A Day About A Dog

In July 2021, South Africa was shocked by an attempted insurrection which saw a weekend of violence, looting and malicious damage in the north east of the country.  Shopping malls were in flames.  Motorways blockaded.  Oil refineries attacked.  The country was on a knife edge.  Were we on the verge of civil war?  Were mobs about to rampage through the country?  Were we all doomed?

Panic-stricken, I browsed through FaceBook’s dog rescue pages (I know – I’ve always had a certain lack of focus) and found a heartrending plea for someone to foster, if not adopt, Peanut who was passionately unhappy with kennel life.

I messaged Annie, the rescue centre manager.  Yes, she confirmed, Peanut was traumatised by losing his human; he hated the kennels.  But she was sure he would settle down and be a Good Boy in a stable environment. 

I told my friends I was going to rescue Peanut.  Gloria didn’t skip a beat.  “I’ll come with you,” she said.  She not only came with me – she drove me there, saying the pooch might chuck up all the way home so I should be in the back to clean up as we went.

We lived in Cape Town, an hour’s drive to the Cape’s beautiful winelands where the rescue centre was.  Stunning though the western cape is, its surrounding high-density suburbs and squatter townships rank as the eighth most dangerous place in the world, and that’s on a quiet day.

As we planned our route, we realised we were going to have to skirt around a couple of dodgy areas in our mission to rescue Peanut.  There was no way of knowing if the weekend’s looting and mayhem had been contained or was about to spread.  We set off anyway.  Why be sensible when you can really piss off family and friends by driving into the teeth of a riot?

“We’ll be fine”, we assured one another as we headed around Kuils River, took a turn towards Khayelitsha and edged past squatter camps.

It was deepest winter and had rained for about a week.  We arrived at the rescue centre to find kennels in fields awash with water and mud.  Bedraggled dogs bounced, barked and bayed

Annie the manager escorted us to meet Peanut, who had been described as a medium sized dog, about three years old.  He was housed in a run on his own, with ‘quarantine area’ posted on the fence.  “He’s healthy,” Annie assured us. “He doesn’t like other dogs so we’ve put him into a quiet space.”

I ventured into his enclosure and offered him a treat.  He rolled his eyes.  I cautiously touched him.  He shuddered and scattered moulted hair everywhere – even I know that shedding hair in mid-winter is a sign of stress or illness.

“Take him out for a walk,” said Annie.  “Get to know him.”

He was bigger than I expected.  A stocky German Shepherd type and way stronger than me.  He didn’t want to be on that lead but didn’t know what he did want so he towed me around the rescue centre, jinking at passing cars and barking dogs and being spooked by shadows. 

All my focus was on staying upright and not shouting ‘fuuuuuuuck’.  

Gloria started a commentary that sounded like machine gun fire, beginning with a cautious “I don’t think he’s quite right for you.  Maybe a bit strong.  Maybe a bit neurotic.  Maybe a bit difficult to manage.

“Oh my god!  Don’t let him pull you over.  Watch out for that puddle.  Oh.  Oh dear.  Just let him go.  He’s out of control.” 

“I feel so sorry for him,” I yipped as I lurched past her at a slippery canter.

Gloria’s voice rose half a decibel, then rose some more. 

“That dog will destroy your house.  He’ll pull you off the side of a mountain.  He’ll fight every dog in the neighbourhood.  He’s a NIGHTMARE…”

As I ski-ed through the mud, drawn by the plunging canine, I had to admit Gloria was right.  I handed him back to Annie sadly and we left the quarantine area to the sound of wire tearing as Peanut ripped his run apart.

“Come and look at some other dogs,” said Annie brightly, carefully not looking at my mud splattered face.

So we went to see Nando, described as playful and energetic.  Nando was like a coked-up dog on a pogo stick, bouncing around his run with manic energy that had his kennelmates cowering against the fences.  Even I wasn’t going to give Nando the time of day.

Then Matilda.  Poor Matilda.  She was Africanis type, a muddy brown and black brindle, with a long thin face and long thin ears that swept back to her shoulder blades making her look like Dobby the House Elf in Harry Potter films.  Her puppies had just been weaned and she had the longest, flappiest breasts I have ever seen, with nipples around her ankles.  As I reached out to befriend Matilda, Gloria morphed into Cruella De Vil.

Gloria is a beautiful, stylish woman with big eyes and a lively, expressive voice.  Now her eyes were hugely disbelieving and her voice that had assumed the crispness of a mother talking to a particularly thick teenager. 

“That dog is ugly.  You want people to love your dog, not cross the road to avoid it.  And look at those teats.  She gave birth six weeks ago. For god’s sake.  What if she’s stored up gynae problems for your first vet bill?  You cannot have that dog.  What if the boobs don’t go back to normal? She’ll injure herself just walking.  Maddy … step away from that dog…”

I felt compelled to obey.  It isn’t wise to ignore women honed by willful children and wayward husbands.

We went on to meet Sam, an eight-year old labrador type.  I took the lead that Annie offered and bent to pat him.  He snarled. 

“He hasn’t got any teeth!” Gloria’s voice slid off the scale of lively and skidded into tones that usually say things like “are you fucking mad?”

“I could give him soft food,” I tried.  Sam snarled at me again, as did Gloria.  It was probably good that he didn’t have teeth; not so good that she did.

“If he hasn’t got teeth, that won’t be the only thing wrong with him.  Think of the vet bills.” Gloria had hauled her voice back on track and was attempting to be reasonable in the face of stupidity.

“He’s usually friendly,” said Annie, quickly taking the lead.  “He must be ill.  I’ll take him to the vet.”

We wandered around the centre looking at other dogs.  All 130 of them, all bouncing against the fences of their enclosures, looking for attention.  Then we passed an enclosure with four orangey Africanis type mutts, small to medium sized.  Three were playing a boisterous game, growling and nipping and chasing.  The fourth had tucked herself in a corner and was watching them wearily.  As I passed, she made eye contact.  Beautiful brown eyes with black eye liner appealed to me to get her out of the madhouse. 

“She looks sweet and quiet,” said Gloria.  So I took her for a walk and she was calm and well-behaved.  She didn’t have a name because she’d been born in the animal shelter, one of four in the Puddleduck litter.  She made it clear she was ready to love me forever and ever.  I panicked.  Was I ready for such adoration?

“I feel overloaded.  Let’s go for lunch and think about it,” I muttered, putting the Puddleduck pup back into her enclosure.

We drove towards town and Gloria spotted a sign to a wine farm that seemed familiar to her.  South Africa was in Lockdown Level 4, which meant the sale of alcohol was prohibited and its transport illegal.  Gloria had run out of wine and was bored with gin and tonic; I just wanted wine.  Lots of it.    

An ex boyfriend of hers who lived in the area had told her that some wine farms were selling under the counter so we decided to check it out.  Well, Gloria decided.  I was too busy picking off muddy splats that had dried like scabs on my face, and feebly trying to brush half of Peanut’s coat off my jeans.  Up a pretty country road we drove and a freshly exercised man with sweat gleaming on his muscles came into view.  Gloria exclaimed and stopped.  Gleaming man was none other than Gloria’s ex, returning home from a workout.  What were the chances…?

He bounded over to talk to us.  Gloria purred.  Gleaming Man adopted a manly pose and she purred some more.  Oh Gloria – now I know why your men love you forever! 

Gleaming Man was pleased to direct us to a wine farm that was selling illicit booze so we slipped down a lane and into a barn and, hey presto, wine by the case!

Two hours later, we headed home, delighted to have a car loaded with wine and an orange Puddleduck pup, now called Lizzie.  Now that’s what you call a successful girls’ day out.