Hes licking himself again! Michael, will you get him off?
Emily shot an exasperated look at Toby, the gawky young dog leaping cluelessly at her feet. How on earth had they ended up with such a dolt? Theyd spent so long pondering, researching breeds, even consulting with dog trainers. They understood the weight of responsibility. In the end, they settled on a British Alsatian, hoping for a loyal friend, a reliable guard, and a steadfast protectorall rolled into one. Like those adverts: three in one. Yet their so-called protector needed saving from the neighbours cats himself
Hes only young still. Give him time, youll see, Michael insisted.
Oh, Im waiting all right, Emily replied, gathering up the shoes Toby had scattered across the hall. This horse eats more than the two of us together! Howre we going to feed him? And do stop stomping, you lummox, youll wake the child! she grumbled as she stacked shoes out of reach.
They lived on Oxford Road, ground floor of a vast pre-war block, windows almost sunken into the paving. A splendid spot if not for one but. The windows faced a dead-end nook in the courtyard, where shadows darted every evening, men gathered to drink and natter, and the occasional scuffle broke out.
Most days, Emily was home alone with newborn Lucy. Michael departed early for his job at the National Gallery, and his spare time was forever consumed by scouring antiques stalls or second-hand bookshops across the city. With an art historians keen eyesharp as diamond, as Emily jokedhe could spot treasures among the dross: rare books and odd household relics. Michael was a passionate collector. Unbeknownst to them, an impressive hoard of paintings had accumulated, and their old-fashioned sideboard gleamed with porcelain plates from Royal Worcester, figurines from the early socialist era, and Edwardian silverware. Emily fretted at being alone with so many valuables and a baby in arms, especially as burglaries in the block werent uncommon.
Emily, love, whens best to walk Toby, now or after lunch? Michael called.
I dont know. And frankly, its not my doggy business! she retorted.
At the magic word walkies, Toby tore into the hall like a thunderbolt, lost his footing at the corner, snatched up his lead, and bounded back, leaping for the ceiling. The great dolt. He loved everyone, flinging himself at all and sundry, greeting guests indiscriminately, dragging his ball to anyone nearby. He was an open book, a real good eggbut hardly the bodyguard theyd hoped for! He didnt even chase the cats outside, just loped up to them with his ball, eager to play, only to get a few swipes in return. The courtyard cats were the true warriors; perhaps they shouldve taken one of them for protection Tomorrow, shed be alone again; Michael was heading off to Kent for the Turner Festival, and what was left for her? Guarding porcelain and walking this daft, floppy mutt. Just her luck
At dawn, Michael crept about not to disturb his wife. But Emily heard everythingthe gentle hiss of the kettle, the clink of the lead, Michaels stern hisses at Toby to stop whimpering and not to tramp about. Soothed by those domestic sounds, Emily drifted off; by the time the baby roused her, Michael was long gone. The day began as alwaysa quiet, peaceful morning. Isnt that happiness, she mused? Her friends were forever exclaiming: Oh, Emily, married so young, torn between husband and child, stuck in the kitchen all day, swallowed by routine But was there not beauty in lifes routine? So what if not all dreams had unfolded? Michaels absences wore at her, the flat was cramped, money was always tight, and most of all, his fiery passion for collecting burned through money she could ill spare Now hed brought home this floppy-eared companion, and it was down to her to care for him. But Emily knew: you love the people dear to you, flaws and all. No one promised perfection. That simple truth brought Emily calm. She resolved to rejoice in what she had, not pine for what she hadnt.
She sat in the nursery feeding her daughter, who always dozed off partway and had to be gently roused to feed again. When the doorbell rang, Emily didnt budge. No visitors expected; nobody would cross London without warning first. These early hours were preciousshe treasured them! The house hummed quietly, the old clock ticking in the hall, familiar city sounds drifting in through the cracked window: the rumble of double-decker buses, the flutter of cars, a brooms swish on pavement, childrens voices from the street But where was Toby? Hed been absent for some timeodd. Of course, he wasnt truly floppy-eared; his ears stuck up just fine, his simpleton ways had earned him the nickname. Now she was saddled with him, feeding and walking him, yet still, thered been no great benefit. They mightve been better off with a spaniel.
Emily gazed lovingly at her daughter, satisfied and slumbering, slipping from the breast with a milk-drunk sigh. What a darling little girl! My treasure, Emily whispered, settling Lucy in her cradle. Grow strong, my love what more could anyone ask for?
Then a sharp noise from the front room startled herit sounded like a splintering, then a squeak. Emily froze and listened: the noise repeated. Barefoot, she slid soundlessly to the living room. The first thing she noticed was Tobys back, bristling as he hid behind the curtain separating the hall from the sitting room. On all fours, body taut, tongue lolling, he stared fixedly into the room. Emily followed his gazeand her blood ran cold. Wedged halfway through the window, in the open casement, was half a man. A proper thug, shaven-headed, shoulders and arms already inside, determinedly forcing his wiry frame through the open window. Emily could scarcely believe it was happening to her. This cant be! What to do? Scream? The man was almost inside! Another moment
Suddenly, a black blur launched itself at the windowit was Toby, though she hardly recognised him. Leaping onto the sill, he locked onto the intruders neck! ARGH! the burglar howled, eyes wild and bugging right out. Emily dashed to the landing, shouting for the neighbours, and the rest passed in a rushthe neighbours swarmed in, someone rang the constabulary, everyone eager to lend a hand, though there wasnt much to do but be there. That presence, though, was everything. What would she have done all alone? Conquering her fear, Emily edged closer: Lord, let Toby not finish him! That was all she needed. But Toby, clever soul, had his jaws clamped on the mans collar, gripping him firmly but carefully. Not a drop of blood. Whenever the burglar attempted to struggle free, Toby tightened his grip; the man frozeAlright, I give in, guvnor!whereupon Toby relaxed instantly. How did he know to do all this? This daft puppy with a ball had acted like a seasoned pro! Hed heard the disturbance and crept to investigate, yet didnt bark, as would have been expected. Instead, he laid a careful trap behind the curtain, let the burglar get just far enough in to be stuck, and then sprang, holding with a guards bitetight, unyielding, but not murderous. As if to say, our jobs to detain, and the rest is for the law to sort.
Even the hardiest constables couldnt recall a thief so pleased to be arrested; the fellow, terrified by his ordeal in Tobys jaws, all but begged to be handed to the police, while Toby, now that hed got his quarry, wasnt keen to let go. He was so proud of himself, so in character, that only the arrival of the dog handler could persuade him otherwise. At a gentle command, Toby released his grip and sat smartly by the window, eyes fixed loyally on the officer, as if awaiting orders, ready to serve. Only a salute was missing.
Youve a lucky dog there, said the officer admiringly, ruffling Tobys ears and sighing. Wish we had one like him on the force
Michael arrived home late that evening. He pushed the door open gently and paused, utterly startled by what he saw. Firstly, Toby was sprawled across the sofaa cardinal sin, strictly forbidden. Secondly, he lay with all four paws in the air, most inelegant, while Emily scratched his belly, murmuring tenderly, stroking and doting on him, almost kissing his nose as she spoke: My joy, my little darling, my precious foal. Grow big and strong! Bring joy to Daddy and Mummy! And how unjustly Ive judged youdont you take it to heart
I heard this tale one windswept Turner Festival from Michael himselfthe art historian. Had Toby told the story, no doubt hed have made more of his stake-out and triumph, working with the coppers. It all happened long ago. Yet the story lingered in memory, and sometimes it seemed I could still hear Tobys eager paw scratching, longing to be written downso Ive shared it with you.
