PART 4
I found myself laughing, almost automatically. I dealt with so many dogs I had a routine check-list for their owners, a method of deciding whether the owner was Dog People or rather someone who liked accessories. Small dogs in handbags, oh please.

My boss did much the same thing, not only refusing jobs where one or more of us had raised enough concerns, but passing them up the line for official action. As she also ran a kennels and cattery near Shipley Bridge, we saw a LOT of dogs and their owners.

I sobered up quickly, giving him a smile, but refraining from patting his hand. Most definitely not a good idea.

“Sorry again; not laughing at you. It’s just ridiculous, given how you look after her. Who has this come from?”

“You got time for this?”

“Not working for anyone but myself today. What do you have?”

“Well, I’ll put the kettle on first, then. Tea or coffee?”

“Tea, please, in this weather”

He smiled.

“You can lie down again if you want, but I will be in a chair”

Hint taken, I settled in one of the patio chairs after brushing grass cuttings off my T-shirt and jeans. He took a few minutes, but when he returned he wasn’t carrying the expected two mugs but a tray with a pot, cups and other doings.

“Another minute, please”

When he emerged again, it was with a dog bowl filled with something lumpy and moist that had Diesel immediately sitting while repeatedly licking her chops, eyes fixed on Brian’s face, with occasional rapid glances at the bowl, which he set before the sitting dog. A pause, then “Go on, girl”

She showed absolutely no restraint in her eating, and as she ripped through her food, he brought out a bowl of clean water for her.

“Could you be mother?”

I nodded and started the ritual, and on his final return he set an envelope down on the table before picking up his cup.

“I didn’t think you took sugar, Jules, but I can get some if you need”

“No need, Bri. Is that the letter?”

“Yup. From the RSPCA, no less”

“May I read it?”

“Feel free”

I picked up the paper, unfolded it and began to read, and oh dear was it utter tripe, but the sort of tripe that carried enough links to reality, and distortion thereof, to make it plausible. In fact, the bit about leaving the dog outside in all weathers could be ‘proven’ by a look at her dog house from the garden gate. I suspected that an RSPCA inspector had done just that, perhaps on a day when Brian had been late home.

They wanted a proper visit, by invitation preferably, and so on and so on, with the usual reminders of their position in regard to the law, place in society, et cetera, et cetera, and for once in one of their letters, I noticed, they didn’t ask for a donation. I assumed the writer thought that might have been a step just a little too far.

‘We have received information that suggests…’

“Bri?”

“Yes?”

“Neighbours okay? This smells like someone looking over the fence, seeing her kennel and doing some rubbish addition”

“Neighbours are fine. This will be from Suky”

“Isn’t she the one that dumped her dog?”

“Yes, but… Start from the beginning. This is, was, still is my house. I bought it before we met. Me and Suky, not me and you. Suky never had a house of her own. What she did was put money into a savings account, a joint one. We both did, me and her. That paid the household bills, and paid for our holidays”

“You put in equally?”

“No, because I earn a lot more than her. Just before she cleared off, I actually put in a chunk from a really good commission”

“And?”

“Suky demanded half the house when she went. I told her to---I said ‘no’, as I was the only one paying for it”

“Right… what about that joint account?”

“She jointly emptied it just before she left”

“Ah. Sorry to ask, but were you official? Married?”

He shook his head.

“Nothing like that. I did ask, but she kept saying no. I suppose that should have been some sort of warning. Anyway, this is exactly the sort of spiteful thing she was doing”

“Like the shed?”

“Like the shed. Anyway, it’s a big ask, and I’ll understand if you say no, but they want to visit and talk to me, and say if there are adverse findings, they may take her away”

“They can fuck right off with that idea!”

He smiled, although it was still a tired one.

“I will take that as a yes, then. But they want to come in two days’ time. Are you free? Half past five ?”

“No, not at the moment. Can you give me five minutes? Just need to make a quick call”

He nodded, so I walked round to the front of the house and rang work.

“Poochini’s. How can I help?”

“Hiya, Gwen. Is Mrs Thornbury there?”

“I’ll pass you across. It’s Jules, Mrs T”

“Hello, Jules. Your day off, isn’t it? How can we help?”

