Tag: Maggie Simpson

The book! Chapter Fifteen.

Philip’s life continues to change and adjust.

Just a little reminder that as from next Monday, December 2nd, the remaining nine chapters will be posted here on Learning from Dogs at the rate of three per week: Monday; Wednesday and Friday. On those same days, I will also be posting my regular style post.

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Learning from Dogs

Chapter Fifteen.

Jeremy Stanton’s forecast had been accurate. At eleven-thirty on that Tuesday morning, he called Philip.

“Philip, it’s Jeremy from Fulfords. Mrs Fuller has signed an agreement to purchase Tristford Barn, subject to survey, for the sum of five-hundred-and-fifty thousand pounds, with vacant possession in effect from Tuesday, 1^st May, 2007.”

“Wow, I better get my skates on! Jeremy, do you know how long it will be before Mrs Fuller has the barn surveyed?”

“Not been arranged yet, but because of the shortness of the time before the exchange of contracts will need to take place, hopefully within the next seven days. I will obviously confirm that with you. Unless you and Mrs Fuller were to agree a shorter contract period, the exchange of contracts would be expected thirty days before close, the 2^nd April in this case.”

“Thanks Jeremy. I’ll look forward to hearing from you with regard to the survey date.”

With that Philip and Jeremy ended the call. He turned to Pharaoh and exclaimed, “Wow, my furry friend, now things are really going to change.”

His next call was to Liz Jones over at Diptford. He quickly brought her up to speed about what had just happened.

Liz then asked, “So, Philip, when are you looking for accommodation?”

“From Tuesday, 1^st May to be blunt about it. How does that work for you? Or rather how does that tie in with your existing tenant?”

“Philip, after our last call I did speak to Mary, that’s her name, and she is likely to give notice on or around May 1^st, vacating towards the end of the month. Is there any way you can find temporary accommodation for the month of May?”

“Not sure, to be honest, Liz. But can’t imagine I can’t work something out. In fact I was thinking of going to California around that time. Leave it with me. But, Liz, can I confirm with you that as soon as Mary vacates I will be able take over the tenancy? Happy to pay a deposit straight away, of course.”

“Philip, come on now, you don’t need to put a deposit down, for heavens sake! As far as I’m concerned as soon as Mary vacates it’s yours.”

“Oh, just had a thought, Philip.”

“What’s that, Liz?”

“I have a decent size barn that is empty and weather-proof. Would it help for you to store your house contents there until your future plans become clearer?”

“Oh, Liz, you are an absolute sweetheart. That would take a huge burden off my shoulders.”

Philip and Liz finished the call agreeing that she would double-check Mary’s plans and him saying that he would arrange things for May and go forward on the basis that the rooms wouldn’t be free until the week commencing the twenty-eighth of May.

It was time to take Pharaoh for a walk and soon they were parking up at James’ woods and enjoying the afternoon air. It gave him an opportunity to think things through; so much had happened in the last few days.

First up would be to work out finding somewhere for him and Pharaoh to stay during the month of May. What came to his mind almost immediately was calling Danny and seeing if his invite to ‘get his arse out to California’ would extend to him coming out in May. If he could get his belongings sorted and over to Liz’s barn in late April, then perhaps spend a few days with Diana and John in early May, and then fly out to California more or less returning to England at the end of the month. It seemed like a plan.

After their time in the woods, he decided to pop in on the way back and see sister, Diana. Both she and John were at home, as they so often were, and Philip gave them the news of the sale of Tristford Barn, then outlined his thoughts about the month of May. As he anticipated, there wasn’t a problem. Far from it, because John had long ago admitted that he enjoyed having Philip’s company.

Then back home to the barn, with a quick call to Sandra Chambers at the kennels establishing, as Philip anticipated, that there would be a kennel for Pharaoh in May.

He went to the fridge and opened himself a beer before coming back and picking up the phone again. Time to call Danny.

“Hey Danny, it’s Philip”

“How are you man, how’s it going?”

“Listen Danny, you remember telling me to get my arse out to California. Well you know I always hang on to your every word, so how about me coming out around the 8^th May for a couple of weeks or so?”

“Hey that’s cool, no problem at all, we would love to see you out here. Will you want to go and see Lisa and Don up in Los Osos?”

“Yes, that would be wonderful. Haven’t seen your sister for a while now.”

“OK, Philip, I’ll call her, but can’t imagine it will be a problem. Want to use one of my cars?”

“Danny, is the Pope Catholic! That would be fabulous. OK, I’ll look into flights and give you a call before I go firm on them. You sure it will be OK with Georgie? Don’t want to cause your dear wife any issues?”

“Hey, Georgie loves having you stay with us. And she’s been so worried about you these last few weeks. Trust me, no problem. Give us a call with those flight details.”

