Category: Dogs

The book! Chapter Twenty

Learning from Dogs

Chapter Twenty

Philip was about to pick up his case and return to the cool of the airport concourse when out of the corner of his eye, right at the last minute, he saw a tall, elegant, blond-haired woman heading for the airport doors in a manner that suggested she hadn’t seen him.  Before he even had time to draw breath and sing out a caution, she careened into his right shoulder almost knocking him into the pillar besides which he had been standing.

She stopped, turned towards him, and reached out to hold his right forearm in her right hand.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Bond.  It is Mr. Bond, isn’t it? Mr. James Bond?”

In Philip’s most wildest of dreams he would never have anticipated that his first new minutes on Mexican soil would turn out like this.

He guessed who this attractive woman was.  The smooth English accent was a bit of a give-away, the laughter in her voice confirming it was planned.

“Oh, you must be Molly? Lisa had mentioned a few times that she had an English friend here in Mexico.”

Then from out behind another tiled pillar popped Lisa.

“Hi Philip, welcome to Mexico.”

Lisa came over and gave him a long hug.

He picked up his case and followed the two of them the short distance to the car-park.  He noticed the gaiety between them. Within moments they were alongside Lisa’s car, a Ford Explorer according to the badge on the rear of the vehicle.  Of course, a make unfamiliar to him.  He would have described it as an American version of a compact Estate car; apparently known as an SUV in this part of the world.

However the make and type of the vehicle wasn’t so much the focus of his  attention.  It was rather how on earth he was going to get in.  Because, as Lisa opened the tailgate, there was revealed more large plastic sack-bags of dried dog food than he had ever seen in his life.

“Hopefully there’s just enough space at the top for you to slide your suitcase in.  Will it fit?”, Lisa enquired.

He pushed a couple of the topmost bags to either side and just managed to squeeze his case in over the top.

He backed out and straightened Up. Molly had now opened the right-hand door to the rear bench seat.

“Sorry if it’s a bit cramped.  We’ve had a bit of restocking of dog food.”

Molly wasn’t kidding, Philip thought, as he shuffled onto the nearest remaining piece of the bench seat that wasn’t covered from seat to roof-lining with clear-plastic wrapped cardboard trays of canned dog food.

Molly sat down on the front passenger seat, Lisa started the engine, doors were slammed close and they eased out of the designated parking area. Within moments they were clear of the airport zone and heading more-or-less South.  Well that was Philip’s estimate looking at the setting sun low down off to his right; its golden rays accentuating the dry, desert landscape that seemed to run all the way to the horizon.

His eyes were drawn back to all the dog food. “Gracious, someone’s got a few pet dogs at home.”

He noticed a look pass between Lisa and Molly.  It was Molly who replied.

“Lisa has five dogs and I have fourteen.”

“Did you say fourteen! My goodness, that sounds like a story.”

As they sped along what appeared to be signed as Highway 15, Lisa chatted away to Philip explaining the story about the dogs.  How for many years she and Molly had been working together in rescuing dozens of feral dogs, so many of whom roamed the streets of San Carlos.  Then them finding homes for the dogs most often with Americans coming down visiting San Carlos.

He looked across to Molly sitting in the front. “So how long have you been living in Mexico, Molly?”

“Oh, for almost twenty-five years.  I came down here with my husband when he and I wanted a change from the USA.

As he listened, he started to focus on her accent.  English it was, without any doubt.  But better than that, for if asked, he would have guessed a London accent, even perhaps an East London or Essex accent.

“Molly, hope you don’t mind me asking but I’m hearing a London accent. Is that correct?  Where were you born?”

“In Essex,” she replied.

“Ah, thought as much.  I know Essex pretty well from my years as a salesman in that part of the world. So in which part of Essex were you born?”

There was a pause before Molly answered, a lovely tease in her voice, “The worst part of Essex.”

He stopped and thought about his memories of Essex.  There were quite a few places in Essex that might qualify as the worst part.  But listening to Molly’s accent was giving him a clue. He took a stab at the place.

“I think you were born in Dagenham. You know, where the huge Ford factory is.”

Molly’s answered with a giggle, “Yes, that’s right.  How very clever. What made you guess Dagenham?”

“Well, when I was selling for IBM, I got to know that part of Essex especially well. Called on many of the Ford suppliers that had businesses in and around the Dagenham area. Places such as Romford, Rainham, Barking.  I heard something in your voice that suggested Dagenham or close by. Because, as you go further out, to places like Basildon, Brentford, even Chelmsford, the local Essex accent starts to take on more of an East Anglian twang.”

“You mean posher than Dagenham.” Molly put on a thick Cockney overlay that, nonetheless, only accentuated the underlying playfulness in her voice.

“So, your turn. Where were you born, Philip?  Have to say you sound too posh for East London or Essex.”

He was tempted to play games in return but didn’t have time to think of a cheeky retort. “I was born in North Acton in North London but almost from my first year lived and grew up in Preston Road, about a mile from Wembley Stadium.  In fact I could see the stadium buildings from my bedroom window.”

Molly’s gift for accents was obvious as she came back in a pseudo upper-class tone of voice, “Oh, Wembley.  Oh, I do say, how delightfully charming.”

They chit-chatted back and forth for some time as the miles sped by before Philip sensed, not quite sure how, that Lisa was feeling a little left out.

“Lisa, so back to the dogs.  Is it normal for you and Molly to have so many dogs at home?”

Lisa replied, “Not really. A short time ago the local animal shelter in San Carlos, where both Molly and I used to help out, closed down.  Many of the dogs were at risk of being put down.  So the ones that could be placed elsewhere we took them in ourselves.”

The conversation in the car fell silent for a while. The flight down from Los Angeles on top of some residual jet-lag from his flight across from London, the smooth motion of the car and the approaching dusk all conspired to make him just want to close his eyes for a few minutes.

He was suddenly awake with the turning off of the engine.

“Whoops, sorry about that. Obviously dozed off.”

Molly turned and looked at him. “Don’t worry, you were snoring so very prettily.”

Philip felt himself blush as he got out of the car with the two of them.

“Sorry, Philip,” Lisa said. “We’re not quite home.  This is Molly’s house and we are just going to put her bags of dog food in the back of her car for now.”

Philip went around to the back of the Ford and removed his suitcase.  Molly opened a large pair of brown-painted metal doors to reveal a rather grubby white van-type car parked in her driveway. She opened the tailgate and he watched as Molly and Lisa carried the bags and trays of cans from one  vehicle to the other.

He looked around him.  It was now early night. A warm, sub-tropical night that, quite suddenly, reminded him of nights in Darwin, Northern Australia.  There were a couple of street lamps shining their sodium light along an unsurfaced dirt street with properties to both sides.  He walked a few paces so he could look down the side of Molly’s house and saw the black surface of a sea possible only twenty yards beyond the far edge of the property.  The architecture of the house itself looked very non-European.  Philip reflected that in more ways than one this was a very long way from Devon.

He jumped into the front seat where Molly had been sitting as Lisa started up the car.

“Looks like quite a location where Molly and Ben have their house,” he mused aloud.

“Just Molly now, Philip.  Ben died back in 2005.  He was a great guy.  He and Molly had the house designed and built for them by local Mexicans when they first came down to San Carlo more than twenty-five years ago.”

He noticed just a hint of something slip across his mind, something not even as clear as a thought. Some tiny patter of emotional excitement that Molly was a single woman.

A few minutes later, as Lisa drove up the hill to her house, a combination of Philip’s exhaustion and the darkness of the night made it difficult for him to really get a clear idea of what the house looked like.  For sure, it gave the impression of being a grand place but, then again, the feeling of it still being very much a working construction project.

Half-an-hour later, that was confirmed by Don as all three of them sat around a table alongside a grand motorhome.

Lisa explained that they still hadn’t moved in to the house but that they had made him up a bedroom in the bodega.  Frankly, he hadn’t a clue as to what a bodega was but presumed that was the large awning with sides that he had been shown to when they arrived. So after a light snack, all that his stomach could take, he excused himself and promptly got settled into his nominated bed and barely before he could register the comfort of the bed and the wonderful night sounds around him, he was gone.

