Blog 12 - From a Villa in Grey Lynn - My new dog

I am innocently going to Roger’s garden centre in Mangere to buy some plants for my new gardener, Manu, who is parking his caravan outside my bach at Leigh. At first, he parked it outside my bedroom window, but thoughtfully moved it so I can see the sea again and not sit in bed speculating as to what Manu might be doing in his caravan.

As I approach the entrance, I ask a strong-looking woman, "Are you Roger?” She says, “No, I am not Roger, but grab a wheelbarrow and there’s a dog following you." It nuzzles into me, and I wonder if it was sent by God because my Alpha course on religion teaches us that God sends little signs, so things we thought were random are actually God’s careful parenting.

I tell Not Roger "I’ll take the dog to the SPCA". It doesn’t know how to jump in a car, but Not Roger, who is no wilting violet, heaves him in. We drive to the SPCA where they shoo us away from reception as if we are frothing at the mouth. They point at me like Covid marshals, "Go to the hospital," and they point at my new dog, "Stay in the car." An attractive volunteer, groomed like an entry in the Crofts dog show, not a disheveled poo shoveler, is at the hospital desk, smiling at a poor old man whose mother’s cat is lying in a small cage between them. Wielding mercilessly the sword of institutional power, she seems to enjoy telling this hero turned nuisance that the SPCA cannot rehome his mother’s cat as it is merely homeless, not a victim of cruelty.

She then comes to my car, swoops my new dog for any sign of ownership, then looks at him critically. He is intact with one hazel eye rimmed in white and the other rimmed in black and white, with a raw pink nose and brindle stubble like foils done in a cheap salon. My new dog is, like the old man’s mother’s cat, not abused enough for the SPCA’s high standard of enrolment. She tells me to take him to the pound or she tosses her expensive cut, "You can keep him."

I take him to the Mangere pound, where you have to press an electronic button for entry while dogs behind heavy black doors bark in futile protestations of their innocence.

I drive away with my new dog. We stop at Roger’s Garden Centre for some plants so I can feel a sense of accomplishment, and the real Roger gives me a free pot of fertilizer for sorting out his dog problem.

I stop on the way home to buy my new dog some bones and gravy beef, and we arrive home. I don’t think he has been in a house before, as he jumps madly on the furniture as if I’ve taken him to a trampoline park. Off the table he bounces and over the chairs, never for a moment taking his eyes off me as if my disappearance might wake him from this dream.

When my two 6'foot

4 flatsons come home with a beautiful girl from Jamie’s work, they are in long coats and boots. My new dog bites them all on the heels and the beautiful girl says she is pleased she has boots on in the spirit of trying to be a good sport. They all move furtively around the room, while my new dog eyes them up with his differently rimmed eyes.

I let him sleep on my bed, and he drifts off with a smile on his face and snores heavily like my ex-husband used to do, but I don’t find it as annoying. I look at his red and raw nose. I turn on the bedside light gently so as not to disturb him and google, “Can humans get diseases from dogs?”

Charley comes round in the morning to pick up Jamie, and there is my new dog sitting at the breakfast table.

It growls at Charley and then leans over to bite his arm when Charley tries to pat his head.

I accept, like Morgan Freeman in Shawshank, that my new dog has lost his chance at parole. I drive him to the Country Retreat Animal Sanctuary in Warkworth, where I offer to pay his board for life. But they too won’t take an unvaccinated stranger, and Helen, the owner, tells me they do not rehome dogs that like to bite people.

I drive the dog I am about to forsake to the Silverdale Park Pound. A girl comes out and calls him from the car. He hesitates waiting for my permission.

I take off the lovely African collar I have put around his neck and kiss his raw nose. He looks back at me as he goes in the door as if to thank me for showing him that there is a heaven on earth.