Thus it was that a week later Philip was back on the phone to Danny and within thirty minutes of finishing the call with him, he had booked tickets for the flight out to Los Angeles for the morning of the 8^th May, with him returning back to London on May 27^th.

This all set in motion an incredibly hectic few weeks. Essentially, in a little over a month all the contents of Tristford Barn had to be packed up and taken over to Liz’s barn at Diptford. There was another aspect as well. One that he wasn’t looking forward to. That is that he had no choice other than to speak with Maggie and have her come over and remove many of her personal belongings that were still in the barn. A couple of evenings later, he called Maggie’s parents home.

Her father, David, answered and, much to Philip’s surprise, Maggie was over at her parents house. She came on to the phone.

“Maggie, it’s Philip. Won’t take any of your time but need to let you know that Tristford Barn has been sold and it has to be emptied and vacated by the end of April.”

“Yes, I had a call from my solicitor to say that the house was close to being sold. When do you want me to come across?”

They swapped a few dates around and agreed for Maggie and her father to come over on the 14^th April, a Saturday. That would suit him as much of his stuff would have been taken over to Liz’s barn by then.

After he had put the phone down, he wondered just what his emotions would be when Maggie came across. Plus he was unsure whether her coming over with her father was helpful or not. There was not long to wait to find out.

Saturday, the 14^th dawned clear and bright, thank goodness. Philip took Pharaoh for an early walk around the village and had been back in the house for about thirty minutes when he saw David’s car arrive and Maggie get out of the car to open the gate. He wasn’t sure what to expect but the one thing that he didn’t expect was to see someone he was married to for over six-and-a-half years come across not only as a person utterly remote to him but almost practically a stranger. He noticed that Pharaoh was unusually quiet as well, as if he was picking up on Philip’s feelings.

Those feelings persisted as he went down to the front door and let David and Maggie in.

After offering them both a hot drink, Philip said to Maggie, “You’ll find in each of the rooms that I have put your stuff more or less together. Of course, if you think there’s something not there then shout out. I’ll be sitting up here in the living room so come and see me if you want to open any drawers or cupboards.”

Maggie nodded in a reflective manner, her father seemed to want to stay away from any emotional aspect of this visit to Tristford Barn.

Thus over the next hour or so, David and Maggie were back and forth between the house and David’s car. It came to the point where it looked as though they had finished removing Maggie’s belongings.

David came up the stairs to where Philip was sitting, Pharaoh curled up next to him.

“Philip, we’re all packed up so soon be out of your hair. Thank you and, how can I put this, I’m really sorry as to what happened. I shall miss your company.”

Philip hadn’t expected that. “David, thank you and I feel the same way. We saw eye-to-eye on many things. You and Gwen welcomed me into the family despite the age difference between me and Maggie and that’s something that will be treasured in the future. Give Gwen a hug from me and tell her I’m already missing her home-made cakes.”

He and David hugged. Pharaoh had come up to them and David stroked Pharaoh’s head. Then went down the stairs, let himself out of the front door and within minutes he and Maggie had driven out of the cul-de-sac disappeared from sight.

As Philip continued looking out from the front window, Pharaoh came and sat on his haunches next to him. Once again, this furry, loveable creature had picked up on his feelings and sensed Philip’s need for the closeness of Pharaoh.

What was he feeling? It wasn’t clear but it did have something of the feel of a termination. Or was it more like rejection? He wasn’t sure but it did bring uppermost to his mind that he should speak with Jonathan and try and get a session with him arranged fairly soon after he returned from his trip California which, with a start, he realised was coming up in just over two-weeks time.

On the Monday, Philip was able to have a quick conversation with Jonathan and agreed that his first session with him, in his counselling capacity, would be Friday, 1^st June, just a few days after his flight back from LA, hopefully with the worst of the jet-lag behind him.

Thus Philip’s new life was taking shape. His sister, Diana, and John, were happy for him and Pharaoh to stay with them as soon as he had to vacate Tristford Barn; most probably on the last weekend in April. Liz, bless her, had offered storage space for all his furniture and belongings. Then within a week, he would be going up to London in order to catch the flight out to Los Angeles on May 8^th.

The book! Chapter Thirteen.

Just this and two other chapters before the end of November!

Where did the month go!

As I explained yesterday, I shall change chapter publishing from next Monday.

From next Monday I will revert to publishing the range of articles and essays that I have been doing since July 2009. In other words, a new post every day of the week, just as before. But, in addition, I will be releasing three of the forthcoming draft Chapters, on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

So if you are not into reading the book, just pass those posts by. If you are, poor soul, then read away to your heart’s content.

Any reactions or comments would be wonderful.

With that, on to the story!

As so today.

