Oh, Not Again—Max, Get Him Away from There! Anna Shot a Disapproving Glance at Teddy, Bouncing Clumsily at Her Feet. How Did They End Up with Such a Nuisance? They Spent Ages Debating Breeds, Consulting Kennel Clubs, Weighing the Responsibility. In the End, They Chose a German Shepherd—Loyal Friend, Watchdog, Protector. All Three in One, Like a Multipurpose Cleaner. Only This ‘Protector’ Needed Saving from the Neighbourhood Cats… “He’s Still Just a Puppy. Wait Until He Grows Up—You’ll See.” “Right. Can’t Wait Until This Beast Gets Any Bigger. Have You Noticed He Eats More Than We Do? How Are We Supposed to Feed Him? And Stop Clomping Around—You’ll Wake the Baby!” Anna Grumbled, Gathering Up Shoes Teddy Had Scattered. They Lived on Churchill Road, Ground Floor of a Stately Old Victorian Block, Low Windows Almost Level with the Pavement. Perfect Place—If Not for One Thing: The Windows Looked Out Onto a Dead-End Courtyard, Where Shadows Would Flit in the Evenings, Men Gathered for a Chat, and Sometimes Fights Broke Out. Almost All Day, Anna Was Alone at Home with Newborn Katie. Max Left Early for His Curator Job at the National Gallery, Spending His Spare Time Haunting Car Boot Sales and Old Book Stalls. Trained Art Historian’s Eye, Diamond-Sharp, Anna Joked, Fished Out Works of Art, Rare Books, and Vintage Curios. He Was a Passionate Collector. Before They Knew It, Their Flat Held a Fine Collection of Paintings, and Their Sixties-Era Cabinet Displayed Delicate Chelsea Porcelain Plates, Socialist Realism Figurines, and Early Twentieth-Century Silverware… Anna Felt Uneasy Alone with All Those Treasures and a Tiny Daughter—Especially Since Burglaries Occurred in Their Building All Too Often. “Anna, When Do You Think Is Best for Me to Walk Teddy? Now or After Lunch?” “I Don’t Know. And Frankly, That’s Not My Dog Business!” At the Magic Word ‘Walk,’ Teddy Bolted Down the Hall—Slid Around the Corner—Snatched Up the Lead, Bounded Back, and Jumped Nearly to the Ceiling. What a Horse, Not a Dog! He Loved Everyone; Brought Every Guest His Ball Except Those He’d Block at the Door. Open Spirit, Right Old Lad—But He Was Supposed to Be Their Protector! He Didn’t Even Chase the Courtyard Cats. He’d Run to Them with His Ball, Just Delighted, Ready to Play, and Had Taken a Couple Smacks from the Local Tomcats for His Troubles. Their Cats Had More Bite Than Their Guard Dog—That’s Who They Needed for Protection! Tomorrow, She’d Be Alone Again. Max Was Off to Brighton for an Arts Festival, and What Was Anna Supposed to Do? Guard the Porcelain and Walk This Floppy-Eared Oaf? As If She Didn’t Have Enough To Do… At Dawn, Her Husband Got Up Quietly, Not Wanting to Wake Her—As If! Anna Heard the Kettle Hissing, the Jingle of the Lead, Max Whispering for Teddy Not to Whine or Stomp About. Those Peaceful Noises Drifted Her Back to Sleep, and When the Baby Woke Her, Max Was Gone. The Day Began as Usual. Just Another Ordinary, Peaceful, Normal Day—But Isn’t That Happiness, in Itself? Her Friends Would Sigh—Anna, Married So Young, Torn Between Husband and Daughter, Always in the Kitchen, Buried in Domestic Chores… But Isn’t There Beauty in the Everyday? Even If Life Wasn’t Quite as She’d Dreamed—She Was Tired of Max’s Frequent Absences, the Cramped Flat, Lack of Funds. And, Most of All, His Fiery Passion for Collecting, into Which So Much Money Disappeared… Now He’d Dragged Home This Floppy-Eared Friend, and Anna Was Left to Cope. But She Knew Love Means Embracing Faults and All—No One Promised Perfection. Realising That, She Decided to Cherish What She Had, Not Pines for What She Didn’t. She Sat in the Nursery Feeding Katie, Who’d Fall Asleep Mid-Feed and Leave Anna Waiting for Her to Wake and Nurse Again. There Was a Knock at the Door, but Anna Didn’t Answer. She Wasn’t Expecting Anyone, and Nobody Would Journey Across London Just to Drop In Unannounced. Those Precious Morning Hours—How She Loved Them! The House Was Quiet, Only the Parlour Clock Ticking, and Through the Window