Man`s Best Friend

Man`s Best Friend.

As I read with increasing frequency that "Fido really is man`s best friend", I am constantly amazed that a so-called superior species has taken so long to realise it! A recent report claims that dogs can help cure depression, asthma, high blood pressure, obesity, and stress; and that the additional benefits of dog ownership include the lowering of cholesterol, and even meeting friends.* The findings of the report surely can`t have come as that great a surprise? A great many of us in the United Kingdom are dog owners, and all of us, at some point, will have experienced first hand the loyalty and devotion of our "best friend".

Indeed, the generic name by which we refer to the canine species, "Fido", is taken from the Latin fides, meaning trust; and it is certainly true that a dog`s loyalty to it`s owner, whether deserved or not, is without question. He is unfailingly pleased to see you when you walk through the front door; he will defend you, your home, or your property without concern for his own safety; he eats the food you put in front of him without criticism. He rarely answers back; he is sensitive to your mood; and he always aims to please.

My best friend entered my life some nine and a half years ago, at what felt at the time like an interminably long and dark period. Driving for a minimum of two hours per day in order to carry out a very demanding job that entailed long hours and little thanks, was starting to take it`s toll after five years. My relationship with my partner was crumbling irrevocably; my house seemed to delight in developing one problem after another that invariably involved considerable sums of money. I had also said a sad farewell to my Doberman Ty after a short, but very painful illness, and an impenetrable gloom had descended.

Left to my "better judgement", I have no doubt that the gloom would have persisted: All these terrible things had happened to me, and I was powerless to do anything about it; any effort on my part was futile, I was, in short, doomed. At this point "Fido" came to my rescue. I literally found myself outside walking, in all weathers, at 5.30 each morning, just as I had done with Ty. I smelt again air that had not yet been impregnated by exhaust fumes; I saw again my fellow dog walkers at that time of day, all of us somehow united by the fact that we rose especially early in order to take our dogs for a walk before having to make a hasty departure for work. I was nourished by a sense of camaraderie, yet I knew that I did`nt quite belong: I hadn`t got a dog.

I had, however got the answer to one of my problems: I needed to get another dog. But where? A quick phone call to my vet, and I had my starting point, Hessle Dog Rescue Service. Formed in 1988 by a group of four friends from Hessle, near Hull, the Rescue had, by 1995, achieved charity status, and a membership of over two hundred. Whilst retaining the principal aim of opening a sanctuary for dogs in need in the Hull area, the Rescue strove to help unwanted, ill-treated, hurt and often ill puppies and dogs that came into their care on a daily basis.

The Rescue relied heavily upon it`s members to provide foster homes for the dogs coming into care; and could not operate without the continuous support of their Veterinary Practices, who often performed lifesaving miracles. Year-round fund raising activities struggled to keep pace with rising costs, and charitable donations and legacies were always gratefully recieved. First and foremost however, the Rescue relied upon members of the public to bring to their attention a dog in need. It transpired that David, my vet, was president of the Rescue, and that thanks to his skill and care, the Rescue had saved, and rehomed hundreds of dogs. Armed with a contact name and a phone number, the hunt for my new friend was on.

The voice at the end of the phone was warm and inviting, and I was soon relaying my sorrow at the loss of Ty, knowing implicitly that my confidant understood the pain that I felt, from her own personal experience. I already liked the person I was talking to, and we had yet to meet. My preferences, when it came to my next dog, were very flexible: I was not particularly keen on small dogs; I didn`t want another Doberman for fear of comparisons with Ty; I would rather have a younger than an older dog; but was happy with any other breed or crossbreed, either sex, whether long or short haired. I paused, hardly daring to allow the hope that I felt rising within.

The Rescue had indeed got a number of dogs looking for a home, but none were likely to be big enough. The slightest possibility lay with a 6 month Border Collie, but again he was unlikely to grow to full size owing to neglect. Desperation rose like bile in my throat: I had to find a new friend, I had ceased to function in a meaningful way since losing Ty, surely I wasn`t going to let a trifling thing like size get in the way? I arranged to meet the Collie, and indeed the person I had been speaking to for over an hour, two days later. Val and her friend Pat would bring "Shep" to meet me at my house, enabling them to carry out the checks required by the Rescue at the same time.

Anyone raised on Blue Peter will appreciate the ignominy of owning a Border Collie called "Shep"; the name would surely have to go! Ten minutes after meeting the exuberant bundle of fluff that was Shep, I knew I had found the friend I sought. True to the appearance of his namesake, his blaze was slightly asymmetrical, he had four white feet, and a further dash at the end of his tail. He did seem small, but he was only 6 months old, so he still had some growing to do. My head frantically sought reasons for adopting him, putting aside any misgivings about size; whilst my heart simply smiled knowingly - Shep was to be my dog. I had made new friends in Val and Pat, and had the rest of the Rescue to meet as well.

With Shep`s adoption papers came a years membership of the Rescue, and an invitation to enter him in the puppy class at their annual dog show "Scruffs" the following month. I couldn`t resist, and was convinced that the judges would be absolutely smitten with him as soon as they met him. It would also be a good opportunity to inform the Rescue of his change of name, for Shep had responded positively to his new name of Zak. Sadly it wasn`t to be. Excited by the close proximity of so many other dogs, Zak chose to bound around with gusto, rather than to sit as required, and, with several stalls struggling to maintain their balance, quickly acquired the nickname "Zak Attack"!

As our involvement in Rescue activities increased, so did our friendships, especially when fund raising activities involved the dogs themselves. Looking back, I suppose it was inevitable that we opened our doors, and became a foster home to dogs in need. All too often, dogs arrive with alarmingly short notice, and no indication of the length of stay required. Some are simply lost, and an advert in the local press quickly attracts their desperate owners; others have been injured in an accident, and require prolonged veterinarian treatment. There are also those dogs who never leave because their foster carers cannot bear to be parted from them! Zak and I became foster carers to a total of four dogs over a period of two years, and I wept buckets over each and every one of them when they left.

Nine and a half years have passed since that first meeting, and my head still thanks my heart for it`s decision to adopt Zak. Many are the miles that we have walked together, in all weathers and all terrains. Both of us have bones that creak these days, and there are times when we would both prefer to stay by the fire than brave the elements, and yet we soldier on, sustained by the depth of the bond between us. Exercise, we are assured, is good for us, and though we occasionally question the benefits of going outside on a cold, wet and windy night, walking regularly does ease our stiffness, as well as keeping us both fit.

Optimism prevails, for after all, you never know who or what is just around the next corner! Zak`s delight on meeting his friends is unparalleled, and his enthusiasm is contagious to fellow canines and humans alike. On the rare occasions when we don`t meet up with friends we both feel cheated, and lose the bounce in our step. We have lived in four different places over the years, and have both quickly made friends each time we moved - the friendships formed between dogs are remarkable for the way in which they also unite their human counterparts! Zak`s intuition is unfailingly accurate and frequently proves mine to be wrong. In him, therefore, I trust!


* Report by Prof. Sam Ahmedzai of Sheffield University, produced for Take Your Dog To Work Day, September 21st 2004. Cited in the Daily Express September 7th 2004.