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Learning from Dogs

Chapter Thirteen

It was February 14^th, 2007; Valentine’s Day. What would have been his seventh wedding anniversary for him and Maggie. Eight weeks to the day since she had blown his life apart.

Rather than mope on his own, he had decided ahead of time deliberately to arrange something unusual and different for this potentially disturbing day. A chance remark with friend, Julian, who lived in Exeter, revealed that he was a private pilot and, coincidentally, also a single man; his marriage having failed a few years previously. So when Julian offered to fly Philip and him to Guernsey for lunch he could hardly believe his luck. It turned out to be a wonderful experience even when soon after climbing out from Exeter Airport Philip was blown away by the incredible views of the broad reaches of the English Channel and the Atlantic way beyond. Julian demonstrated the remarkable ease with which two people can travel to a place in a light aircraft, in this case an island no less, enjoy a few hours of food and fresh air, and be back home in not a lot longer than it would have taken a ferry to steam one-way from Poole in Dorset to Guernsey. Philip had often wondered what becoming a private pilot would be like and Julian’s generous gift had triggered a little thought that maybe, once the crap of the divorce was behind him, he might enrol in flying lessons.

Thus upon their return to Exeter Airport and later when Philip collected Pharaoh from Sandra’s kennels and set off home to Harberton he felt good that he had not succumbed to the regrets of his lost relationship with Maggie, that could so easily have hung over this day.

Back home, with both him and Pharaoh fed and watered, fire burning brightly, he reflected on the past sixty days. It had been an incredible roller-coaster of feelings, moods and emotions.

At the root of Maggie’s unfaithfulness had been her longing for another child. Her first child, a daughter, had chosen to go and live with her father before Maggie and Philip had met. He knew that Maggie had been conscious that her child-bearing years were almost over. He guessed that with him having had that vasectomy so long ago, and being significantly older than her, that Maggie had been drawn elsewhere.

It didn’t lessen his anger towards her, not in the slightest, because he truly believed that trust was fundamental to any relationship and trust was impossible without the openness of one’s concerns and worries.

That day after the terrible day of December 20^th, Philip had rung Diana, his elder half-sister; James’ mother. He explained what had happened. Her reply was immediate and all and much more than Philip had expected. Diana told him to put some things together and to come straight over to the house, with Pharaoh of course. Philip replied by asking if it would be alright with John, her husband, to which Diana had simply told him not to worry, she would speak with John and to come across now.

So that’s just what Philip did later that Thursday afternoon. Leading to him spending eight days of being loved and cared for by Diana and John. He had known them for more years than he cared to remember. In fact, Diana and her sister, Rhona, who died a few years previously, were the primary reasons why Philip had settled down in South Devon after returning to England from overseas in the early 1990s.

Luckily, Diana and John’s house and small-holding, just up the lane from Littlehempston, was only six miles from Harberton so it had been easy for Philip to pop back home to pick up clothes and food for Pharaoh over the Christmas period. Pharaoh thought that every one of those days over with Diana and John was Christmas Day!

He didn’t have that talk with Maggie the day after she went to her parents and, frankly, he wasn’t bothered. All that mattered was getting his mind around this new phase of his life that had been thrust upon him and, in his own time, moving on to Plan B, as it were, whatever that turned out to be.

Which, in a very real sense, was what Philip was musing over that evening back home after his Valentine’s Day flight and lunch with Julian in Guernsey.

When he had first spoken with Julian back in January and the idea of the flight had been mentioned, Julian had also recommended avoiding person-to-person contact with Maggie. His argument was that the wounds would more quickly heal by appointing a solicitor to handle the legal separation and eventual divorce, than having to have continued contact with Maggie. That’s what he had done.

But there was one aspect that did not hang easily over Philip; that of what to do with the house. He was torn. It was a lovely converted stone barn in a popular South Devon village. If he stayed there, inevitably there would be some pay-out due to his ex and that galled him, seriously so, as it had been ninety percent of his money that had paid for the house. He resolved to go and talk to some estate-agents in Totnes over the coming days to see if that made the decision of to sell or not to sell easier.

It turned out to be the next day. He had run into Totnes in the morning to pick up some food from Safeway, then walked the short distance to Fore Street at the bottom of town. It had been ages since he had looked through the windows of an estate agent, at the many panels advertising properties for sale, and he just couldn’t believe his eyes. The prices were astronomical. It was the same in all the agents’ windows: Rendells; Fulfords; Michelmore Hughes; Luscome Maye. Curiosity overcame him. On the way back down Fore Street he went into Fulfords and was quickly seen by a eager young, slick-haired sales assistant. Philip explained where he lived and that he was curious as to the current price. The young man asked him to remain seated and went across to speak to someone whom Philip presumed was one of the partners. They both returned to the desk where Philip was sitting.

