Good Decisions and Otherwise by Little Dog
Chapter Two
The winter that little dog arrived at Holly Cottage was exceptionally cold, and snows fell deep all across the Chilterns, carpeting the fields of farm and flanks of hillside which make up these chalk downs with a thick carpet of white. It was beautiful, and joyful to play outside, or to venture out onto the open land on walks with the new puppy, who was adorable, for sinking into drifts of snow and becoming stuck, or falling over and not being able to get back up. However they could not stay out for long, lest little dog should catch a cold, so too soon for the appetites of Alfie they were obliged to return home, little dog, like the Wright children, shivering, rosy, and dusted white with the fresh falling of snow. Little dog was, and, I am glad to say, just about still is a golden labrador, and the Wright children were red-haired children. They are now adults, young still, and not entirely grown up, but back then, all three together, returning home from the snows outside, they were golden, and shone like little stars.
The winter dragged on. Snowmen rose and snowmen fell, and their coming little dog watched with suspicion, but their going, when he had grown accustomed to their presence in the back garden, was attended with dismay. He checked out of the patio windows from dawn to dusk to see how they fared, as slowly they melted, eventually merging into the darkness of night and finally the puddles. He was bereft to see the last of the snowmen go, but only briefly, for soon after Mrs Wright announced that it was now spring, and the Wright children rejoiced, for the training of little dog could commence. Alfie and Sophie had grand plans for their puppy. They were going to train him to be the best dog ever, and they were ready to begin, for Mr Wright had spent the long winter months explaining to the children what it meant, to be a good dog, and more generally, the nature of goodness, as opposed to otherwise.
Out in the garden he repeated to them the first principles of good behaviour.
‘Goodness, my children, please listen well, is composed of both cause and effect. Cause: one, in order to be good, you should start with good intentions; two, these you must bring to life, through thinking, deciding how it is you will carry out what you wish to achieve; three, then you must put your plan into action. Ideally, you will encounter no opposition, no contradiction, no counter, but if you do, you must deal with these things along the way. Effect: if your intention is good, and so too is your decision on what to do, just as well as how you put your plan into action, then the consequences should also be good. This is the most important area of ethics, where both cause and effect are good: goodness leads to goodness. Here we should spend most of our time.
‘Where to start with little dog? I have been reading the books, as one should, and from them I have distilled this idea, that first he should learn to understand.
‘Ha ha! Yes sounds too complicated, rather vague perhaps, understand what you might say. Little dog must learn to understand what this is. He must understand that out there is a big old world, which he knows nothing about, and that he is a little dog, who had best be careful, and do what he is told, or else he will get into trouble. Therefore, he must follow our lead, go where go and no further, stop where we stop, sit when we sit, and if he is very good, eat what we eat, rather than one of these little doggy treats. What do we say Alfie, if he behaves well then we give him one of your sausages for dinner?
‘No? I didn't think so. Well I will give him one of my own, perhaps, if he makes a good start.
‘Now for lesson one. The first thing we must explain, if we are to succeed in explaining anything else, is who he is, and who we are. That way he will know when we are talking to him, and to listen to us, rather than other people, whose intentions may not be so good. The same applies to you two. Have you not learnt by listening to me? And have you not also learnt not to talk to strangers? Very well.
‘This first lesson I believe our puppy may well have already learnt, but let us not be complacent, and overlook proper standards of education, indeed examination, when it comes to those we love. To test the matter, Sophie, Alfred, please proceed to the other end of the garden, whilst I keep hold of him, and when there I would like you to call out “little dog!”. You must watch his face closely to check for signs of recognition. Does he yet know his name? This is what we must understand. Furthermore, if the calling out of his name is not followed by a specific verb asking that he do something else - stay, sit, what have you - then I suppose we would like him to come to us. The calling out of his name, in the appropriate tone, means please would you join us, in this case moving swiftly across the lawn from where he is to where you are. I think you might help him by gesturing towards yourself, wafting your arms, like so, or by beating the thighs, like so. Then when he has arrived, I would like you to introduce yourselves. For example, when it is my turn I will say to him, “Hello little dog” and then I will point at him and say “little dog”. Then I will say “Pleased to meet you. My name is Brian.” Then I will point at myself and say “Brian Wright”, and back at him, and say “little dog”, and back at me, “Brian Wright”, so on and so forth. If we believe that he has understood us sufficiently, we shall reward him, with one of these treats.
‘Have you got all that?’ he asked to the children. They agreed that they had and so walked across the garden.
‘Sophie you go first. Whenever you are ready.’
