for me, and that we would

recognize each other at once after the exchange of a few words.

But a further complication was

that I did not want anyone to think that I was pursuing them.

It was therefore necessary to encounter the ideal friend

face-to-face - which is not easy

if you happen both to be moving in the same direction.

It was with a measure of naivety in dog affairs that my first

consultation with a vet was to inquire whether she was in heat.

BARKING

The question was never settled, that is to say, by him.

All he said, in a cold voice, was:

Have you no control over your dog?

In the face of the evidence it was idle to say anything but "No".

To which, still keeping his distance, he dryly replied:

Then take her out of my surgery at once.

Another vet had been recommended to me.

He was an ex-Army man, a major.

Just have to take them like...

Having failed, as I had failed,

to shout her down, the major swooped upon her, yelping.

These Alsatians! They're all the same!

And beat her about the body with his bare hands.

These dashing military tactics did not enable him to examine her,

if that was part of his plan.

As I walked away from this establishment,

I supposed myself to be in the possession of an undoctorable dog

and this gloomy reflection was succeeded by another, which was,

if all Alsatians are the same,

did any of them ever receive medical attention?

BARKING

It transpired that they did, this time for a most important service,

to have her inoculated against distemper.

BARKING AND KNOCKING

I had made the appointment by telephone

and had thought it politic to apologise for Tulip in advance.

BARKING AND KNOCKING FROM BELOW

The first sight that greeted us

before we ever reached the surgery door,

for its window looked out upon the yard through which we passed,

was a spaniel all too plainly seen within.

Absolutely motionless, and with an air of deep absorption,

the dog was standing upon the table in an empty room

with a thermometer sticking out of its bottom, like a cigarette.

It was almost as though he had put it there himself.

Oh, Tulip! If only you were like that! But she was not.

BARKING

Can you turn her back to me and hold her head still?

-I think so.

-Good!

-Now just keep her head like that.

-May I give her the injection myself?

You could show me where to do it and she wouldn't mind from me. Oh, I say!

Don't hurt her! There's really no need!

PANTING

After this, Tulip would not, could not,

even enter the streets in which her last two experiences had taken place.

I would suddenly miss her from my side and, looking wildly around,

espy her far behind me.

There was no getting away from her face. It said both

"What?" and "What!"

I then noticed that, in spite of the nourishing food I provided,

Tulip looked too thin.

The distressing word "worms" was dropped into my ear

by a passing stranger and soon after I decided to take her along to

Miss Canvenini, which was the name of the lady vet she kindly gave me.

Miss Canvenini stood quietly in front of us, looking down at Tulip

while I stumbled through some account of her past and present troubles.

Then she asked:

What's her name?

I told her.

Well, Tulip, you are a noisy girl, aren't you? What is it all about?

How maddening, how intolerable it was.

I found myself suddenly yelling,

Stop it, you brute!

BARKING STOPS

BARKING STARTS AGAIN

I biffed her nose. The blow was harder than I intended.

I see. Just slip the lead through her collar,

I'll examine her in another room.

Are you sure it'll be all right?

Perfectly all right.

PHONE RINGS

RINGING STOPS

EXAGGERATED TICKING OF CLOCK

No signs of worms. She's in excellent condition.

-How did she behave?

-Good as gold.

Did you tie her nose?

Heavens, no! I never do that.

I knew she would be no trouble.

How?

Well, you learn by experience, I suppose.

But it isn't difficult to tell a dog's character from its face.

Tulip's a good girl, I saw that at once. You are the trouble.

I sat down.

She is in love with you, so life is full of worries for her.

In order to protect you she wants to be free,

so she doesn't like people touching her.

But when you're not there, there's nothing for her to do.

Speak to her quietly. In time, she'll do anything for you.

Excuse me.

Has she, Miss Canvenini, has she ever been bitten?

Sublime woman!

My sister, Nancy, who had no fixed abode, became aware that I had

been looking in vain for someone to become Tulip's escort and caretaker,

as my office responsibilities on most mornings required me

to abandon her to long periods of loneliness and boredom.

