Page 70 of The House of Hopes and Dreams
Something that looked about the size of a brown bear was following them, but when it caught up, it stopped and sat down heavily.
‘Hi, have you come to suss out the lie of the land?’ Lulu greeted us. ‘You remember Izzy, don’t you?’
‘Only just: I think we’d all had too much of the Old Spoggit Brown the other night,’ Carey said ruefully, and she grinned. She had an attractively pixie look about her and was even smaller than me.
‘You’ll get used to it – it gets everyone like that the first time,’ Izzy said. ‘This is my aunt Debo – she runs the last-chance re-homing centre for dogs behind us – and this is Babybelle,’ she added, patting the bear, which was panting and exposing a tongue like a giant flannel.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘A Newfoundland. She was a rescue dog, but she’s mine now.’
‘I’ve got one, too,’ said Lulu, ‘but mine’s a Staffie.’
At first sight of the bear, Fang had wisely hidden behind our legs, though I’d got a good grip on the lead anyway. I wouldn’t have put it past the stupid creature to try and bite something twenty times his size.
‘I don’t supposeyou’relooking for a dog, are you?’ Debo asked hopefully. Then her eyes fell on Fang, peeping out cautiously, and her face fell. ‘Oh – I see you’ve already got one.’
‘Yes, andhe’spretty desperate, so you can have him, too, if you like,’ offered Carey.
I gave him a look. ‘He doesn’t mean it. He’s very fond of Fang; we both are.’
‘I might be, if it wasn’t for his antisocial tendencies,’ Carey conceded. ‘He’s a bit of a liability.’
‘He’s very sweet really,’ I explained to the others. ‘He just doesn’t like men much, other than Carey. He adores him.’
‘I don’t know about adore. I think he just associates me with food, though it doesn’t stop him growling at me when he feels like it.’
‘What kind of antisocial tendencies?’ Debo asked interestedly, so we told her about the leg biting.
‘I know he’s small, but he does have big, needle-sharp teeth and he really goes for it, so they can be quite nasty bites,’ I explained.
‘I’ve had a few like that, though Border collies are the worst for nipping people’s legs,’ Debo said. ‘You need to talk to Chris, my dogwhisperer. I’ll give you his number. He usually has to take them away for a few days of retraining, but they come back cured.’
Fang gave her an evil look, though with those protruding teeth and slightly bulging black eyes, it was always hard for the poor little thing to look any other way. There was something in his expression, though, that made me think he’d got the gist of what she’d been saying.
‘He looks a clever little fellow,’ Lulu said. ‘He’ll probably learn not to do it really quickly, and Chris only uses kind methods, mostly talking to them and rewarding good behaviour.’
Debo bent down and looked at Fang, and something must have passed between them because suddenly he wagged his tail and lolled his tongue at her in an amiable kind of way, like a small pink flag of truce.
She patted him and straightened up. ‘I think he’s been crossed with something: he’s certainly not a pure Chihuahua. I’m not sure entirely what, though.’
‘Werewolf?’ suggested Carey.
‘Just wait till Chris has worked his magic on him,’ said Lulu. ‘He’ll be a different dog.’
Izzy said she’d better get back up to Sweetwell, where she had a clothes design workshop, and told us her husband ran the garden antiques centre in the old stables. ‘You should have a look, before you go,’ she suggested.
‘Yes, and come and see Cam’s gallery, too. He has a small range of Izzy’s clothes and scarves,’ Lulu said enticingly.
‘We will, but we’re going to check out the village shop first,’ I told her, which we did after Debo had given Carey the number of the dog whisperer.
The shop was surprisingly large and well-stocked, with everything from food and drink to toys and gifts. It was owned by Cam’s mother. I was starting to think that everyone we met in Halfhidden was related or connected in some way.
We hadn’t intended buying anything but, due to the small but interesting deli counter, we came out with so much we had to stash it in the car boot before we went into the gallery.
It was light and airy inside, the whitewashed walls hung withpaintings, and there was an elderly man manning a large, polished wooden counter.
A folding wooden floor-to-ceiling screen had been drawn across behind this, partially shutting off the far end of the room, which seemed to be a studio, with several people sitting or standing in front of easels, painting.
