H & C in all rooms

Walking into the ward to see him there, wired and tubed, was as dreadful as I thought it might be. But, to be honest, he didn't look too bad, considering, and seemed in good spirits. And delighted to see me. I received door keys and instructions, and was waved off in very short order. It's typical of Paul that he was more concerned for the dogs than for himself.

Paul is a pal from way back. We worked together for a short time but, you know how it is, we've kept in touch over the years. Since his wife walked off to seek greener pastures he's lived alone and, although he's independent enough he cherishes his friends. And he's a good friend, undemanding, willing, quiet. Just "there" as people say. So, when he asked for help there was no hesitance in my "Yes, of course."

What kind of help? Well, Paul is as crazy for his dogs as I am for my cats. He'd not been too well for a few weeks and had just been rushed into hospital - when isn't it a rush? Suspected angina.

"Mrs B next door is keeping an eye on H&C for today," he'd said when he phoned me, "and my sister will be there in a couple of days, but if I can't get someone in to look after them the RSPCA will take over and then goodness knows what'll happen. Do you think you could......"

As I pulled the car off the road onto the driveway I could see two little white faces peering out at me through the window by the door. H&C were waiting. The neighbour - Mrs B - hopped out of her door to check me out and hand over responsibility for the dogs.

I put the key in the lock, yelled out "It's only me, guys", just as Paul always does, and let myself in. Luckily, for I'm not very good with dogs, they recognized me, stopped growling and barking, and came up to sniff me anxiously. I sat down there and then in the hallway, hugged the pair of them and explained what was happening and where their Dad was, and why I was there. I've always believed that you should talk to close pets as if they were human, and I've seldom been disappointed. Nor was I this time.

They were not happy, but they seemed to trust me, and we walked into the kitchen together. They went to the door, sat down and looked eagerly at me. "OK, guys, let's get some fresh air." I opened the door into the closed yard and off they went, needing, with some urgency, to answer nature calls.

It was a relief not only for them but for me, for the house didn't smell too good, and there were two little piles in one corner of the kitchen that needed immediate attention. The dogs had been locked in since that morning - some six hours - and were obviously disturbed by the change in routine.

So, why H&C? Well, there's no call for mystery. When Paul got his two West Highland White Terriers there was a problem with names. So much so that we held a naming party. I came up with a list, he came up with a list, and nothing suited. As we deliberated, the little tykes were everywhere - darting in and out, all over the house as only new puppies can do. "They're everywhere. In every room", Paul said. "Like Hot and Cold", I laughed. We looked at one another. "You can't", I said. But he could. And H&C (in all rooms) they became. H stands for Haggis, and C for Cormack. Mystery over? OK, let's press on.

I set the coffee to making and grabbed cleaning materials to make good the damage. H&C sat in the open doorway watching, and then waiting politely for the floor to dry. I sat in the living room to enjoy a well-earned mug. Looking about me, there was some non-urgent cleaning to do here, too - obviously Paul hadn't felt well enough to do much for some time.

Then, clatter-pitter - in came H&C, each with his bowl in his mouth, dropped them, thump, thump, at my feet and looked at me with deep Scots meaning in their beady eyes. Supper time.

When we'd eaten we repaired to the living room and flopped on the sofa to watch TV and make phone calls. Home, to let the family know I was safe. Hospital, to let Paul know all was well. I held the phone to the dogs' ears, one at a time, so that Paul could say his goodnight.

"Don't worry about me", he said, when I'd recovered the phone and wiped it dry again. "It's a pretty straightforward case and I'm already out of the ICU. Couple of days of tests to get the medication balanced and I'll be out of here."

I think H&C could sense my relief and, the phone restored, they each grabbed chew toys and grumbled quietly over them as the TV murmured away.

In no time at all their eyelids were drooping, and so were mine. "Early night for us, guys."

I snuggled down in the unfamiliar surroundings, listening to different noises, shifting to avoid different mattress bumps.

Clatter-pitter, tippety-toe. Thump. Thump. Two more bumps appeared, one either side. Well-behaved bumps, but strictly illegal. Oh, well, special circumstances.

"Shampoo time for you two tomorrow," I said. "Humpff," said H. "Hoompf," said C.

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