From the outset, Tulip made it very clear that she, not Nancy,

was mistress of the house and had every intention of maintaining this position.

I had naturally been worried that Nancy, once installed,

would attempt to invade what remained of my privacy,

but Tulip defended our territory rather well.

BARKING

The room Tulip and I occupied was to remain strictly out of bounds

and any attempt by Nancy even to approach it,

let alone knock at the door or enter,

was greeted by a prolonged outburst of ferocious barking.

BARKING

BARKING STOPS

BARKING

No more was needed.

Nancy would not advance another step

but would call out to ask some pointless question.

Joe? Shall I put the kettle on?

Joe? Are you in there?

BARKING

I thought I might go up to the West End to look at the shops.

But if it's going to rain, then I don't suppose I will.

Joe?

Days passed and my sister's mind got busy, as I guessed it would,

with the problem of obstructing my wishes.

You know, she's a quite different dog when you're not here.

She's quiet, she's obedient, she does everything I tell her.

And there's none of that terrible fuss about me going into your room

when you're not in there.

I should, of course, say how grateful I was to Nancy,

in spite of everything.

I could not imagine anyone filling this role better, but that role was

not quite the one Nancy had envisaged when she came to live with us.

She saw herself as a member of the household.

I saw her as a dependable kennel-maid.

While I was at the office,

Nancy attempted to seduce Tulip away from me,

and I thought at one awful moment that she had almost succeeded.

I awoke in a panic

to find that Tulip was not asleep in her usual chair in our room,

and a dreadful thought struck me

that she had decided to spend the night with Nancy.

The idea that she could have rejected me in favour of my sister

was almost too much to bear,

and I sank back into my pillow thinking

that our life of companionship was over,

and that I was once more alone in the world.

And then I heard a faint, familiar noise,

the soft, melancholy noise that Tulip makes when she's unhappy.

WHINING

She'd been lured into my sister's room and kept there against her will,

and she immediately followed me back to my own room.

She remained what she always was -

my dog.

I should never have doubted her.

But now that I'd been proved wrong,

I was able to fall contentedly into a deep and restful sleep.

MORNING BIRD CHORUS

I was not to have any rest from Nancy, however.

Having failed to win Tulip over to her side she was prepared

to carry on this battle to the end, however gory that might be.

ANGRY BARKING AND SNARLING

Nancy had, of course, relied upon my inability to stand by

and watch her being savaged without intervening.

She must therefore have taken a quiet satisfaction in seeing me

beat off my dog, even though every blow fell unwillingly.

GROWLING

Tulip! Down

Stop this nonsense, Tulip!

Tulip!

SMACKING

Down! Stay, Tulip!

I hardly remember for how long these two formidable females

tussled for my custody.

It was certainly more than a year and it was rather...

DOG BARKS AT CROCKERY CLINKING

..distracting.

Alas, very few of my friends ask me to stay with them anymore.

GROWLING

Those who have no pets of their own

are a little forgetful about inviting Tulip twice.

People seem to take exception to being assaulted

whenever they cross their legs in their own sitting rooms.

One of the last hosts to invite us down to his country home

was a Captain Pugh, who had served with me in France in the 1914 war.

I had seen nothing of him for a great many years

and then he suddenly turned up again.

He said he was farming in Kent and gave me orders to come down to stay.

He agreeably added Tulip to the invitation

and so we travelled down into Kent together that very month.

Actually I remembered very little about my host,

except that he had been an officer who had managed to combine

great courage and efficiency with a marked habit of indolence.

Whenever, for instance, he had wanted his servant or his orderly,

it had been his custom to fire his revolver -

one shot for the servant, two for the orderly -

to save himself the exertion of shouting.

Strange fellow, what?

An odd figure and, as I was to discover, set in his ways;

his whims were, indeed, to contribute to the misfortunes

that befell us beneath his roof.