He slowly awoke, looked at his watch that was still on his left wrist and saw that it was coming up to 7 a.m. It had felt like a week’s deep, dreamless sleep; the sleep of all sleeps.

There was a hint of the coming dawn in the sky as he went outside and took in a few lungfuls of clean, fresh air.  This pre-dawn light to the sky was on the horizon to his left as he stared out over a bay with the calmest of sea surfaces one could imagine.  There wasn’t a breath of wind. Total calmness.  He pondered about the strange interface between a calm, benign sea that had not even a single fishing boat upon it, together with the steep, barren slopes of mountains pressing up almost to the edge of the town and then elsewhere the views housing lots, construction projects, more smart homes and a golf course.

The air was noticeably cool so he went inside the bodega to find a sweatshirt. He went back outside and quietly sat on a garden chair and just allowed the peace of the surroundings to wash over him.  It had all been quite a year.  Here he was sitting in the most different of settings he could imagine, a little over a week before Christmas Day but, much more significantly, only four days from it being exactly a year since Maggie dropped her bomb into his life.

Lisa’s ‘what are you doing for Christmas’ question some seven months ago had certainly set some wheels in motion.

“Hi Philip!” It was Don coming across from the motorhome to say good morning.  He stood next to Philip and said how he never got tired of the view across the bay.

Don turned to him, “Hey, Lisa says that we should take breakfast over at Rosa’s Cantina.  As you can see, we really are not yet set up for cooking arrangements.”

“That’s fine, Don. Very happy to let you run my life.”

Lisa stepped down from the motorhome, telephone in left hand, “I was going to give Molly a call to see if she wants to join us at Rosa’s.”

She pressed a button and raised the phone to her ear, exchanged a few words and called out, “All arranged, she will see us there at 8 a.m.”

Lisa then came across to Philip, asked him how he had slept and showed him the bathroom and showering facilities.

They had just seated themselves at a table at Rosa’s Cantina when Molly breezed in.  She was wearing a white cotton blouse over white jeans and a straw Stetson hat over her blond hair, the hat sitting a little way back on her head.  Despite Philip not being the best observer in the world of what a woman was wearing or her make-up, he couldn’t help noticing Molly’s rich red lipstick on her lips. There was something about Molly that signalled she was one-hundred-percent woman.

She parked her sunglasses across the front rim of her hat as she came into the shade of the Cantina.

“Hi everyone.  Did you sleep well, Philip?”

“Thanks Molly. Yes the sleep of a lifetime, I’m glad to say.  Heavens, what with your white jeans and your Stetson hat there’s a bit of an equine look about you today.”

Molly laughed, “Are you saying that I look like a horse! Not much of a greeting to a woman, if you don’t mind me saying.”

They caught each other’s eyes as Molly sat down at the table. The laughter in her eyes was unmissable.

Breakfast was ordered and an hour passed by in an easy and gentle manner.  At one point, Lisa asked Molly whether she had had a result from the auction. Molly replied that she hadn’t but that she expected to hear today and had her fingers crossed it would be a winning bid.

Molly turned to Philip who was looking quizzically at her .

“I’ve put in a bid at a silent auction for the most incredible carved dining table and chairs that you can imagine.  Genuine Mexican hand-carved and just stunning.  If I win it, I’ll invite you all round for dinner.”

After breakfast and back at the house, Philip was introduced to Lisa’s dogs.  They were all lovely animals that were both curious and affectionate towards him.  One of them, a creamy coloured, short-haired, bright-eyed dog, perhaps eighteen inches to her shoulders, looked as though she wanted to jump on his lap.  Lisa said that her name was Shilo and that she was a dear. He was sitting down and patted his lap; Shilo jumped up without hesitation.

As he cuddled Shilo, Lisa explained how she had been found on a local street one evening, going through a pile of rubbish.  She had been very thin and very wary of humans. However, Lisa put some food down for her and very slowly was able to coax her into her arms. As Philip stroked Shilo and felt her settle into his lap he suddenly felt very guilty that until this moment Pharaoh hadn’t even entered his mind.  He realised how much he was missing him.

Later, towards the middle of the afternoon, Lisa came across to where he was sunbathing, on the sixteenth day in December as he could hardly believe, and announced that Molly had, indeed, won the silent auction, that the huge table was being delivered tomorrow and on Tuesday evening they were all invited to dinner.

“Let me tell you, Philip, Molly can cook up a storm of a meal. It’s going to be quite an evening.”

“Can I go and buy some wine for the occasion?”

“No, but you can do me a favour.  That same day, the 18th, I need to take the Ford into the repair shop over at Guaymas; about fifteen minutes away.  There’s a potential issue with the steering.  The local Mexicans are brilliant with cars, all types, and most likely will fix the problem in half the time and half the cost of doing the same thing in the States.”

She paused. “But whereas Don can follow me in the morning in his Jeep and bring me back, later in the day that’s going to be a challenge. Because I will have dogs to feed and getting myself ready for Lisa’s dinner.  So wondered if you can you go into Guaymas with Don to pick up my Ford?”

“Sure, I can. No problem.”

“If you follow Don back into San Carlos and go straight to Lisa’s house, just a single turn off the main road, then Don can come and collect me and we both will then come over.”

So it came to pass. Philip drove Lisa’s Ford back from Guaymas and arrived at Molly’s house a little after 5 p.m., the setting sun still allowing him time to be shown around the house.  It was a magnificent property without being ostentatious, with glorious views out over the bay.  The main living room had a wonderful domed ceiling and the new carved table that Molly had acquired at the auction set the whole room off in the grandest of styles.  He could hear the dogs elsewhere chattering happily.  Molly said that the next time he came across during the daytime she would introduce them all to him.

She offered him a glass of wine and, together, they sat on the verandah and made small talk.  Philip was aware how easy it was to be with her.  Not only was she a good listener, she was, as he would say from his sales days, an active listener.  He found that very flattering.

As Lisa had accurately predicted, the meal was outstanding; beautifully cooked and beautifully presented.  Later they all sat outside on the verandah savouring their glasses of wine before Molly went and prepared fresh coffees for all.  Much to Philip’s surprise, a little before 8 p.m., Lisa turned to Don and apologised saying that she was feeling too tired to stay much longer and could Don take them home.

Lisa turned to Philip.

“Listen, there’s no need for you to come back now if you don’t want to.  You got my Ford and you know the way across to the house.”

Just to check, Philip talked the short route to the house over with Don, who nodded, and a few moments later, with Lisa and Don gone, Molly came back out to the verandah.

“Do you want to come into the living room?  Don’t know about you but it’s starting to feel a little too cool for me.”

He took the few steps into the living room and sat back in a comfortable wide easy chair.  Molly refreshed his glass. Two of her dogs came up to his legs and looked up at him with longing eyes.

“That’s Dhalia to your left, and the other is Ruby.  They are both Mexican street dogs that were rescued which I was unable to find homes for.”

He looked at Dhalia and Ruby.  They were both similar in height and fur colouring; shortish, light-brown, straight hair with bright-eyed attentive faces on bodies of about eighteen to twenty inches paw to shoulder.  Ruby, the slightly heavier of the two, jumped up on to the free part of the seat cushion next to where he was sitting. Dhalia stood up on her hind legs, tail wagging fit to burst, and placed both front paws on his knees.  He idly stroked each eager head with each hand.  Ruby, without meeting the slightest resistance from Philip, softly shuffled her body so that her front legs were across his thighs and laid her head down on her front legs.

“They’re beautiful animals, with such gentle natures,” he said to Molly. “I would have expected feral dogs to be, oh I don’t know, more wild, more feral.”

He went on to add, “And there’s something else I’ve noticed about your dogs, Molly, and that is how you have many more female dogs.”

He sensed he may have touched on a sensitive issue.

“Philip, some of the locals around here are very poor.  They will sort through bins looking for anything to sell, trade or eat; not even immune to stealing stuff to sell on, and so on. While in some ways I can understand what the poorer Mexicans have to do, there is one practice that still hurts me even to think about it. I’m referring to their habit of impregnating mother dogs so that when the mother has puppies, they may be sold for a few pesos. But because they can’t afford to keep that mother dog, frequently I find them thrown out on the street not long after she has had her puppies, often with milk still in her teats.”

