A Sparkling, Charming Piece Of Writing By Somebody Who Needs No Introduction
Sorry AI—You Will Never Be Able To Mimic This
Originally published at Frances Leader’s Substack, Uncensored, re-published at The Truth Barrier with permission from the author.
BEING A FRIEND
To people and dogs!
JAN 31, 2024
The longevity and strength of friendships (or the lack of them) is nothing new to us human beings. We are pack animals at root, after all.
My Dad, a child of 1930s London, warned me that I may have been a popular party animal in my 20s, but as time passed I would be lucky to count true friends on the fingers of one hand.
He was right. By the time I turned fifty, friends had become rare and rarely seen.
By seventy, they were down to one and she moved away, following her heart which felt called to care for family members. Thankfully, due to internet and telephone, we keep in touch despite the huge distance between me, here in Dorset UK and her, in Australia.
If you read my autobiography you can see that I was a very gregarious, sharing and kind type when I was a youngster. I was taken advantage of repeatedly, but I stubbornly clung onto my rose-coloured glasses, against all the odds. I would dust myself off, time after time, and forgive the most awful violations of my commitment and friendship.
I liked to share my good fortune, when I had it, because always there are people who have less than I do. I would never let a friend sleep out on the street, even if they wanted to! Sometimes this generosity would backfire on me badly. I could tell you stories which would make you laugh, cry or squeal with indignation!
Let me tell you one funny, but typical story with a very happy ending.
Billy Higgins arrived at my doorstep barely more than a schoolboy in 1972, shortly after my son, Dan, was born. Billy was following his next-door neighbour, my husband who offered him somewhere to live and a job, learning to be a roofer.
Billy was a small, wiry individual with a great repartee and sense of the ridiculous. He took everything he learned from life and turned it to his advantage, one way or another. When he was sitting on the apex of a roof during his working day, he would be casing surrounding properties with a burglar’s eye. He would observe the routines of the occupants and choose a time to break in when they were out at work.
Breaking into properties via the roof became one of his ‘specialities’ and law enforcement never discovered how he did it. He was expert at stripping roof tiles and the underlying felt, slipping between battens of wood and roof beams, to arrive in the living quarters of homes via the loft.
Once inside, he would take his time to gather anything that he could sell to the local ‘fence’ and these items, sometimes large items, like televisions or stereo equipment, he would carry out to a vehicle which would have been parked conveniently close. He would then return to the roof and replace the felt and batten, leaving no trace whatsoever of his access point. In this way he was, not only robbing private individuals, but he was also robbing his boss, my husband Tony, who was paying him to work on a neighbouring roof!
On one occasion in 1979, when Dan was about seven years old, Billy exceeded his usual boldness. He offered to babysit for me, saying, “Aw, Fran! You never get a chance to go out and enjoy yourself. Let me look after Dan this evening - you go out and have some fun!” I admit I was astonished but, unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth. I thanked him for his thoughtfulness and quickly dressed and departed without a moment’s concern.
I knew that Billy did not have any cash for tobacco, so I bought him some from our corner shop before I set off to join our friends at the local pub. It was a Friday night and traditionally, among our large circle of friends, this was party night.
When I got home around midnight, I was puzzled to see that Billy had a considerable chunk of Moroccan cannabis resin with his tobacco. He had already skinned up a large, well stuffed joint and was offering it to me as soon as I sat down!
I had brought a couple of friends home with me, as was my custom, and we partied on into the night. The following day, one of my friends had stayed the night but Billy had disappeared. Over breakfast, the friend was cracking up laughing explaining to me how Billy had acquired his large stash of Moroccan resin.
“After you left to go to the pub, Billy had gone around the corner to the dealer’s house carrying your brand new television, Fran!” spluttered my giggling friend as I reeled in shock. “He swapped the telly for that chunk of dope!” She went on…. “Then he waited until the dealer went out to join us all at the pub. He broke into the dealer’s house, retrieved the telly and brought it back here!” I was aghast. Billy had a form of IQ that I had scarcely been aware existed. He made me feel stupid!
No matter what the circumstances, Billy was always pulling stunts on absolutely everyone. However, he also had such a cheeky grin, such a wicked sense of humour that it was impossible to stay angry with him for long. His exploits were the talk of the town and, amazingly I don’t recall him ever getting busted for burglary, which was quite an achievement given that he made a career out of it!