“Hello, my name is Jeremy Stanton and I’m a partner here at Fulfords. How may I assist you?”

“Jeremy, my name is Philip, Philip Stevens, and I live in Harberton, in Tristford Barn in the cul-de-sac just off Tristford Road.”

“Yes, I know where you are. Isn’t your house that old, converted stone barn that overlooks the other properties around you? That beautiful barn, to my eyes anyway?” replied Jeremy.

“Yes, that’s the place. I purchased the barn privately from the owner who did the conversion, bought it back in 1999, and just wondered what it might be worth these days.”

Jeremy paused for a moment, “Oh, wasn’t that Barry Williams who did the conversion?”

Philip was impressed.

Jeremy indicated to him that they both go to a small room towards the rear of the open floor area.

“Philip, would you like a coffee or tea?”

“Well a tea would go down very nicely.”

Jeremy stepped outside the room for a couple of minutes and to Philip’s great surprise came back with a couple of mugs that obviously held freshly-made tea, not of either the instant or machine variety.

“I made us a couple of mugs of the proper tea. Can’t abide the instant stuff.”

Philip took a careful sip from his mug. The tea was hot to his lips yet very welcome.

“So Philip, you purchased the barn in 1999, I guess going on for eight years ago now. Do you mind telling me what you paid for it?”

“I paid one hundred and sixty thousand pounds, that I’m pretty sure was a little over the odds at the time. But, as I’m sure you know, properties in Harberton don’t often come on to the market especially a converted stone barn right in the middle of the village.”

“Philip, I couldn’t agree more. Now, of course, we would need to come over and take a look in order to give you a more accurate estimate but I would say that today’s price, especially in these times of significant demand for village properties, won’t be far off five hundred thousand pounds.”

The look on Philip’s face as he heard that estimate from Jeremy said it all. He was staggered.

“I had no idea that prices had risen to that level.”

“So, Philip, do you want us to come over to Harberton and give you a detailed analysis and estimate?”

Philip could hardly quieten his mind and stammered out, “Er, er, yes, I suppose so. No, sorry, of course you should come out. That would be very helpful.”

They settled on a date, the coming Saturday, just the day after tomorrow.

Later that afternoon, when out walking with Pharaoh, he thought more about his future. It seemed to be pretty clear to him that selling Tristford Barn made a huge amount of sense. There were strong and persistent rumours that property prices were overdue for a correction, that selling the barn would allow him to settle with Maggie and pocket a tidy amount of cash while he worked out where his life was going. Going on to reflect that if it turned out that it might be a while before he bought another house, then the present savings rates would reduce the pain, big time, of paying for rented accommodation. That last thought of his being immediately tempered by Pharaoh barking at something up in the trees; squirrels most likely. Of course, renting somewhere dog-friendly might be a challenge. The thought then crossed his mind as to whether the place that he had been renting over at Diptford, before he and Maggie had bought Tristford Barn, might be available and, more importantly, would they accept a dog; after all it had been a farm property with sheep and livestock. Upper Holsome Farm, that was it. What was the woman’s name?

As he drove back home her name came to him. It was Liz Jones, of course. He recalled how she had explained that her husband had died from a tragic tractor accident back in 1990 and Liz had decided to keep the farm running but to let out a wing of the main house to ensure some steady money coming in.

Liz’s phone rang a few times before it was answered.

“Hi, is that Liz?”

“Yes. My goodness, is that you Philip? How are you?”

Philip summarised what had happened over the past couple of months.

“Oh, I am so sorry to hear that. Gracious, it only seems like yesterday that I was at your wedding at Harberton Church.”

“Liz, it was seven years ago yesterday. Anyway, moving on. I’m kicking around the idea of selling Tristford Barn and perhaps renting somewhere while I take stock of things. So just wondered if you were still renting out your rooms. But, Liz, it wouldn’t be just for me. I now have a beautiful German Shepherd dog: Pharaoh. He’s the love of my life. He’s four this coming June. So I didn’t know, assuming you are still letting your rooms, whether or not a dog could be included.”

Liz’s reply was direct. “For God’s sake, Philip, this is still a working farm and you’ll will remember the dogs we have here. Of course your dog would be welcome.”

Philip felt a ray of emotional sunshine lighting him up. Pharaoh sensed it as well, coming over to where Philip was sitting with the phone and laying his head across Philip’s leg, so typical a gesture for him. What a sensitive dog he was.

“That’s fantastic. Let me see how things develop but whatever, I’ll stay in touch, Liz.”

“Yes, please do. I have a professional woman in the rooms at present. She’s something to do with Plymouth Hospital. But, as it happens, it wasn’t that long ago that she was saying to me that she might be facing a job move during the year. I’ll quietly sound her out. Oh, and Philip, the best of luck. You’re a good man and it will all turn out fine, trust me.”