She paused before saying, “That’s why the majority of the dogs I have taken in are females. That’s why they are such beautiful creatures.  Dogs understand.”

There was a long silence. He was surprised to find himself empathising so strongly with the pain of these mother dogs. As though his experiences of having Pharaoh in his life and the intimate ways that Dhalia and Ruby were connecting with him just now were opening something inside of him; something older than time itself.

Molly cleared her throat. “So, it sounds like it’s been a bit of a year for you.  Lisa filled me in on the details. Must have been a tough period for you.”

“Well, from what Lisa mentioned I’ve not been the only one hurting.  She told me that it wasn’t too long ago that your husband died.  Damn sight worse  losing a long-term loving and devoted husband than what I went through, me thinks.”

Molly replied in a quiet, reflective voice. She talked about her late husband who she had known and loved for years, how he had died of dementia brought on by burst blood vessels in his head, how she had looked after him, non-stop his last few weeks.“Ben and I were married for over twenty-five years and he was so good to me all that time.  But in the end, the dementia turned him into a man I didn’t know and, I hope you’ll forgive me saying this, I was grateful when he eventually died.” He heard the conflict in her voice.

“How old was Ben when he died, Molly?”

“He was much older than me, some thirty-two years my senior, so he was eighty-eight when he died.  I know what you are probably thinking, that I was some young, blond bimbo who grabbed hold of an older man for his money and all that.  But it wasn’t like that at all.  We were genuinely good to each other over all those years and he loved me and I truly loved him, right up to the last.”

“Molly, did you say Ben was thirty-two years older than you. Because,  Maggie was eighteen years younger than me. Interesting pair of age gaps.” He paused, “But I’m sure, indeed certain, that Maggie and I had nothing like the relationship that it sounds as though you and Ben had.”

There was something about this evening, something about Molly’s openness, her seemingly sincere interest in his past, that led Philip to open up his heart and his soul.  He talked, talked and talked, his flow of recollections of past times broken only by questions from Molly. Questions that always seemed the most exquisitely pertinent ones to ask of him.  Questions from this woman who two days previously had met him for the first time.

There were several moments in his recounting of his past years when the emotion caught in his throat; when the corners of his eyes became moist.  Unerringly, each time this happened, Ruby looked at him directly with her soft, brown eyes and licked the fingers of his nearest hand.  And each time that Ruby licked him Dhalia uncurled herself from the carpet just in front of his feet, stood up and put her paws on his knees.

Molly spoke of how all her rescue dogs offered her so much love and affection. How they seemed to know that this particular human had saved their lives.  At a deep, inner level he sensed a common thread. A thread of unconditional love from Molly to these dogs, Ruby to Dhalia, who, in turn, were offering him a feeling of being accepted as worthy of their unconditional love.  He started to understand the potential bliss of living with so many dogs in one’s life.

It was an unbelievable evening in which he lost complete track of time but not only that lost the need to even know the time.  Thus hours later, when he did look at his watch, he could not believe that it was fast approaching eleven-thirty at night.

“Oh, Molly, I’m so sorry.  Seems as though I have just dumped my life story and more on you. How embarrassing. Just look at the time; I’d best be going.” Ruby completely of her own accord slipped off Philip’s lap.

Moments later he stood up and was immediately struck by how far away from everything once familiar to him it all felt now.

They stood just inside the front door.

“Molly, thank you so much for this evening, for letting me practically talk non-stop like that.” There was a pause before he said, “May I ask a favour?”

“Of course, what is it?”

“I would love a hug.”

She silently opened her arms and he just melted into her body.  He knew that it had been a long time since he had needed such a hug and a lifetime since a woman had hugged him like this; being hugged by a woman who seemed to be accepting every part of this torn-up man.  There was a deep compassion and acceptance flowing from her. Ruby and Dhalia watched them; each vigourously wagging a tail.

4,434 words. Copyright © 2013 Paul Handover

The book! Chapter Eighteen.

Learning from Dogs

Chapter Eighteen.

The day before Philip’s appointment with Jonathan, he suddenly realised that if they had set a time he hadn’t made a note of it.  He called Jonathan.

“Jonathan, it’s Philip.”

“Hallo Philip, is there a problem for tomorrow?”

“No, not at all. It’s just that if we made a time, I screwed up and didn’t note it down.”

He could hear Jonathan’s laugh over the phone. “Ah, and there I was thinking I hadn’t made a note of the time.  Luckily, I was going to be in all day so was pretty relaxed about when you came across.”

Philip replied, “Ah, that’s a welcoming attitude.  But how about me coming over early to mid-morning? How does that suit you?”

“Ten-thirty, Philip?”

“Done, I’ll see you at ten-thirty.” He was just about to ring off when he added, “Jonathan, I could leave Pharaoh here at the flat but as it’s not become home to him yet, would it be alright if I bring him with me?”

“Not a problem. Would be lovely to see him again.”

“Thanks Jonathan, see you in the morning.”

 

The room at Jonathan and Helen’s house was ideal.  Ideal, that is, for a large dog. However, just in case Pharaoh couldn’t settle, before leaving the flat Philip had stuck a couple of dog biscuits in his bag.  But there had been no need to worry because as soon he and Jonathan sat down and started to talk Pharaoh curled up behind Philip’s chair.

Jonathan opened the conversation by asking Philip, “Why don’t you tell me a little about your life, pick out the things that more often than not come to you when you think back over the years?”

Philip settled back in his chair and allowed his memory of the last fifty or so years to bubble up into his consciousness.  The key moments were easy to speak about.  His father’s death, his subsequent failure to get any decent exam results at school, then managing to enrol as a graduate electrical engineer at the Faraday House of Electrical Engineering so long as he passed two ‘A-levels’ within the first year; which he failed to do. So he had to leave Faraday House but, miracle of miracles, somehow managed to gain a commercial apprenticeship at the British Aircraft Corporation’s manufacturing plant in Stevenage.

A quiet snoring from Pharaoh showed that he was now solidly asleep. Philip guessed he had heard all this before!

He continued with this snapshot of his past years. Going on to recall how he loved so much his first year at BAC because all apprentices had to spend their first year learning a whole range of engineering skills: cutting, shaping, welding, riveting, and much more. He mused how those skills had given him confidence later on in life to tackle most construction projects; well small ones anyway.  Then on to the second year at BAC and the deadly boredom of the commercial office undertaking such gripping tasks as pasting typed amendments over the top of the pages of current Government contracts for hours upon hours.  Only made bearable by the kindness of Malcolm Hunt, who was his oversight manager.  Leading to Philip offering to cut Malcolm’s grass at his home in the Summer evenings because Malcolm had to constantly wear a neck brace due to severe problems with his upper spine. Then him meeting Malcolm’s lovely Scottish wife, Sadie, and often being invited to have an evening meal with them.

On to that fateful day when he was sitting at his desk, his desk next to Malcolm’s, when Malcolm said, “Philip, Sadie wondered if you could give her a call at work.” He passed Philip a slip of paper on which he had written down Sadie’s office number, a local Stevenage number. He had gone over to the main canteen where there was a public phone box in the lobby.

“Hallo, British Visqueen, how may I help you?”

“Yes, my name is Philip Stevens and I have been asked to call Mrs Sadie Hunt.”

It was but a moment before Philip heard Sadie’s lovely Scottish accent. “Philip, how nice of you to call.  Listen we have a vacancy in our sales office, the team that manage the sales of our polythene film products to UK companies, and I wondered if you would like to be interviewed for the vacancy?”

“Oh Sadie, thank you so much for thinking of me.  I would love to have a try at the position.”

“Well, that’s grand, Philip.  Both Malcolm and I were thinking that your present job was leaving you unfulfilled and something closer to selling would match your skills and personality.  I’ll arrange for the usual letter inviting persons to interview to be sent to you in tonight’s post.”

He became conscious that he had drifted away and looked up at Jonathan with some embarrassment.

“Whoops, got a bit carried away there, didn’t I.”

Jonathan replied gently, “You obviously got the job at British Visqueen.”

“Yes, I did and in a funny way that job set me up for life.  Of course, that’s only clear to me now looking backwards. But all my life I’ve loved the interaction that selling inevitably requires, and, without wanting to blow my own trumpet, I have been good at it.”