BIRD CALLS

CHICKENS CLUCK

Now, I hope Tulip won't go after them.

They're laying rather well at present.

I hoped not, too.

He may have been hinting that I should put Tulip on a lead

but how can one gauge the intelligence of one's animal

if one never affords it the chance to display any?

GROWLING AND BARKING

Tulip!

I was too late.

BARKING

I apologized profusely

but it turned out to be not at all an important cat.

It can stay there now.

I'll have someone let it out before night falls.

I permitted myself to be...

HE LAUGHS

Yes, I permitted myself to be amused.

Little did I think that this cat was to take its revenge upon us later.

Captain Pugh's idleness had only gained ground.

The problem that troubled him the most appeared to be whether,

for an hour or more, both before and after every meal,

it would be more rewarding to nap on a sofa

or to undress and return to bed.

TOILET FLUSHES

Every room, including the bathroom and kitchen,

were furnished with a sofa.

In those rare moments he was on his feet...

You cows, atten-shun!

..Pugh would stalk about his farm buildings

shouting commands in military fashion

and causing great consternation among the cows.

All right now! Quick-march!

Come along then! Come along there!

Step lively!

Come on then!

All right, you cows, stand at ease!

He then retired for the night up the wide wooden staircase

with its low treads to reduce leg strain.

Pugh paused to observe that he was a light sleeper

and therefore hoped that Tulip was a sound one.

TRAIN WHISTLE

So as to wake up like a giant refreshed!

I had been allotted the bedroom joining his.

Besides the bed it contained,

I was glad, though not surprised,

to find a comfortable sofa...

..for Tulip.

In fact, Tulip is a very quiet sleeper, though she will

usually pay me one visit in the night and put her nose against my face.

Perhaps I cry out in my dreams,

or do not and she wishes to reassure herself that I am not dead.

GAS LAMP HISSES

It was therefore well precedented when she wakened me at about 2am.

I patted her and turned away.

She pulled at me in an urgent kind of way. What could she want?

CAT MIAOWS

Ah, so that was it!

She left me then but she did not go to her sofa.

Don't be tiresome, Tulip! Go back to bed!

We'll visit the cat in the morning.

Silence.

Then I heard plop, plop, plop.

FLATULENT SQUIRTING

I fumbled for my matches.

Tulip was coming to me from the other side of the room.

Wagging her tail and gazing at me with soft, glowing eyes,

she kissed my cheek.

Avoiding all the rugs, she had laid her mess on the linoleum

and as far from me as she could get, against Pugh's communicating door.

And, indeed, she couldn't have helped it.

I saw at once when I got out of bed to look,

she couldn't have retained that for a moment longer.

PAPER RUSTLING

TEARING

GENTLE COUGHING

MATCH-STRIKE

CREAKING FLOORBOARDS

TOILET GURGLING

BARKING

WHISPERING: Shh, Tulip!

Shh, shh, shh.

COCK CROWS

She had used every device that lay in her power to tell me something,

and I had not understood.

Alas for the gulf that separates man and beast.

Did she lose some confidence in me at that moment?

I have often sadly wondered.

FLATULENT SQUELCHING

Poor Pugh.

It was not, I fear, with the look of a giant refreshed

that he appeared at the breakfast table later.

He said kindly that it was of no consequence.

But it was.

The Norton was waiting in the yard, its engine snickering impatiently.

Tulip was never asked again.

BARKING

But here the story finds a happy ending.

If I did forfeit any of Tulip's confidence at that period,

I have reasons to believe that I had recovered it later,

as we shall soon see.

Dogs read the world through their noses

and write their history in urine.

Tulip is particularly instructive when she is in season.

She has two kinds of urination - necessity and social.

In necessity she squats squarely and abruptly right down on her shins,

her hind legs forming a kind of dam against the stream

that gushes out from behind.

Her expression is complacent.

For social urination she seldom squats,

but balances herself on one hind leg, the other being cocked up in the air.

A single drop will do.

