My Dog Tulip Page #6

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a little further down

witchball lane.

He is an Alsatian

of such ancient

and aristocratic ancestry

that Mrs. Tudor-Smith

has been heard to declare

that his genealogy went back

even further than her own did.

I have often seen him,

uh, just outside the gates

of badgers' holt,

where he resided.

He always seems to stand in

the classic"show dog" attitude,

as though he had invented it.

And he perpetually poses

for cameras

that he must believe

are somewhere about.

If he has ever emitted

any sound louder than a yawn,

I have not heard it...

certainly nothing so coarse

as a bark.

"Dear Nancy, I have

an urgent business matter

which might require my presence

in London over the summer."

"If you wanta second string,

"Colonel Finch says you can

have Gunner whenever you like.

'N."'

We went.

Well, we're here,

aren't we?

But you've no idea

of the difficulties ahead.

You couldn't

possibly cope.

You're exaggerating.

If you can cope,

so can I!

Tulip entered her heat

on the first day of june,

and within a few days,

mon repos

was in a state of siege.

Nancy began by thinking this

rather amusing,

and she found the little

scotties and sealyhams

who came to call sweet.

She found it less amusing,

though,

when they accumulated

and camped out all night

quarreling and whining

among the seven dwarves.

Nancy found it

less amusing still

when she tried

to take Tulip for walks

and fell into the error

I had made

of attempting

to beat off her escort,

which resulted

in a torrent of complaints

amongst the locals

that she'd been seen

in torn clothes and flesh.

Tulip, therefore,

was not taken out at all,

and all the windows

presented her

with a spectacle of a dozen

or so of her male friends

awaiting her outside.

She barked at them incessantly.

They barked back.

She would break into song.

The expensive curtains

were all in tatters.

Soon they forced their way

in at several points,

and my sister and I engaged

in ejecting dogs

of all shapes and sizes,

from dining room, sun parlor,

and even in the night

from our bedrooms.

I've never seen such

scruffy articles!

You're an absolute

disgrace!

Go on! Sod off!

Bugger off home!

Get back to your slums!

You're not her class.

Oh, damn and blast the dogs!

Joe!

Joe!

For god's sake! Joe!

Joe:
Tulip had not seen much of

mountjoy during her wooing week.

The Tudor-Smiths

had thought it undesirable

that he should mlx

in such low company.

But now was

the appropriate time,

and she was pleased to see him.

And as soon

as he made his wishes clear,

she allowed him to mount her.

But for some reason, he failed

to achieve his purpose.

His stabs, it looked to me,

did not quite reach her.

After a little,

she disengaged herself

and began to flirt

in front of him.

But he had graver ends in view.

Again she stood.

This time, he appeared to

have moved further forward,

but now she gave a nervous cry

and escaped from him once more.

They tried again and again.

The same thing always happened.

It was sorrow to watch them

trying to know each other

and always failing,

until she would have no more

to do with him

and drove him away.

Who would have supposed

that mating a b*tch

could be so baffling a problem?

I sent for the local vet.

Next morning,

he came and stood with me

while the animals repeated their

futile and exhausting antics.

It's the dog's fault.

His foreskin is too tight,

you know?

He can't draw her.

That's a disability

that could have been corrected

when he was a puppy.

He's a rig dog, too.

Eh?

He has

an undescended testicle.

That's a serious

disqualification in mating.

Eh?

Uh...

Ugh! Off with you.

There was nothing now to be done

but to bundle Tulip

and convey her to mon repos.

# Human beings

are prudes and bores #

We re-entered her taxl

and were driven back.

Dusk was now falling.

I restored her

to the ravaged back garden,

and it was while I stood

with her there

that the dog next door

emerged through what remained

of the fence.

He hung there in the failing

light... half in, half out...

his attention

flxed warily upon me.

He was a disreputable,

dirty ragamuffin.

I smiled at him.

"Well, there you are, old girl,"

I said to Tulip.

"Take it or leave it.

It's up to you."

I knew my intervention

was at an end.

Tulip gazed at me

in horror and appeal.

"Heavens," I thought.

"This is love?

These are the pleasures of sex?"

It was a full half-hour

before nature released dusty,

who instantly fled.

And it was more as though

she had been freed from

some dire situation of peril

than from the embraces of love.

The following day,

a car was summoned

to take us to the station.

When all was ready

for immediate departure,

the engine running,

the car door open,

I emerged

from the ruined bungalow

with Tulip on the lead

and ran the gauntlet of dogs

down the garden path.

They pursued us in a pack

so far down the country lanes

that I was suddenly terrified

that the more pertinacious

would gain the station

and invade the train.

The scene had the quality

of a nightmare,

but the car outstripped them all

at last,

and we got safely away.

Tulip was not a barren b*tch.

Later on, when she got heavier,

I set about designing a box

for her.

I asked miss Canvenini to be

on hand in case we needed her.

But Tulip took us unawares.

She whelped five days

before her scheduled time

and was alone in my flat

when her labor began.

She was in her box.

She had understood its purpose

after all.

She was panting.

A tiny sound, like

the distant mewing of gulls,

came from the box.

I knew that Tulip was glad

that I was there.

Nevertheless,

I did not approach her.

I could not see well,

but I knew what was happening.

And I heard her tongue and teeth

at work.

She was nosing this package

out of herself,

severing the umbilical cord,

releasing the tiny creature

from its tissues,

and eating up the afterbirth.

I was in awe

of this beautiful animal.

In the midst of her life,

performing unerringly

upon herself

the delicate and complicated

business of creation,

as though directed

by some divine wisdom.

She produced eight puppies

at half-hourly intervals

and was not done

until evening fell.

When it was plain

that she had finished,

I went and kissed her.

She allowed me

to touch and lift her babies.

She had complete

confidence in me

that I would not hurt them.

It was misplaced.

As soon

as my common senses returned

and I envisaged a future

that contained

eight extra dogs...

I prepared a bucket of water

and a flour sack weighted

with such heavy objects

as I could lay my hands on.

How could I distract

proud Tulip's attention

while I carried out

my dark deed?

Suddenly, she hurried out

into the sitting room,

as though making for my terrace,

which was her customary latrine.

For the first time in her life,

she had deliberately fouled

my flat.

But I was not thinking of that

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