Oh, hes at it again! William, get him out of here!
Emily glared with annoyance at Buster, who was bouncing clumsily around her feet. Why on earth did they end up with such a dunce? Theyd spent so long deliberating, choosing the right breed, consulting with breeders. They knew what a responsibility it was. In the end, they settled on a German Shepherd, hoping for a faithful companion, a loyal guard, and a protectorthree for the price of one, like a bottle of shampoo. Instead, they had to protect their so-called protector from the neighbourhood cats…
Hes still just a pup. Wait till he grows up, youll see.
I can hardly wait for this beast to grow any bigger. Have you noticed he eats more than the both of us? How are we going to afford to feed him? And stop stomping about, you oaf, youll wake the baby! Emily grumbled as she gathered the shoes Buster had scattered around.
They lived on Holland Park Avenue, on the ground floor of one of those grand, old Victorian buildings, the kind with windows barely peeking above street level. A lovely place, except for one significant flaw: their windows faced a blind, shadowy corner of the courtyard, where men would sometimes gather in the evenings, tales and tankards in hand, and where fights werent uncommon.
Most days, Emily was alone at home with her newborn daughter, Grace. William left for work at the Victoria and Albert Museum at dawn, spending any spare moment rummaging through antique markets or second-hand bookshops. His keen eye for artand Emily used to joke it was a real jewellers eyecould pick rare pieces and treasures out of any pile. William was an obsessive collector. Without even realising, theyd accumulated a fine little gallery, and in the old mahogany sideboard from the sixties gleamed fine porcelain from Staffordshire, statuettes from the post-war years, and early twentieth-century silverware. It made Emily uneasy being alone with such valuables and a tiny baby, especially as burglaries in their building werent rare.
Emily, when do you think its best to walk Buster? Now or after lunch?
How should I know? Its not my business! The moment Buster heard walkies, he shot to the hallway, skidding on the parquet, seized his lead, and dashed back in, leaping almost to the ceiling. He was more horse than dog; he adored everyone, wanted cuddles from all and would bring anyone his ball, except for visitorshe drew the line at them. A loveable rogue, open-hearted, but as a guard, he was quite hopeless! He didnt even chase the cats in the courtyard. Hed run towards them with his ball, hoping for a playmate, only to catch a few swipes for his trouble. Those local cats were toughjust the protection squad she needed. Another day tomorrow, all alone. William was off to St Ives for the annual Constable Festival, and what was Emily to do? Guard the crockery and walk this floppy-eared goon? She really hadnt asked for this…
At sunrise, William slipped out as quietly as he could, trying not to disturb his wife. Of course, Emily still heard the kettle hissing in the kitchen, the clink of the lead, William whispering sharply at Buster to stop whining and stomping. Under these homely sounds, she drifted off, but by the time Grace woke her, William was long gone. Another ordinary, peaceful day beganand wasnt that happiness? Emilys friends gasped at her, Emily, married so young! Always torn between husband and child, chained to the kitchen! But was there not a certain charm in that routine? Not everything had worked out just as shed hoped. She was often weary from Williams frequent absences, cramped living, and never quite enough moneyparticularly with his consuming passion for collecting, which burnt through more pounds than she cared to admit. Now hed brought home this floppy-eared companion, but all the care fell on Emily. And yet, she knew: loving someone meant loving all their strengths and flaws. Perfection was never promised. Once Emily understood that simple truth, she found peace and decided to be grateful for what she had instead of pining for what she didnt.
She sat in the nursery feeding Grace, whod drift off mid-meal, and would need waiting for till she woke hungry again. The doorbell rang, but Emily didnt get up; she wasnt expecting anyone, and no one crossed all of London for a visit without warning first. Those precious morning hours, how she loved them! The house was quiet except for the steady ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hall and the distant, familiar urban sighs from the open window: the rumble of buses, the hiss of cars, broom bristles sweeping the pavement, childrens voices in the distance But where was Buster? He hadnt shown up for ages, which was strange. Of course, Buster wasnt really floppy-eared; his ears stood up nicelyjust, by nature, he was a big softie. Soft-hearted and silly. Now he was hers to care for, feed, walk, all for nothing. She would have been better off with a little lapdog.
Emily gazed down at Grace, who, full from feeding, flopped away from her. What a lovely little girl she was! My golden one, Emily murmured, tucking her in. Grow strong, darling… what more could I wish for?
Thats when a strange noise drifted from the sitting rooma sharp crack, or perhaps a squeak. Emily listened. It came again, louder. Holding her breath, she slipped off her slippers and crept into the lounge. The first thing she saw was Busters back, hunched behind the curtain between the hall and the sitting room. Poised on all fours, tense as a wire, tongue lolling out, Buster stared through the room with intensity. Emily followed his gaze and froze: half a man was wedged through the window. A classic criminals shaved head, strong arms and hunched shoulders straining as the intruder tried to squeeze his wiry body through the small gap. Emily couldnt believe itwas this really happening? What to do?! Scream? The man was almost inside, any second now
A barking yell erupted beside her, making her jump. A black shadow flashed towards the window; it took her a moment to realise it was Buster. He launched himself onto the sill and, with a terrifying speed, sank his teeth into the burglars collar. Aaargh! roared the man, eyes wide in terror. Emily bolted out into the hallway and called for the neighbours; suddenly she wasnt alone and the fear was bearable. People rushed in; someone rang the police. There wasnt much practical help anyone could offer, but their presence was the comfort she needed. What would she have done alone? Overcoming her fear, Emily came closershe hoped Buster wouldnt actually harm the man. That would be another disaster entirely! But clever Buster had bitten into the collar, holding the man tight yet gently. Not a drop of blood in sight! Only when the burglar wriggled did Buster tighten his grip again. When the man relaxedAlright, all right, I give up!the dog would ease off, just enough. How had he learned all this? This lark with the ball acted like a true professional. Sensing trouble, hed set a proper trap behind the curtain rather than barking pointlessly. He let the burglar get stuck halfway, pinning him in, and then struck, holding tight but not choking, never injuring. His jobdetain, and let the police handle the rest.
Even the most experienced police officers couldnt remember a burglar so delighted to be arrested. The man was petrified in Busters jaws and relieved beyond measure to surrender, while the dog, full of pride, wasnt ready to let go of his catch just yet. He basked in the praise, and they had to bargain with him until a handler arrived. The officer gave a sharp command, and finally Buster released his grip. He sat by the window, eyes loyal and ready, awaiting further ordersonly the salute was missing.
Youre lucky to have this dog, the officer remarked, patting Busters head respectfully. We could use one like him on the force.
William returned late that evening, opening the door quietly, only to freeze in astonishment. There was Buster, sprawled contentedly on the forbidden sofa, legs splayed in grand, indecent comfort. Emily was tickling his belly, cosseting and stroking him, cooing, My joy, my clever one, little colt. Grow strong and healthy, for mummy and daddy. How unfair I was to younow dont you take it to heart
This tale was recounted to me once at the Constable Festival by the art historian himself. Buster, of course, would have told the story with more flairhow he tracked, how he caught, how he handled the intruder. It was all many years ago, but it lingered in memory; I could almost feel Busters paw scratching, begging the story to be written down. So, at last, I have shared it with you.
