Fagus, Bill's last dog - and a life saver

Fagus was Bill's last trusty companion, who helped capture criminals and was about to save a life.

Fagus, named after the trees.

Extract from podcast readings from Route and Branch by Bill Clark, former Warden at Wandlebury. Full podcast available here: https://archive.org/download/fagus-our-last-dog/Ch11c-Fagus-our-last-dog.mp3

That weekend I located a dog – eleven months old and last of the litter – a bit boisterous, but we fell for him immediately, paid the £100 asked and, large though he was, he travelled home cuddled up on Wendy’s lap. We named him Fagus – the Latin name for the beech tree family. He proved more difficult than Bruce to train, and probably due to two loose dogs attacking him on one of his first walks, I was never able to stop him from trying to get in the first nip; so we always needed to be watchful.

Some of his stroppy manner may also have been sparked off by a police dog during his second week with us! Steve phoned to say he had just seen someone climb over the wall round East House garden. As I ran to the scene with Fagus, a car without lights raced towards me. I flashed my torch – stepping smartly to one side as it swept past – but getting the registration as it roared off. Two figures then loomed out of the darkness. Switching on my torch, revealed Steve seemingly about to grasp a man’s arm and the glint of a long knife in the man’s other hand. I shouted, ‘Jump away Steve, he’s got a knife!’ At the same time, pulling Fagus into my light beam. I had left Wendy dialing the usual number, so all we needed to do was slow him down – he was now in whining mode. A police car at last turned in and the man’s demeanour instantly changed, ranting and raging until he was handcuffed, when he quietened down again. I had seen his knife fly into shrubs as the police arrived, and this was soon retrieved. Luckily a second car with two more policemen arrived just as the car that had sped out returned, and a huge bruiser of a man leapt out, and dashed among us.

All hell now broke loose, as, shouting and bawling every obscenity, he demanded that his partner be set free. Fagus alternately acted nervously and excitedly, his excitement notching up a gear, when a large, snarling Alsatian leapt out of the next police vehicle to skid to a halt. I moved away, but Fagus still had a very exciting time before the drink and drug crazed men were loaded aboard a police van. Even then, we could hear banging and shouting until the van was some distance off. Fagus went on to save my hide on a number of occasions, and was especially on guard when staying in the house. If I happened to be out, woe betide any family friend that visited. Fagus would tell Wendy – in the strongest terms – that no one must be allowed in when the ‘Master’ is away.

He got quite adept at leading me to anything that he thought needed my attention, and would look at me in disgust when we were elsewhere, and I declined to pick up any litter he had noticed! His most memorable accomplishment was on a very frosty night, when he refused to go past a large blackberry bush. I pulled at him and told him not to be stupid. ‘Probably a fox, or a mixey rabbit,’ I muttered, and tugged more forcefully. Again he refused, trying to go under the bush: so I got down on my knees, shone my torch, and there in the light was a small boy, curled beneath a plastic mac, and shivering violently. I radioed Wendy to have a hot drink ready, and after putting the lad at ease, took hold of his freezing hand to help him out. His only clothing being a light tee-shirt and short trousers, I wrapped my own heavy tweed jacket around him and hurried home. Fagus had a good life until arthritis caught up with him, though due to the expertise of Larry, he still enjoyed further pain-free years – but soon after my retirement he deteriorated, and Larry volunteered to take care of him so he would not have to leave his home patch. I learnt afterwards that it was Larry’s last veterinarian ‘act’.