Puppy Love

As soon as the search screen displayed itself on my computer, I quickly typed in “local dog and cat sanctuaries”. I wasn’t sure why but since Will and I split up and it was just me and my two children, Becky and Robbie, I had the urge for a pet, either a sweet fluffy cat or a cute dog, not a kitten or a puppy, but definitely an animal that had either been abandoned or ill- treated. Bringing some happiness into the life of a sad animal was something that I felt I needed at the moment. And as well as that our family would be bigger again, not just the three of us but four which, it seemed to me, was as it should be.

I scrolled through the list that had displayed itself, Cobby Cattery, Skelmanthorpe Sanctuary for Dogs and Cats, Arthur’s Animals, Puppy Love Dog & Cat Sanctuary, Patty’s Pooches, Cobby Animal Lost and Found … there were a lot of places to look at but one in particular had caught my eye and I scrolled back up to Puppy Love Dog & Cat Sanctuary.

There must surely be a story behind that name. I had a very strong memory of watching Donny Osmond on Top of the Pops singing a song called Puppy Love. Surely the reason for the name wasn’t that the proprietor had loved Donny as much as I had? I’d bought the record and played it, leaning over the record player, thinking that there was nobody in the world like Donny Osmond. Was this fate then? Meant to be? Would I find what I was looking for there?

“Puppy Love Dog & Cat Sanctuary” Bocking Lane, Hampthwaite,

Tel: 01535 671998, Mob 07119 022315. Brainchild of: Jack Garthwaite.”

“What are you looking at Mum?” a voice in my ear made me jump and I turned around to see my daughter, Becky, peering over my shoulder. Becky who at sixteen years old looked more like eighteen and wore skinny jeans teamed with a green top, her knobbly shoulders covered in goose pimples poking from the holes at the top of the sleeves. No wonder they were called “cold shoulder” tops! Her shiny dark hair fell in waves down her back and her pretty face was artfully made up with thick black eyebrows and a slick of bright red lipstick.

I was just about to make a derogatory comment about wearing too much make-up for her age but thought better of it as she said, “Wow, you’re looking at dog and cat sanctuaries? Are we going to get a dog?” She glanced at me, “I bet you’d love one to run with wouldn’t you?”

“Well, yes, that would be great but I was thinking more of an addition to the family … I feel we’re a bit depleted at only three …”

“Yeah, “she muttered, “You mean since Dad walked out on us …” She stalked off into the kitchen. Straight away I heard the soft purring of the kettle and the clinking of cups and spoons as she began to make herself a hot drink.

I followed her and stood in the kitchen doorway watching as she spooned coffee and sugar into a mug, then added milk and hot water. Her whole body looked tense with hurt and I knew that even after almost a year she was still suffering from the effects of what she thought was her Dad’s betrayal. She’d put him on a pedestal and he’d fallen and, despite the fact that Will and I were on friendly terms, it looked very unlikely at the moment that like Lazarus he would rise again.

“I’m sorry,” I said as I enveloped her in a hug feeling her body tight as a spring slowly relax and melt into mine, “I shouldn’t have made that comment … I’m very happy with the three of us, but the truth is, Becky, I’d love a pet around the house … a dog or a cat it doesn’t really matter … would you?”

I felt a nod of her head against my shoulder so feeling encouraged I carried on speaking, “There’s a place in Hampthwaite, it’s called Puppy Love would you believe, which I’ve seen on line. It isn’t too far away … not even as far as Skelly … do you fancy a trip out?”

She nodded again then pulled away gently and stood back against the work top picking up her drink and cradling it in both hands. Steam rose in a plume from the hot brew and the tantalising smell of coffee beans drifted around the room. “Yeah, I think a dog would be good … I’d like to take a look … if we can get my little brother out of bed of course …” She trailed out of the kitchen still carrying her drink saying, “I’ll go give him a shout …”

Satisfied that at the moment she was okay, especially as she wanted Robbie with us as well, I went back to my computer and made a note of the address of the Puppy Love Dog & Cat Sanctuary for the sat nav and also the name of the owner. I smiled to myself as I read again, “Brainchild of: Jack Garthwaite.” I was curious as to what sort of man this Mr Garthwaite was. Most people would have simply said that they were the proprietor or the owner, not the brainchild of the enterprise … hmm, definitely something different there!