“One of our clients, Mrs T. I’m doing his garden today—yes, yes, so I multitask, you know that. Anyway, he’s due a visit from the RSPCA in two days. Allegations that he’s mistreating his dog”

“You put that rather carefully, Jules. Is he next to you?”

“No, I’m in private. I put it that way because it’s utter rubbish”

“Which client?”

“Mister Brian Copley; dog is Diesel”

“Your opinion?”

“Really cars for the hound, looks after her as best he can, given he works variable hours”

“He’s hired us as well for the gaps. Right, then… You are asking to be there for the visit?”

“Yes, absolutely”

“Then it’s a working day for you. I’ll rework the dogs you’ve got, but it would be easier for us if you could arrange the meeting for as late in the day as possible. You will be representing the business, so make sure your T-shirt’s a clean one”

“They want to come at half past five. Working day?”

“Arse. Can you manage the assigned stuff for the morning and early afternoon? Then do the meeting? And it’s ‘working day’ ss in you’ll be getting paid for those hours. We need good customers, and he seems to be one of them. Not bloody ‘I thought getting a dog was a good idea, but’ idiots. Keep me up to speed, please”

She finished the call and I put the phone away before heading back to---

Bri. I’d called him ‘Bri’. Shit.

I walked back to the garden, holding my phone up as a hint.

“Just spoken to the boss, and yes. I’ll be here for the meeting. Now, would you mind if I leave my trailer here till then? I have no more gardening for the next four days, but I do have some study assignments to get through”

“Not a problem, Juliet. I’ll let you know if there’s any change. And thanks, really”

“No need. Thank the boss, if you like. She’s the one paying me for the time”

The ride back was quicker without the trailer and panniers, but I worried myself sick the whole way. Would he treat ‘Bri’ as a pretty common shortening of his name, or would his mind immediately go back to his school days? So many jokes about him, from a group of the rugbyanderthals who would sing ‘Brian’ to the tune of that Roy Orbison song, or Hannah-with-the-curls’ boasts about his virility, ‘Bri one, get one free’ and ‘Stop Bri and get one’. She wasn’t the greatest of wits, but she was very, very clear about him and his assets, attributes, whatever euphemism would work best.

The day of the visit saw me with the Pointer Sisters in the morning, Mipsy and Mopsy for the afternoon session, and as the shih tzus’ energy levels weren’t the greatest I was able to stop in at home and grab a quick shower, ironing (really!) my T-shirt while my hair dried. Back in the van, in shoes rather than wellies, and at five o’clock I rang his doorbell. This was an official visit, after all. He was still in his suit, and looked very much as if he had just shaved. He ushered me into the hall, with another of those slightly uncertain smiles.

“Thanks for coming, Jules. I will have to shoot off as soon as this is done, because I have drawn short straw for tonight: a viewing”

“Has she been out?””

“No time today”

“Hell. I’ll—that your door?”

He waved at the living room door, so I took the hint and one of his chairs, as he welcomed what was clearly the RSPCA bod, walking them straight out into the back garden for abundantly obvious reasons. Twenty minutes later, and a thin man in uniform was looking into my waiting area.

“Hello, you’ll be Juliet? I’m Gary Sawyer, from the RSPCA, although that’s a bit redundant given the way I’m dressed. Are you happy to have a chat?”

Something in my expression made him laugh and shake his head.

“No, not like a police interview! I’m here to see what there is to be seen, not set up a criminal case”

“What would have happened if your ‘what’s to be seen’ had turned out to be something nasty?”

A shrug.

“Then a phone call, some colleagues, and the police as back up. I somehow don’t think this is going that way. Hang on---is that the doorbell?”

My imagination immediately peopled that one with two more RSPCA inspectors and a police firearms unit, but to my surprise Brian ushered in Mrs Thornbury before closing the door and retreating back to the garden, I assumed.

I said “Mrs T?” just as ‘Gary’ said “Marion ?”; she herself simply said “Jules, Gary” before settling herself onto the sofa and turning her eyes on me.