“Thank you, Liz, thank you so much. Will be in touch.”

And with that Philip rang off, stroked Pharaoh’s soft warm head and felt a whole lot more contented than he had done for quite a while.

Again the evening, after he had made a meal for himself and fed Pharaoh, was a time for more inner reflection. One of the things that had been troubling him was the incredibly intense emotional reaction that he had had to Maggie’s announcement of her miscarriage back that last December.

When he had been staying with Diana over Christmas, they had had long talks about their father and the consequences of his death all those years ago. Diana had said to Philip that while she had been aware of the trauma it must have caused him, she had never shared with him her concerns about the long-term possible emotional consequences. The suddenness of their father’s death, the way he must have felt shut out from everything, even though she had no doubt that everyone was doing their best to protect him.

Philip knew that Diana had been stirring up some deep feelings because of the way he had such trouble even listening to her words. So, as he sat before the warm wood stove, Pharaoh fast asleep on the rug before him, he thought that now might be a good time to seek some personal counselling. The last thing he wanted to do was to carry baggage, known or unknown, into the next phase of his life. He resolved to call Jonathan Atkins in the morning.

The book! Chapter Twelve.

This blog publishing of chapters may not be that smart!

Publishing the chapters of my NaNo novel since the start of the month has had both positive and negative results. On the positive side, there’s no question that readers who have clicked the ‘Like’ button have really boosted my morale. On the other hand, it’s been impossible not to notice how on days when a Chapter has been published on the blog, readership levels have fallen, at times dramatically so.

So today is the start of the last six days of NaNoWriMo. There’s no question that I shall finish the draft of the book. I’m already on the edge of 45,000 words.

However, if I publish four chapters on Learning from Dogs this week, that will bring the total up to 15. The completed draft of the book will be around 25 chapters, possible one or two more. To subject you dear readers to another three weeks of four chapters a week seems wrong.

So this is what I propose.

From next Monday I will revert to publishing the range of articles and essays that I have been doing since July 2009. In other words, a new post every day of the week, just as before. But, in addition, I will be releasing three of the forthcoming draft Chapters, on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

So if you are not into reading the book, just pass those posts by. If you are, poor soul, then read away to your heart’s content.

Any reactions or comments would be wonderful.

With that, on to the story!

oooOOOooo

Learning from Dogs

Chapter Twelve

Philip was lost for words. No, far more than that. He was lost for words, feelings, reactions, responses. He was totally and utterly numbed.

Maggie had turned away from him, pulled the bedcover over her head, signalling who knows what.

Philip stood up slowly, practically in a trance, left the bedroom and climbed the stairs up to the living room one slow, deliberate step at a time. He put his empty tea mug in the cream-coloured plastic washing-up bowl sitting empty in the kitchen sink. He slowly crossed the living-room and stepped across to the full-length window just to the left of their wood-stove that sat in the corner of the room, the window that looked out over the grass slope that comprised much of their garden area. Philip looked out over the grass, the birds collecting seeds or whatever they feed on with a Winter’s night rapidly approaching. He looked beyond the grass, beyond to Jimmy Fletcher’s fields, then looked over to his left to where trees ran alongside a small stream that occasional filled with water during periods of rain. The Western sky was still largely cloud free. It would be dark within an hour or so. He was incapable of grasping anything, he was emotionally dead. In fact he was so disconnected from the world around him that he was barely aware of Pharaoh slipping down from the settee, where he shouldn’t have been in any case, and quietly coming up to his left side. Pharaoh had sat back on his haunches and touched his wet nose against Philip’s left wrist. Philip crumbled, his chest heaving and tears flowing from his eyes. He collapsed down to floor level, put his arms around the only creature in the world, human or canine, that cared for him, and cried his heart out. Pharaoh gently licked the tears from his cheeks. It was the release that Philip needed. Slowly over the next ten or fifteen minutes Pharaoh’s clear and obvious concern for Philip brought him back in touch with the world. And he realised just how angry he was; just how incredibly angry

He was still holding his arms around Pharaoh when he heard the sound of Maggie coming up the stairs. He turned his head and watched her go across to the kitchen and start putting Pharaoh’s evening meal together.

“Just you stop what you are doing!”, he shouted at her. “Nothing is ever going to be the same now and you don’t need to ask me why! I’ll be feeding Pharaoh from now on. He is not your dog, not in the slightest now.”

Maggie turned and went downstairs without a word, indeed without a look towards Philip.

Philip went across to the kitchen area and completed putting Pharaoh’s food together in his stainless-steel bowl. It was placed on the floor in its usual spot. He also refreshed Pharaoh’s water bowl.

