missed it. With Bracken, in particular, when I started training
I66
0
him for obedience, I felt he should know so much because
Emma had always known so much. I only ever had to show
Emma something once and she would immediately know what
to do.
I had always relied on Emma, not simply to guide me when I
couldn't see, but to take the lead in other ways. Bracken, of
course, would not do that. He looked to me almost in the way I
used to look to Emma, and that is something I had never
envisaged before having a dog other than Emma. Bracken
expected me to do everything, to show him everything, and I
had to train him in a very different way from that which I had
imagined. I had to keep telling myself that he was a dog, and I
was a person, and I had to train him every step of the way
without expecting that he would intuitively do things for me. It
took me a long time to change my attitude so I could work with
an ordinary dog. Not that I consider Bracken just any ordinary
dog. He is very intelligent. But, each in their own way, both he
and Buttons managed to demonstrate what an extraordinary
dog Emma was and is.
Emma is a very self-contained dog, and if she were human,
which she very nearly is (as well as having far nicer attitudes
than most of the human race), I feel she would be a Victorian
lady with a strict moral outlook. Often she will sit on the settee
and look at me, or the other dogs, with such a distant look on
her face, containing not quite disapproval but certainly a
measure of appraisal. If Buttons or Bracken comes up to her
and she has no desire to speak to them she simply ignores them.
She turns her back, tucks her nose under her paws, and that's it.
Emma's final word.
Emma was, of course, trained as a guide-dog before we
actually met. Nevertheless, it was up to me to keep up her
standard of training. But with Emma, this was so easy. I
remember once wanting to teach her scent. In case I dropped
something I wanted her to be able to find it because it had my
scent on it, and I wanted her to ignore things with other people's
scent. I had a vague idea how to do this, and I knew that I
could not use articles in the house as, even if they were not
specifically mine, they might have my scent on them. So I
explained to the girls at work one morning what I wanted to do.
I67
'I want to teach Emma scent,' I told them, 'so if I put my purse
on the floor, can you each put down something of yours.' They
rummaged in their handbags, and each put something on the
floor. I gave Emma my hand to sniff and said, 'Go on Emma,
find my purse.' So off she went, and immediately picked out my
purse and brought it back to me.
I was very pleased, but thought: Well, that's my purse, and it
probably has a very strong scent so we'll try something else. So
we each put down an envelope, and one of the girls marked mine
with a pen. We put the envelopes around the floor of the office
at various scattered points, and Emma was sent off again. She
came back to me with one, and touched my hand with it. 'Has
she got the right one?' I asked. The girls told me she had, the
one with the mark on it. We tried this at intervals over several
days, and every time Emma unfailingly returned to me with the
right envelope. Either she had learnt immediately and simply
knew straight away what was wanted, or the whole thing was a
series of coincidences-and that I refused to believe.
But it was not until I started training Bracken that I realized
the true extent of Emma's exceptional accomplishment. He
(and other dog-owners confirmed the experience) took a long
time to acquire the skill. I was told that it was difficult to teach
a dog to use his nose. But because of Emma, I had not believed
them!
Another miraculous ability of Emma's was the way she would
not have to be told more than once about a new route we were
taking. I took it all for granted at the time, but now I know it
was something quite out of the ordinary. Other dogs are just not
like Emma, or vice versa. No wonder I accepted and treated
Emma as another person, someone I could explain my problems
to, someone on whom I could rely, and who was my best friend
in the entire world.
Training the other two dogs, with Bracken always the more
responsive, took up the rest of the year after Captain Flint had
faded into the memory like a bad, green dream. Our life
through that winter and into the spring became a very pleasant
routine of runs in the park and over the fields for training, with
Emma coming for exercise as well, and Kerensa, now growing
apace, more and more confident as she held Emma's lead. I
I68
was also looking after my own cat.,,,, doing the rounds of cat
shows and seeing to the various Si~imese that came to stay in
the cattery. It was a full and happy- life.
Then, out of the blue, came a marvellous surprise. I had a
telephone call from Mrs Pauling. She and her husband were
breeders of Labradors, and it was they who had owned Emma's
father. They had read our book and were thrilled and delighted
at Emma's achievements and fame. They wanted us all to go
and visit them up at Cookridge Farm not far from Leeds, in
Yorkshire. But it was not simply an invitation to go out for a
day. We were to go to a Labrador Rally! Now there was something
to look forward to. When I announced the news, three
chocolate-coloured faces looked up happily and three tails
wagged, as if the significance was very well understood. What
a prospect!