I remember around 1990, that he came to my house, at the end of a working day of roofing and he looked very worried. When I asked him what was wrong he said that he was trying to work out how to steal a dog. “Oh ffs!” groaned Tony. “Are you serious?” Apparently, while they were repairing a roof, Billy had spotted a gorgeous Belgian Shepherd Groenendahl dog in the back garden of a neighbouring house. Billy was very upset that this dog was left out in the garden all day alone and bored while the owners were out at work. Billy loved dogs above all living things and he had befriended the dog over the garden fence during their lunch break.
The next day, Billy took the day off from work and appeared at my door with this gorgeous black and very happy looking female dog. “I have named her Tila!” he said excitedly. He then spent the rest of the afternoon teaching Tila basic obedience using my border collie Dylan as an example. Dylan was smitten with Tila and it soon became apparent that Tila was fertile. She had not been spayed! Billy had big plans to breed Groenendahls from her because, he told me, this breed was highly valuable and would make him a small fortune! He discouraged Dylan from mounting Tila and went home with his new dog, over the moon with happiness.
Billy told me that Groenendahls are very intelligent working dogs who get bored easily. He insisted that he took Tila with him wherever he went and he taught her to guard him, his vehicle, his home and later his wife and children. He also taught her to keep guard and warn him if anyone approached when he was burgling houses!
She was absolutely adorable, but Billy’s plans to breed from her didn’t go quite as he had hoped. Tila was not a tart and not a one-night-stand floozie. Oh no. Tila would take one look at the many suitors that Billy arranged for her and she would attack them so fiercely that they would do anything to get away from her! Tila was having none of it.
When she was around eight years old, Billy had to go into hospital for a kidney transplant and he asked me to look after her for him. Of course, I jumped at the chance because she was too gorgeous, too loving, too clever for words. Caring for her would be such a privilege. Unfortunately for Billy his transplant operation was not quite as simple as he had hoped and he unexpectedly spent three months in hospital. In that time Tila and I had become very close friends. She had me wrapped around her paw! I had groomed her thick coat to perfection, I had taken her out every day to different parks, beaches, forests and to visit friends. Tila was a star wherever she went and she did not need a collar and leash. Giving her back to Billy was hard for me but, at that time, Billy lived in the same street as me so he allowed her to come and visit me whenever she wanted. Billy, for the first time in all the years I knew him, wanted to pay me for helping him out, but I refused any payment asking, instead, that if he would try to breed from her once more, I would get first pick of the litter.
This deal was agreed, but Billy did not have much hope that Tila would ever let a dog mate with her. As luck would have it, a young male Groenendahl dog called Shadow was being advertised as a stud. He lived in Birmingham and Billy had to pay for the dog to be transported to our Essex coastal town. Billy timed Tila’s next season and, with great anticipation, the occasion for romance was arranged.
I had a word with Tila. I begged her to be nice to Shadow. I told her how much I wanted one of her puppies and if she could do this for me, she would have permanent free access to that puppy for the rest of her life. Tila was in peak condition and I felt sure that this time, she would be amenable.
When Shadow leapt out of the van he arrived in, I was very impressed. He was much taller than Tila, sleek and super fit. I watched him prance enthusiastically into Billy’s house and then I ran out to my own back garden to listen to events going on over the fences. I was so excited and praying that this time Tila would like her suitor.
I heard Billy and his guest open the back door and let the two dogs out into the garden and then I heard a very brief few growls and scuffles followed by total silence. I waited, desperate to know what was happening. No more than an hour later, Shadow returned to his van, hopped up like a gazelle and he was gone.
“Well?” I burst out at Billy, when he answered his front door to me. He laughed and gave me a blow by blow account of Tila’s lost virginity. Apparently she had attempted to attack Shadow, as was her usual style, but this dog was made of much tougher stuff than all previous studs. He had grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and swung her to the ground! Tila immediately raised her rear end and Shadow deftly engaged without any more fuss! We were ecstatic! The two dogs had been left in the garden to quietly complete the task, which took about half an hour and Billy had shared a cup of tea with Shadow’s owner. Billy paid up delighted, promising to let the guy know as soon as the puppies appeared. He asked how many he might expect and Shadow’s owner said, “The litters are usually no more than eleven!”