Pharaoh came over to his food and, in an almost reluctant manner, started to eat. Philip was of no doubt that the dog was affected by what was going on. Any dog would have been and Pharaoh was no ordinary dog. Like most big dogs and especially like other German Shepherds, Pharaoh was incredibly sensitive to the feelings and emotions of those humans in his life.

Philip’s mind was now churning over and over, raising question after question. How long had Maggie been seeing whoever this bastard was? When did she become pregnant? Was she pregnant when they had gone on holiday to Turkey? That last thought made him sick to his stomach. The dirty, rotten, two-timing cow! To think that he had been making love to his wife, rediscovering what he believed was their genuinely loving relationship and all the time she had had …… he couldn’t even finish the thought!

He opened the ‘fridge door and took out a beer. Not even bothering to find a glass, he carried the can across to the settee, pulled the ring-top, took a long mouthful and tried to marshal his thoughts, the one most dominating his mind was the sleeping arrangements for the coming night-time. The answer came almost immediately for he heard Maggie down in the hallway. She came up the stairs to the point where she could face him.

“I’ve rung my parents and I’m going across to their place now. Can’t imagine you want me staying here!”

“Probably best under the circumstances,” came Philip’s gruff response. “Call me in the morning because, believe me, you have got some questions to answer.”

There was no reply from Maggie as she let herself out of the front door. Philip noticed Pharaoh looking out of the front window, looking intently at her as she started her car and drove down the driveway, pausing only to open the gate, manoeuvre the car to the cul-de-sac, come back and close the gate, and disappear from sight.

He sipped at his beer, deep in thought, trying to re-adjust his whole life. He looked at the clock, their grand old long-case clock that Philip had spent hundreds of hours bringing back to working order. In what already seemed like a previous life, he recalled shouting out a ludicrously silly price at a morning auction at the sale rooms in Totnes, back some three or four years ago now. The item in question had been the oak case of this English clock utterly bereft of any working parts, not even a dial face. Upon querying if there were parts, an auction assistant had simply pointed to a large cardboard box placed by the clock case. Philip had looked inside the box and seen an incredible jumble of clock bits and pieces, almost as if someone had taken the clock mechanism completely apart and gone on to something else in their life. Frankly, he hadn’t a clue as to whether everything was there but, hey, worth a punt.

Indeed, it had been very much worth the punt because the auctioneer had opened the bidding with, “So who will give me a hundred pounds for this long-case clock, believed to be early eighteenth century?” No interest from the fifty or so people clustered around. “What about fifty? Who will start me there?” Again, no interest.

Philip had raised his arm, attracted the eye of the auctioneer, and called out, “I’ll bid twenty-five.”

“I’m bid twenty-five pounds for this genuine oak-case English grandfather clock with an eight-day movement. Anyone raise that to thirty pounds?”

Twenty seconds later the auctioneer’s gavel struck his block, “Sold to the gentleman down to my left for twenty-five pounds!”

It took Philip more than three months to fathom out how to reconstruct the intricate parts of the clock’s movement, aided by many visits to Totnes Museum that was beautifully situated within an authentic Elizabethan Merchant’s House that included a number of working long-case clocks. In fact, Philip had gone there so regularly that, under supervision, he was allowed to open a couple of the clock cases to better understand how the clock movements functioned.

Philip reluctantly dragged himself back from pleasant memories of earlier times to the reality of this evening of December 20^th. His eyes focused on the time; it was a little after five P.M. Completely on the spur of the moment he realised that over in California it would be something after nine in the morning. Philip picked up the phone and dialled Danny’s mobile phone number.

Within a couple of rings the call was answered, “Hey, this is Dan.”

Philip quickly established that Danny was out walking in the desert with his dog Wendy.

“So how goes it Philip?”

“Danny, just got an early Christmas present from Maggie.” Philip went on to explain what had happened just a few hours ago.

Danny’s response was clear and direct, “Hey man, ain’t that the works. Hell, I’m so sorry to hear that. Man, life can be such a bitch at times.”

Philip heard Danny calling Wendy back from something it sounded she was chasing. He then continued, “Hey, just been thinking. You get your arse out to California now, you just come on over.”

“Danny, I would so love to do that. But, hey dear friend, just not possible right now as I’m facing a pile of shit a mile high. But, trust me, just as soon as I’m clear I’ll be there. No doubt at all.”

The book! Chapter Eight.

Half-way mark passed.

I’m preparing this post the afternoon of Sunday; yesterday in other words.

In terms of progress, I’m over 29,000 words. Thus well and truly beyond the half-way mark. However, more and more as the days pass and the words flow on to the screen, I having severe doubts about the literary quality of my writing. My view is that it is far too reportorial in style. Those who follow comments will have seen my comment last Friday in reply to Sue Dreamwalker.

