Not Again, He’s Licking Everything! Max, Get Him Away! Anna Glared at Teddy, the Clueless German S…

Hes licking himself again! Richard, will you get him off!
Jane shot a frustrated glare at Bertie, who was bounding about her feet, tail wagging and tongue out, all legs and ears. How on earth did they end up with such a loveable idiot? Theyd spent so long mulling over breeds, speaking to trainers, weighing up responsibilities. In the end, they settled on a German Shepherdhoping for a loyal friend, a reliable guard, and a protector, all in one neatwell, not so neatpackage. Like an all-purpose gadget from the telly. Only this protector needed saving from cats himself.

Hes only a puppy, give him time, youll see, said Richard.
Oh, I cant wait for this beast to be fully grown. Have you noticed he eats more than both of us? How are we going to keep him in kibble? And honestly, do stop stomping about, you oaf, youll wake Emily!

Jane grumbled as she gathered the shoes Bertie had knocked astray. They lived on the ground floor of an old red-brick building along Baker Street, the windows nearly level with the pavement outside. It was a lovely spot, with one problem. The windows looked out over a shadowy, tucked-away corner of the communal garden where, come evening, youd catch glimpses of figures flitting past, groups of men gathered for a smoke, sometimes a row.

Jane spent most days at home alone with newborn Emily. Richard left early for work at the National Gallery, and in his spare hours he haunted car boot sales and used-book stalls. His keen art historians eyethe Bionic Eye, as Jane liked to call itcould spot hidden gems amid the clutter; rare books, forgotten paintings, or handsome chinaware. Slowly, their flat filled with a decent little collection: pictures, 1960s dishes of shining Royal Worcester, a few Art Deco figurines, and a bit of Edwardian silver. Jane sometimes felt uneasy, alone at home with a baby and all these treasures. Burglaries werent uncommon in the building.

Jane, when do you thinks best to walk Bertie? Now or after lunch?
Dont care. Walks arent really my territory, are they?

The moment Bertie heard the magic word “walk,” he went tearing down the hallway, skidding on the boards, snatching up his lead and bouncing like hed grown springs. Hes more like a horse than a dog. He loves everyone, always ready for a cuddle, brings his tennis ball to everyone he meetsexcept when theres a guest at the door. Such a wide-open soul, but theyd brought him home for protection! He doesnt even bother with the cats outdoors. Instead, he tries to make friends with them, bounding up eager to play. Hes already taken more than one swipe across the snout for his efforts. The local cats have more street smarts than this so-called guardian.

Tomorrow again, shed be on her own all day. Richard was heading off to Henley for the annual Arts Festival, and she was stuck minding the porcelain or walking this floppy-eared fool. As if she didnt already have enough to worry about.

At the crack of dawn, Richard tried to slip out quietly, but Jane was awake, catching every sound: the gentle hiss of the kettle, the metallic scrape of Berties lead, Richards whispered scolding as the dog whined and fidgeted. The household settled, and Jane dozed off, awoken only when Emily started to stir. The day began as usual, the ordinary peace of a familiar life wrapped around her. Wasnt this happiness, really? Her friends would sigh and cluck, Jane, you married so young, youre stretched thin between housework and the baby, you never get out. But wasnt there something lovely about it, the steady delight of domestic life? So what if the flat was cramped, or they worried about money, or she wished Richard were home more often? And yes, his collecting burned through the budget, and now hed dragged home this big-eared friendbut she knew: when you love people, you love all of them, flaws and all. No one ever promised perfection. Realising that, Jane settled her heart and promised herself to find joy in what she had, not mourn what was missing.

She sat in the nursery, feeding Emily, who drifted off at the breast, so Jane waited patiently, knowing shed stir and start again. The doorbell rang, but Jane left it. She wasnt expecting anyone, and no one she knew would travel across London without phoning ahead. These quiet morning hours were so precious. The house was perfectly still except for the ticking of the old clock in the hall, and the city murmured through the window: the gentle grumble of buses, the hiss and pop of distant traffic, the whisper of a broom on the curb, childrens laughter in nearby gardens…

Waitwhere was Bertie? Hed been suspiciously absent for a while. Of course, floppy-eared was unfairthe dogs ears stood to attentionbut temperamental, he was a proper dunce. Now here she was: feeding, walking, cleaning, and still no use at all for protection. Shouldve got a lapdog.

She gazed at Emily, who, suitably stuffed, toppled away from her. A perfect, golden-child. My little duckling, she whispered, tucking the baby in gently. Grow up big and strong… what more could we want?

A noise. Strange, sharpa crack, maybe a squeak. Jane listened. It came again; her heart tipped over. She slipped her slippers off and crept down the hallway towards the lounge. Berties back, visible behind the curtain separating the hall from the front room, caught her eyehe seemed to be hiding. He crouched down, all four legs wound tight as springs, tongue poking out, staring hard into the room. Jane followed his gaze, and her heart froze.

There, wedged halfway through the window, was a man. Not just any man: a shaved head, muscled arms and shoulders squeezed in, his face set with grim determination as he tried to wriggle his wiry frame after them. This couldnt be happening. Ice ran through her. Should she shout? The man was almost inside now. One more push, and

A boom of sound, and a blur of darkness shot across the room. Jane realised only belatedly it was Bertie. The dog sprang at the man and latched onto his collar in one great leap. The man bawled, eyes wide as saucers. Jane darted to the hallway, shouting for the neighbours, panic barely held in check. People dashed in, someone called the police. There wasnt much actual help to give, but the mere presence of others was enoughshe wasnt alone.

Jane edged back closer to the burglar, worry niggling at her: what if Bertie really hurt him? That was the last thing she needed. But Bertie, clever boy, had the man gripped by the collar only, holding tight but careful, leaving not a drop of blood. If the man so much as wriggled for freedom, Bertie clamped down; should he go limp, Bertie loosened up, watching for police. Where did he learn that? This bumbling ball-chasing fool had suddenly transformed into a true guard dog. At the critical moment, hed kept silent, watched and waited, let the intruder get stuck just so, and pounced to hold, not harm.

Even the police, when they arrived, marvelled at Berties performance. The officer in charge patted him, saying, Youre lucky, thats a proper dog youve got there. Wish we had one just like him for the force

Richard returned late that night and opened the door to see a remarkable sight. Bertie was sprawled across the sofaa strictly forbidden thronefour legs in the air, as Jane rubbed his belly, murmuring, You darling boy, my sweet little foal, you grow big and strong now! Sorry I ever doubted you

I first heard this story from the art historian himself at a Henley festival. But Bertie could have told it better, you knowhow he stalked, how he captured, how he handed his man over to the police. That was years ago now, but Ill never forget it, and sometimes I think I can feel Bertie nudging me, asking to have his tale told at last. So Ive shared it with you.