Googling again I tried to find a website for the business so I could take a look at all the available cats and dogs before actually going there but I couldn’t find one and when I rang the telephone number it went straight to voicemail. Maybe it was a very new business and wasn’t up and running properly as yet. “Oh well,” I thought, “I’m sure I’ll find out more when I get there.”

I took a quick glance from the window before deciding whether or not to wear a jacket. It was only the end of August yet already the leaves on the trees were beginning to turn their colors into breathtaking shades of red, orange and yellow and a deep crispy carpet had already laid itself as if by magic on the lawn. It was a fine day though, the sky a deep blue with fluffy clouds freshly washed in Heaven’s launderette floating amongst the blinding lemon light of the sun.

I picked up a jacket just in case and when Becky and Robbie were ready we went out to the car. “Are we getting a dog, Mum?” asked Robbie as he settled himself in the back seat and Becky as the eldest folded herself into the front.

“We’re just going to have a look,” I replied as I started up the engine and drove away from our house which was on the once much maligned new housing development on White Church Lane and in the direction of Cobby village. Yes our new housing estate had been the subject of many newspaper articles since we’d moved in because, apparently, it was built on green belt and was also a flood plain. I was keeping my fingers crossed that no repercussions would arise because of this.

I glanced at Robbie in the mirror, at his cute face and snub freckly nose that made him look younger than his thirteen years. He took after his dad with his slight build and dark hair that just scraped his shoulders.

“Can we get something ferocious like a Pit Bull or a Rottweiler?” he asked in a sort of horror movie type voice. Becky turned in her seat and looked at him scathingly, “You’re so stupid, Robbie … those poor dogs have bad reputations through no fault of their own …”

I zoned out a bit as she gave Robbie a good telling off about his poor choice of dog, but then looked at his woeful face in the mirror feeling sorry for him and wondering how the separation between me and Will had really affected him.

I wasn’t sure really because he wasn’t as vocal and dramatic as Becky but kept his feelings close to his chest. I worried sometimes that he spent too much time alone in his bedroom playing games on the Play Station and even doing homework as if he enjoyed it (should I really worry about that?), but then reassured myself that he had friends, two in particular, Mark and Luke, local kids that he played out with. I knew that sometimes they played football in the park or rode their bikes to the river bank to fish and a sudden interest in cricket was costing me a fortune with all the kit that he said was vitally necessary.

He was also friendly with my brother’s children, Ash and Willow, who lived nearby and often went round for a sleep over or to play computer games. My sister in law, Jane, was lovely and welcomed Robbie into her family as if he was her own son as well as being a great support to me at the time of mine and Will’s break up.

“Okay then,” I heard him say, “How about a Spaniel or a Labrador … they’re good dogs to have aren’t they? And they’d be good to run with Mum.”

“Ah, now you’re talking,” said Becky, “That’s far more sensible …”

Robbie caught my eye in the mirror and gave me the thumbs up sign and I grinned back and then laughed as I heard Becky say in her school mistress voice that if he kicked the back of her seat one more time she’d make sure he never saw daylight again!

Cobby was busier than ever as it was a Saturday and the market, courtesy of Cobby Town Council, was in full swing. I drove slowly past the hairdresser’s “Cobby Cuts and Curls” where I worked part time as a senior stylist, peering into the window where I saw two of my colleagues, Heather and Diane, and the manager, Jenny, doing all sorts of intricate things to their client’s hair. I’d worked there for more than ten years now and since going part time had every other Saturday as one of my day’s off which I really enjoyed. Becky and Robbie gave the women little wiggly waves as we cruised by.

