The Puppy That Came for Christmas (27 page)

Jamie was waiting outside the school for us with Dylan, now an experienced demonstration dog. The head teacher, a tall lady with glasses, came out to greet us.

“I'm Ms. Mitchell,” she said as she led us inside. “The children are so excited.” Traffy trotted down the corridor close beside me, taking it all in.

In the first class we visited, I took Traffy around the small circle of kids, letting each child say hello if they wanted to. Some were used to dogs and were adventurous; some weren't and were very timid. Tim, a ten-year-old in a wheelchair was used to them because his gran had a Yorkshire Terrier. He desperately wanted to stroke Traffy but couldn't reach her from his chair, so Traffy stood on her back legs and put her paws on the armrest of his chair so he could pet her. Martin didn't want to stroke her, but his eyes never left her, and I could see he was fascinated rather than frightened. One of the girls, Jess, put her face close to Traffy's and hummed into her soft fur. Traffy seemed to think this was just fine. Melanie was more tentative, her hand darting out to touch Traffy and then darting back again.

“It's OK,” I said, and Melanie tried again, a little slower this time.

 

The two dogs were spoiled rotten in the staffroom at lunchtime. Everyone wanted a cuddle with Traffy, and she barely had time for a drink of water and a little nap prior to the afternoon assembly. The children's dining hall also doubled as the assembly hall, and once the lunchtime food, crockery, tables and chairs were cleared away, the caretaker rearranged the chairs into a rough semicircle.

Jamie, Dylan, Traffy and I had a little wander around the playground while everyone took their seats.

“It's going really well,” Jamie said.

“I love meeting all the children,” I told him. “And Traffy and Dylan are being so good.”

“Don't speak too soon,” said Jamie, as we went back into the hall.

“Today,” said Ms Mitchell, “we have some very special visitors . . .”

Traffy stared out at the children. She looked particularly interested in a toy that one of the nursery children was shaking—a pink rag doll.

All the children knew what Traffy and Dylan were, of course; their responses ranged from “puppy,” “dog,” and “wow-wow,” to a bark or a simple smile.

Jamie told everyone about all the good things that Helper Dogs did, then deliberately dropped his keys and asked Dylan to pick them up for him, please—which Dylan immediately did. He then lay down again while Jamie carried on talking. Then Jamie dropped a pen, but this time Dylan wasn't so obliging. After three or four tries, poor Jamie was forced to improvise.

“Umm . . . do you always do exactly what your mums and dads tell you?” he asked the children. They laughed, and more so when Dylan rolled onto his back in the hope of having his tummy rubbed.

Traffy was good as gold, sitting and lying on command, and doing the “puppy high five” that Ian had taught her. While she did, I told the children about all the things she might do when she was older, and all the people helped by Helper Dogs. By the end, she seemed to have become completely accustomed to all the noises, people and distractions of the school and, although she was very weary, behaved perfectly when the kids were invited to come and stroke her one final time. I asked her to wave goodbye to them—a new trick—then thanked the head teacher, said goodbye to Jamie and set off for home.

As I drove back, with Traffy asleep on the seat next to me, I thought about how pleased I'd been with the way she'd acted with the staff and children. It had been a long, long day, but it had really seemed like she had worn the Helper Dogs jacket with pride. I couldn't wait to go on more demonstrations with her, showing off her learning as she grew older and helping the charity get the public understanding, new parent recruits and money it needed. Most of all, though, I was looking forward to curling up on the sofa and telling Ian about it all, with Traffy beside us.

I was looking forward to walks with Traffy by the river in the early morning as the days got lighter, watching the mist lift and the kingfishers dart along the banks. And to holidays at the seaside, to splashing about in the surf; and looking forward to the mountains where the whole family could play in the snow. Not just this year but next year, and for years and years to come. Traffy wasn't going anywhere, neither were Ian and I. It made me so happy.

When we arrived back, Ian was home from work for the afternoon and was equipped with some very good news.