I69
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
T H E R E W A S A N added attraction to the Labrador Rally apart
from meeting Mr and Mrs Pauling who had owned Emma's
father. They had also invited Colonel Clay of the Yorkshire Post
and his wife. It was they who had bred Emma and given her to
Paddy Wansborough to become a guide-dog. I was really
looking forward to meeting them as well as to the general idea
of a Labrador Rally. It was a gorgeous Sunday morning as we
set off for Leeds. By now, with Bracken nearly nine months old
and Kerensa growing all the time, the back seat was so crowded
with dogs and the front seats with humans that the population
density of the car would have caught the eye of any housing
inspector on the look out for slum clearance.
'What happens, incidentally, at a Labrad4r Rally?' Don
said as we drove along.
'I've no idea,' I said. 'I think it's just a fun-day for Labradors,
and possibly their owners.'
From Leeds, we turned out of the city on to the Tadcaster
road and emerged into open country. 'Which way, now?'
asked Don.
'Well,' I said, making the best sense I could of the map, but
looking in vain for Cookridge Farm, 'Mrs Pauling said that it
was on "the top road", but I can't see any top road, or bottom
road for
that matter.'
We ploughed on. Don was looking a bit worried. 'What did
she actually say?' he asked.
I laughed. 'Well, she kept saying: "It's on the top road. You
can't miss it.'5 I asked her how we should know which was the
top road and she sounded very surprised. All she said was,
"Well, there's only one top road, you'll have no trouble."'
'I see,' said Don, slowing down to examine a signpost. 'Well,
that's not it. Do you'suppose we're on the top road?'
'I really don't know. The map's no help at all.'
I70
By this time we were practically into Tadcaster, and, top
road or not, we had certainly missed the unmissable Cookridge
Farm. We turned back and after half an hour of U-turns and
sudden halts to look at tiny side-lanes, we found it.
And what a sight greeted us. A field with a line of parked cars,
shooting-brakes and Land-Rovers-and, it seemed, all the
Labradors in the world, mostly yellow and black, in what I can
only describe as a happy state of flux, dashing here and there,
wagging happily, making friends, and, some of them, lying
contentedly and well-behaved beside picnic rugs. We parked,
opened the back doors, and out came our chocolate-coloured
contribution to the throng. Emma, Buttons and Bracken
emerged one by one, shook themselves, then, looking about
them, could hardly believe their brown eyes. An entire landscape
of dogs! Unbelievable. It was as if they had landed on
another planet, the planet of Labradors! Whoopee! They took
off all together into the middle distance, and I was left standing
by the car holding three leads in my hand. 'I don't think it
matters,' said Don. 'They all seem to be off the lead anyway.'
They were back in a surprisingly short while, however,
having done a rapid tour of inspection, and stood panting and
wagging their tails happily, with Emma, despite her years, not
the least excited of them.
The man in the next car looked across. 'Excuse me,' he said,
'that wouldn't be Emma, would it?'
'Yes, that's right,' I said.
'Well, would you believe it? I've read the book. You'll be
Mrs Hocken then.' He came across, bent down to pat Emma
and held out his hand. 'Pleased to meet you. I've had Labradors
all my life, but I don't think I've ever had one as clever as
yours.' He bent down and patted Emma again as she lay on the
grass, tongue out, her tail wagging. 'What a good girl.'
And that turned out to be the pattern of the entire day.
Don and I met no one we knew, but everyone seemed to
know us--or to be more accurate, everyone seemed to know
Emma. 'What's going on over there?' said Don. 'Come on
Kerensa, let's have a look.'
'Want to take Emma for a walk,' she said.
'No, come on, Emma's having a good time on her own.'
I7I
Some sort of trial seemed to be going on in one corner of the
field. Dummies were being shot over the fence, and dogs were
going and fetching them back.
'I wonder if we could have a go?' I said.
'Why not?' said Don, and we went to speak to a man waiting
his turn with a black Labrador. The man explained: 'It's a
working test. The judge assesses your dog for working ability.
Has your dog done anything like it before?'
'No, but I'm sure Bracken is game for anything. What do you
have to do?'
'Well, they throw these dummy bags over the fence . (the
dummy bags looked like rolled-up pieces of cloth), 'and you
have three separate tests: one where your dog just jumps over
the fence and retrieves it, then they hide it in the bracken and
he fetches it back, and then they put it among the trees to see
if he can find it.'
'Shall we enter Bracken?' I said to Don.
'Do you think he's good enough yet at retrieving?5
'Well, he fetches his dumb-bell back but I don't know what
he'll think about one of those dummies.'
'The judge'll let you use a dumb-bell,' said the other competitor, '
after all it's only a bit of fun. Get your dog entered and
see what happens.'