Just a bit further along the street was Bloomer’s the Bakers where my new neighbour, Maggie Sears, used to work. Well, she was Maggie Gates now since she and Stephen, the Headmaster at Cobby High School, the school Becky used to go to and where Robbie went now, had got married. Maggie worked at the school too and was involved in the exams which was great as she had been a great support to Becky throughout and, as well as that, I’d always got on well with her even though at fifty four she was seven years older than me.

Bloomers looked really busy as usual with a long straggling queue trailing out of the door and almost into the pound shop opposite. I made a mental note of this and decided that I would go there later when it was quieter specifically for my fix of a Belgian bun (if there were any left of course)! Leaving the town behind, we passed emerald fields full of creamy sheep and black and white cows and sleek horses that nibbled the grass and constantly shook their heads, their manes flying against thick clouds of circling black flies.

Skelmanthorpe soon appeared on our left, the outskirts higgledy piggledy now with the new housing estates that had sprung up like mushrooms in the once pretty green fields. I’d been born in Skelmanthorpe, or Skelly as we always called it, and it was a shock every time I visited to see how much it had changed and how big it was getting, gradually growing wider and wider like somebody with middle aged spread. We could see the newly refurbished petrol station, the beautiful building that housed the gym and swimming pool called “Hale & Hearty” and a small complex of shops together with a somewhat battered looking pub called “The Owl’s Nest” which led onto the main street and into the older part of the town with its narrow twisty streets.

The sat nav piped up telling me that I had a left turn coming up and sure enough a sign for Hampthwaite appeared and then there was a sudden right turn which took us down a country lane where trees arched overhead creating a pretty leafy green tunnel. The tiny village of Hampthwaite with its beautiful thatched cottages passed by in a blur until another sharp right took us up a very steep hill, so steep that even in second gear my little Citroen struggled along like a flagging marathon runner.

Thankfully the ground soon flattened out and a pair of open wooden entrance gates came into view next to which was a barely discernible sign almost hidden by trailing ivy and painted a mucky orange its writing faded telling us in the exact same wording as online that we had arrived at, “Puppy Love Dog & Cat Sanctuary” Bocking Lane, Hampthwaite, Tel 01535 671998, Mob 07119 022315. Brainchild of: Jack Garthwaite.”

All three of us jerked from side to side like wayward puppets as I crunched the car over the unmade stony car park and after pulling into a space we sat and looked around at our glorious surroundings. The sanctuary nestled on a hill like a rather fine chocolate in a crinkly paper, its buildings open to the sun and the sky and the beautiful views all around. Leafy trees in all the golden colors of the rainbow stood against the horizon merging with strands of cobwebby clouds and birds black as night flew across the blue in a vee. I’d visited the tiny village of Hampthwaite before but hadn’t ventured much further than that and had no idea that this was here. What a find!

Getting out of the car we walked further into the sanctuary where we could see large wire mesh fronted sheds and outhouses all with sturdy wooden doors with deep latches. Rough barking and high pitched meows rang out throughout the hot still air. A woman wearing a bright red dress, a small child hunkered down beside her, gazed avidly into one of the sheds. The child chuckled and tried to put her tiny fingers through the mesh to touch a snoozing cat curled in a tight black and white ball.

A couple of young girls wearing green overalls, the words “Puppy Love Dog & Cat Sanctuary” in swirly yellow lettering across their bib fronts swept the corridors between the outhouses whilst a young boy spooned cat and dog food into large silver bowls. Becky, Robbie and I walked slowly from one outhouse to another looking at the mewling and growling furry bodies inside. I noticed that the dogs and cats were situated in separate areas and all came closer as we walked past, sniffing through the mesh and weighing us up as potential furever friends.