The hour with Jonathan flew by.  They agreed the next appointment for a week’s time and he and Pharaoh went out to the car and made their way back to the flat.

Despite that hour with Jonathan almost entirely taken up with him speaking of past times, it had still left its mark on him.  He was aware for much of the rest of that Friday that there was something about the atmosphere in Jonathan’s room that made him feel totally safe even though he had no idea as to how that had been achieved. That was fascinating, he pondered.  It was not as if he was a stranger to being one-on-one with another person nor disliked meeting and talking with others, far from it. But still it felt so different.  He looked forward to next Friday morning.

 

The morning was soon upon him and, again, much of that next session continued with him talking about the key events in his life, not just in his working life but, for example, the circumstances of his first marriage and how that failed.  By the end of the second session he was up to present times.

 

The third session, a further week on, started very differently because Jonathan started to talk about consciousness.  In particular about David R. Hawkins who, apparently, is an internationally renowned psychiatrist and researcher into human consciousness.  This all felt a little strange to Philip but as Jonathan showed him a chart, for want of a better term, of the different states of consciousness, a map of consciousness as the title described it, then it did start to fall somewhat into place.

Apparently, David Hawkins had found a way of measuring the human body’s reaction, using kinesiology, to a range of life’s circumstances. Leading to Dr. Hawkins proposing that those reactions were really a window into a person’s consciousness. Hawkins then went on to create a numerical value for those measurements and proposed a mid-way value.  Mid-way, as it were, between positive and negative human reactions. Philip found this fascinating from an intellectual perspective.  He still struggled to embrace the meaning and relevance of it as part of his counselling.  However, from what he had come to observe about Jonathan’s approach to psychotherapy he expected the emotional significance of this to appear pretty soon.

He tuned back into Jonathan explaining how those measurements of the body that scored above the mid-way level of 200 described a range of positive, strong levels of human consciousness and below a corresponding range of negative, weak levels. It was all a little baffling; he had to admit.

Jonathan could see that Philip was struggling a little with the whole idea of human consciousness having levels, let alone that those levels could be measured.

“Philip, think of it as two very broad categories.  From a mid-way level of 200 all the upper states of consciousness are described in the general terms of truth, integrity and supportive of life.  Whereas, from 200 and down those states of consciousness are described as false, lacking integrity and unsupportive of life.”

Jonathan paused and went on to add, “And did you know that the consciousness of dogs has been mapped?”

That brought Philip immediately to the edge of his seat, the suddenness of his reaction causing Pharaoh to open his eyes and lift up his head.

“Yes, the consciousness of dogs has been mapped as between 205 and 210.  They are creatures of integrity.”

Philip knew in that instant that something very profound had just occurred.  He slipped forward out of his chair, got down on his hands and knees, crawled behind his chair, and gave Pharaoh the most loving hug of his life.  Dogs are creatures of integrity.  Of course! So utterly and profoundly obvious. Wow, what a revelation.

He sat back up in his chair, now truly engaged in the subject. Jonathan continued to outline more of David Hawkins’ findings, closing their session by offering to lend Philip the Hawkins’ book Power vs Force.

“See you same time next Friday, Philip?”

“No question.  And thank you for a fascinating session.”

 

On the drive back to Diptford, Philip couldn’t take his mind off the idea that dogs were creatures of integrity and truthfulness.  What was that third quality that Jonathan had mentioned?  Ah, yes. Integrity, truthfulness and supportive of life. He had no doubt that all Nature’s animals could be seen in the same light but what made it so powerful in terms of dogs was the scale of the unique relationship between dogs and man.  A relationship that had been running for thousands upon thousands of years.

As he made himself his usual light lunch of a couple of peanut butter sandwiches and some fruit and then sat enjoying a mug of hot tea, he just couldn’t take his mind off what Jonathan had revealed.  Dogs are examples of integrity and truth.  No, examples is a pathetic word.  Dogs are beacons of integrity and truth.  Yes, that’s it.  Wow.

Then from a place that he knew not from where, it came to him.  Some day he would write about this. About these qualities of man’s best friend. How we should be comparing the integrity of dogs to this modern, dysfunctional world, a world that seems to be descending deeper and deeper into corruption, lies, greed, selfishness and depravity.  My goodness, how much there is for man to learn from dogs.

As that last thought passed across his mind, he was hit by a force, a force that was beyond question.  He would write not some time in the future but now.  Write about how we must, for the future sake of mankind, learn from dogs.

He shuffled his chair across to his computer, toggled it back to life and started looking at available internet domain names.  Bingo, it hadn’t been taken! Thus a few minutes later he was the registered owner of the domain name learningfromdogs.

 

Friday the 22nd came round as regular as clockwork and Philip, once again, was settled into his chair in Jonathan’s room. Pharaoh likewise settled in to the corner of the room behind his chair.  He had been looking forward to this next hour with Jonathan because so much had flowed from the revelations of last week’s session.

“Philip, when we had our first session and I asked you to relate the key life events that came to you, the first event you spoke of was the death of your father.  Tell me more about that time in your life.”

“To be honest, I don’t have clear memories of my father much before he died that year. He was a lot older than my mother, some eighteen years, and I had been the result of an affair between them; my father being married at the time.  They met when they were both members of an amateur orchestra in London during the height of the Second World War.  Apparently, my father had had two daughters with his wife and longed for a son.  I came along just six months before the end of the war.  At first, my father couldn’t decide to leave his wife leading to my mother eventually giving him an ultimatum that if he wished to continue to see his son then he would have to marry her.  So despite me being born in November 1944 it wasn’t until 1946 that my parents became married.”

He paused for a few moments, as if having to dip back to that December in 1956 was going to stir up pain.

“I had turned twelve-years-old in early November 1956.  Just finished my first term at Grammar School.  To be honest, I can’t recall when my father became ill and how long he had been bed-ridden. But on the evening of December 19th, after I had kissed my father goodnight and jumped into my bed in the room next door, my mother came in, closed my bedroom door, sat on the edge of my bed and told me that my father was very ill and may not live for much longer.

It clearly didn’t register with me at any significant emotional level because I went off easily to sleep. But when I awoke in the morning, I was told that my father had died during the night, the family doctor had attended and my father’s body had been removed from the house. I had slept through it all.”

Jonathan quietly looked at him.  Nothing was said; not for a long time. Philip was aware of a strange, yet peaceful, presence in the room.  Pharaoh softly stood up, came over and laid his head across Philip’s leg. All remained still and quiet in the room.  He lost any notion of the passing of time, no idea of how long it was when there was a gentle movement from Jonathan.

“What are you experiencing at this moment?”

“Jonathan, it’s strange but there’s almost a complete absence of feelings.  I’ve often tried to reflect on what I truly felt at the time or, indeed, what I feel all these years later whenever I am drawn back to that time.  But the best I have ever been able to come up with is that I was never able to say goodbye.  You need to know, Jonathan, that it was decided that because it would be too upsetting for me, I wasn’t even at the funeral and cremation thus reinforcing my sense of not saying goodbye to my father.”

Minutes passed afresh before Jonathan asked his next question. “Philip, you have a son and daughter.  What are their ages?”

“My son, William, is now thirty-five and my daughter, Elizabeth, thirty-four.”

Jonathan put his hands together fingers-to-fingers and lent his chin against them. “So your son would have been twelve in 1984.  That was when you were very busy running your own business, if I recall.”

Philip nodded in reply.

“So Philip let’s say that during that year of 1984 you had been diagnosed with some terminal illness, say cancer, as with your father.  You were given a life expectancy of six months or less. What thoughts come to mind?”

“You mean in the sense of what it would have meant for William and Elizabeth?”

Jonathan nodded.

“Wow, what a truly terrible thing to reflect upon.”

He idly stroked Pharaoh’s head as he tried to put himself in the position of knowing he was dying back when his children were eleven and twelve.

He looked up. “What comes to mind without any doubt is that I would have walked away from my business immediately. After all, very soon it wasn’t going to be my business.  My kids were still living at home, of course. I would have wanted to share every minute of my life with them. Try to let them understand as much about me, who I was, what I believed in, what made Philip Stevens the person he was.”