This is what Sue wrote:

Loved your description here Paul of the interaction between Pharaoh and Betsy, I could almost see them in the paddock, hind leg lifted Lol Pee and all…

How are you enjoying your writing challenge? You seem to be well on track so far…
I hope you are enjoying your weekend
Sue

This was my reply:

Dearest Sue,

Yes, past the half-way point. 25,690 words when I stopped yesterday. In terms of enjoying it, immensely so. Mind you, it’s so auto-biographical to be less of a novel than more a personal ‘dump’!

The weakness that is becoming apparent is that without me outlining a clear plot line before I started writing then two things are happening.

The first is that I haven’t yet really fleshed out the main characters: Philip; Maggie; (Pharaoh!); and, to come, Susannah Middleton.

The second is that I get side-tracked into detailed explanations of people and incidents along the way that don’t really support the ‘story’.

But I have faith that the NaNoWriMo organisation will offer a lead to all the tyro writers who, having finished a very rough draft of their novel, now don’t have a clue as to what to do next!

Anyway, as they say in the old country, it’s keeping me off the streets.

Big hugs from Oregon.

Paul

Anyway, onwards and upwards. Here’s Chapter Eight, warts and all!

oooOOOooo

Learning from Dogs

Chapter Eight

Over the next two Saturdays Philip returned with Pharaoh and, just as Angela had predicted, Betsy behaved as a normal and self-confident dog.

Thus by the end of March there were two wonderful outcomes. Pharaoh was clearly the teaching dog that Angela had seen in him and Pharaoh’s first customer, so to speak, Betsy, had overcome her fears, the cause of her antagonistic attitude towards strange dogs. There was a bonus as well. Gordon and Angela had a bit of a private chit-chat along the way and Gordon very happily changed his mind about Betsy becoming a participant at Plymouth’s grey-hound racing track.

The weeks settled into a gentle pattern and before Maggie and Philip had really taken it onboard, Pharaoh celebrated his first birthday on June 3^rd, 2004. He seemed such a permanent part of their lives. In many ways it felt as though Pharaoh had become a member of a new family. That this strong, intelligent and sensitive dog had expanded the relationship of two persons, husband and wife, into a family of three with more love and affection than ever before.

The Saturdays over with Angela clearly provided Pharaoh with what in human terms would be described as purpose. It didn’t take Philip many trips with Pharaoh for him to see something appearing in his dog that just couldn’t be defined in human words. Angela grew more and more delighted with the way that Pharaoh resolved some quite tricky teaching demands with dogs that had arrived with significant social weaknesses. Frequently in a single session but just sometimes over a couple of meetings between Pharaoh and the ‘client’.

Before Philip could believe it his sixtieth birthday arrived, was celebrated with enthusiasm in The Church House Inn, passed by and less than eight weeks later 2004 slid into 2005.

Life was a very settled affair. There was sufficient income from his business mentoring to keep things ticking along, he was much fitter from the exercise of walking Pharaoh, and Maggie and he seemed to be in a very good space together. She was a fair few years younger than Philip, eighteen to be exact. At times, Philip had longed for a deeper connection between them but gradually came to the conclusion that their difference in ages and backgrounds was the underlying reason for what Philip felt was missing, and that he should move on and just be thankful for what was a good and harmonious relationship.

Autumn of 2005 brought along a lovely event. Philip had been asked to present at a conference being held at Exeter University. It was an all-day affair with a number of outside speakers, the purpose of which was to give graduates, on the verge of heading off to the big outside world, an awareness of some of the skills and tools their professional lives might require. Philip’s chosen subject was marketing for the entrepreneur, a topic he was very comfortable with, and the forty-minute session, the second one in the afternoon, had seemed to have gone well. That is, if the bundle of intelligent questions coming from the audience was any measure. The UK economy was enjoying strong growth along with many other Western countries. In fact, there were many who felt that this period of economic growth, especially in regard to ever-higher house prices, had an over-heated feel to it. But the good news was that the economy seemed to be motivating many young people to have a go at starting their own business.

As Philip returned to the table where the speakers were sitting he passed the next speaker walking out towards the podium. He reflected on the speed at which we form impressions of another person. For in the two or three seconds it took for each to pass the other, he found the smile offered to him coming from an open and engaging face.

His name was Jonathan Atkins and the title of his talk was ‘Being the best you can.’ A simple but riveting theme, Philip noted.

Jonathan introduced himself and went on to say,

“Ladies and Gentlemen, you stand on the threshold of your life’s journey. Neither you nor anyone else has the slightest chance of predicting that when you get to my age or more, heaven forbid, and look back over your forty or more years, what vista of your life you will see. But one thing is sure beyond anything.”