“Look at this one,” said Becky, pointing to a cute little Westie that rose up on its hind legs and scrabbled at the netting with its paws as we came nearer to its outhouse. She pointed to a sign attached to the mesh, “She’s called Nellie …”

“She wouldn’t be any good for running,” said Robbie, “Not with those little legs …” A voice cut into our giggles at Robbie’s remark and we all turned around to see who it was, “Hi here guys, can I be of any help?”

A figure stood in front of us who at first glance I thought was perhaps the blueprint of a hero for the cover of a romantic novel! Okay he could do with a hair and beard trim (well actually quite a lot of a trim), but shining out amongst all that facial hair he had the most beautiful blue eyes framed by long black lashes. I was mesmerized by them. He wore an overall as the other workers did but his seemed to emphasis his muscular physique more than any of the others. I must have looked taken aback at his sudden appearance because he said, “Jack Garthwaite at your service Madam,” and gave a deep bow with a wave of an arm like an old fashioned courtier.

“Oh, the brainchild of all this,” I said, laughing and spreading my arms wide, hoping he couldn’t see how shocked I was that a man who looked like him was here in a dog and cat sanctuary in Hampthwaite and not lazing by a swimming pool in Hollywood or somewhere equally upmarket, “Very pleased to meet you. I’m Laurel Masters and these,” pointing to my children, “Are my daughter, Becky, and my son, Robbie …”

“Pleased to meet you,” he said, bowing to Becky and Robbie and they in bewilderment it seemed bowed back, “Are you looking for a cat or a dog?”

“A dog,” piped up Robbie, “A puppy …”

“Something cute,” put in Becky, “Nothing ferocious …” giving Robbie a sidelong glance.

“Um, no,” I butted in, “Not a puppy, something a little older I think, maybe three or four years old?” I studiously ignored Robbie’s pleading looks and concentrated instead on Jack Garthwaite whose appearance absolutely astounded me and certainly made my heart rev up a beat or two, something that hadn’t happened for a long long time. Now if I could just give that hair and beard a trim.

“Hmm,” said Jack, cupping his mouth with his fingers and narrowing those baby blues as he thought. “Okay, not a puppy, just a bit older and nothing ferocious … I may have the very thing … follow me guys …”

We followed his tall muscular figure, his stride long and easy, stumbling across the stony car park in his wake, to another set of outhouses where with a flourish he pointed out a little black dog that lay quietly alone, its long nose laid out on its paws. The dog seemed to be sleeping but must have sensed someone approaching as it rose to its feet then sat back on its haunches whilst looking at us through the mesh, its soft brown eyes apprehensive yet its tongue lolling from its mouth as if in a smile.

He wagged his tail furiously and gave a deep woof as I walked nearer hoping I suppose that I had meaty treats hidden in the depths of my bag. All three of us leaned closer to read the little white plaque that was attached to the mesh,

“Hello I’m Alfie the Labrador. My pet, who I loved very much, died and left me all alone. I’m only just a year old and in need of my furever home, good long walks and runs and plenty of tlc. If you’d like to be my friend, speak to Jack today.”

“I put Alfie on his own for a while because he was a bit nervous when he first arrived,” pointed out Jack, “The barking of the other dogs seemed to make him worse. His owner was an elderly lady who died suddenly at home and poor Alfie was left indoors with her for a couple of days and he was a little upset … unfortunately her family, only one son I hasten to add, couldn’t take him and, well, here he is …”

Hello Alfie,” I said bending down, my nose almost touching the wire.

“Ah, how cute,” said Becky, as Alfie pressed his nose against the mesh to meet mine. “Poor Alfie being with his pet for so long after she’d died …”

My expression must have looked ominously against the dog because Robbie said, “Yeah, and you did say you wanted a dog you could help didn’t you Mum? And I think Alfie needs help …” He hunkered down to Alfie’s level and, poking a finger through the mesh, gently stroked the top of his head.

“Yes, I did,” I replied, nodding, “But this dog is so young … I wanted an older dog …”

“I thought you wanted a dog to run with?” pressed Robbie.