Jonathan almost breathed the next question into the air of the room, “Translate the circumstances of the death of your father across to your son experiencing the same circumstances from your death. What’s your reaction to that situation? Admittedly one we know didn’t take place, thank goodness.”

Philip felt the passion rise from within. He almost cried out,  “To know that I was terminally ill and to have that kept from my son and daughter; that’s terrible, it’s beyond comprehension. Then to compound it by having everything associated with my death and the disposal of my body kept secret from William and Elizabeth.”

He left the sentence unfinished before adding, the pain so clear in his voice, “It’s cruel beyond description.  My poor children wouldn’t have had a clue as to why they had been excluded. No, not excluded; denied. Denied from telling their father how much they loved him and, in turn, denied not hearing from their father how much he loved them. Denied for ever more.”

Jonathan allowed Philip’s anger to reverberate around the room.

“Is there one word that says it all to you? If so, what’s the one word that comes to you?” Jonathan asked.

Philip hardly hesitated. “Rejection.  Yes, that’s the word.”

He went silent as he turned that word over in his mind. “No, can’t better the word.  William and Elizabeth losing their father that way shouts out that their feelings weren’t even considered.  No-one in the lives had stopped to think about how these two very young people were dealing with the severe illness, let alone the imminent death, of their father. Their feelings were not cared for. And not caring means not loving.  Yes, that’s it.  They would see it as a total rejection of them by their father. Not unreasonably, I might add.”

 

There was a further silence in the room that lasted for, perhaps, five minutes or more.  Then Jonathan said, “Philip, we are not quite up to the hour but I’m going to suggest you just sit here quietly with Pharaoh.”

Jonathan looked at Pharaoh who still had his head across Philip’s leg and said, “I was going to say just let yourself out when you are confident of being OK to drive home.  But, of course, Pharaoh will be the one to make it clear when you may go home.  Bet you anything on that one.  Either way, I’ll be next door; very close by.”

He added, “Just let today settle itself in your consciousness just however it wants to.  Don’t force your thoughts either way, either dwelling on today or preventing thoughts naturally coming to the surface of your mind.  As we have discussed before, pay attention to your dreams.  Maybe have a notebook by your bedside so you can jot down what you have been dreaming about.  I’ll see you next Friday same time, if that’s alright with you.”

Jonathan left the room whereupon Philip quietly laid his face down on Pharaoh’s warm head and wept.  He knew beyond doubt that he had been released from a long, dark, emotional prison.

A few minutes later, he lifted his head, wiped his eyes, just as Pharaoh lifted his own head and indicated clearly that it was time to go. They left the house a few moments later.

 

When a crossroads is neither a roadway, nor a choice of pathways in the woods or fields, when that crossroads is in our minds, we seldom know it’s there or the choice we made to take one path and not the other until it’s long past.  Sometimes, the best one can do is to look for the tiniest clues as to where one is really heading.

 

Philip had read that in a book a few weeks back although, typically, could no longer remember the name of the book.  It had spoken to him in a way that he couldn’t fathom out at the time, yet carried sufficient strength and clarity for him to feel the need to jot it down on a sheet of paper.  He had been sorting papers out on his desk on the Sunday following that last session with Jonathan when he came across the sheet of paper.  Much more than the first time he read the words, when he reread them now they were laden brim-full of meaning.

Because, to his very great surprise, his sleep on both Friday and Saturday nights had not only been dream free but had taken him to a place of such sweet contentment that it was almost as though he had been reborn.  Alright, perhaps reborn was a little over the top, but there was no question that he was in an emotional place quite unlike anything he could ever recall.  Almost as if for the first time in his life he truly liked who he was.

Earlier on that Saturday morning when he had taken Pharaoh over to James’ woods, he called in on his sister and shared a cup-of-tea with her.  As he was leaving, Diana asked him if he was alright.  In  querying why she had asked, she said, “Oh, I don’t know. There’s something different about you that I can’t put my finger on.  A happiness about you that I haven’t seen in ages, possibly never seen in you.”

He wrapped his arms around Diana and gave his sister a long and deep hug. He softly said, “I miss our father at times, don’t you?”

She answered, “Oh, I miss him too, miss him so much at times.  He was such a wonderful, gentle man who lived for his children.  He loved all three of us more than anything else. To die at such a young age.”

 

As the week passed by, Philip became aware of a truth that had been hidden from him for practically the whole of his life. He couldn’t wait to share it with Jonathan.  Thus, as he drove across to Torquay on what was the last Friday of June, he was full of what he wanted to say.

Jonathan could tell that Philip was fit to burst. They had hardly sat down when Philip said, “Jonathan, it’s been an amazing week.  I’ve at last understood some fundamental aspects of my life.”

“That sounds very interesting, tell me more.”

“Well, when I realised that the consequence of the way my father’s death had been handled was to bury in my subconscious the idea, the false idea, of having been rejected, something struck me smack in the face. Namely, that it explained two ways in which I have behaved since being a teenager.”

Jonathan remained silent.

“The first thing that came to me was the reason why I have been so unfortunate in my relationships with women.  This is how I figured it out.  Whenever a woman took a shine to me, I would do everything to come over as a potentially attractive spouse. Rather than rationally wondering if this woman had the potential to be a woman I would fall in love with and love as a wife, I have been driven by such a fear of rejection, that I oversold myself and, inevitably, made poor long-term relationships; Maggie being the classic example.”

Philip’s excitement had him out of breath.  He took a lung-full of air and continued, “But the positive aspect of my fear of rejection is that throughout the whole of my business and professional life, I have been successful. Because I have always put the feelings of the other person above my own. I can’t tell you what a release this has been for me.”

“Philip, that’s a fabulous example of how when we really get to know the person we are it gives us a psychological freedom, a freedom to be the person we are, to feel happy with ourselves.”

Jonathan continued, “One thing I should mention is this.  It’s likely that what happened to you back in December 1956 is not necessarily hard-wired but certainly is a very deep-rooted emotional aspect of who you are.  This new-found awareness will be of huge value to you but that sensitivity to rejection is not going to disappear.  The difference is that you are now aware of it. Quite quickly you will spot the situations, as they are happening, that stir those ancient feelings around.  Then you will be able to notice those feelings without having them pulling behavioural strings. You will be fine; of that I have no doubt.”

4,139 words. Copyright © 2013 Paul Handover

The book! Chapter Seventeen

Learning from Dogs

Chapter Seventeen

Adjusting back to Devon life upon his return from California could have been so much worse if Philip didn’t have that first meeting with Jonathan to look forward to.

The flight back to London had been uneventful and as soon as he had taken a taxi from Totnes Station across to Diana and John’s place, to pick up his car, he was off to Sandra’s to collect his beloved Pharaoh.

While that night flight home from Los Angeles was always a bit rough on the body, the morning arrival did allow most of a full day back in England.  The thought of waiting another day to see Pharaoh was unbearable.

As he pulled into Sandra’s parking area and opened the car door, the sound of the many dogs staying at Sandra’s kennels greeted his ears. He hadn’t even had time to close his door when Pharaoh came bounding across to him, tail wagging furiously. If ever a dog could put a smile on its face, and Philip had no doubt that dogs could smile, Pharaoh was wearing the biggest dog smile ever.

Philip sat on the ground and received a rapid succession of face licks. As soon as he stood up and opened both the car’s tail-gate and the door to the travel cage, Pharaoh gave one giant leap into the open cage, turned around and was indicating in very clear dog speak, ‘Dad, take me home, now!’.

He told Pharaoh to wait while he went across to settle up with Sandra.

“Did you have a good time in California?”

“Thanks Sandra, yes a great time.  Feel almost ready for what’s facing me these next few months.”

He paused before asking, “Tell me, Sandra, how’s Pharaoh been?”

“He was fine.  Same as he always is.  It’s almost as though he knows that he isn’t here for ever and that you will come back for him.  In fact, it must have been over half-an-hour ago that Pharaoh was telling me, in the way some dogs do, that you were on your way to collect him.”

“Wow! Sounds as though that was around the time I picked up the car from my sister’s place and starting heading your way.”

He continued. “Sandra, the reason I asked about how Pharaoh is with you is that I have been invited to spend next Christmas with good friends at their house in Northern Mexico.”