The expression on her face is business-like,

as though she was signing a cheque.

She attends socially to a wide range of objects,

the commonest group being the droppings of other animals...

..fresh horse dung having a special attraction for her

and is always liberally sprayed.

Then she sprinkles any food that has been thrown out

buns, bones, fish, bread...

..vomit - unless it is food she wishes to eat.

Dead and decaying animals are carefully attended to.

There came a day when she suddenly added my urine

to the other privileged objects of her social attention.

How touched I was!

How honoured I felt!

Oh, Tulip!

"Thank you," I said.

And now she always does it,

so I feel that, if ever there were differences between us...

FLATULENT SQUELCHING

..they're washed out now.

I feel a proper dog.

Soon after Tulip came into my possession

I set about finding a husband for her.

She had had a lonely and frustrated life hitherto,

now she should have a full one.

A full life naturally included the pleasures of sex and maternity,

and although I could not, of course,

accommodate a litter of puppies in my small flat,

that was a matter to which I would give my attention later.

Miss Canvenini provided me with the address of a Mr Blandish

who lived in Cheam and owned a good Alsatian named Max

whom he was willing to lend.

BARKING

Max was then revealed as a heavy, handsome dog

with the grave deportment of the old family retainer.

When I was invited into the sitting-room...

Show the gentleman in, Max.

..he kept me under close surveillance

The house and its management clearly belonged to him.

To have offered him any kind of familiarity, it was plain,

would have been as shocking a breach of etiquette

as if one had attempted to stroke the butler.

Matches!

Matches! Are there no matches in the house?!

Oh, never mind, I think I've got some.

Thank you, Max.

HE LAUGHS

Then will this be his first experience of, um...

..with the opposite sex?

I've been told there might be some difficulties, unless, uh...

Oh, you needn't worry about that.

Max knows his oats all right!

Oh, he's been married before, then?

He's never been churched, it's true, but when we were down in the country

a couple of years ago, he happened upon a stray bitch in heat -

not at all a classy one either -

and had his wicked way with her on the spot.

He'll be delighted to repeat the performance with Tulip,

I can assure you!

Oh, then, well, it was only that...

Leave it all to me!

I've got a very reliable little book -

not that Max will need to look anything up in it.

GROWLING

It's all right, Max, the gentleman has permission.

In case you took the wrong hat!

HE LAUGHS

A formal introduction was effected a few days later.

The sound of Max's throaty rumble as we advanced up the driveway

announced that he was on duty, and the opening door disclosed him

planted squarely on the threshold as before.

But, no sooner had Max approached Tulip in the most affable manner,

than she rounded vigorously upon him and drove him

down the passage into the pantry.

SMASHING GLASS

The Blandishes took no offence.

Mr Blandish, "I see she is quite the sweet and proper little bitch..."

HE LAUGHS

..I can see them get along famously together when her time comes.

More chuckles and winks at Mrs B.

I could not help wondering

from what source of knowledge such optimism derived.

That should be between her seventh and ninth day.

His index finger knowingly pointing to heaven.

The nuptials shall take place in the back garden.

Pointing at my tie.

"My own information says a later day," I venture to remark,

"And that the second week might be better."

But he firmly replied that I was mistaken

and I could safely leave matters to his judgment.

I then suggested that they might be exercised together

between now and then.

What a good idea!

Cried Mrs Blandish.

But her husband was instantly and flatly opposed.

It was Mrs Blandish who took Max for walks

while he himself was at work

and he would not permit her to have any part in this business,

at any rate in his absence.

When we left, Max was again withdrawn from hiding to say goodbye to Tulip.

His other wife bit him in the shoulder

but he won't at all mind a few more bites

when his time with Tulip comes!

He said this with such gusto that I glanced again

involuntarily at Mrs Blandish,

who was smiling roguishly at him with her small, even teeth.

Dear Tulip chose to come to heat

in the midst of the most arctic winter

this chilly country had suffered for 50 years.

