Old Dog Tale

For a change this post is not about Muttley at all.  It is however about a dog, one with no name, no collar and a missing owner.  Above all, this dogs story shows the compassion of the average British Joe, and the tenuous link between dog and owner and the public in general. That, and it's a real story that happened right before my eyes yesterday.

I had taken youngest son to a party 25 minutes away in Chertsey - a magic show party in which the magician  ends up making those giveaway sword balloons for the boys and balloon dogs for the girls.  But before that there was the inevitable slight of hand tricks, the yes it is, no it isn't moments and a dodgy puppet.  Seeing an opportunity to hit the shops of Chertsey for some Christmas shopping, two other mummies and I set off in the general direction of the town centre.  Much to our disappointment there was not actually very much in terms of shopping - a Sainsburys, several closed charity shops and quite a lot of cafes of the formica table variety.  Selecting one of the better ones, we settled down to coffee and a gossip, and within no time at all we had got through two cups each and an hour and a half had passed. 

On paying, we headed back a different way to the party, along the main street.  Trotting in the middle of the road (Muttley style) was a very elderly corgi.  Cars screeched to a halt, drivers leant out of their windows trying to shoo it away, and my natural reaction was to crouch down and call it towards me - which it did very obligingly, but meant that all the drivers gave me filthy looks for not being able to keep my dog under control.

This little dog was quite rotund, with fur that moulted with every stroke, and most importantly for a dog in his situation, no collar.  One of the mummies who was highly allergic to dogs, started to sneeze.  It was obviously the time of Christmas cheer and thickening waistlines as none of us was wearing a belt, and so I despatched my friends to Sainsburys to get a collar and lead, and as my knees were beginning to give way with all the crouching, I sat down on the pavement with the dog.

A young couple and a buggy walked by, and stopped in concern.  The woman, with various piercings and bright red hair came over. 'Are you all right love?' she asked.  Realising that I might look a little incongruous sitting on the pavement, I explained the situation and they reacted immediately, the little girl in the buggy offering the dog her apple, the man crouching down to help me with the dog, and the woman whipping out her phone to try and call an animal welfare officer.  The problem was that it was Sunday, the local vets was shut, calls were being redirected from the RSPCA and not knowing the area I was a little stuck for ideas.  At this moment my friends arrived back, panting, with a brand new collar and lead, with which we secured the dog.

We decided, young couple in tow, to trace the dogs steps back towards where we first saw it, and discovered that there was a small park in the area.  Crossing the road to the park, dog obediently trotting at my side, I met a man with a dog.  'Excuse me,' I said 'I don't suppose you know this dog do you?'

Despite the crazy question from an obviously mad woman, he considered the dog and said eventually 'Do you know, I think I do...it belongs to an old woman and they walk in this park. Glued to each others sides they are... But she's not there now - I've been all around it and I haven't seen her today...She's quite distinctive, she has white hair and wears a black coat...'  'Do you think its the Queen?' said my friend in a stage whisper...

Agreeing to inform the old lady if he saw her of our plans to take the dog to a welfare centre, we went on our way, where a lone fisherman said that he also recognised the dog but didn't know where the owner lived.  In the meantime, the young woman was on her sixth call, patiently wading through the modern telephone systems that make our lives easier...

As the dog was a slow walker, and the party was nearing the end, one of the mummies went back to rescue the kids from being magicked into a top hat, and the other scooted round the rest of the park where someone else said that they knew the dog but not the owner.  Eventually the call came that said a dog warden was on his way.  The young couple lived in a flat nearby, and offered to take the dog with them (as long as it didn't eat their rabbit).  As it had already demolished a granola bar that I had found in my handbag (well, no-one else was going to eat it...) I thought it highly unlikely, and she promised to call me as soon as the warden arrived.

On going back through the town the man with the dog popped his head out of a pub door.  'Did you find her, love?' he asked with concern, as I shook my head.

I never did get that phone call, and can only hope that sometime, somewhere, that little old dog was reunited with its elderly owner, and  that nothing had happened to the elderly owner to make it go off for help in the first place, or indeed that nothing happened to the elderly owner on discovery that her companion was missing.

It's made me do one thing though today - I'm introducing Muttley by name to every dog walker we stop to talk to.  You never know when it might come in handy...