Berenice Smith
I’m told there are significant words in relationships and those which remain in my mind are ‘I don’t see why not’.
This was what my husband told the volunteer at the rescue shelter when she asked if we were thinking of adopting a leggy, excited 10-month old black and white labrador lurcher cross.
She was not the dog. Except she was.
We’d actually thought about getting another cat, after our late moggie died from kidney failure some years previous. Thing is … secretly I am a dog person. I grew up with 20 dogs over my childhood and into my twenties (and a mynah bird - that’s another story). An amount that would have been more moderate had my late grandfather not brought home a dog that had 12 puppies.
Despite this I adored Shadow, our feral rescue cat and he was the right pet at the right time being an entirely self sufficient body who wasn’t mithered about my needs. There were many reasons why a dog wasn’t ideal back then. They’re a commitment, and we were both working long hours and travelling.
Research has shown oxytocin increases in owners after interactions with pets. This hormone surge facilitates a social attachment and sense of closeness with pets similar to bonds between human friends or partners. Shadow entertained a charade of affection by allowing me to feed him tablets and occasionally pick him up, an honor awarded to nobody else. The vet was always grateful to hand him back and visitors were warned to ‘not touch the tummy’. Yet he proved a sense of purpose in a time when I had very little and some responsibility, a notable health benefit of pet ownership.
Failed fertility treatment and continuing concerns about the impact of flying on the climate changed the way we explored. Then came the fall out; a lifetime of being childless, miscarriages, the deaths of my beloved in-laws and friends, of Shadow and failure on failure. My world - our world - was suddenly so much smaller and within it, I was alone and feeling the weight of grief.
A former boss told me, mid-treatment, that his sister got a dog after her IVF failed and I was determined to not be ‘that woman’. Yet here we were at the rescue, post-IVF and long past hope of ever being birth parents. I was that woman so my arrival here was a maelstrom of feelings. We had met three dogs already and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to be owned by a dog. I didn’t think I deserved a dog.
I saw the posting for Fleur (as she was called then) on the website for Animal Helpline Rescue Trust. They rescue dogs from council pounds. If a dog is picked up by a warden, they generally have 7 days to find a home or their owner before - there’s no easy way to say this - a one-way trip to the vets. Fleur had no owner, no name or at least no chip and therefore no claim. Luckily this rescue stepped in, which is why we went to them; their work is important in saving the lives of dogs.
Fleur came up from the kennels, all excitement and sunny. I will never forget that moment. If her online photo told me of a stressed dog, all skin and bones, then this whirligig of a dog was a real deal. She simply wanted a home and would do all she could to get one. She attached her paws to my leg and I knew it was her.
Rescue pets are like mixed boxes of chocolate. You just don’t know. The dog we think we want might not be a great fit because of breed or they’re already been reserved which happened to our first choice. Or they might be found by their original owners. I can tell you that very rarely are they broken animals. They may have quirks but then all animals do. I should know, all my grandparents' dogs were cross breed (or Heinz 57 beans as we called them) rescues. Though I had no part in the choices of dogs my grandparents brought home, we loved them all but some (Lulu and Topsy) stole my heart more.
Sometimes it’s the dog, or pet, you need at the time.
We took Fleur on a walk and she pulled like a train, ate stuff but kept looking to check back to check we were still there (she still does!). When we sat down, this canny dog made herself at home on my husband's feet and won him over.
Thus he said those Significant Words.
It has been 12 years of Fleur, or Lady Molly Lickalot Howard-Smith as we named her. ‘Molls’ when she’s naughty. We dropped ‘The Slipper Thief’ from her name as she’s no longer able to run that fast from the house with footwear in her mouth. Our dear friend and dog behaviorist calls her ‘Sunny Molly’ and never was there a more appropriate name.
Molly is 13 and it’s been a richer life for all of us. Not without challenges. I’ve locked myself in the bathroom and wondered ‘why did I do this’ and in doing so I learned fortitude and commitment. Molly is terribly easy to train, though I express bias, and we’ve tackled obedience and scent work with positive training methods, of course. She has sadly been victim to three attacks by off-lead, out-of-control dogs that mean she’s been scared of dogs getting too close (but loves to be off-lead with them). She needs her space in those situations. Yet somehow she snores through fireworks and thunderstorms. Like Shadow (ssh!), she hates plasters and will nibble them off.
She’s escaped from the garden twice and my legs went from under me in the way they did when I had bad news from the IVF clinic or hospital. I never imagined that reaction would come from a dog.
A friend who has children and loves nothing more than to lie on a beach doing nothing, observed that I didn’t ‘go anywhere’. It took a few minutes to put her right because we’ve been to a lighthouse, a castle, two railway carriages, a haunted Priory, numerous chapels and churches, a Pineapple, an Elizabethan gatehouse and a Cornish engine beam house. We have walked miles on beaches which are her most favourite places to hang out, and numerous historic gardens and parks. My world is vast these days and it brought home that the joy in our lives is shaped by however we find it.
Storyhouse in September means I’m away from her for three nights and best not ask me as it’s the longest we’ve been apart and I will be tearful. We are a unit, we almost always travel together and I’m lost if I don’t have a lead in my hand when walking. I am that woman.
Last year she met Michael, Sarah and Vickie from the podcast, albeit exhausted from the car trip as she was (sorry about the platypus, Vickie …! ). Molly is never a bother with humans and loves them all, even the vet and small squeaky people. Yes, you’re welcome to visit her.
Molly is in her twilight years now. If love was the source of life then Molly would live forever. Sadly that cannot be and that’s why I wanted to write these words as she sits at my feet, licking them, waiting impatiently for teatime. She’s here and lives in the moment, a wise lesson we can all learn from any animal.
Dearest Molls, it’s an honour to love you, be owned by you and know you. Your air biscuits are grim, your ability to claim the sofa and the orchestra of silly noises is an unexpected delight. Thank you for being the original rescue who rescued me time and time again; I promise to do the same for you.
Lots of love and neck sniffs from the other Hoo and Ticker
The Full Stop
The Full Stop is a monthly podcast that shares the voices of childless people and works with allies, placing the audience at the heart of the story. It is supported by our inclusive, online Full Stop community which welcomes all who are childless not by choice for any reason with monthly and annual membership options. Join in with the podcast, celebrate your wins, meet new friends in a safe place and find wellbeing support. Hosted and founded by Sarah Lawrence, Michael Hughes and Berenice Howard-Smith.