But it was my first experience of her in this condition

and I was enchanted.

I was touched by the mysterious process at work within her

and felt very sweet towards her.

That small dark bud - her vulva - became swollen

and more noticeable as she walked ahead of me,

and sometimes it would set up a tickle or some other sensation,

for she would suddenly squat down on the road and fall to licking it.

Tulip is still bleeding, I'm afraid.

Oh, not to worry.

HE LAUGHS

HE SNIFFS

BARKING

Never mind!

Everything will be quite all right

after we leave them alone together in the garden.

They'll get down to business in no time.

THEY LAUGH

Yes, yes.

Everything will be quite all right.

POURING AND CROCKERY RATTLING

The end of this fiasco will already be apparent.

Max was propelled by Tulip back into the house

and so it was that this marked the end of Mr Blandish's indulgence

and our visit.

"You bad girl." I said to Tulip, as we trudged away through the snow.

But she was now, when she had me back to herself,

in her most disarming mood, and as soon as we were home

she attempted to bestow upon my leg

all the love that the pusillanimous Max had been denied.

Miss Canvenini informed me

that mating dogs was not always a simple matter,

and added the belated information that when they were inexperienced

the application of a little Vaseline to the bitch sometimes helped

to excite and define the interest, besides acting as a lubricant.

She then put me in touch with a Mr Plum,

who owned a well-kept Alsatian off Putney Hill.

"Now do be serious!" I said to Tulip.

I rang Mr Plum's bell.

BELL RINGS

He at once emerged and led us to the garage.

"Nice dog," I said, "What's his name?

"Chum," said Mr Plum.

BARKING

Mr Plum looks at his watch.

SNARLING

GROWLING

SNARLING AND BARKING

"Perhaps Tulip would concentrate better if we left them alone,"

suggested Mr Plum.

He looks at his watch again.

"Mrs Plum has a cup of tea for us in the flat,"

Mr Plum added, glancing at his watch.

WHINING

Two cups of tea were already poured. I took mine up.

It was not tepid, it was cold!

The striking thing about Mrs Plum's kitchen was its cleanliness.

The kitchen was more like a model Ideal Home exhibition

than a room actually in use.

Mrs Plum stood in its perfect centre

holding in her arms the most doll-like baby I ever saw.

I congratulated Mrs Plum on the beauty of her kitchen

and added that it was a marvel

to keep a place so clean when it contained a dog.

She answered in a grave voice that Chum was not allowed into the house

because dog's make things dirty.

Tulip was exactly where we had left her.

I smeared her lavishly with Vaseline and tried to hold her still

while Mr Plum strove to guide Chum to a more accurate aim.

BARKING It was all of no use.

I realised that our efforts to please had turned into cruelty

and said we must stop.

Could it be, as Mr Plum suggested, that she might relax more

if the action was transferred to my own flat?

Tulip greeted Chum with infantile pleasure

and at once instituted nursery games, chasing him, or being chased by him,

in and out of my flat, scattering newspapers like leaves in the wind.

Chum still found her attractive

but of sexual interest on her side there was no sign.

Later on, we took them out for a walk together on Putney Common.

What was Tulip trying to tell us?

Had I brought her to Max too early and to Chum too late?

Was neither dog personally acceptable to her?

Or was her devotion to myself all the love she needed?

PANTING

Here, Chum! Good boy. Come here, boy!

Come here, I say! Will you do as your told?!

CHUM!

I thought Chum was going to be like that. I don't like to blame him.

We've had some jolly good hikes together but of course,

when you're married, you've got other people to consider,

and it's natural that the wife should want one's company too.

'But I had left off listening to Mr Plum's sorrowful reflections.

'Cutting across our path was a curious figure

'who instantly caught my attention.'

I wouldn't be surprised if she's a barren bitch.

Too nervous and 'ighly strung for my liking.

Now, if it 'adn't been a Sunday

and me 'aving the young lad with me an' all,

I wouldn't 'ave minded unleashing one of me own dogs on 'er, 'ere an' now.