“Yeah,” said Becky, “And Labradors are great runners, aren’t they?” she asked looking at Jack.

“Oh, yes without a doubt,” Jack replied, “They could run all day!”

“And all night?” asked Robbie.

“Oh you two, please,” I said, “Stop confusing Mr Garthwaite. I just didn’t want one quite so young, that’s all.”

“Please call me Jack,” he said, and then pointed out, “Well, there will be other dogs. You don’t have to take the first one you see but the dogs I have at the moment are either tiny newborn puppies which you couldn’t take just yet anyway, or dogs a lot older than Alfie … dogs of between seven and ten years old.

I have a Westie, Nellie, who’s eight, Minty, a Border Collie who’s nine, oh and there’s Rex, a German Shepherd, he’s even older though, he’s almost eleven … but you’d need to come back another day if you want a dog of say three or four years old. If you leave your contact details I could let you know when a dog of that age comes into the sanctuary, but of course, the decision is yours …”

“Mum?” asked Robbie.

“Mum? Asked Becky.

Becky and Robbie and indeed Jack Garthwaite gazed at me in anticipation. I was aware of the rustling of the wind as it moved amongst the trees and the warmth of the sun on the top of my head, even the foisty smell of the animal’s cages registered in my mind as I stood and thought, gazing all the time at Alfie the little black labrador, and before anybody dared to say another word I knew that I’d come to a decision …

***

I trailed my finger down the list of clients for that day. Mrs Wilson was coming for a shampoo and set at nine o’clock, then Mrs Jowett at eleven o’clock for a cut and blow dry. I was pleased to see that Kath Timpson, Cobby Town Council’s Town Clerk, was due in at one o’clock for her color, trim and blow dry. It was always good to see Kath and how she’d blossomed over the years after the sad death of her husband, Johnny Emmerson, a few years ago.

She’d been a regular client of mine for a long time now but I’d never forgotten the first time she’d come in just after her husband died. She’d rung desperate for a good haircut and almost in tears. Of course I’d fitted in her straight away and what a difference the cut had made, not only to her appearance but her self-esteem as well. Something as simple as a good haircut can be such a boost when you’re feeling as down as she was. Her life has changed now though and from what I can see she’s very happy with her new husband, Town Planner, Paul Timpson.

Thinking about makeovers, I was pretty sure that Jack Garthwaite from the “Puppy Love Dog & Cat Sanctuary” could do with one. He had outstanding eyes and if they were anything to go by, I could just see him with slightly shorter hair and a tidier beard and wow! No man had appealed to me in such a way for years!

My phone beeped and glancing at it, I saw it was a text from Becky reminding me that I needed to go back to “Puppy Love” to get Alfie’s treatment card. We’d left it behind when we’d taken him home with us the week before. Yes okay, I know, I’m a sucker for big brown eyes and a lolling tongue – but only in a dog of course! And as well as that for a good running partner and, my God, he certainly lives up to that! He can out run me any day!

The door suddenly pinged open and Mrs Wilson, my first appointment of the day, walked in her face wreathed in a smile of happy anticipation. I held out my hand for her coat and led her to a chair for her much awaited hour of relaxation and then at another ping of the door I gave Jenny a shout as her first client of the day arrived, a young girl with a swathe of dirty blonde hair that reached her knees and was asking for it all to go. She looked slightly nervous as she took her seat although apparently her words over the phone had been, “I’m so sick of my hair … just cut it all off!”

Inhaling the lovely coconut aroma of the shampoo as I carefully massaged my finger-tips into Mrs Wilson’s hair and scalp, her head lolling languidly from side to side, I made up my mind that as I finished work at two o’clock that day, I would visit the sanctuary to pick up Alfie’s treatment card and also maybe, if he wasn’t too busy, have a chat with the so called brainchild of the establishment and try to work out what was going on with Mr Hollywood, or the enigma that was Jack Garthwaite!