— Not Again With the Licking! Max, Get Him Away! Anna glared in exasperation at Timmy, the hapless pup bouncing around her feet. How did they end up with a dog like him? They’d spent ages researching, weighing up breeds, even seeking expert advice. They understood the responsibility—finally settling on a German Shepherd: loyal friend, vigilant guard, steadfast protector, sort of like a three-in-one shampoo. Only their “protector” needed rescuing from the neighbour’s cats… “He’s just a pup! Give him time—he’ll grow up, you’ll see.” “Yeah, I’m counting the days for this beast to grow into his paws. Do you realise he eats more than we do? How will we feed him? And for goodness’ sake, don’t stomp about like a lumberjack—you’ll wake the baby!” Anna grumbled as she collected the shoes Timmy had scattered. They lived on Churchill Avenue, in a ground-floor flat of one those grand, old red-brick buildings with windows almost at street level. The location was perfect but for one thing: the windows faced a shadowy cul-de-sac at the back, a haunt for shady sorts in the evenings, the scene of more than a few brawls. Anna spent her days at home with newborn Katie while Max was off working at the National Gallery or trawling through antique markets and second-hand bookstalls in his free time. With a curator’s keen eye, he unearthed hidden gems: rare art, collectible china, and Edwardian silver—all amassing quietly in their flat. The growing collection, and her days alone with a baby in a neighbourhood notorious for break-ins, made Anna anxious. “Anna, when do you think is best to walk Timmy? Now or after lunch?” “I don’t know, and honestly, that’s your dog business, not mine!” The word “walkies” sent Timmy zooming down the hall—so fast he nearly skidded into the wall—before snatching his lead and bouncing up, nose to ceiling. What a horse, not a dog! He loved everyone, greeted guests with a wag and brought anyone who’d let him his ball—while the only thing he protected was his reputation as the friendliest neighbour on the block. He wouldn’t even chase the local cats. Instead, he tried to make friends with them—resulting in a paw swipe across his nose more than once. The block’s cats were tough—maybe they should’ve got one of those for protection! With Max heading off to Henley-on-Thames for the Levitan Festival tomorrow, Anna faced another day alone: stuck guarding china and walking this big-eared dunce. Just what every mum needs… At dawn, Max tried to leave quietly, but Anna still caught the sound of the kettle, the jingle of the lead, his hushing Timmy from barking or thumping about. She drifted back to sleep until Katie’s fussing woke her, greeted by the same ordinary, peaceful day. Friends often sighed: “Anna, you married so young—torn between husband and daughter, stuck in the kitchen. Don’t you get bored?” But Anna found charm in the everyday, even if life wasn’t perfect. She coped with cramped space, tight budgets, and Max’s collectors’ passion burning through every spare penny—now leaving her with this big-eared companion. But Anna knew: you have to love people, foibles and all. No one promised perfection. She sat in the nursery feeding Katie, who kept dozing off mid-feed. When the doorbell rang, Anna didn’t answer. She wasn’t expecting anyone; no friend would trek across town without a call first. She treasured these quiet mornings, with only the old grandfather clock ticking and the muted city hum slipping in through the window: buses rumbling, street-sweepers shuffling, children’s voices in the distance… But where was Timmy? Odd; he’d been out of sight for a while now. His ears were perfect, really—perky and alert. Only his character was dopey. Now here they were: living with him, feeding him, walking him—and for what use? They’d have been better off with a spaniel. Anna watched her content daughter drift to sleep. Oh, what a precious girl! “My little treasure,” Anna whispered, tucking her in. “Grow up strong—what more could we wish for?” Just then, a strange noise came from the sitting room—a sharp crack or a squeak. Anna froze and listened. The sound came again. She crept out silently, heart pounding. Timmy’s back was towards her, half-hidden behind the curtain dividing the hallway from the lounge. His whole body was tense, crouched low, ears up, watching intently into the room. Anna followed his gaze and felt a chill: halfway through the window, wedged in the open pane, was the upper half of a man. A shaven, menacing head, arms and shoulders already inside as he strained to squeeze the rest of his gaunt frame through. Anna couldn’t believe it—this couldn’t be happening! What now? Scream? He was almost inside, just one more push and— The thief barely had time to react—a black shadow shot to the window. Anna realised it was Timmy. With a leap, he clamped his jaws at the man’s neck! The burglar let out a hoarse, terrified yell, his eyes bulging as he froze in panic. Anna ran for help, calling the neighbours. Soon the hallway was packed, police on their way, and Anna felt a surge of relief—she hadn’t been alone after all. Her main worry: what if Timmy hurt the man? But there he was, gripping the intruder’s collar firmly but carefully. Not a drop of blood—only tightening his hold if the man struggled, easing off when he stilled. Anna watched, amazed: their ball-chasing clown acted like a trained professional. Timmy hadn’t barked, hadn’t alerted the thief to his presence. Instead, he’d staged an ambush, letting the man get stuck before pouncing and holding him in a perfect guard’s grip—enough to subdue, not enough to harm. As if he understood the motto: our job’s to detain—justice takes care of the rest. Even the veteran constables on the scene laughed; they’d never seen a burglar so happy to be taken in. Shaken and overjoyed to be freed from Timmy’s teeth, the crook surrendered gratefully. As for Timmy, he was so proud of his “catch” that he wouldn’t let go until the police dog handler arrived. At the officer’s command, Timmy released—then sat beside the window, gazing up, awaiting further orders as if asking, “What’s next, boss?” “You’ve struck gold with this dog,” the officer said, ruffling Timmy’s ears. “I wish we had him back at the station.” Max returned late that night, froze stunned in the doorway. There was Timmy sprawled on the forbidden sofa, legs in the air, Anna scratching his belly, cooing and fussing like he was the world’s greatest hero: “My joy, my darling, my precious boy, grow big and strong for Mummy and Daddy. I’ve been so unfair—please forgive me…” I heard this tale from the art historian himself, years ago, at a Levitan Festival. No doubt Timmy would’ve told it even better—how he stalked, how he apprehended, how he turned the thief over to the authorities. The memory lives on, and at last, I felt compelled to pass it on to you.