They'd soon find out if she's a barren bitch or not!

There aren't many people about.

Can't we go over into those bushes? No-one would see us there.

I'd 'ave been pleased to try

but I couldn't in front of the young lad.

Did you give 'er a lead at all? You, know, prompt 'er like?

There's ways of stimulating 'em up.

-Vaseline?

-Ah, you knew about that.

I wouldn't 'ave minded demonstrating it on one of me own dogs,

if it 'adn't been for the presence of the young lad.

I had by now conceived so intense a dislike for this sickly-faced youth

who looked as though there was little he did not already know

about the art of self-stimulation,

that I could hardly keep the venom out of my gaze

and asked irritably whether he could not be sent for a walk by himself.

The desire to instruct is a powerful one

and our lecturer could not resist it.

He accordingly sent the boy off with one of the dogs,

and then, after a cautious look around,

demonstrated upon the remaining animal what transpires

when one exerts a slight warming pressure on its member.

What occurred then requires no further enlarging upon

and that was the end of my attempt to marry Tulip that season.

I had a lot of trouble with the local dogs,

far more than I had had in the winter.

It became quite a puzzle to know

where to exercise Tulip when she was in heat.

The only fault I could find

was that she was apt to spread the news of her condition

by sprinkling the doorstep on her way in and out,

which brought all the neighbouring dogs along in a trice

to hang hopefully about the building for the rest of her season.

Thereafter, her walks became as harassed

as are the attempts of film stars

to leave the Savoy Hotel undetected by reporters.

Stealth, therefore, was an essential preliminary to success.

A single bark would undo us now.

BARKING

Dogs would materialise out of the very air and come racing towards us.

Some were so small that by no stroke of luck

could they possibly achieve their high ambition.

Some were so old and arthritic they could hardly hobble along.

Yet all deserted hearth and home

and skirmished after us so far that I often wondered

whether those who dropped out ever managed to return home.

Well, then I lost my temper. Scram! Shoo! Piss off!

I took to pelting the dauntless creatures with sticks and clods

but Tulip instantly flew off to retrieve them

and returned with sundry dogs clinging to her bottom.

With all the intelligence gone out of her eyes,

she would reach a point of frenzy,

tearing my clothes or my flesh with her teeth.

Most of our walks, therefore, ended in bad humour

and I was thankful to get home,

safely out of reach of our oppressors,

who being unable to rise above themselves in any other way,

remained where they were.

There was one mongrel in my district

to whom Tulip was so devoted that it was quite a romance.

He was a very small and rather wooden terrier,

with a mean little face,

and I had only to pronounce his name, which was Watney,

for her to prick up her ears and lead me excitedly

to the public house in which he lived.

The publican would let the little dog out and Tulip would greet him

with all her prettiest demonstrations of pleasure.

Every now and then she would place a paw on his back,

as though to hold him still for contemplation.

What she saw, or smelt,

in this dreary little dog I never could understand.

During her heats, he practically lived on our doorsteps

and when she appeared,

clung like a barnacle to one of her hind legs,

while she patiently stood and allowed him to do with her

as he would and could...or could not.

But when, in the long intervals between, she visited him in his pub,

he never found for her more than a moment to spare.

Having ascertained, with a sniff, that there was nothing doing,

he would retire stiffly to his duties behind the bar.

"Never mind, Tulip dear," I would say,

"It's the way of the world, I fear."

The nicest thing for her, therefore, it seemed to me,

would be to find her an Alsatian Watney.

"I have rented a bungalow in Sussex for the summer.

"Owner accepts dogs.

"No need to look further

"if you are in search of holiday accommodation. N."

"I've fixed up Tulip's love affairs here in London.

"Can't possibly make it. Joe."

"None of your dogs could possibly be as good as Mountjoy

"and Mrs Tudor-Smith is frightfully keen on the marriage. N."

Now, this was Nancy's trump card.