Came Those Familiar City Sounds: Distant Buses, Cars Puffing, a Broom Scraping Pavement, Children’s Voices… And Where Was the Oaf? Strangely Absent for Ages Now. Mind You, No One Could Really Call Teddy ‘Floppy-Eared’—His Ears Stood Up Properly; It Was Just His Character: Silly, and That’s That. Now She Was Stuck with Him—Feeding, Walking, and What Did He Actually Do? Might as Well Have Got a Pekingese. Anna Gazed Fondly at Katie, Who, Sated as a Leech, Had Unlatched from the Breast. What a Little Treasure They’d Made! “My Little Golden Girl,” Anna Whispered, Nestling Her Daughter. Grow Up—What More Could They Want? Just Then, a Strange Noise Came from the Lounge—a Crack, or Maybe a Squeal. Anna Listened. The Noise Came Again. Not Breathing, She Slipped Off Her Slippers and Glide to the Lounge. The First Thing She Saw Was Teddy’s Back—Crouched Behind the Curtain Dividing the Front Hall from the Lounge. Four Feet Bent, He Was Frozen, Tense, Tongue Lolling, Eyes Fixed Deep into the Room. Anna Followed His Gaze and Went Cold: There, Halfway Through the Window, Was a Man—Or Half of Him. Typical Thug—Shaved Head, Arms and Shoulders Already in the Room, Grunting and Straining to Force His Lean, Sinewy Body Through. Anna Couldn’t Believe This Was Happening. It Couldn’t Be! What To Do—Shout? The Man Was Almost Fully Inside! Another Second and— She Jumped at a Yell. A Black Shadow Darted to the Window; Only Afterward Did She Register: It Was Teddy. He Leapt onto the Sill and Sank His Teeth into the Burglar’s Neck! “Aaaahhh!!” the Man Roared, Eyes Bulging with Fear. Anna Ran onto the Landing, Shouted for the Neighbours—After That, It Wasn’t So Frightening. People Rushed In, the Police Came. Everyone Tried to Help, Though There Was Little to Do—their Presence Itself Was Comforting. What Would She Have Done Alone? Summoning Her Courage, Anna Edged Closer: What If Teddy Tore the Man’s Throat Out? That Was All She Needed! But Clever Teddy Had Clamped Firmly onto the Collar, Not the Flesh—Held the Man Tight, Not Drawing Blood! Only When the Burglar Struggled Did Teddy Grip Harder. If He Went Still—It Was, “All Right, Guv, Message Received”—and Teddy Would Ease His Hold. How Did He Know to Do All This? This Ball-Chasing Clown Acted Like a Trained Professional. He’d Heard Something, Gone to Check Quietly, Laid in Ambush Behind the Curtain, Let the Burglar Crawl Halfway in (So He Got Stuck and Couldn’t Bolt) Before Pouncing, Holding Him in a Professional, Controlled Way—Not Choking, Not Hurting. “Our Job Is Just to Hold,” You Could Almost Hear Him Think, “Let Justice Take Care of the Rest.” Even the Oldest Police Veterans Couldn’t Recall a Burglar So Happy to Be Arrested. The Man, White with Terror from Teddy’s Teeth, Surrendered Eagerly—whereas the Dog Was Reluctant to Relinquish His Prize. Teddy Was So Proud, So Deep in His Role, That Only the Arrival of a Police Dog Handler Convinced Him to Let Go. At the Officer’s Command—He Released, Spitting Out the Burglar, and Sat by the Window, Gazing Up Devotedly, Awaiting Orders—Ready for Review, Practically Saluting. “You’ve Got a Good Dog There,” the Officer Said Admiringly, Ruffling Teddy’s Ears. “We Could Use One Like Him in the Force…” Max Came Home Late That Evening, Tiptoed in—and Froze. There Was Plenty to Be Surprised About. First: Teddy Lolling on the Sofa—Strictly Forbidden, Never Allowed. Second: Lying in Utterly Contented, Outrageously Sprawled Pose, While Anna Scratched His Tummy, Patted and Stroked Him and Nearly Kissed Him, Murmuring, “My Delight, Little Lamb, Our Darling Pony—Grow Up Big and Strong for Mum and Dad! How Unfair I’ve Been to You—Don’t Be Cross…” This Story Was Told to Me at One of the Brighton Art Festivals by the Man Himself—the Curator. Teddy Might Have Told It More Vividly: How He Stalked, How He Tackled, How He Handed Over the Suspect to the Police. It Was Long Ago, but the Story Lived on in Memory—I Felt Teddy’s Paw Scratching, Yearning to Be Set Down on Paper. Now I’ve Shared It with You…

