Dogs I have known…part one

Childhood Canines…

I was born in a small village in England (Shiplake) during WW2. My family had several cats and two dogs. Buster and Louboy.

Buster was a black Cocker Spaniel. Louboy was a Border Collie. (Please excuse my bad drawing.) They were my earliest playmates. My brothers and sisters (from a previous marriage) were all much older, so although always sweet to me, not ideal toddler playmates.

I had a great time crawling around with the dogs, chasing them, trying to steal their bones, rolling about in the grass with them, taking naps with them, etc.

I recall Buster being a big mooch, and Louboy running in circles, barking uncontrollably. It turned out he had an affliction called “hysterics,” which would eventually lead to his having to be put to sleep.

After the war, in the early 1950s, we eventually moved to London, where we lived in a residential hotel. No dogs allowed. My next dog was borrowed.

My Mother walked me through the various London parks frequently. Our fave was Hyde Park, and there I met my next doggy pal. His name was Rex, and he seemed very happy to chase sticks and balls around the park pretty much endlessly. Rex was a gorgeous German Shepherd.

I treasured those play times with Rex, and when my Father decided he needed to leave London in order to travel to write more articles, I was devastated to bid Rex farewell.

Mrs. Pelzer realized how much her dog had meant to me and very sweetly gifted me this lovely metal dog brooch to remind me of her lovely dog. I treasured it and wore it often. I still have it and still wear it.

We drove through England to the ferry to France, which we boarded. Then we drove across France, Holland and Spain, to finally end up in Portugal.

After we crossed the border from Spain, we ended up in a mountain town called Guarda. The mountain was Sera d’Estrella. We stopped for a break and for lunch, and outside the restaurant was a basket of puppies for sale.

Of course, I whined at my parents until they broke down and got one. A cute white pup with tan markings. We called him Guarda after his birthplace and because he would be my guard dog. Guarda means guard. He was chubby and sleepy, and apart from pee breaks, he and I slept in the back seat of the car until we arrived in Lisbon.

I am pretty sure that having a puppy with us did not improve our best chances at finding suitable hotels!

We stopped in Lisbon for a short while, then moved to a coastal town called Cascais, where we found a residential hotel that we could stay at until we found a suitable house.

These old black-and-white photos do not do justice to how pretty everything was. In the first photo, you see the harbour. The fishing boats were all different, bright colours.

The houses in the second photo were all pastel shades. Pinks, greens, blues, yellows. The roofs were all bright red ceramic.

We had a roomy suite at the hotel and took all our meals in the big hotel dining room. There were lots of places to walk, and the beach to visit, and my mother would take Guarda and me out every day. Unfortunately, due to his young age and lack of will, she ended up having to carry him pretty much everywhere.

I really admire my Mothers’ fortitude. She must have had things she would rather have been doing, but she patiently took us out every day, rain or shine (mostly shine). We went to the beach, we went to the many lovely parks, we took pictures. She had a fancy little Zeiss Ikonta SLR; I had a basic Brownie point-and-shoot.

We finally found a suitable house to rent. It was a refurbished Olive press building. A sprawling, one-story place with three-quarters of an acre of garden, multiple sheds and small buildings (to accommodate live-in staff, if one had the means … we did not), and a view which included mountains to the north, ocean to the south, and rolling hills on east and west sides.

It was perfect for my Dad because it was not far from the towns of Estoril and Lisbon, which worked for his foreign correspondent job.

It was perfect for my Mother because it was a dreamers haven. It was perfect for me and Guarda because we could play endlessly and safely in the huge garden.

We soon had cats, to help with the rat problem, and we rescued a donkey. Guarda and I grew older and bigger.

Guarda was very protective. Even when we first got him, he would sleep on the floor beside my bed and bare his tiny teeth when my parents tried to approach the bed.

Soon after we moved to the new house, Guarda bit me very badly on my wrist and arm. His teeth went right through, side to side, leaving me with four scars, two on each side of the arm, scars which I had for years. My fault. I tried to take his food dish. Actually, I just wanted to move it, but he thought I was taking it and lashed out defensively.

My Father went ballistic. Poor Guarda was punished, but I know he did not understand why. My Mother remonstrated with him.

We remained best of friends anyway and continued to enjoy our games and chases up and down the garden.

Guarda (along with the other animal friends) was very much a substitute for the friends I never had. I was not allowed to attend the local (free) Catholic school because of the physical and sexual abuse my Father had suffered at the hands of the priests in his school years. He completely distrusted these religious schools. The alternative would have been the hoity-toity private school called St. Juliens. That was out because we could not afford it. (In retrospect, I was secretly glad because the kids that went there were all rich little snobs, and I would not have fitted in.)

The result was that I was never properly socialized and had no scholastic credentials. My Mother did her best to home-school me, but that had no value as a credential.

I grew into a tiresome boy-mad teen, eventually leaving home and all my animal friends when I was 21.

I will end this part of my Dog friends story with these sketches.