There was a slight pause and then Jonathan illuminated his first slide. It read plainly and clearly: Be The Best You Can Be.

Philip hung on to Jonathan’s words and underlying messages for every single minute of the forty-minute presentation. The critical importance of the relationships that all working people, but especially professional people, make and maintain with all those within their workplaces, and beyond the workplace. Why, so often, professional people struggle with their relationships in the workplace. The importance of mindfulness, rapport, holding boundaries, and more. All of it within a framework of integrity. Philip more than hung on to Jonathan’s every word. There was something else, something that was beyond his consciousness, something that was stirring him so deeply that it was beyond his reach.

At the end of Jonathan’s presentation, there was a huge plethora of questions from what had obviously been an engaged audience. By the time he stepped down and returned to the speakers’ table it was time for the afternoon tea-break. Speakers and audience alike flowed into the adjoining large room where a number of tables, covered in white cotton tablecloths, revealed cups of hot tea and plates of biscuits.

Philip picked a steaming cup, anticipating the pleasure of the hot tea, and moved away from the table area to a broad window looking out over the university buildings and beyond them Exeter’s commercial skyline. He became aware of another person standing close, turned his head and saw that it was Jonathan Atkins.

“Jonathan, I have to say that I found your talk fascinating.” Philip continued, almost without pause, “In fact, using the word fascinating is me opening mouth before engaging brain.”

Philip paused before continuing, noticing a slight smile on Jonathan’s face.

“What I should have said is that your talk opened doors to places in my mind that I sort of knew were there but could never properly access, let alone describe. As you can see for someone who should really have the gift of the gab, I’m not immune to grabbing a verbal idea a tad too quickly.”

“Philip, thank you for that generous compliment.” Jonathan seemed to be thinking a little before continuing, “Your presentation was valuable to me as well. In fact, I wouldn’t mind meeting up with you sometime over the next couple of weeks; wondering if you could offer me some advice relevant to my own business situation, something that I have to decide upon over the coming months?”

“Jonathan, of course, that would be wonderful. Would love to meet up on any basis. Hang on a moment while I pull out a card.”

Philip took his black leather wallet that he kept in his rear trouser pocket, unfolded it and drew out a white business card. He passed it across to Jonathan’s outstretched hand.

“Ah, I see you are not that far from me,” said Jonathan. “We are over at Torquay; can’t be more than ten miles from Harberton. Let me give you a call sometime over the next week.”

“Look forward to hearing from you. Oh, it looks as though we are all being called back into the room for the last sessions. As I said, give me a call whenever you want, it’s a home-office set-up and I’m frequently there. We can arrange a time to meet.”

With that, the pair of them returned their empty cups to a nearby table and made their way back to the main auditorium and thence to the speakers’ table.

It was a late afternoon in October, well on into the month, as Philip and Pharaoh were settling themselves back home after a blustery afternoon’s walk over at the woods, when he heard his office phone ringing. He grabbed it just before it went across to voicemail.

“Hi, Philip, it’s Jonathan, how are you?”

“Jonathan, fine thanks, and how are you?” Philip had almost forgotten leaving his card with him.

“Good, and please accept my apologies for not calling you sooner. Do you remember when we met up at that Exeter Uni event, I wondered about seeing you and you gave me your card?”

“Of course,” came Philip’s reply.

“Well, is that offer still open?”

“Yes, of course,” Philip then adding, “When would you like to meet up, want me to come to your place or meet somewhere neutral, as it were?”

“Well if that was OK with you, you coming over to the house in Torquay would be very helpful.”

They kicked around a few dates and settled on the 15^th November, a Tuesday Philip saw as he looked at his wall calendar.

“What time would suit you, Jonathan?”

“Well if 9:30 wasn’t too early for you, that would be perfect. I know that Helen, my wife, has to go out around then for most of the morning, so it would let me explain what’s in my mind without feeling I should be giving Helen a hand. I’m so rarely at home during the day just now.”

Jonathan then read his address out to Philip over the phone, that he in turn read back as a double-check, then declined Jonathan’s instructions as to how to get there. Philip knew pretty well where the house was in Torquay, and that was that.

He said to Jonathan, “See you in a little under four weeks,” and they closed the call.

So, as they inevitably do, the days and weeks soon passed and on that Tuesday morning in November, with the tail end of an Atlantic weather low chasing low clouds away from tops of Devon hills, Philip drove across to Jonathan and Helen’s house near Preston, just a short distance along the coast road out of Torquay.

In a million years, he couldn’t have predicted, not even dreamt, what consequences would flow from the meeting.

Learning from Dogs

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Learning from Dogs

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Learning from Dogs

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Learning from Dogs

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