Jack, get him off, will you! Hes licking himself again!
Emily shot an irritated look at Duke, who was clumsily bouncing around their feet. How did they end up with such a daft dog? Theyd spent ages thinking it through, debating breeds, chatting to trainers, weighing up the responsibility. In the end, they picked a German Shepherd, hoping for a loyal mate, a guard, and a protectorall rolled into one, like one of those three-in-one shampoos. Only this protector needed saving from cats half the time

Hes just a pup, Em. Give him time, youll see,
Oh, I can hardly wait for him to get even bigger. Have you noticed he puts away more grub than the two of us combined? How are we supposed to keep up? And for heavens sake, stop stomping, Jackyoull wake the baby! Emily muttered as she gathered up the shoes Duke had scattered across the hall.

They lived just off Baker Street, on the ground floor of one of those old red-brick blocks, windows barely above street level. Lovely spot, except for one thing: the windows peeked into a dreary, boxed-in corner of the courtyard, where shadows flitted in the evenings and where chaps would gather, sometimes ending in a scrap or two.

Most days, Emily was at home alone with little Rosie, their newborn. Jack left early for his job at the National Gallery and when he wasnt working, he was trawling antique fairs and dusty bookshops. With the eye of an expert, as Emily used to joke, he could spot a Van Gogh in a skipwell, almost. Jack loved collecting. Over the years, theyd built up a decent stash: paintings crammed on the walls, 1960s china plates gleaming in the sideboard, Art Deco silverware and odd little figurines. All this with Emily home alone and thefts happening on the regular left her nerves a bit frayed.

Em, do you think I should walk Duke now or after lunch?
Dont ask me! Hes your hairy problem, not mine.