“Sit down, love,” he said. “Remember the charity submission I did at work? Well, the lady running the scheme rang me on the internal phones a while back, saying that usually they gave out far higher sums than the hundred pounds we'd put down. So I . . . I didn't say anything, because I didn't want to get your hopes up. I added a few noughts on . . . and we got it!”

My legs felt wobbly even though I was on the sofa. Even Traffy looked surprised.

“How much?” I asked, barely able to contain myself. “How much did they give?”

“Ten thousand pounds!”

I almost fainted and grabbed at the phone to tell Jamie. His normally level voice broke and wavered with excitement—as close as he ever would get to fainting, I thought—and he put in a call straightaway to HQ. They said that £10,000 would be sufficient to take a puppy from birth right through to graduation . . . and would Ian do them the honor of naming it?

“What letter are you on now?” he asked over the speakerphone.

“M,” came the reply.

“Mmmm . . . Minnie,” said Ian, finally, after a lot of “Mmmmmming.”

We said a fond goodbye, after giving Helper Dogs the scheme's contact details and extracting a promise of regular e-mail updates and an invite to as-yet-unborn Minnie's graduation. I sank back into the armchair, stunned and yet glad that Ian and I had been able to give something back to Helper Dogs. When we'd been saying goodbye to Emma and Freddy, it had felt as if the organization had only been taking away from us, cruelly snatching the most precious thing in our lives, but now I realized that they'd given so much more. They'd given us two little dogs to love and care for, and through them a whole network of friends, trainers, puppy parents and disabled doggy partners who'd become almost like family. Most of all, without Helper Dogs, we wouldn't have ever met Traffy, who'd made our home complete. I glanced down at her, chewing on her rattlesnake in the doorway to the kitchen, then looked over at Ian, who looked as dazed as I felt, and smiled.

“Right,” I said. “I think I'd like a glass of wine after all that.”

“Let's toast the day,” agreed Ian.

I lifted myself out of the chair and was walking toward the kitchen when the phone rang.

“Oh, hi there, Meg, it's Sarah from Baby Makers,” said the voice at the other end of the line.

Baby Makers was the charity that had given me support and advice when I was having difficulty becoming pregnant, and who'd conducted the expensive hair analysis about which Ian had been so dubious. Looking back, I reflected, I wasn't surprised the hair analysis hadn't helped. But that was all over a year ago now and so much had changed since.

“I was just wondering if you eventually had a little one?” Sarah asked.

I told her that we'd decided not to go down the private fertility route as our chances of conceiving were so slim, and that we'd looked into fostering and adoption and decided that wasn't for us.

“So now we've had three little ones. Puppies,” I said. “Three in one year—and the last one's still with us. She came just before Christmas and is staying forever.”

“Do you know my own dog's ears pricked up when you started talking about puppies,” said Sarah. “Now he's brought his ball over.”

I laughed. “Any opportunity for a play!”

“You sound very happy,” she said.

“I am,” I replied. “I have my baby. My very own creamy-colored, furry baby. And she's perfect.”

Huge thanks to the many people who inspired the pages of this book. I've changed some names and locations and, to avoid a cast of thousands, I've amalgamated some roles, but I hope everybody who played a part in this chapter of my life recognizes him or herself, and how grateful I am. Thanks also to the many dogs and puppies I met, making each day better with a simple wag of their tail.

On the writing side, I'd like to thank my agent, Jon Elek, who believed in
The Puppy Book
from when it was little more than a one-line query; Dan Bunyard of Michael Joseph for commissioning it; and Max Leonard: planner, personal editor and prose polisher extraordinaire, who made a seemingly impossibly tight deadline possible.

Finally, and most important, thanks to Emma, Freddy and Traffy for being such stars and to Ian for agreeing to me telling the story of one very special year . . .

 

If you are concerned about the health or welfare of a puppy, contact your local vet, the ASPCA or one of the other national dog charities, who will offer advice.

For anyone thinking of buying a puppy, please make sure it comes from a good home—one where you're able to meet the puppy and the rest of the litter and his or her mum, more than once, before taking it home. Too many puppies are born into the cruelty of puppy farms, especially at Christmas, and animal shelters are overflowing with unwanted pets.

As the old saying goes: “A dog is for life . . .”