Mountjoy belongs to some people a little further down Witchball Lane.

He is an Alsatian of such ancient and aristocratic ancestry

that Mrs Tudor-Smith has been heard to declare

that his genealogy went back even further than her own did.

"I have often seen him just outside

"the gates of Badgers' Holt where he resided.

"He always seems to stand in the classic show-dog attitude,

"as though he had invented it, and he perpetually

"poses for cameras that he must believe are somewhere about.

"If he has ever emitted any sound louder than a yawn,

"I have not heard it, certainly nothing so coarse as a bark.

"Dear Nancy, I have an urgent business matter

"which might require my presence in London over the summer."

"If you want a second string,

"Colonel Finch says you can have Gunner whenever you like. N."

We went.

BARKING

Well, we're here, aren't we?

But you've no idea of the difficulties ahead.

You couldn't possibly cope.

You're exaggerating.

If you can cope, so can I.

Tulip entered her heat on the first day of June

and within a few days, Mon Repos was in a state of siege.

Nancy began by thinking this rather amusing,

and she found the little Scotties and Sealyhams who came to call "sweet".

She found it less amusing when they accumulated and camped out all night,

quarrelling and whining, among the Seven Dwarfs.

Nancy found it less amusing still when she took Tulip for walks

and fell into the error I had made

of attempting to beat off her escort,

which resulted in a torrent of complaints

amongst the locals that she had been seen in torn clothes and flesh.

CHURCH MUSIC PLAYS

Tulip, therefore, was not taken out at all.

All windows presented her

with the spectacle of a dozen or so of her male friends waiting outside.

She barked at them incessantly.

They barked back.

She would break into song.

The expensive curtains were all in tatters.

Soon they forced their way in at several points

and my sister and I engaged in ejecting dogs of all shapes and sizes

from dining room, sun parlour

and even in the night from our bedrooms.

I've never seen such scruffy articles!

You're an absolute disgrace!

Go on! Sod off! Bugger off home!

Get back to your slums!

You're not 'er class.

Oh, damn an' blast the dogs.

Joe!

Joe!

For God's sake, Joe!

Tulip had not seen much of Mountjoy during her wooing week.

The Tudor-Smiths thought it undesirable

that he should mix in such low company.

But now was the appropriate time and she was pleased to see him.

As soon as he made his wishes clear, she allowed him to mount her.

But, for some reason, he failed to achieve his purpose.

His stabs, it looked to me, did not quite reach her.

After a little, she disengaged herself

and began to flirt in front of him.

But he had graver ends in view. Again she stood.

This time he appeared to have moved further forward

but now she gave a nervous cry and escaped from him once more.

They tried again and again. The same thing always happened.

It was sorrow to watch them trying to know each other and always failing,

until she would have no more to do with him and drove him away.

Who would have supposed that mating a bitch could be so baffling a problem?

I sent for the local vet.

Next morning he came and stood with me

while the animals repeated their futile and exhausting antics.

It's the dog's fault.

His foreskin is too tight, you know.

He can't draw her.

That's a disability that could have been corrected when he was a puppy.

He's a rig dog too.

He has an undescended testicle.

That's a serious disqualification in mating.

-Eh?

-Er...

-WHINING

-Off with you!

There was nothing now to be done but to bundle Tulip

and convey her to Mon Repos.

HUMMING

# Human beings are prudes and bores. #

We re-entered her taxi and were driven back.

Dusk was now falling.

I restored her to the ravaged back garden

and it was while I stood with her there

that the dog next door emerged through what remained of the fence.

He hung there in the failing light, half in, half out,

his attention fixed warily upon me.

He was a disreputable, dirty ragamuffin.

I smiled at him.

"Well, there you are, old girl," I said to Tulip.

"Take it or leave it. It's up to you."

I knew my intervention was at an end.

Tulip gazed at me in horror and appeal.

Heavens, I thought, this is love?

These are the pleasures of sex?