Sandra’s face showed that she was uncertain where Northern Mexico was.

“It’s a place called San Carlos, about a couple of hundred miles south of the border with Arizona but there’s a good airport quite close by.  What I have been thinking, Sandra, is that being away from Devon over the holiday period might stop me getting all caught up in the memories of last Christmas. But if I was to go, it would be for the thick end of a month and there’s no question of me going if Pharaoh wasn’t going to be happy and settled here with you.”

Sandra’s reply was immediate. “Philip, I’m usually very quiet over the Christmas period with most dog owners wanting their dogs with them at home, for obvious reasons.  So not only would I be able to give Pharaoh extra attention but during the day I could take him for a walk around our local woods and have him in the house as well.” Sandra hesitated before continuing, “Of course, I wouldn’t have him sleep in the house overnight, might start to confuse him as to whether or not this place was becoming his new home.  So, what I’m saying is that it wouldn’t be a problem for me or Pharaoh in the slightest.”

“Thanks Sandra, you are good to him, and to me.  Thank you so much.”

Philip was soon over at Upper Holsome Farm and as he parked up, about to let Pharaoh out and take his travel bags over to the flat, Liz came up to him.

“Thought it was you.  How was it? Did you have a good time?”

“Thanks, Liz.  Yes, it was a great time. Gave me a real break from the stuff of the last few weeks and months.

“So pleased to hear that.  I took the liberty of putting some fresh milk and bread in your refrigerator.  Thought you wouldn’t want the hassle of newly moving in and not having any food in the place.”

“Oh Liz, that was kind of you.  Yes, apart from going to collect his nibs”, Philip lifted the tail-gate of the car and opened Pharaoh’s cage. “I had no other thought than to get back here and rest up after what feels like two days of solid travelling.”

Pharaoh had a quick sniff of Liz’s outstretched hand and went off to check out all the new smells and scents around the place.

“Liz, while it’s in my mind, I’ve been invited to go and spend Christmas with good friends in Northern Mexico.  I’ve checked with Sandra over at the kennels and she is confident that Pharaoh will be happy with her.  Because, I’m thinking of being away about a month.” He immediately added, “Of course, I’m not asking for any rent relief for the month and I’m happy to have you use the flat if you are expecting guests over the Christmas period.”

“Philip, come on now! I’m not putting anyone else in the flat while you are paying me rent and having your things there.  When you have firm dates for your Christmas trip let me know; I’m sure you would have done so in any case.”

“Thanks Liz.”

With that, he took his belongings across to the flat, still familiar to him back from the time when he was living here before he and Maggie moved in to the Harberton barn.  For Pharaoh, however, it was another new place to check out.  He left him sniffing around the flat and went out to lock the car.  When he returned to the flat, less than two minutes later, and went into the bedroom, there was Pharaoh curled up in the bottom half of his open suitcase. As if to say that the next time Philip left Devon he’d better take his dog with him.  What a dog. What a relationship.

Later that evening, as the two of them were resting after both a human dinner and a dog supper, his mind came back to the relationship that he had with Pharaoh.  Of course, it was well known that dogs loved unconditionally.  But the phrase love unconditionally was too trite, too obvious.  What was the deeper meaning behind those words?  He went on to ponder that it must be so much more than that.  The closeness of the companionship, the easy way that Pharaoh signalled his feelings to Philip, the purity of those feelings. What was the word Jonathan had used about feelings?  Transparency. Of course! Yes, the transparency of Pharaoh’s feelings; that was it. He continued reflecting on the incredibly ancient relationship that had existed between dogs and man.  At least thirty-thousand years and, quite probably, as far back to Neanderthal times fifty-thousand years ago.

If only us humans could live so simply and straightforwardly as dogs.  For example, take how dogs live in the present for the vast majority of their lives.  Think what that would mean for humans if we stopped deliberating about the future in the way that most us do. Not so much deliberating about the future, more like worrying about the future. The fear that this must engender because the future is so often an uncertain one.

Philip was sure that if humans could live as fully engaged in the present, making the the best of each moment, as dogs so clearly do, then we would live a much more uncluttered life. Uncluttered in the sense of being unburdened by the many complex fears and feelings that we humans so often seem to have.  Let’s face it most of the time our fears never actually turn into reality.  Millions of people loving millions of dogs in the world, untold numbers of close relationships between people and dogs, and we are all missing the most profound lesson of all to be learnt from these wonderful animals.  That if we stopped obsessing about the future, turned down the noise of the outside world, we would have a chance of some silence and mental space. For it is only from that silence within us that we can become aware of ourselves. How that self-awareness allows us to better cope with the uncertainty around us, and more to the point, offers us greater happiness. Now that would have profound implications for society.

1,453 words. Copyright © 2013 Paul Handover

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, 1st 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 2nd 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, 1st 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 1st, 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 8th 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 8th May, with him returning back to London on May 27th.

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 14th 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 14th 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, 1st 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 8th.

1,883 words. Copyright © 2013 Paul Handover 

 

The book Chapter Fourteen.

The book is completed; appropriately by Thanksgiving Day!

Yes, at 3pm yesterday, I wrote the last sentence of the epilogue: Back to the beginning. Sturdy followers will recall the prologue In the beginning published here on the 4th November.

Still can’t believe it, to be honest. A total of 53,412 words written in 27 days, or an average of 1,978 words a day.

Now the first thing that has to be said in bold: THIS IS THE FIRST DRAFT!  The professionals recommend taking at least two weeks off before starting the equal challenge of editing, refining and finishing.  There was another pep talk on the NaNoWriMo website that I would like to post here; it seems to illustrate the game of being a writer so well.

But before that, thank you to everyone who kept me going. It meant a great deal.

oooo

Dear Authors,

The Shining may be the best film ever made about being a writer—not because Jack Nicholson’s character went bonkers, but because he had the work ethic it takes to build a career. Sure, he just typed “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy” thousands of times. But he worked every single day—even when the creative juices weren’t flowing.

I’ve never bought into the self-indulgent notion of writer’s block, a grown-up version of “The dog ate my homework.” The fact is that some people have nothing to say and will never be writers. But if you need inspiration, try perspiration. If you’re meant to write, you’ll write. Sure, we’re all stymied from time to time, struggling over how best to shape a character or how to bring a crucial scene to life. But the best way to confront such problems is to sit down and start typing. Things happen when you make them happen.

Sure, it’s gorgeous out, your friends are partying and there are errands that need to be run right now. Or there’s more research to do, or another urgent email that needs a response. There’s always an excuse not to write—but if you make a habit of grabbing excuses, you’ll never become a pro. Better to type up slop, throw it away, and start again the next morning, than to duck your daily battle with the keyboard.

There have been days when I just could not bring myself to sit down at the computer, but such days have been rare. More often, I may not feel like chaining myself to my desk, but I sit down and get to work, anyway. I’m a writer. This is my job. Often, I’ve wanted to quit but stuck to the mission… only to find, after many a barren hour, that I’d written something so good I asked myself the most satisfying question a writer can spit out: “Jeez, where did that come from?”

Many an aspiring writer is just in love with a glammed-up idea of being an author, but not enthused about the actual work. Well, the only way to learn to write is to write (and to write a lot). Sit down and get started. Even if you just type, “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

Writing is wretched, discouraging, physically unhealthy, infinitely frustrating work. And when it all comes together it’s utterly glorious.

In these last days of NaNoWriMo, get to work.

Ralph

Ralph Peters is the author of 30 books, and has published extensively as a journalist and essayist. He pays the bills by writing.

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Learning from Dogs

Chapter Fourteen

“Hallo, Jonathan, it’s Philip.”

“Philip, how are you?  Listen I heard about you and Maggie splitting up. I’m so sorry. Must all still be very raw in your life at the moment.”

“Yes it’s been hard. I’m very slowly coming to terms with all the implications of what will be a divorce in due course; without doubt.  Nonetheless, I think there’s a long way to go for me. At times it feels like more than I can handle.”

He paused, “To be honest, Jonathan, that’s why I’m calling you just now.  Over the last few weeks, going back over and over again about Maggie’s behaviour has been stirring up a whole pile of strange and often conflicting feelings.  I just wondered if there was any chance of us reversing roles; of me becoming your client?”