“Not happy about allegations like this, Jules, whether or not they’re untrue. Gary, Juliet is representing us as a business right now, but I realised this afternoon I must make something clear: Mr Copley is not being charged any fee for this. He is a good customer, no adverse reports, and I like things to be fully aboard. In short, he is not in any way paying us for our support. Pretend I’m not here, please”

Gary laughed again, then turned to me.

“Not going to make a big song and dance about this, Juliet. Could you please sum up how you see the situation vis a vis Diesel”

“Not much to tell, really. Mr Copley effectively had the dog dumped on him, and as he works full time, with odd hours, he feels he can’t look after her as she deserves. On the other hand, he loves Diesel, so rather than have her rehomed, he has hired us to take up the slack”

“Where does she sleep?”

“Beyond ‘indoors’, I have no idea”

“What’s the purpose of that kennel in the back garden?”

“Shelter. Sometimes he has to go out for work, or isn’t back until after she’s been returned by me or one of my colleagues. She gets the run of the garden, but has somewhere warm and dry if the weather breaks”

“What about food on those occasions?”

“Outside tap lets us fill a water bowl, and there’s a clean bowl and store of food in the shed. If Poochini’s isn’t walking her, Mr Copley has one of those timed feeder machines with dry food, kibble”

“Right. How does she react to other dogs?”

“She’s a springer, so it’s all ‘Hi! Play with me!’. One thing we do at Poochini’s is to keep a log of which dogs play nicely, and which ones need more watching. Can I do a little rant on that one?”

Mrs T stifled a laugh.

“I know full well where she’s going with this one. Let her rant, Gary”

“Okay…”

I drew in a rather theatrical deep breath before starting.

“With certain exceptions in a few breeds, dogs are products of their upbringing. Some of them only ever interact with other dogs, some only with humans, like BHDs”

“BHD?”

Mrs T called over “Bloody Handbag Dogs”, and Gary nodded, so I picked up my thread once again.

“Dogs brought up as if they are human babies, in short. Absolute pain to put them right, and with some it’s too late. I have several sets of dogs I am happy to let loose, let them do their thing. Diesel’s spent a lot of time with two of them, and with all due respect to my employer, it’s almost but NOT QUITE sweet enough for me to do the job for free. Just NOT QUITE. All three of them are properly rounded personalities, doggy style. Er, you know what I mean”

“What breeds are those two?”

“Ryan’s a Jack Russell, but one of the happy and playful ones. He like being chased by the other one, who likes to play tag, and when they are tired, he often sleeps on her”

“The other?”

“Tara? German shepherd/Scottish deerhound cross. Forty nine kilos in weight”

“Good god! Do you get any misunderstandings from passers-by?”

“All the time. I just call them both over for a treat, and that usually reassures people, especially when it’s a piggy ear”

“Why so?”

“Ryan takes his time, but Tara’s is gone in a bite and a half, but she doesn’t then try and take his”

“And Diesel?”

“Still working out what her favourites are, apart from chasing a tennis ball”

He carried on for another half hour, before sighing, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Marion? Anything to add?”

“Nothing, Gary. You know my views: if I had any suspicions about one of my customers, your number is in my phone. How do you feel?”

“Well, it’s what we technically call ‘malicious bollocks’, in my opinion. Do either of you know if anyone has a grudge against Mr Copley? Oh, and Diesel is clearly a very happy dog, to put that worry to bed”

I nodded to him.

“Yes, I believe there is a possible or probable source for this, but that is Mr Copley’s business, not mine”

“Thank you. He has told me some other things which are probably the same ones you are holding in confidentiality. They will be looked into”

Mrs T was still curious, though.

“Looked into with consideration to what ends, Gary?”

“Um, defamation, criminal harassment, potentially wasting police time. Anyway, I’m done here. I sort of thought I would be as soon as I saw Juliet’s T-shirt, to be honest. I’ll just have a last word with the owner, and then I’m off”

Brian brought Diesel in once the front door had shut, and she was straight over to me to say hello, followed by a visit to Mrs T, before scrambling up into Brian’s lap for a snooze. I introduced Mrs T, and he settled back into his chair with a smile, pointing at his seemingly boneless dog.

“How could anyone even think of being nasty to this one?”