The Dog Who Saved the World

‘Shhh! No idea. It’s old Bible stuff. The vicar likes it. It’s kinda fun, and he …’

‘Wait. He’s a vicar?’

‘Used to be. He doesn’t wear the gear. Grab that bucket there. This was his church. Then I guess no one came any more so they turned it into St Woof’s and allowed him to stay on.’

Most of the old wooden church seats have gone. Instead, in the centre of the church is an indoor exercise pen covered in sawdust. Around the sides are all of the kennels. It’s pretty awesome.

My station,the vicar had said. I love that. It’s like the four dogs in the adjacent pens on the first level actually belong to me. My name goes on the board like this:

Station 4

Saturday volunteer: Georgina Santos

and I feel a little surge of pride even though it’s just handwritten on a whiteboard.

The dogs on Station 4 are some of the longest residents at St Woof’s, who have a promise that they will never, ever ‘put a dog to sleep’.

That’s what some other dog shelters do. If they can’t rehome a dog, or find its original owner, then after a few months the vet comes and …

Do you know what? Even thinking about it upsets me. That’s why I love St Woof’s. They will try to rehome dogs but, if they can’t, well … they become long-term residents.

With Ramzy following me, I gave him a tour and I just couldn’t help sounding a little important as I pointed out the cages, and the care sheets hanging outside each one. It’s quite old-fashioned: things are written down by hand on the sheets, like fresh-water top-up (tick, with a pencil on a string); daily brushing (tick); stool check (tick) … and so on.

And as for the dogs themselves …

1. Ben. Jack Russell crossed with something else, possibly spaniel. Black, white and brown. Age – about six. Quite snarly with new people, which is why he hasn’t found a home yet.

Ben bared his teeth at Ramzy, who backed off.

‘It’s OK,’ I reassured him. ‘His bark really is worse than his bite.’

‘He bites as well?’

‘No! Not usually. He gave me a little nip once, but I think he was playing.’

Ramzy didn’t seem reassured, and kept his distance while I topped up Ben’s water, picked up a poo with a poo-picker and put it in the bucket that Ramzy was holding at arm’s length.

2. Sally-Ann. Sally-Ann’s a ‘paying guest’ because her owner, Mrs Abercrombie, is very old and is often in a care home. She’s brown and white, very hairy and always has a haughty look on her flat face. (The dog, that is, not Mrs Abercrombie, although come to think of it they are quite alike.) Sally-Ann is a pure-bred Lhasa apso.

3. Dudley. A brown Staffie/bulldog cross who looks terrifying because half of one ear is missing, plus some teeth, one eye and a patch of hair on his side. We think he was in a fight and he’s now very timid.

He shrank away from Ramzy, trembling. He’s OK with me, though, and I felt a little smug when he let me pat him.

And finally my favourite:

4. Mr Mash. You’ve already met him, but that day he was especially friendly, wagging his tail and rolling on to his back for a tummy rub. I think Ramzy fell for him too.

The other people at St Woof’s are also nice. They’re all older than me, but they don’t treat me like a kid. Well, apart from Saskia Hennessey who is older than me – by a whole eight months – and treats me like I’m about five, even though she only walks the dogs and certainly doesn’t have her own station.

I happen to know (from Ellie McDonald at school) that Sass’s mum pays her to be a volunteer dog-walker, which if you ask me is totally weird. It’s not volunteering if you get paid for it. On top of that, I don’t even think Sass likes dogs all that much.

That day she was standing by the poop chute in the old vestry when Ramzy and I came in with the bucket and I felt my good mood deflate just a little.

The poop chute is a wide, square tunnel that leads to a big pit outside, where all the dog poo goes. You lift off the lid of the hatch and tip the poo down it, and then add a cupful of activator, which breaks down the poo into compost, which the vicar then spreads on his allotment. (I’ve only just found this out. We’ve been eating his home-grown stuff for years. Eww.)

You can imagine: twenty-five dogs produce a lot of poo, and doing the poop chute is the only bit of St Woof’s that I don’t really like, although, because of Ramzy, I was trying not to show it.

Sass is a big girl, who’s in our year at school, but looks about fifteen. She’s already got boobs and hips, plus a double chin and a round belly to go with them. She’s really strong and can lift up the twins, Roddy and Robyn Lee, one under each arm.

My stomach fluttered when I saw her because, although she’s not exactly a bully (Marine Drive Primary has a zero-tolerance approach to bullying), she still manages to be scary.

‘Wow – look who it isn’t!’ she said, fixing her small eyes on Ramzy.‘You two make ahappy couple walking up the aisle together!’

I gave her a tight smile, pretending to find her comment funny, but didn’t say anything, which I find is usually the best approach. Sass crossed her arms and tilted her chin towards Ramzy. ‘Is that your school shirt you’re wearing? At the weekend? You are allowed to change, you know.’

I hadn’t noticed till then, but Ramzy was indeed wearing his blue school polo shirt under his too-big jacket. Ramzy shrugged and murmured, ‘It’s clean. And I like it.’

She’s quite intimidating and, as I lifted the lid of the poop chute, Sass took a step forward and said, ‘Careful you don’t fall in.’

It made me flinch, as though she was going to push me. I kept quiet as I tipped the contents of the bucket down the hatch. Ramzy, though, never keeps quiet.

‘At least she’d fit,’ he murmured. Ramzy, I thought. That’s not necessary.

‘What was that? Are you making fun of—’ She was cut off mid-sentence by the vicar, who came in, rubbing his hands.

‘Ah! Good work, good work! The hands that removeth the dog poo are blessedin the eyes of the Lord.’

‘Is that the Bible?’ asked Ramzy.

‘No, no – that’s just one of mine,’ said the vicar.

As Ramzy and I left, Sass scowled at us.

That’s the thing with her. You know that expression, ‘If you can’t say anything nice, say nothing’? Well, Sass seems to have got it the wrong way round: ‘If you can’t say anything mean, say nothing.’

It was a mean comment by Sass Hennessey that, six months later, nearly caused the end of the world. And if you think I’m exaggerating then let me explain.

You see, up until recently, all of the dogs in St Woof’s were healthy. And now … well, now they’re not.

And it is all down to me.

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It has become a big thing in the last year or two: Disease Transmission Risk. At school it’s DTR this, DTR that, and the only good thing about it is that you only need to cough in class to get sent home.

Last year, every classroom at Marine Drive Primary had a hand sanitiser installed by the door. I think it was a new law.

So one of my jobs when I’m at St Woof’s is the maintenance of the sani-mats and hand-sans in the quarantine area. The sani-mats are wet, spongy mats that clean the bottom of your shoes when you go in and out of the quarantine area, which is where dogs go when they’re sick.