'Go on,' said Don, 'put him in for it. I'll look after Kerensa
and the other two.'
So Bracken was entered, and with Don shouting, 'Go on
Bracken young lad, show them what you're made of,' Bracken
stalked with me up the field, head high, knowing that something
important was going to happen.
'Has he done anything like this before?' asked the judge.
'No, but he does go to training classes and he will retrieve,
although so far he only retrieves a dumb-bell.'
' I've got a dumb-bell in the car,' she said with a kindly smile.
'We can use that and see how he does.' She went to fetch the
dumb-bell and at last it was Bracken's turn.
'You start here,' said the judge. 'That gives your dog a
twenty-yard run, then he's got to jump that fence where the
markers are and find the dumb-bell in the long grass.'
'Fine,' I said.
I72
'Now don't let him go until we tell you. We'll throw the bell,
and then I'll tell you to let your dog go.'
I looked down at Bracken. 'Sit, Bracken. Now wait and watch
them throw the dumb-bell and you've got to jump over the
fence and get it back.' Bracken looked back at me with wisdom
far beyond his age, as if he knew all about it.
'Right, send your dog!' called the judge.
Bracken shot up the field like a bullet. I was so proud. Look
at him, I thought, he's never done it before, but he's going to
show all these older dogs how it really ought to be done. I could
see the judge with a pleasant smile on her fa(-,c and obviously
thinking, Here's my winning dog. She turned to me. 'How old
did you say he was?' 'Nearly nine months,' I said, trying not to
sound boastful.
just as I was speaking, Bracken reached the fence, and just as
iii my mind's eye I saw him flying over it, he came to a screeching
halt and stood there stock still.
'Bracken,' I called, aghast. 'No. Fetch your dumb-bell.'
He looked round uncertainly, tail down.
'Go and stand at the fence,' said the judge. 'Go and pat the
top of it.'
Bracken watched as I did this, then put his nose down in the
grass and went scenting off along the fence.
'I know,' said the judge. 'Climb over the fence and stand in
the other field, then he'll come over.'
I climbed over the fence. Bracken looked up for a moment,
and then went back to an obviously very delicious scent.
'Run the other way,' said the judge. 'Run down the field.
Make him think you're leaving him.'
'Bracken,' I shouted, starting to run. 'Bracken!'
Bracken immediately began to bark in terror. His message
was quite plain: 'Don't leave me, don't leave me.' I went back
to the fence. Poor Bracken, he was most upset. 'He's not going
to jump it,' I said to the judge. 'Never mind, it was worth
a try.'
'No,' she said, 'don't give up.' She called a steward
and I
could see them chatting.
Then, to my amazement, the steward came and lifted
I73
Bracken over the fence. I thought I was dreaming. 'There,'
said the steward, 'now fetch your dumb-bell.' I could hardly
stop laughing. 'I bet that's the first time you've ever lifted a
gun-dog over a fence,' I said. He grinned. And Bracken
recovered quickly, rushed into the grass, and picked his dumbbell
up.
Honour was satisfied, even if the rules had been bent; but,
apart from not feeling able to stand the strain of running,
jumping and climbing fences, I thought it would be pushing
our luck to carry on-and I didn't want the steward to risk
serious injury by having to lift Bracken over again. So we withdrew,
and Don almost burst his sides when we got back and
told him about our adventures. 'Well,' he said, 'it's a good job
we didn't buy you for a gun-dog, Bracken old lad. Never mind,
you had a good time.'
We walked over to the far corner of the field where we had
not been, and, to our delight, there were some other chocolatecoloured
Labradors. Kerensa was thrilled: 'Mummy ... more
Emmas, look!'
Then I heard a voice say, 'Hello ... are you Emma?'
'Yes,' I said automatically, 'that is, no-that's Emma there.'
It was Mrs Pauling, who had invited us. We shook hands and
introduced ourselves.
'How marvellous to meet you,' I said. 'You bred Emma's
father.'
'That's right. But doesn't Emma look well? How old is she
now?'
'She'll be sixteen this year,' Don said.
'Well, isn't she wonderful. And don't you look like your Dad!'
Emma wagged her tail appreciatively. 'Come and meet my
husband,' said Mrs Pauling, 'and see the photographs in the
house.'
She led us out of the field to their beautiful farmhouse. On
the way we paused at their kennels which were full of Cookridge
Labradors, and I am sure both Don and I were thinking the
same thing: 'One day, we'll have our own kennels.'
In the house, Mrs Pauling took us straight to a big picture on
the wall.
'There,' she said, 'there's Emma's father.' Then she turned.