A Tail of Three Dogs

24 hours with Norman the Norfolk

I met Norman on one of his first ever walks. I spotted him from across the road and dragged my two (and the friend walking with us) over to meet him. His owner, Alex, turned out to live on the road next to mine and - you won’t believe this - turned out to be a professional gardener.

If I’ve said it once I’ve said it a million times: dog people are the best people. In order to love a dog, you must have an open heart, a playful soul, and a lifestyle that allows you to share your life with a four-legged friend. I had two out of three, and after leaving my job, met the full criteria.

Gardeners are also the best people. To love gardening, you must have a desire to nurture, a closeness to nature, an impulse to nourish one’s self, and an appreciation of beauty in at least some forms.

It therefore goes without saying that gardeners with dogs are at the absolutely pinnacle of people (yes, I include myself…).

This is certainly true of Alex. Alex falls squarely into that cross-section of the Venn diagram. After successful careers in business, and then as a teacher, she is realigning her priorities in the same way that I am. Focusing on peace, happiness, plants, and paws. We bonded immediately, and have become fast friends.

Our dogs, however, are still working out their canine chemistry. Norman was three months old when they met the first time, and now is almost six months, I think. His distinctive tiger-striped fur is growing out to reveal his grown up blonde. He is growing into his previously outsized, clodhopping paws. But that puppy energy is still raging.

I love dog-sitting Norman, and Alex has season tickets to the Quins (how cool is that?) so Norman sometimes comes to hang out while she’s freezing in the stands at The Stoop.

Leo finds it too much. Like a curmudgeonly, long-in-the-tooth senator meeting the freshman intake, he grumbles a greeting and then retreats to a quiet place out of the way, miserable at the disruption and cursing the pace of change.

Bella - usually the more reserved of the two - seems to have met her match. She will actually deign to play with Norman, which is highly unusual - possibly even unique. Norman has not yet realised that he can jump higher than an inch, so Bella retreats to the arm of the sofa, just out of reach of Norman’s insistent bunny hops and indignant yaps, when it gets too much.

And it is a lot. Norman has almost relentless energy and needs few naps. His elders, at aged four and almost three, have a long nap post-morning walk, another post-lunchtime walk, and a solid 10 hours sleep each night.

I think almost constantly about getting a third dog, except when Norman is here. Our new friendship has helped me to see that 1:2 is the correct ratio of humans to dogs. This does mean that should I meet a romantic partner in the future for whom I am willing to sacrifice living alone (unlikely, I absolutely love living alone more than almost anything) then perhaps additional dogs could be added to the pack, but trials would be needed to ensure that 2:4 (or, I suppose, 2:3) remains the correct quota.

This was Norman’s first overnight stay. This morning’s walk was an interesting challenge. Having two dogs, ‘maypoleing’ is already an issue. ‘Maypoleing’ is what I call it when a dog(s) causes their lead(s) to become wrapped around one’s legs like a maypole (probably that was self-explanatory). With three, the maypoleing reached a new and dangerous level. Pure comedy for passers-by.

Our progress was slow. We barely kept pace with an elderly woman with a pronounced limp who was walking the same route.

When I first brought Leo home, I had no idea that dogs aren’t born knowing how to go for a walk. A dear friend explained that this was not my walk, but was Leo’s. The reason he needed to stop and sniff every lamppost was because he was reading ‘pee-mails’ and was compelled, by his nature, to respond in kind. This was innate and unavoidable, and would happen every day. After four years I am almost patient enough to allow this natural imperative to unfold without being overwhelmed with irritation.

Supreme patience is needed, however, to walk three dogs at once, two of whom are male. Bella is neat and efficient. She doesn’t need to stop every three feet to sniff and sign her name. But anywhere that Norman read a pee-mail and left a response, Leo was compelled to co-sign, and vice versa. I think of this male territory marking like boys in primary school scratching wooden desks with the sharp end of a compass ‘[name] was ere’. This morning’s walk was ‘Norman was ‘ere’, and then immediately ‘LEO WAS ‘ERE TOO’, and ‘Leo was - NORMAN WAS ERE FIRST’.

Very often when walking Leo and Bella they have different ideas about where they want to go. This causes us to often find ourselves at a standstill until one or both realises they are pulling against each other like the proverbial donkeys. With three, this was a negotiation worthy of a Camp David summit.

We followed our usual route, up to our local cafe and back (Emily and Bridget, two of our wonderful baristas, were thrilled with our little puppy parade), only I hadn’t calculated the additional difficulty that holding an oat latte in one hand and three dog leads in the other would cause. Common sense has never been my strong suit.

As I write, we are at hour 15. Leo, Bella and I are huddled into one corner of the sofa while Norman roams around exploring, periodically stopping to take a power nap on my foot. Soon we will need to brave another walk. After which I may well need a nap of my own.