“Lean! Lean!”

It could only be Jose Manuel, our fantastic builder friend. Because Minnow is so naughty and tries to nip his ankles, he won’t come through the gate. He stands outside and calls me and then we have a conversation over the top of her frantic yapping.

I made my way to the gate and asked ‘¿Que pasa?’

We are getting to understand each other pretty well these days, so I am confident I understood his reply. I must tell you that Jose Manuel is a truly lovely man but that he is also truly Spanish, before I relay what he said.

‘That work I am doing for your friends up the valley. I have just been there. There is a puppy hiding underneath their shed. If it gets stuck under there it will starve and die. Then it will smell terrible.’

An early picture of the puppy who lived under the shed

I managed not to smile at his touching concern for local air quality. He was simply telling it like it was. I once asked him how I would know if some chicken medicine was working: It will get better, or it will be dead.

I promised to go and take a look and see what, if anything, we could do. Our friends do not live here full time and once the workmen had finished, the gates would be locked and the puppy trapped inside.

When I arrived at the gate, I caught sight of a puppy trotting about inside. As soon as it saw me, it legged it at impressive speed. By the time I had the gate open, it had made it to the back of the house. It was looking apprehensive when I rounded the corner and disappeared under the back of the shed in an astonishing display of agility.

There followed weeks of traipsing back and forth with food to try to lure the puppy out from its hiding place. We tried opening the back gate, in the hope that it would make a dash for freedom,  but it stayed stubbornly ensconced, painfully thin and determinedly terrified of us.

Over time, we developed a routine where I would put food down near the shed and retire to a safe distance. After a few minutes, a whiffly nose would peep out from behind the shed and then disappear again. Just before I passed out from holding my breath, the puppy would slowly creep out, eye me suspiciously and then hoover up the food in a few seconds. Its tail was permanently tucked up under it, its spine showed painfully through its short coat and its ribs were far too visible. (Unlike its undercarriage, which was hidden by its tail, so we didn’t know if it was a little boy or a little girl) It would tremble the whole time it was eating. As soon as the bowl was empty, it would leg it back to its hidey hole and refuse to come out again.

It would creep out, snaffle the food and creep back into hiding

We discussed the situation with the lady who keeps the garden tidy. She knew someone with a dog trap. It is a sort of cage with a flap on the floor that makes the portcullis-style end drop when triggered by the animal standing on it. We decided that we would try to trap the puppy and get it to one of the numerous puppy rescue charities in the area.

Our hopes were quite high when we returned the morning after we set the trap. There was no puppy inside it. There was, however, an absolutely furious cat. It had snaffled the food, pooped in an epic and far-flung fashion all over the trap and was ready for murder. We released it cautiously, hosed down the trap, put down more food for the puppy and retreated.

The weeks passed and the puppy grew. I took pictures and video and posted them to rescue charities. They were very non-committal, as is their wont. We could not tell what age, sex or breed the puppy was, but it was a pretty creature and clearly could not stay under the shed indefinitely. One day it was going to get wedged in there, starve and fulfill Jose Manuel’s prophesy.

The poor thing cowered in a corner

Eventually, after four months, the garden lady said someone had come forward to foster the little one if we could catch it. We hatched a plan to lure it from under the shed with food and then block its escape route. A huge stone over the hole would do it, and then we would just have to chase it around the garden. What could possibly go wrong?

It was not quite as straightforward as we hoped, but we did lure it out by putting its food as far away as we dared. Geoff hid outside the back gate and as soon as the puppy was eating, he nipped in and blocked the hole. Then things got interesting.

The puppy bolted into the gap behind the shed, only to find its ‘burrow’ unavailable. The shed sits in the corner, so with one of us at either end, we managed to block off the puppy’s escape. The poor thing went mad with fright, barking and growling and refusing to move. When Geoff tried to shoo it toward me, it bit his trainer and wet itself mightily. I eventually hooked a loop over its neck and tried to gently pull it out. It flailed and bucked around in the confined space, working the loop tighter and tighter around its neck. I decided we would have to get this over with, as it would never trust us again, so I pulled it out by brute force and dragged it into the light.

The poor thing was foaming at the mouth and gagging, so I swiftly clipped a collar around its neck and loosened the noose, making soothing noises and acting as unthreatening as I could possibly act. Geoff made low, manly, reassuring noises. The puppy collapsed onto its stomach in total defeat and resignation and refused to budge. I took the opportunity to investigate, and found to my slight surprise that it was a boy.

He was determined to play possum, so I picked him up rather gingerly – I was not totally sure he would not try to bite me. He just continued to play dead. Even though he was so skinny, he was cumbersome and surprisingly heavy. He did not resist being loaded into the car, but burrowed as far under the seats as he could, as far from the open door as possible.

I had to carry him from the car down to the dog pound as well. Once inside, he sniffed his way at some speed along one side and across the back to the furthest possible corner and cowered there. I unclipped the lead, made a few last soothing noises and left him there.

The following morning, he was still quivering in the corner. It did not look as if he had ventured out to find the big water bowl. I put down the food I had for him and he wolfed it down while I stood back and talked to him. I decided to fetch him some water.

As I trudged back between the orange trees, I heard an odd thudding sound. When I turned to see what it was, there was the puppy thumping along behind me.

The next hour had us both shocked to the core. The terrified creature of the last few months turned into a devoted shadow, following my every move, allowing Geoff to cuddle and tickle him and taking introductions to our three dogs in his stride.

Allowing Geoff to pet him

‘Well, he should have no trouble socialising,’ we commented, ‘the foster home won’t have as much of a job as we feared.’

We were right in a way: the foster home dematerialised. Suddenly messages were not answered and nobody could track down the people we had been led to believe were eagerly waiting for the new arrival. Ho hum!

One of the local charities said they could not take him, but they would advertise him and help with getting him vaccinated and microchipped, ready for adoption. We were grateful for that and sent them as many photographs and videos as we could get, showing what a desirable pup he was.

We had a slight sinking feeling, but at least we were not having to  drive up the valley every day to feed him. Someone was sure to come forward, weren’t they?

Very thin but safe and waiting for a new home