Dog about town

Michael Stourton

A recent survey has indicated that the dog populations of London and other large cities are steadily increasing. This is not only a clear warning to cats but leaves me wondering where I failed.

I tried my hand with does in London while doing some of my military service at Chelsea Barracks. I was dispatched to Yorkshire for a three months signals course, to learn about radio telephony and the intimate functions of a master oscillator. Mid-course, the Easter break took place. A Royal Marine and I decided it was not worth going home so instead we spent a 'couple, of days touring the Lake District. While there, we bought two Lakeland Terrier puppies. They attended most of the signals lectures, which caused light relief for the other'students but heavy loss for Her Majesty's Government in the way of electronic equipment, which both puppies consumed without the least harm to their digestions. . Returning . to London, I brought the terrier with me. To be honest, it was not a great life for a puppy. His main exercise consisted of a carefully thought-out handicap race, for a wager, over the full length of the barrack square; which took place most days after lunch. Among the regular competitors were an Irish Wolfhound and a Saluki. Despite the handicapping, my little chap was never placed.

Alas, he had to leave the military life prematurely. Darting into the officer's mess one day he leapt on to a sofa upon which were sitting two very important colonels.

These colonels were engaged in a tense game of backgammon, the board being on the sofa between them. As bad luck would have it, my terrier landed slap in the middle of the board. The colonels synchronised a roar of rage that, quite understandably, frightened the Lakelander. When frightened, puppy dogs have a habit of doing' what comes naturally. The backgammon pieces were not just disarranged; they were floating.

My mother agreed to take the terrier at home on condition that I relieved her of a Labrador. I settled for this, figuring he might have a better chance in the Chelsea Barracks Dog Stakes. Indeed he did, and such was the impression that he made on a member of the Coldstream Guards, with which regfment we were sharing the barracks, that he offered the hand of his Labrador bitch in marriage. This seemed a move likely to set the seal upon good inter-regimental relations, so I readily agreed.

My Coldstream friend knew of a horse-box kept in the barracks. We planned to effect the union in the horse-box, but when the day came the horse-box had disappeared.

After a brief consultation, we decided a quiet open space would be ideal. So, popping the expectant couple into our respective cars we drove to Burton Court; that charming square of grass, -huge plane trees, tennis courts and cricket pitch.

Recognising our blue uniforms, the gatekeeper gave us a friendly salute and beamed approval at our shiny black dogs which, as the Burton Court regulations provide, ."Must be kept on the leash."

Advancing into those delectable grounds we 'unleashed' our Labradors, but only after a sound tactical placing of several trees between us and the gatekeeper.

Affecting a little kittenish reluctance, the bitch ran off, with my dog in hot pursuit. They made straight for the cncket pitch, a piece of green velvet which the gatekeeper guarded against all uses except cricket matches of a very organised and classy kind.

When in dead centre of that hal lowed ground the bitch decided her maidenly protestations had gone far enough. With the directness and healthy lack of formality that one finds in the animal world, the due processes of nature took place.

My friend and I looked at each other with satisfaction. It was short-lived. "Hey! Wet 'em off. Get them dogs off my pitch. Will you call those dogs off. Why aren't they on leads?" The gatekeeper was heading towards us straight across country, roaring like a bull:

Now, unless you know some

thing of the way things are with' dogs it will be difficult to describe to you in delicate terms why coitus interruption is not an option open to our canine friends.

Indeed, I have sometimes wondered why it is that mother nature has ordained such involuntary prolongation of an act that would seem long since to have satisfied both parties and achieved its purpose.

There is nothing more ridiculous than two dogs in a state of what!

once heard a Radio 3 commentator describe as 'post-coital tristesse.' (He carefully pronounced it 'co ee-tal.') Indeed, the look of chagrin and embarrassment on the faces of our dogs was distressing to behold, as the irate gatekeeper continued to bawl.

Overlooking Burton Court, there are some very smart houses with street names to quicken the pulse of London's most exclusive estate agents: Ormonde Gate and St Leonard's Terrace. Around three in the afternoon the gentlemen are all in the City effecting invisible ex

ports and the ladies are horning. on Harrods. The nannies are in sole occupation, we found out.

The roars of the gatekeeper brought them to the windows. All around, we could hear the discor dant screech of sash windows being raised at second or third floor le vels. Nannies stared down, torn between protecting their little ones from this corrupting spectacle and satisfying their own curiosity.

"If you don't call them dogs off my pitch I'll turn the hose on the pair of them. That'll shift 'em," threatened the guardian of the cricket ground.

"How about me backing the car up and lifting them into it to"gether," the Coldstreamer suggested inventively, if a little unrealistically. "No, definitely not. No motor vehicle may enter these grounds. Not even a fire engine." We were back with the water syndrome.

Quite suddenly it was over. We withdrew with what little dignity we could muster. The Labradors. followed sheepishly. The windows began to close and the nannies had enough to talk about for the rest of the week.

"Should have gone to Battersea Park — they're not so damned fussy on that side of the river," said my friend with a man-of-the-world air that impressed me no end.

He may well have been right. But I had already decided that London was no life for a dog.