“Oh Philip, that’s a question I would much prefer you hadn’t asked.  Because fundamental to how a counsellor and a person adopt a counselling relationship is that they are not familiar to each other from previous times.  I’m really sorry but I have to decline your request.  It’s for your sake, you do understand.”

“Jonathan, guess I hadn’t considered that but it does make sense, even though I hate to admit it.  But there’s something about you, something about your, what’s the word you use, your mindfulness, that engages with me in a manner that previous counsellors have so lacked.  Is there any way that I could see you that was appropriate to our circumstances?”

There was quite a long pause.  It was clear that Jonathan was deep in thought.  Finally, he spoke, “Philip, the only way that it could happen is like this.  That is that you agree to let me be the judge of whether the counselling is working for you and that if I have the slightest question about that you will allow me to terminate the relationship, possibly at quite short notice.  Let me be clear.  If I decide that your best interests are not being served by me, then not only will I ask that we no longer meet but that you won’t do anything other than to gracefully accept that.  Plus, of course, you could no longer mentor me with regard to my own business plans.”

Philip had no doubt in his mind. “Jonathan, that’s completely understood and I give you my word that I would accept seeing you on that basis.  Plus our existing mentoring relationship is not continued.” He then added, “To be honest, we had covered most of what needed to be covered in terms of your own business anyway.”

“Philip, do you have a feel for when you would like to start coming to see me?”

“To be honest, Jonathan, not a clue just now.  Chances are that the house is going to be sold.  Then there’s the game of disposing of much of what’s in the house, finding rented accommodation, although that may have been sorted, then probably around May time, I’ll be going out to California for two or three weeks.”

“OK Philip, well just let your life run as smoothly as is possible in this difficult period and when you see the window opening in terms of coming to see me, something that will be very clear to you at that time, I don’t doubt, then give me a call and we can work out a schedule that is suitable for you and me.”

Came the following Saturday and Philip welcomed Jeremy Stanton who was accompanied by a Fulfords assessor, or so that’s what Philip gathered.  It was a dry morning so he walked Pharaoh around the garden two or three times before sitting on the bench in front of the house.  Not too long after, the Fulford duo came outside.

Jeremy came forward and spoke to him. “We’ve had a good look around and, frankly, we like what we see.  Yes, the floor area of the house is smaller than average but that comes down to the fact that it was once a barn, and that’s a huge plus. Nonetheless,it’s fully a three-bedroomed home with a nicely appointed kitchen and, of course, that wonderful living room area overlooking both the village in one direction and classic Devon countryside in the other.”

Jeremy turned towards his colleague. “Dick and I are of no doubt that your property should be listed at just a shade over five-hundred thousand pounds.  Was that in line with your own thoughts?”

“To be honest, Jeremy, I still can’t get my mind around how prices have risen in recent years.  How would a sale price in that region compare with other properties for sale in the village?”

“No question, we are pricing it a little higher than the few other properties for sale in Harberton.  But when you compare it to those others, your place is the genuine article, a real Devon stone barn converted into a good-looking home.  Then when you add good vehicle access, plenty of parking space on your property, a real scarcity in the village, no passing traffic, a very quiet location right on the edge of the village but just three minutes walk from the pub and the church then the price we have in mind is certainly not fairy-tale land.”

Philip and Jeremy kicked around a few other aspects of the house market, how Spring was just around the corner, and it was decided that Philip would come into Fulfords on the Tuesday to sign their agreement.

Later that Saturday afternoon, Philip wondered if he should brief Maggie, either directly or via her solicitor, about his likely intention to sell the barn. But just the thought of dealing with Maggie had his blood pressure rising and, thank goodness, while she had some of her money in the house, it was his name alone on the deeds.  He would do what he damn well wanted to do!

Thus on the Tuesday, a little after ten-thirty, Philip was poised, pen in hand, to sign the agreement for Fulfords to market Tristford Barn, Harberton, for the asking price of five-hundred-and-fifty thousand pounds. Fifteen minutes later it was done.  His home of the last eight years was for sale. Philip had requested that a For Sale sign not be put on the property; well not for the meantime.  There had also been discussion about the best way to handle viewings.  It seemed to make a good deal of sense for Philip to take Pharaoh for a walk, or out away from the barn, when Fulfords had someone who wanted to view the property, thus ensuring that Pharaoh wouldn’t be ‘speaking’ to strangers coming up the drive.  He would leave the barn neat and tidy, wood stove lit but closed down, flowers in the kitchen, and the rest.  He had already passed a spare set of house keys across to Jeremy at the time he signed the agreement.

Philip had no idea of the level of interest there would be in the barn. However, Jeremy had suggested that it was the sort of property that would attract quite a number of viewers in the early days; converted Devon barns didn’t come around that often, plus Harberton was a much sort-after village.

True to his prediction almost as soon as the sales particulars had been printed and distributed, appointments were coming in to view the barn. Philip did his best to leave the barn warm, with lights on, and as welcoming as he could make it.  Pharaoh was clearly puzzled at all this unusual activity yet didn’t complain about the walks he was offered, often at short notice.

He was out walking Pharaoh for just the reason of a viewing of the barn early in March.  It was a Thursday, Philip recalled, and he had taken Pharaoh to the beach at Torbay to allow him a dip in the waves, something Pharaoh never failed to enjoy.  He was just putting Pharaoh back on the leash when his mobile phone rang in his coat pocket.  It was Jeremy.

“Philip, good time to talk?”

“Yes, not too bad.  I’m over at the beach but can hear you pretty clearly.”

He signalled to Pharaoh to sit, pulled his coat collar closer around his neck.

“Well, I’m in my car parked in your driveway. I have just been showing a potential purchaser, a Mrs Fuller, Tristford Barn.  In fact it’s the second time I have shown her around. No question, she loves your place.  She’s single, no home to sell, has the cash, will pay the asking price but here’s the rub; she wants to be in by the end of April.”

Philip had sunk to his knees, oblivious to the wetness of the sand, his free arm around Pharaoh’s shoulders.  Pharaoh was licking his ear.

“Bloody hell! Sorry Jeremy, didn’t mean to be coarse. Just a lot to take in.”

“Understood,” replied Jeremy. “but clearly it was right to call you straightaway.  Mrs Fuller is still in the house. I said I would try and call you. Presume you are happy to go with with this and to be frank Mrs Fuller is about an ideal a buyer for you that you’ll ever find.”

Philip confirmed his support for the offer and Jeremy rang off saying he would call later once Mrs Fuller had been in to the office to sign the various documents.

1,575 words. Copyright © 2013 Paul Handover 

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 14th, 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 20th, 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.

2,337 words. Copyright © 2013 Paul Handover

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 20th. 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.”

1,420 words. Copyright © 2013 Paul Handover

Picture parade eighteen.

Winter on its way.

We have had a run of cold days here in Southern Oregon going down to the mid-twenties Fahrenheit at night (-4 deg C.)

So this first picture sent in by John H. seemed appropriate for today.

wear a cat

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Then continuing with the series that started last Sunday.

Hurl6

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Hurl7

Wise words indeed.

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Hurl8

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Hurl9

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Finally, to a short but inspiring video sent to me by Dan Gomez.

A man, a dog, a cat and a rat…

This is a video of a homeless man in Santa Barbara and his pets.
They work State Street every week for donations.
The animals are pretty well fed and are mellow.
They are a family.
The man who owns them rigged a harness up for his cat so she wouldn’t have to walk so much (like the dog and the man himself).
At some juncture the rat came along, and as no one wanted to eat anyone else, the rat started riding with the cat, frequently on the cat.
For a few chin scratches the dog will stand all day and, let you talk to him and admire him.

So the Mayor of Santa Barbara decided to film this clip and send it out as a holiday card.

Happy Thanksgiving in so many ways!

Sights and sounds.

Just a collection of items that I hope you will enjoy.

So enough of the book this week for you dear readers.

It’s the week-end and time to offer you some odds and ends that have come my way in recent days.

First up is some really glorious singing.

Rebecca Bains

Some years ago, I was working with a colleague and subsequently got to know that his wife was a brilliant singer/songwriter enjoying a good singing career.  Her name is Rebecca Bains and there is a website here although still under construction according to the home page.