Mr Wright put little dog down on the ground, pointing him in the right direction.
Sophie smiled, took a deep breath and then called, at the top of her voice, ‘little dog!’.
She wafted her arms and beat her thighs, repeating once, twice, and then a third time, ‘little dog!’.
Little dog however remained still. Sophie looked across the lawn and inspected his face intently, but all she could see was an expression of amusement, as if he was only watching the spectacle, rather than understanding what it meant.
She thought to try one more time. ‘Little dog’ she said, ‘please will you join me on the other side of the lawn.’
Little dog this time decided he would, and quite calmly padded over the lawn to where Sophie stood. Sophie cheered and cheered.
‘Oh well done’ she said. She picked him up and hugged him. ‘My name is Sophie and your name is little dog, and I will love you for the rest of your life, but please come when I ask you to. Do not dawdle. One day it might be important that you come quickly.’
Indeed little dog understood more than the Wright family knew, even if his experience of the world was not yet great, and his education not extensive. He had here learnt not to be distracted by commotion, and to focus, looking for categorical truths amidst all of the confusion, that is so often conjured up before our senses in the thick tumult of this life.
Both Alfie and Mr Wright then took their turns in introducing themselves to little dog, and they too were similarly satisifed that the name had been understood and accepted. The lesson was afterwards repeated, throughout the day, from varying degrees of separation, to test the strength, or might we say the stretch of the bond between them.
Little dog was then deposited in the remote nooks and crannies of their countryside house, or at some distance down the road, or even far away in one of the fields at the back of the garden. The two children and Mr Wright would hurry away and repeat the lesson turn by turn, calling out ‘little dog!’, loud enough so that he was sure to hear them, then waiting expectantly to see whether he would come, and, as you might have guessed, each and every time he did exactly that. Before long they would hear the pitter patter of his paws, or a door being nudged open, or the soft grumblings of a young labrador approaching, or see through the windows little dog appearing suddenly from behind a bunch of daffodils, or running along the road to the house, eager to rejoin them and prove himself adept at this first lesson.
It was after one of Alfie’s turns that the family thought badly of the decisions they had previously made, found themselves undiscerning, inconsiderate, for although it almost never happened, this time it did. Alfie had positioned little dog along the lane and around the corner, and as normal had called out. However, he watched with horror as a car emerged at the top of the hill that stood some way along their road and sped down towards their house. Alfie was struck with fear, not knowing how to prevent the accident he saw soon to happen. The car would not hear him shout stop, he would not reach the road in time, little dog had nowhere to turn. He might tell his father but what good would it do? He caught sight of little dog as he came out onto the road and then fell down to the floor, for the car was right behind him. Dear God he thought, I will never forgive myself, as he heard the car suddenly screech.
Was little dog dead on the day of his first lesson? He heard the car start again and sprang to his feet, feeling disgust to think that they would just drive on, but was then delighted to see little dog coming down the lane, at his usual pace, and entirely unconcerned by the car behind him, as if he had not even noticed.
When little dog came to find him he picked him up and hugged him, and said ‘I am ever so sorry’ at least ten times, but that was not the end of it, for soon after the door bell was ringing, and Mr Wright had to apologise to the driver, and Alfie then to his father.
Later Mr Wright admitted it was at least partially his fault, his responsibility certainly, and although he could explain why he had not taken care to prevent such a mishap - the infrequency of the occurrence, that cars so seldom came past - the risk was obvious, and it was reprehensible of him to have overlooked it.
‘For all of my wisdom I make the stupidest of mistakes. The cause was good, but the effect was ultimately bad. I shall return to my schema for ethics and assess myself. My intentions were sound. I wanted to educate our dog, for his sake, because I believe in knowledge and capability as mainstays of happiness and virtue, and for that of others, for who knows how much good he might do when is fully trained. My decision on what to do was correct I suppose, more or less. I read the books, understood the subject matter and developed engaging lessons accordingly. It was neither here that my error lay. However, when it came to the implementation I got carried away, grew careless, and forgot about one of the basics of life. Good intention, multiplied by good decision, multiplied by poor implementation equals what? Perhaps disaster. Oh possibility. But thank God we are alright. Now I must make amends for my mistake. The next lesson for little dog must be of the others out there, cars, strangers, other dogs, towns and cities. We must take the dog to Oxford so that he has some idea of life. Best start now, or he won't know it until it hits him in the face.’
This was agreed by the family, and that evening little dog was gifted one of Mr Wright's sausages, to say well done, for good effort during his first lesson, and for his composed demeanour - staying cool - despite the near collision with a car.