At the mere sound of walk, Duke shot into the hallway like a rockethe skidded around the corner and came back clutching his lead, leaping all the way to the ceiling. Honestly, he was more horse than hound. He adored everyone, greeted guests with a tennis ball, and tried to play with the courtyard catsthen wondered why he got swiped across the nose. Those cats, Emily reckoned, wouldve put up a better fight if a burglar came calling. Tomorrow shed be alone again: Jack was off to Stratford-upon-Avon for some festival, and shed be left minding the house and exercising the big-eared lump. As if she didnt have enough to worry about…

Come morning, Jack crept about the kitchen, trying not to wake her. Emily heard the kettle hiss, the click of Dukes lead, Jacks whispered instructions to keep quiet. She drifted into a half-sleep to the familiar sounds. By the time Rosie woke her, Jack was gone. The peace of the day settled in, the kind that always made Emily smile. Her mates would swoon: Emily, you married so young! Youre stuck at home with a baby and a mountain of choreswhat a prison! But Emily knew that there was plenty of joy tucked into the day-to-day. Sure, things werent perfect. She missed Jack when he was gone, the flat was cramped, and money was always tightespecially with Jacks endless collectingbut perfection had never been promised. You have to love people as they are, quirks and all. Once she realised that, the rest felt easier. Better to be happy with whats right there, than miserable chasing after what isnt.

She sat feeding Rosie in their tiny nursery, letting her doze off at her own pace. The doorbell rang, but Emily didnt bother checkingshe wasnt expecting anyone and no one would trek across London for a surprise visit. She savoured these precious morning hours: the tick of the old hallway clock, the distant hum of buses and cars on Baker Street, the scrape of a broom outside, childrens laughter… Hang on, where was Duke? He hadnt popped in for a while. Not that Duke was truly big-earedhis ears stuck up just rightbut he was all daftness and heart. Maybe a lapdog would have been easier, Emily thought.

She gazed down at Rosie, whod just come away from feeding, cheeks flushed and perfect. Oh, my darling girl, Emily whispered as she laid her down. Grow up safe and strong, my treasure. Honestly, what more could we ask for?

Suddenly a strange sound drifted from the lounge. A sort of crackling, then a squeak. Emily froze. The noise came again. Heart pounding, she ditched her slippers and crept out to investigate. The first thing she saw was Duke, crouched behind the curtain separating lounge from hall, tense on all fours, staring hard at something. She followed his gaze, and her blood ran cold.

Someonehalf a manwas wedged through the window. Shaved head, thick arms, grimacing as he struggled to drag himself inside. Emily couldnt believe it. Was she dreaming? What to do, what to doshout? The man was already two-thirds in, and then

She nearly jumped out of her skin as Duke lungeda blur of black fur to the window. In seconds, hed shot up onto the sill and fastened his jaws round the intruders neck. ARGH! the burglar howled, eyes bulging in terror. Emily ran into the hallway, banging on the neighbours door, shouting for help. People came running, someone dialled the police. Just having others there helpeda little less alone, a little less afraid.

She edged closer to check Duke wasnt actually hurting the man. The last thing she wanted was for Duke to accidentally do real damage. But clever boyhed got a firm grip on the blokes collar, not a tooth out of place. Not a drop of blood. Any time the man struggled, Dukes jaws clamped a bit tighter; when he stilled, Duke would loosen his hold. How did the silly ball-chasing dog know to act like a pro? Hed kept completely silent, let the man get halfway in so he couldnt escape, and then pounced, holding the burglar until help arrived. Our jobs just to detain, leave the rest to the police, as the old saying goes.

Even the seasoned coppers couldnt recall catching a burglar so relieved to be arrested. The thief was shaking with terror but thrilled to be rescued from Dukes jaws. As for Dukehe seemed to think he was a hero now! It took a fair bit of encouragement, and finally a handler had to step in, give a firm command, and Duke let go. Having released his catch, Duke parked himself by the window, as if waiting for his next assignment.

Youre lucky with a dog like this, the officer said, giving Duke an approving scratch behind the ears. Wish we had him on our squad

Jack made it home late that night, tiptoeing through the door and then stopping dead in his tracks. He had good reason to be shocked. First, Duke was sprawled out across the sofaa strict no-no in their house. Second, he was luxuriating on his back with all four paws up, while Emily rubbed his tummy and sang his praises: Oh, you darling, my sweet boy, our little defender. Grow up big and strong! You really are something, you know that? I ought to be nicer to you, old friend

That story, by the way, was handed to me by none other than Jack himself one night at a local festival. Duke mightve told it with a bit more flairthe secret stakeout, the daring leap, the bust! It happened a good few years ago, but Ive never forgotten it. Sometimes I still feel Duke scratching at the door of my memory, wanting the tale to be let out. And now, at last, Ive shared it with you.