Some shaggy dog stories to cheer us all up

Yesterday’s highlight was the fact that I managed to talk to Auntie Jean.

As you may recall, she’s 102 and in a care home. Not a good time to be either of those things.

With all the news about care home deaths I’ve been phoning regularly to find out how she is. But if someone who doesn’t really know her picks up they will simply look at her notes and say: “Yes, she’s fine” which means: “Still breathing last time we looked”. 

In frustration I asked if there were any way I could video call her. They said: “Yes, we have a smartphone we use just for that purpose”. She’s been living at the home for four years and in lockdown for three weeks. Why am I only learning this now?

Anyway, I called the number and a carer took the phone to Auntie Jean’s room. It wasn’t altogether successful – AJ’s sight and hearing aren’t the best – but her face lit up when she realised it was me and we managed a semi-coherent conversation.

Having an ageing relative right now is stressful as we fear for their loneliness as well as their health. And there’s little we can do other than show we love them.

This I do by writing to Auntie Jean several times a week, but it’s a bit of a challenge as it’s a one-sided conversation – with very little to report from my side.

Then I had a brainwave. She’s a real animal-lover, so perhaps I’ll include some lockdown animal stories in my next letter. Like the one about the goats taking over Llandudno, strolling through the streets and chowing down on flower beds. Or the one about the zoo chimps gazing out of their cages, looking in vain for the visitors who no longer come. 

But since dogs are her favourites, perhaps I should tell her instead about how happy the nation’s canines have become with their owners at home 24/7, and with state-sanctioned “walkies” as big a treat for the owners as they are for the dogs. 

Mind you, I’ve never heard a better dog story than the ones Auntie Jean has to tell. She grew up in an era when cars were thin on the ground and when pet dogs roamed at will. There were probably goats all over the roads too, come to think of it.

When Auntie Jean was a child in the 1920s, her family had a collie who was left in the house all day. So he learned how to operate the front door latch with his paw. He actually had problems with his paws – something to do with sensitive pads and hot pavements, apparently. 

Anyway, when my grandparents came home from work one day they were perplexed to discover that the dog was sporting a bandage. Everything became clear when the vet turned up later with a bill: apparently the dog had left the house, taken himself off to the vet’s, waited patiently for his turn and then had his paw patched up.

Auntie Jean eventually had her own dog, a Welsh corgi named Jimmy who would walk himself to Finsbury Park two miles away, spend an hour watching the ducks – and then catch the bus home. Auntie Jean only found this out by accident when she was on the same bus one day with Jimmy. She was horrified when the dog jumped off the bus while it was still moving, but the conductor reassured her. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Jimmy always gets off there. It’s the place where the bus stop used to be, and he hasn’t got used to the new stop yet.” 

The dog’s details were on his collar and it turned out all the local bus conductors knew him.

Jimmy also developed a paw problem like his predecessor and had to be confined to the house for a few weeks. During that time an elderly lady called around and asked: “Do you happen to have a dog called Jimmy?” She then explained that she lived around the corner and that Jimmy often came to see her – usually on a Wednesday - and she’d become concerned when he’d missed a few weeks.

HOW DID JIMMY KNOW WHEN IT WAS A WEDNESDAY?

No-one can answer me that.