Books by Ian Rogers
Books by Ian Rogers
When I was 13 my father’s job moved from a small town to a large town. They found an estate where houses were about to be built and chose a smashing plot, right on the corner, looking out down a sloping field to the flood plains of the nearby river.
We lived in a rented house for 12 months while the building was put up. Our rented house was in a rural village some miles out of town. We had a dog, Taff, who had been my birthday present a few years earlier, naturally he was with us and, knowing he was inclined to run off, my Dad fixed up a horizontal wire from which a running line dangled. The end nearest Taff’s collar was chain so he couldn’t chew through it.
A local stray started coming round, initially to play with Taff. She also stole his bones and dog toys and would lie just out of his reach, chewing happily. She was a friendly dog, thin, gangly, muddy, matted and all black. She loved to be talked to and, although we never fed her, she adopted us, returning to her lair each night.
I remember an occasion when we all had to go into town. Mum, Dad, my brother Andrew and I piled into our car and drove off. ‘Blackie’, as I called her, realised we were leaving and chased anxiously after us, striving to catch up until the car outpaced her. She watched miserably as we drove away. Naturally she was delighted to see us when we returned an hour later and we made a fuss of her.
As summer progressed, Taff started to escape. We’d see him loose in the garden or find him exploring the wood-yard next door. How did he manage to chew himself free when he couldn’t reach the rope part of his tether? Then we saw lanky ‘Blackie’ reaching up and chewing through his rope while he patiently lay down and let her!
I remember another occasion, as autumn drew on and the nights got colder, when ’Blackie’ was allowed in the house. She thought she was in heaven, lying on the hearthrug in front of the open fire. When we all went to bed, we had to drag her along, back arched and all four feet dug, resisting, into the carpet, to push her out of the front door! She did learn to leave when she was told to go.
While ‘Blackie’ was ingratiating herself with us, Taff’s behaviour was becoming more erratic and aggressive. It was stressful to be around him. Realising this was a literally dead-end situation, I made enquiries and found out that ’Blackie’ belonged to a nearby farm. Without telling my parents, I took along my pocket money (ten shillings, now 50p) and talked to the farmer’s wife. Judy, as she was really called, had been a collie look-alike puppy at a rescue shelter and they had adopted her in the hope of training her to round up sheep.
Although as a puppy she looked collie-ish, as she grew it became obvious she was crossed with retriever. As she didn’t take to herding she just became a barn dog and roamed freely to entertain herself. They were willing to give her to a good home, provided my Mum agreed, which she did. She already loved this gangly, soft-natured animal. A little later, as feared, Taff made a vicious, unprovoked attack on my mum and bit her. I remember sitting on the floor by the fire, talking to Judy while Mum and Dad were away at the vet’s. I even remember the programme on the old black-and-white television. I was sad to see Taff go but knew he would never be safe as a household pet. Now I had Judy - and I hadn’t even spent my pocket money!
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