remained jumpy and edgy, and it was hard work to get him to sleep. Jacques, who has a soft spot for Staffies, spent a lot of time with him and seemed to have a natural touch; he soothed Clunky and eventually got him settled down on his bed.
That night Mum and Dad took Tosca and Paddy upstairs with them, and I decided to sleep downstairs with Clunky. I didn’t want to leave him alone all night – he didn’t know what to do with himself and might well bark, cry, chew the furniture or hurl himself around. Jacques offered to do it, but I said no, he was still tired from travelling and he needed to sleep. I made up a bed for myself on the living room floor and took Clunky in there with me, putting his bed next to mine.
Despite my ministrations it took him a few hours to settle down, during which he paced restlessly, jumping on me every time I was in danger of falling asleep. Eventually, however, he fell asleep next to me and we all had a few hours of peace.
Mum’s friend rang back after breakfast. A foster home had been found for Clunky in Cornwall, and to get him there would involve a relay of drivers. Mum was asked to do the first leg of the journey and take him to the M25, where the next driver would meet her. He would be at his new foster home in time for Christmas Day. From there he would have treatment for his eyes, and some training, before being advertised for adoption into a permanent home. ‘Happy Christmas, Clunky,’ I said, giving him a last cuddle. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be all right, there’s a good home waiting for you.’
I waved goodbye as his milky eyes peered out of the back of Mum’s car, and I felt sad to see him go. We’d bonded during our night on the living room floor and although I was tired, I felt incredibly happy that he was going to have a fresh chance at life. It would be desperately sad to put a young dog like that to sleep, just because no one wanted him. Clunky deserved a loving family and a warm, safe home.
On Christmas Day we had a full house, with both sets of grandparents and plenty of other family and friends. After endless opening of presents and an enormous lunch, rounded off with one of Grandma Hardy’s Substantials – a mammoth trifle that would probably feed us all for a month – we set out for a walk. After that, Jacques and I went to the yard to visit the horses and feed them, before collapsing back at home in a warm, over-fed, happy daze.
Whenever Jacques comes to visit, Grandma and Grandpa Hardy like to recall the story of when they were in South Africa and they saw a lion kill a warthog. They always start with, ‘When I was in South Africa … have you heard this story?’ When we murmur, ‘Yes, actually we have,’ they carry on with, ‘Well, let me tell it to you again …’ and off they go. Their trip to South Africa a few years earlier was a present from Dad, my uncle and my twin aunts, and it was such a highlight for them that no one really minds hearing the stories again, even if it is for the umpteenth time.
Jacques and I decided to go up to London after Christmas to visit the Natural History Museum for the Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition, and then go on to see The Lion King, a musical that’s close to both our hearts.
Jacques is a very accomplished wildlife photographer himself, and he loved walking around the exhibition, viewing incredible photos, many by photographers he knew. I told him he should enter some of his own photographs the following year. I was sure his work was good enough.
We managed to get standing tickets for The Lion King, after running around Leicester Square ticket offices and the theatre’s booking office. I loved it, although Jacques insisted on pointing out the flaws in the animal combinations and the costumes.
That night, after a really happy day together, we got on the train home and I took it as an opportunity to bring up a deeper conversation.
‘Soooooo, today has been nice, hasn’t it? Are you enjoying your stay in England?’ I said.
‘Of course, I’m with you. I always enjoy my time with you,’ Jacques replied.
‘Thank you, I love being with you, too, but what do you think of England? If you take me out of the equation …’
‘Why?’ he asked. ‘It wouldn’t be in the equation without you.’
‘Yes, but what I’m trying to get at is, do you like it enough to stay here in the long term. Or do you see us in South Africa?’
‘Either, love,’ he replied. ‘But why do you need to talk about that now? That kind of decision is still ages away, and we should cross that bridge when we come to it.’
‘Yes, but surely we should at least explore and discuss our options. You could come here and do environmental work, or I could be a vet there. Maybe Thys wants to take on another vet soon so he can slow down and retire?’
‘Jo, stop now,’ he asserted. ‘We will talk about it, but not now. We don’t know what our circumstances are going to be in a few years’ time, so just drop it, please.’
He sounded frustrated and I knew the conversation wasn’t going to go anywhere. I slunk down in my seat, staring silently out of the window. Jacques liked to tell me I was a champion at sulking, which I adamantly denied, although in my more relaxed moments I could see where he was coming from.
When we had a mini-stand-off like that, he would always come forward first to break the silence and coax me out of my grumpy mood. We both wanted to make up, and we did, but I was aware that we never resolved or even fully discussed how we would bring our two different worlds together.
What mattered, I told myself, was that we both wanted to be together. Everything would follow from that, but it wasn’t going to be easy. One of us would need to move countries, leaving family, friends and work behind. It was huge even to contemplate. And Jacques’ reluctance to discuss it did worry me at times. Was that because he knew how hard it would be for either – or both – of us? Or simply because he liked to deal with the here and now, while I worried a lot more about the future?
Whatever happened, and wherever we ended up, I knew how lucky I was in Jacques. He had goodness ingrained in him, he was a fantastic companion, and he loved me.
On New Year’s Eve Jacques and Dad played with Dad’s new wood chipper while I went to ride both the horses. We went out to supper with friends that evening, and then some of my friends came over and we played a card game called Jungle Speed. The idea is that you deal out the cards and then go round the circle one at a time, turning over your top card and placing it on your pile. If yours matches someone else’s card, you grab the totem – a small wooden pole about five inches long, which is placed in the middle.
There are very few rules when it comes to grabbing the totem; you can fight, twist and pull to get it away from your opponent and claim the point. It’s a bit like an edgy version of Snap, and whenever we played we came away with a few scratches.
Playing with Jacques changed things a bit, though. He was twice as big and twice as strong as anyone else there and more often than not, if he turned over a matching card, his potential opponent would just let him have the totem. So even though he’d never played before, amazingly, he won!
As midnight arrived we sang ‘Auld Lang Syne’, or hummed it, as most of us didn’t know the words. And as the New Year dawned my first thought was, ‘This is make or break year for me. Am I really going to make it as a vet? And if I do, what kind of vet work do I want to do, and where?’
I really liked the idea of doing some charity work, so soon after the New Year I contacted a local charity, World in Need, to see if they needed a vet. I knew the director of the charity, and he said they could definitely find a use for me; I could be really valuable to them in East Africa, helping to teach families
