Viva Brighton Issue #61 March 2018

COLUMN
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John Helmer
“Can we get a dog?”
“No, Poppy.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not.”
“It’s the poo thing isn’t it?”
“I didn’t mind changing nappies when you were
little, but I will not touch the droppings of
another species, even through plastic.”
This conversation has taken place at regular
intervals over the last five years. In fact I wrote it
up ages ago and kept it against the day when the
deadline for this column might arrive and find
me more than usually bereft of ideas. And then
suddenly last month this bombshell from Kate.
“We’re doing a dog share.”
“Eh… what… hold on… what was that?”
“A dog share.”
I am thunderstruck. “Like a car share?”
“Yes, except with a dog.”
“No but… who picks up its—”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take it for walks and
everything.”
“But where will it live?”
“At Jo’s. And occasionally here.”
“You mean it will overnight?”
“Yes.”
“But we’ve got a cat.”
“Cats and dogs can live together perfectly
happily.”
“In what universe?”
Horrifyingly soon after this conversation the
beast arrives; a rescue dog from Serbia. It looks
like a scraggy old mop crossed with a draught
excluder. “Why is it so long?” I say, noticing a
sudden lack of space on the sofa. “This is a fourseater
Ektorp and there doesn’t seem to be room
on it for anyone but the two of you.”
“She’s part dachshund.”
“And I’m sorry to say this, but she stinks.”
“So would you if you’d just travelled across
Europe in a van with a load of other animals.”
Actually that is what I did for most of my twenties
as a musician, and I’m sure I didn’t reek this badly.
“Why can’t I see her eyes?” She’s also part terrier,
which means she has a lot of fur. When I stroke
her I get grit underneath my fingernails.
Dusty saunters in and, spotting the dog, does
an instant impression of a cat undergoing
electroconvulsive therapy.
“Dusty, meet Dora,” beams Kate. And then to me:
“they’ll soon get used to each other.”
Dusty hisses, Dora snarls.
Fast forward a couple of weeks and the
transformation is extraordinary. With the love
of two highly experienced carers (Kate and Jo)
lavished on her, our dogshare mutt thrives. As
Kate and I walk across Blaker’s Park, she trots
along happily ahead of us, tail wagging, kitted out
in a fetching purple waistcoat, fur-trimmed at the
neck. Her fur gleams, and when she turns to look
at me, with the look of doe-eyed adoration I have
come to quite like, so do her eyes.
“Admit it, says Kate, handing me the
lead, “you love Dora, don’t you?”
I make a noise in the back of my
throat. “Can’t say the same for
Dusty.”
“She’ll come round.
Just like you did.”
Dora squats,
her back legs
shaking,
and Kate
hands
me a
blue
plastic
bag.
Illustration by Chris Riddell
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