Читать книгу Heart to Heart - Pea Horsley - Страница 11

It all began for me when I adopted my first dog from the Mayhew Animal Home: an eight-year old scruffy mutt of questionable beagle heritage whom I named Morgan.

Morgan looks like an older version of one of the best-known trademarks in the world, ‘His Master’s Voice’ – a terrier with a cocked head listening intently to his master’s voice coming from a gramophone horn. He has a broken coat of both rough and smooth grungy white hair with velvet soft beagle chestnut ears that invite you to stroke them and a smooth chestnut facemask streaked with a terrier flash up between his eyes. His almond-shaped eyes with heavy black eyeliner, black playdough nose and thick black lips give him an almost clown-like appearance. Underneath his tummy hair he has Parson Russell terrier brown splodges and he has a thick mane of hair over his shoulders.

He was lying on the floor of the admin. offices when I first met him, cushioned by a thick duvet. I knelt down and he welcomed me by rolling onto his back and lifting up his paw, inviting me to stroke his chest. My partner Jo and I jointly decided he was ‘the one’ because he had such a gentle face. When I looked at him there was also another quality I couldn’t put my finger on, which seemed to melt my heart, making me feel safe to be in his company. Initially we were looking for a female springer spaniel, but when we spotted Morgan we fell in love with his face and felt it would be easier for an older dog to fit in with our work commitments and for us to meet his needs.

The truth is I was concerned about getting a dog. It was Jo’s idea, not mine. I was madly and deeply in love with Texas and concerned he’d be scared or angry if we brought another animal into the home. Texas liked being the centre of attention and my biggest fear was that he’d rehome himself. I also had a childhood fear. When I was a young girl, around nine or ten, I was chased off a farm by a pack of Jack Russells. I was terrified as they barked and ran after me, biting down on my ankles. This fear was multiplied when someone’s stocky Labrador was let off the lead and came charging over to me, barking aggressively.

This fear of dogs made it impossible for me to walk anywhere that dogs were free to roam. Where I lived in Stratford-on-Avon there was a short cut into town down a disused tramline. It was right next to the ‘rec’ and some people would walk their dogs along there. If I saw a dog coming towards me off the lead, fear would rise from my belly, my chest would feel as if it was caving in, making it hard to breathe, and tears would try to spring from my eyes. Of course, the dogs would sense my fear and that would make the whole situation worse because then they’d start to bark at me or raise their hackles and growl. I’d have no choice: I’d have to return the way I’d come then go the long route, my legs weak and quivering. Inviting a dog into the safety of my home was quite a large step for me.

Morgan arrived and the ceiling didn’t fall in. Though Texas was not impressed by our new choice of companion and ran away whenever he came close. And in the first few days of getting to know Morgan, he bit my nose. Well, that’s what I thought, and I burst into tears as the moment triggered all the years I had held on to my fear of dogs attacking me. It was a shock having a dog’s face and teeth right in my face. For a moment I thought, He’s going to have to go back. This isn’t going to work. Later, when I knew Morgan better, I realized he was just being affectionate. He hadn’t bit me, he’d just given me a friendly nibble. To this day Morgan has remembered that moment and occasionally, when he spontaneously goes to give my nose a nibble, he’ll suddenly stop himself and lower his head in shame. I still feel bad about this and say sorry for the way I reacted to him.

In those early days Morgan would lie in his bed and I would sit on the floor next to him giving him a gentle stroke. I didn’t know him and he didn’t know me, yet intuitively this felt the right thing to do. I wanted to comfort him. I had a hunch that he was sad but I put this down to the obvious reasons: he was in a strange place, with people he didn’t know, and he had no idea whether he was staying or whether this was just another temporary arrangement and he’d soon be carted off somewhere else.

But after the initial settling-in period rescued animals need, I became aware that Morgan’s sadness was not going away. He looked miserable lying in his brand-new luxury fleece bed and when we were out walking he’d bark obsessively at old men with walking sticks, whether they were near or far. I thought maybe I was doing something wrong. I knew cats, but I wasn’t an experienced dog owner. Or dog guardian, as I prefer to be called now.

When the Mayhew Animal Home e-mailed to say they were holding an animal communication workshop which would help me to get to know my animal even better, I knew I had to go along. I can’t really explain logically why I went; it was just a gut feeling. I had to go, even though I hadn’t looked into other ways of helping Morgan – I hadn’t called in a behaviourist and I would never have considered an animal healer in those days. I just didn’t think of or follow any other options.