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My Writing Partner.

Every morning after his walk my writing partner Scout, gets into his bed ready for a hard day of listening to me read passages of texts to him. It’s a hard life. Writing Never the Twain took months of sitting at my computer and all through that time Scout was by my side.

Scout is a rescue dog, a Patterdale terrier. I rescued him aged seven after he’d been picked up by the dog warden. He was kept at the RSPCA for the obligatory time but no one claimed him which was odd as he was house trained and very cute, I’m sure you will agree.

At the time I had just given up teaching to run an Antiques and Collectables shop and to try my hand at writing novels.

My lovely tabby cat Bertie, also a rescue, had just died from congenital liver failure and the cottage felt empty without an animal. Growing up my family had always had dogs so I was keen to have one of my own. As a full time teacher it wasn’t practical to have a dog; cats are much more independent and with the aid of a cat flap they can and come and go at will. Now I was to be able to spare the time I relished the idea of owning a dog

I didn’t mind what kind of dog I got so long as it was a rescue dog. I am trustee of an animal charity but as we deal mainly with cats I began to search the websites of which there are hundreds. I know from experience there are hundreds of animals out there that need rescuing but I also knew that I needed to do my research and not just pick the first pretty face I saw.

I searched the web looking to give a forever home to some deserving mutt, my only other criteria being the dog I was to give a home to had to be small. If I was going to take a dog to the shop everyday it had to be small as the shop was full of china and challenged in the size department.

Sadly I found there are thousands of deserving dogs out there of all shapes, sizes and breeds. Thousands with puppy dog eyes and terrible back stories in some cases. I wanted them all needless to say but when I saw Scout I was immediately smitten. It was love at first sight. My sensible head fell off! He was ideal – he was small enough to pick up and put in the car but not so small to be a ‘handbag’ dog. He was black, wiry and had the most expressive eyebrows ever seen on a dog. He was also extremely smelly. The kennels said he was being treated for mange and the smell would go in about a week – it didn’t but that’s another story. Before I could take him he had to finish his treatment and have the ‘snip’, poor boy.

The RSPCA suggested I took him for a walk to see if we suited each other. We did, but to be fair Scout would have gone with Jack the Ripper; he was so trusting despite being abandoned. He had been given the name ‘Bobby Bear’- No one knew his real name of course so a young kennel hand had named him! I promised him on that first walk I would call him something more dignified. ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ has always been one of my favourite books so I named him Scout - despite the book character being a little girl. I tell him he’s my boy scout and I’m his girl guide. He raises an eyebrow and wags his tail furiously. He answered to his new name almost from day one.

I arranged to adopt him after a home visit from the RSPCA to make sure I was going to make a suitable owner and that the house and garden would be  suitable for a dog - they said there should ideally be a six foot fence around the garden - did they think he was going to be a pole vaulter?

On the twenty mile car journey home he sat on the front seat, fastened in with his harness, and slept the whole way. However when we arrived home he didn’t settle in well at all. I showed him his lovely new bed and toys and he sniffed everywhere no doubt noting no other dogs had sullied his patch. He inspected the garden and christened it by cocking his leg up frequently to mark his territory but he followed me everywhere, he was my shadow. He could not be alone, not even for a minute. If I left the room he whined pitifully.

There began a period of training as it was clear he suffered separation anxiety, a condition quite common in rescue dogs. The only time I could be apart from him was if I left him in the car – he howled the place down if I went to the dustbin so there was no chance of going shopping.

He was brilliant in my shop where he was showered with affection from customers but the only way to go about my daily life was to leave him in the car. He would curl up on the front seat and go straight to sleep. I have a theory about this. I think he belonged to a lorry driver and spent all his time on the road. Perhaps he never lived in a house? I imagine one night the owner let him out of the cab to do what a dog has to do and Scout strayed off. If the lorry driver was on a schedule maybe he couldn’t hang about and look for him for too long. Scout was so friendly I’m sure he hadn’t been mis-treated. I think he got himself lost; I can’t see how someone would abandon such a lovely dog. I often wonder if his previous owner went back to look for him - I would imagine s/he would be devastated to lose such a character.

Eventually Scout began to settle and I could leave him for half an hour or so. Gradually I built the separations up so that now he can be left in the house for a couple of hours. I never leave him long and always praise him on my return.

Every day he would sit in the shop with me. He loved all the attention. He began to be quite a draw with customers coming especially to see him. I live in a market town that attracts a lot of tourists and the holiday makers would come year after year to see him and bring him presents. Some of them actually bought an antique or two but most just wanted to meet up with Scout.

Now I’ve given up the shop to write full time he sits in his basket as I type away in my writing room. I try out scenes on him, read back a paragraph or two. ‘What do you think?’ I ask tentatively. He raises his eyebrows or wags his stumpy little tail in acknowledgement. I’m not sure what kind of a critic he is; all I know is that he gets really excited if the piece I’m reading contains food! When I told him he features as a ship’s ratter in my next book, My Constant Lady, he looked singularly unimpressed - he hates water of any kind and as I gave him the pseudonym ‘Scrabble he went into a sulk; I don’t want fame going to his head!

Scout is fourteen now and is still very active. Although he has grey flecking his rough, black coat and the hair between his pads is almost white he loves a good run on the beach. Today my writing partner is snoring loudly as I type but it is one pm and any minute now the post will arrive and the cottage will resound with the frantic barking of the best writing partner an author could have. The skirmish will be my hint it’s his lunchtime. Terriers do like their food!