Author Mitsuko NagasakiReading 8 minViews 1

Oh, hes licking himself again! Tom, can you get him off?
Emily huffed, watching Charlie, their clueless Shepherd, bounce about at her feet. How on earth had they ended up with such a daft animal? Theyd spent weeks discussing breeds, consulting dog trainers, fully aware of the responsibility. In the end, theyd picked a German Shepherd, thinking a true-blue companion, guard, and protector the whole triple threat, like an all-in-one soap. Instead, they had a protector who needed saving from the neighbourhood cats.
Hes still a pup. Give him timeone day, youll see.
Yeah. Cant wait for this horse to grow up. Have you noticed he eats more than we do? How are we meant to afford that? And stop stomping about, you oaf, youll wake the baby! Emily moaned, picking up the shoes Charlie had scattered across the floor.

Their flat was on Cromwell Road, ground floor of one of those massive 1950s blocks, with windows practically skimming the pavement. Lovely spot, except for one thing: the windows faced a dead-end corner of the courtyarda hotspot for evening shadows, blokes having a chat, and, every now and then, the odd fight.
Emily spent most days in on her own, with baby Rosie. Tom would be out early for work at the National Gallery, and spent his spare time scouring antique fairs and second-hand book markets. He had an eyea real diamond-eye, Emily jokedand hed come home with artworks, rare books, odd bits and bobs. The flat had quietly filled with his treasures: old paintings lined the walls, 1960s china plates gleamed in the cabinet, and little silver spoons from the Edwardian era peeked out of the sideboard.
Emily worried sometimes about being alone with a baby and all that loot, especially since burglaries werent unheard of in their building.

Emily, when shall I take Charlie out for a walk: now or after lunch?
How should I know? Not my doggy business!
Upon hearing the magic word walk, Charlie shot down the hall, skidded round the corner, grabbed the lead, and leapt back up to Tom, nearly hitting the ceiling with excitement. Honestly, a horse in dogs clothing. He loved everyone, greeted strangers with a cuddle, brought his ball to every visitorexcept when it was an unannounced caller, then hed stand his ground. Warm-hearted, everyones matebut theyd chosen him for security! And what did he do? He didnt even chase the cats outsidequite the opposite. He bounded up to them, wagging, thinking cats might play fetch. Hed earned a few whacks for that. The cats round theirs were toughmaybe they shouldve picked a cat for protection…
Tomorrow Emily would be on her own again, as Tom was off to Oxford for an art festival, leaving her to babysit the china and walk floppy-ear. As if she didnt have enough to do…

At dawn, Tom woke quietly so as not to disturb Emily. She caught the soft whirr of the kettle on the stove, the jangle of the dog lead and Toms hushed shushing of Charlie, lest he whine or thump. Soothed by these gentle morning sounds, she dozed off. When Rosie woke her, Tom was long gone. The day began like any othera calm, peaceful, ordinary day. Wasnt that happiness?
Her friends sighed, Emily, married so young, torn between husband and baby, stuck at home, buried in chores. But honestly, whats not to love in everyday humdrum? Not everything had worked out like shed hopedToms frequent absences, cramped quarters, never quite enough money. And then there was his burning passion for antiques, into which a fair few pounds had vanished. Now she had a floppy-eared friend to look after, too. But Emily had learned that love means loving themfoibles and all. No one promised perfection. Realising this, Emily settled; she chose to cherish what she had, rather than pine for what she didnt.