Tila was spoiled rotten for the following few months as she slowly turned into a slow rolling barrel shape. She was not keen to walk very far with me during the final few days and everyone who knew us was anxiously waiting for her to deliver. At eight years of age she was quite old to be having her first litter and we didn’t know how well she would take to being a mum. We shouldn’t have worried. Tila began to give birth at 3am on Wednesday, the 11tth of June 1997, and by the time Billy phoned me at 9am she had delivered all eleven puppies without difficulty.
Later that day I popped in to visit the new arrivals and thankfully Tila let me pick up and hold each of the pups, one by one. They were completely identical and it was impossible to choose, or so I thought. However, when I held these little palm sized creatures they all wriggled about in my hands except one. That one laid down and went to sleep, completely relaxed and confident. Billy and I agreed that this would be my dog. Billy’s wife marked the edge of his little ear with a splodge of pink nail varnish and he was returned to his mum, who was grinning from ear to ear, so proud of her huge family!
From then on, for the following eight weeks, I would pop in to see Tila’s family. Billy built a special corral for them in his dining room, using scaffold boards and soft blankets. When Tila began to wean her boisterous brood the prospective buyers began to arrive. Shadow came down again from Birmingham and collected one of his pups. I got to meet Shadow on that occasion and was so impressed with him. His owner told me that Shadow could easily jump fences like ours and to be careful because, if these pups were anything like their father, they would have no trouble escaping our gardens!
I could not wait for the day when I was able to take my puppy home.
He was already walking close to my heel whenever I visited him and Tila would wag her tail proudly when she saw him bonding to me so readily. She was such a brilliant mother, teaching them all to play nicely and to use the garden for their toilet needs long before they left her care.
When I finally took my pup home, I had a new lodger living in my spare room. This was Mike, a Jamaican descended Rastafarian from Bristol, who was teaching martial arts with another friend in the town. Mike suggested we call the puppy Lion of Judah Rastafari! I burst out laughing at the idea of me shouting that mouthful down the beach or park! We agreed that Rasta was a better name for this gorgeous little bundle of seriousness.
Rasta took to his new life without a hiccup and his mum would pop in to visit him daily for the first couple of weeks. She would play with him in my garden, steal his toys and bones and make him play fight her. She would pin him down and clean his ears relentlessly. He totally loved and obeyed his mum.
Rasta also loved my big black cat, Beefie, who was overly large due to thyroid issues. Beefie taught Rasta how to use the cat flap, until he got too big for it. They would cuddle up together on a chair regularly and Beefie would clean Rasta with as much enthusiasm as she cleaned herself. But that cat was too old and tough for play fighting and Rasta soon learned to avoid those huge flashing claws. Even Tila would never argue with Beefie. Anyone with any sense avoided coming into contact with the murder mittens!
When Rasta was still quite young, Mike moved on to open his own martial arts school in Manchester and Matty, a local electrician, moved in to my spare room. Around that time, my Hells Angel friend, Sid, invited me to travel to Holland with him on the back of his Harley Davidson. We were going to meet up with German and Dutch chapters and then see Lynyrd Skynard in Utrecht. Naturally, I could hardly refuse such an exciting event.
When I got back after 4 days away, poor Matty was at the end of his tether. He said that Rasta had hardly stopped howling for the entire time! He had taken him to work with him, almost force-fed him by hand and even slept with him, but nothing had consoled the dog. I felt awful! Rasta chewed my arm up and down which was his way of saying “Don’t leave me again!”
I had never heard him howl so that came as a big surprise, but the neighbours confirmed that he could be heard up and down the street when he did it. A short while later I went to a party and, as I turned the corner of the street walking home, not long after midnight, I heard it…. a mournful and very loud endless wolf howl coming from my house!
Once again, my arm was chewed from top to bottom while Rasta yelped in disapproval of my absence. From then on I knew that I had to take Rasta with me wherever I went.
And I did.
We were best buddies, sharing work, travel and new friends wherever we went. Rasta was my most loyal friend, who rose to every challenge as if he could read my mind…. he taught me the meaning of commitment and fealty and he taught me what really matters in life.
Animals make us better humans.🐾
What a beautiful little slice of humanity, the very thing we don’t want to lose with all the insanity out there. So much hope in this post. Thanks!