It was a full half hour before nature released Dusty,

who instantly fled,

and it was more as though she had been freed

from some dire situation of peril than from the embraces of love.

The following day, a car was summoned to take us to the station.

When all was ready for immediate departure -

the engine running, the car door open - I emerged

from the ruined bungalow with Tulip on the lead

and ran the gauntlet of dogs down the garden path.

They pursued us in a pack so far down the country lanes

that I was suddenly terrified that the more pertinacious

would gain the station and invade the train.

The scene had the quality of a nightmare.

But the car outstripped them all at last and we got safely away.

BARKING

Tulip was not a barren bitch.

Later on, when she got heavier, I set about designing a box for her.

I asked Miss Canvenini to be on hand in case we needed her.

But Tulip took us unawares.

She whelped five days before her scheduled time

and was alone in my flat when her labour began.

She was in her box.

She had understood its purpose after all.

She was panting.

A tiny sound, like the distant mewing of gulls, came from the box.

I knew Tulip was glad that I was there.

Nevertheless, I did not approach her.

I could not see well but I knew what was happening

and I heard her tongue and teeth at work.

She was nosing this package out of herself,

severing the umbilical cord,

releasing the tiny creature from its tissues

and eating up the after-birth.

I was in awe of this beautiful animal.

In the midst of her life,

performing unerringly upon herself

the delicate and complicated business of creation,

as though directed by some divine wisdom.

She produced eight puppies at half-hourly intervals

and was not done until evening fell.

When it was plain that she had finished, I went and kissed her.

She allowed me to touch and lift her babies.

She had complete confidence in me that I would not hurt them.

It was misplaced.

As soon as my common senses returned and I envisaged a future

that contained eight extra dogs...

..I prepared a bucket of water and a flour sack

weighted with such heavy objects as I could lay my hands on.

How could I distract proud Tulip's attention

while I carried out my dark deed?

Suddenly, she hurried out into the sitting room

as though making for my terrace, which was her customary latrine.

For the first time in her life, she had deliberately fouled my flat.

But I was not thinking of that as I mopped it all up.

I was thinking how sadly bedraggled and thin she had appeared

in the brief glimpse I had of her.

The bucket and flower sack were fated not to be used as first intended,

though looking back now over the years,

it might have been better if they had been.

And as I watched upon my terrace the unfolding of these affectionate, helpless lives,

I hoped to put the creatures out

among adult, educated and prosperous people,

but my hopes were not realised.

My landlord, understandably, had told me to get my animals,

or myself, out of the place at once.

The puppies went one by one to whomsoever would take them.

How well did I do for them?

I did in the end what I had meant not to do - I cast them to fortune.

I had flown too high.

Health and happiness cannot be secured

and the only way to avoid the onus of responsibility

for the lives of animals is never to traffic in them at all.

I gave one puppy to a shopkeeper friend who offered to find him a home.

He was sold over the counter. To whom? I never discovered.

What happened to him? I don't know.

The owner of one said it had been too difficult to house-train.

The owner of another, a labourer and, alas, a drinker,

spun a long story to account for its disappearance.

The impulse to follow up their small destinies soon weakened.

Hmm. Better not to know.

Whatever blunders I may have committed in my management of my animal's life,

she lived on to the great age of sixteen-and-a-half.

I was a bit drained in spirit when Tulip came into my hands

and the 15 years she lived with me turned into the happiest of my life.

She entered my life when I was quite over 50

and she entirely transformed it.

She offered me what I had never found in my life with humans -

constant, single-hearted, incorruptible, uncritical devotion,

which it is in the nature of dogs to offer.

She placed herself entirely under my control.

Looking at her sometimes in her later years,

I used to think that the ideal friend, whom I no longer wanted,

perhaps never wanted, would have had the mind of my Tulip,

always at one's service through the devotion of a faithful and uncritical beast.

Are not all human contacts based upon

one person's wish to claim the affairs of another?

Everyone, it seems, wishes everyone else different from what they are.

Joe!

Joe! Joe!

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