She sat in the nursery, feeding Rosie, who always drowsed off between feeds, meaning Emily just had to wait while she napped and resumed sucking. Someone rang the bell, but Emily didnt answer. She wasnt expecting anyone, and nobody would cross London to just show up unannounced. These precious morning hoursshe treasured them! Silence enveloped the flat, save for the ticking of the old hallway clock and the gentle bustle outside: the hum of the buses, the idle roar of traffic, the scrape of a broom, childrens laughter.
Waitwheres floppy-ears? Odd how long hed been out of sight. His ears werent really floppyperked as ever; it was just his hapless nature. Floppy in spirit. Now, here she was: feeding, walking, minding himand for what? Shed have been better off with a lapdog.

She gazed at Rosie, who, after a hearty feed, tumbled away from her chest, fast asleep. Such a lovely girl weve got! My little treasure, Emily whispered, settling her in the cot. Grow strong, my darlingwhat more could I want?
Thats when a strange sound came from the lounge. Something between a crack and a squeak. Emily listened hard. The sound came again. Barefoot, hardly breathing, she tiptoed to the lounge. The first thing she noticed was Charlies back, crouched behind the curtain, head cocked and tense, peering into the room. Emily followed his gazeand froze.

In the window, or rather, halfway through the sash, was stuck half a man. Traditional thugs look: shaven head, street clothes. His bulky arms and shoulders struggled, trying to squeeze his wiry body through the gap. Emilys mind recoiledsurely this wasnt real? What to do? Scream? He was nearly all the way in! Any second now…

She was startled by a sudden howl. A black blur hurtled to the windowCharlie! Leaping onto the sill, he seized the burglars collar in his teeth. Aaaagh! the man bawled, his eyes wide with terror. Emily dashed for the landing, shouting for the neighbours, and the rest was much less frightening. People rushed over and phoned the police. Their presence was exactly what shed neededwhat would she have done alone?
Overcoming her dread, Emily crept closer to the intruder, worried Charlie might go too far and bite his throat. That would have been too much! But no, Charlie held the man by the collar, not drawing blood, just pinning him there. Whenever the burglar tried to struggle, Charlies jaws tightened; when he kept still, the grip loosened a fraction. How did he know to do this? That daft fool who played fetch all day was suddenly a seasoned professional.
No barking, just stealthhiding behind the curtain, ambushing when only half the burglar was free, so hed get stuck and couldnt wriggle out, and holding firm but saferestraining, not hurting. His job was to detain, not deal out justice.

Even the oldest police officers could barely recall a burglar so relieved to be arrested. The man, terrified by Charlies fangs, nearly hugged the constable. Charlie himself, now proud as anything, refused to let go until a police dog handler arrived. At his command, Charlie released the collar, then sat by the window, attentive and loyal, awaiting the next orderready to salute, almost.
“Youve got yourself a fantastic dog,” the handler said, patting Charlies head with admiration. “We could use him in our unit…”

Tom came home late that evening. He quietly opened the door and stopped, astonished. There was plenty to be surprised about. First, Charlie was sprawled across the sofastrictly forbidden, always had been. Second, he was stretched out in utter comfort, paws every which way, while Emily tickled his tummy and stroked him, murmuring, “My darling boy, my dearest, our brave little fellow! Grow big and strong for Mum and Dad I cant believe I was ever cross with youdo forgive me…”

This story was told to me by Tom himself, the art historian, at a festival in Oxford. Charlie would have told it even better: how he waited, how he nabbed the crook, how he handed him over to the police. It was some years agobut the memory lives on. I could almost feel Charlies paw scratching at the page, begging for the tale to be written, so I thought Id share it with you.