So to Rebecca’s singing.

Now for something completely different.

It’s an advertisement for Volvo Trucks.  Sent to me by friend, Neil, from my Devon days. The short video has been seen over 45 million times! If you haven’t seen it, prepared to be wowed!

Now back to Rebecca’s singing.  But with this introduction from me.  Many know that here in Oregon we have nine dogs.  Four of those are dogs that were rescued by Jean from earlier days in Mexico and two from the shelter in Payson, Arizona where we were living before coming to Oregon.  There are many, many  others who adopt rescue dogs or care for homeless dogs in countless ways.

willloveforfood

So as we approach Christmas, the Season of Good Will, please do everything you can to help man’s best friend and companion for, literally, thousands upon thousands of years. If you are thinking of adopting a dog, or a cat, please visit your local shelter or the Pet Finder website.

OK, now to a short video with the singing from Rebecca Bains.

Trust me, this will rightly grab your heartstrings.

Well done, Rebecca.

The book! Chapter Eleven.

Ouch, ouch and more ouch!

In yesterday’s chapter I wrote of what, perhaps, was one of the better times in the lives of our hero, Philip, and his wife Maggie.  But as we move to Chapter Eleven the phrase ‘first impressions may be misleading’ does come to mind.

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Learning from Dogs

Chapter Eleven

Later that evening, after he and Maggie had eaten their evening meal, a rather poor affair that Philip had to admit, Monday being his turn to prepare dinner, he couldn’t shake off something approaching a cloud over him.  Most likely associated with the forthcoming fiftieth anniversary of his father’s death, he guessed.

It was the same every year.  Whatever he was involved in, however interesting and engaging his life was during the last few months of the year, Philip knew that the period between his birthday in early November and the date of his father’s death on the twentieth of December had some ill-defined greyness about it.  Then as soon as the twenty-first of December dawned, he was back to his usual brightness. Indeed, he was always embarrassed by the fact that his pre-Christmas mood never arrived until the twenty-first of December, frequently a bit on the late side to engage properly in the annual ritual of present-buying.

Still that’s how it had been for every year of his adult life and, privately, he wondered if that was his way of treasuring a father he never really knew.

Thus so it was this year. In the sense that it was about a week before Christmas Day, probably around the eighteenth of December that, again, he had to pull himself up sharply and start thinking as to what he should give Maggie as her main present.

What really caused him to focus on Maggie and Christmas was a very strange, decidedly untypical, interaction between Maggie and Pharaoh.  Up until then, whenever Maggie had gone out somewhere on her own, Pharaoh would always bark as her car turned into the driveway.  On their upper floor, the main living room area, there was a floor-to-ceiling pair of glass-panelled doors overlooking the front of the house, the garden and their short driveway and their five-bar, wooden gate.  The glass doors would have been wooden shutters back in the days when it was a cow barn.  Today, the doors could be opened during hot summer weather; there was a wooden rail across the opening to prevent any falling accidents.

Pharaoh’s usual routine with arriving cars was to bound up to the windows barking furiously when he heard the latch on the gate being handled and when any car drove up the driveway.  If it was Maggie returning home then as soon as he recognised her he would bound down the short, single flight of wooden stairs from the living-room level to the hallway and stand inside the front door, also glassed from head to foot, wagging his tail furiously until he was let out whereupon he would run joyously to her.

However this day, Philip was pretty sure is was the Monday, Pharaoh did his usual barking act as Maggie drove in.  Then there was the sound of Pharaoh coming down the steps to the front door with a growl in his throat. That’s what made Philip look up from his computer screen; he was certain that he had heard Maggie’s car but then the growling suggested otherwise.

Pharaoh’s growl became quite intense, practically a sound from him that Philip had never heard before.

He quickly pushed his office chair back on its wheels and stood up from his desk.  Within moments, he was beside Pharaoh looking out at Maggie walking back down the driveway to close the front gate.

“Pharaoh, quiet!”, Philip said with a sternness to his voice. Pharaoh reduced the constant growl to a sort of angry muttering in the back of his throat.  Philip had no doubt that Pharaoh was not playing around.  To the point where he practically dragged Pharaoh by his collar back into the small office and firmly closed the door on the two of them.

Pharaoh pushed to the office window, also full length, his eyes, ears and full body stance continuing to signal a great unease.  What on earth was happening?  Philip just couldn’t fathom it out.

He left his office room, closing the door with Pharaoh inside, and went out to meet Maggie who was walking towards the house with a semi-full bag of groceries in a cloth shopping bag.

“Hi, is that all there is to bring in?”, Philip asked.

“Yes, only a few items that I needed from Safeways.”

As Maggie came up to the front door, Philip continued, “You know, there’s something weird about Pharaoh just now.” He went on to explain what had just happened, continuing, “It’s almost as though he didn’t know it was you.”

They climbed the stairs up to the open-plan kitchen area that was at one end of the living room, to the right of the stairs, the main living room area to the left.  Philip then went over to the log-burner in the corner of the living room and fiddled with it for a while.  In fact, his mind was still on Pharaoh wondering if his angst had now subsided.  Only one way to find out.

He returned to his office room and opened the door.  Pharaoh was lying on the rug.  He looked up at Philip and, again, very strangely, only raising himself from the floor and following Philip upstairs to the living-room after a great deal of coaxing.

It was all very peculiar.

Wednesday, the 20th, dawned to reveal a bright pleasant morning with soft, cumulus clouds across a broadly blue sky.  A great morning to be over at the woods for a walk.

After breakfast, Philip called out to Maggie, who had been in the bathroom for a while, actually more than a while when he thought about it, that he and Pharaoh were off to James’ woods.  Philip just heard Maggie call out that she had heard him.

It was a wonderful walk.  Pharaoh was in his prime chasing squirrels, a fairly pointless task Philip always thought, then sticking his nose down the many rabbit holes, sniffing such large lungfulls of air that Philip wondered if Pharaoh thought he could suck the poor rabbits out of their burrows.

The date, fifty years to the day that his father had died, seemed to rest much more easily with him than he had feared.  It was all so, so long ago.  It crossed his mind to buy Maggie a bouquet of flowers on the way home.

A couple of hours later, he and Pharaoh bounced into the house, a fresh bouquet of flowers newly purchased at Safeways in Totnes in Philip’s right hand.

“Hi sweetheart, bought you these.  Just thought you looked a little off-colour earlier this morning and that some flowers might cheer you up.”

As he was offering the flowers to Maggie he realised that whatever it was that had been afflicting her earlier that morning was still troubling her.  Frankly, she looked very pale and drawn.

“Maggie, what’s the problem?  You don’t look at all well.”

“Philip, do you mind if I lie down on the bed for a little while, just not feeling that brilliant.”

“No, of course not,” came his reply.  “Look you go and lie down, I’ll put the flowers in water, make us both a nice cup-of-tea and bring them down to the bedroom.”

With that Philip went upstairs to the living room, dug out a glass vase and put the flowers in water, placing the vase with the flowers on one of the work surfaces in the kitchen.

He also noted that the fire was pretty low and needed rejuvenating.  Thus it was nearer thirty minutes before he returned to their bedroom with the hot teas. Maggie’s body was under the bedspread, her head back against a pair of pillows, still giving the appearance of being significantly out of sorts.

He put Maggie’s cup down on the bedside table next to her and cradling his own mug of tea in his hands sat down on the edge of the bed, just adjacent to where Maggie’s knees were under the cover.

Maggie heaved herself up, leaning back against the headboard and reached for her tea.  “Thank you, Philip, that was very kind of you.”

They both sat without saying a word, Philip conscious of the hot tea reminding him of an empty stomach not yet having had lunch.

Maggie took a breath, put her empty cup down on the bedside table, and looked at Philip.

“Philip, I don’t know how to say this.  The reason for me being unwell this morning was that I have just had a miscarriage.”

Philip’s world came to an instant, shuddering halt. Of course, that’s what Pharaoh had picked up, the impending breakup of his home. Because, after the birth of his second child with his first wife in 1972, Philip had opted for a vasectomy.

1,495 words. Copyright © 2013 Paul Handover

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Have to wait until Monday to see where it all leads to.