My Dog Tulip by J.R. Ackerley Page A

conjunction between them. I smeared Tulip lavishly with vaseline and tried to hold her still while Mr. Plum strove to guide Chum, whom fatigue had made erratic, to a more accurate aim. But it was all of no use. Tulip either squirmed her posterior aside or sat down upon it, and at length began to appeal to me with such obvious distress, uttering quavering, beseeching cries and rising up to lick my face, that I realized that our efforts to please had turned into cruelty and said we must stop. Mr. Plum, sweet fellow, at once agreed. But we were both of us disappointed and perplexed. What was Tulip trying to tell us? Had I lost her ready time? Had I brought her to Max too early and to Chum too late? Was neither dog personally acceptable to her? Or did she simply not know what to do? Or was her devotion to myself all the love she needed? Or could it be, as Mr. Plum suggested, that the
mise-en-scène
was unpropitious and that she might relax more if the action were transferred to my own flat? This was a characteristically sensitive thought, and when he then offered to bring Chum to call upon Tulip next day I accepted with gratitude.
    The most conspicuous result of Mr. Plum’s visit was that my flat was rapidly transformed into a condition which, had it been her place, would have caused Mrs. Plum instantly to swoon away. A thaw had set in, and although I foresaw the consequences of this and did what I could to protect my carpets from the forthcoming invasion by laying sheets of newspapers over them, I need not have troubled myself. Tulip greeted Chum with infantile pleasure and at once instituted nursery games, romping with him on my large, now messy, terrace, and then chasing him, or being chased by him, in and out of the flat, scattering the newspapers like leaves in the wind. He still found her attractive, but of sexual interest on her side there was no sign.
    Later on we took them out for a walk together on Putney Common. It was a fine day and an agreeable expedition, though more agreeable to me than to Mr. Plum, for the contrast in behavior of our two animals was now too plainly seen. Chum soon got bored with Tulip’s scoldings and flew constantly off in pursuit of other dogs, paying no attention at all to Mr. Plum’s commands, while Tulip kept a vigilant eye upon me and deferred to my opinion about everything she did. Poor Mr. Plum observed her with envy.
    â€œI thought Chum was going to be like that,” said he, “but—well, I don’t like to blame him, I’ve a feeling I let him down. I’m fond of walking, and we’ve had some jolly good hikes together, but of course when you’re married you’ve got other people to consider. This Sunday walk’s his weekly treat now, not that I wouldn’t take him out more often, especially of a summer’s evening, but you can’t always please yourself when you’re married, and it’s natural, after all, that the wife should want one’s company too. Chummy! Chummy!” But Chummy had vanished. “There you are, you see …”
    When we had retrieved him, I said:
    â€œIt’s a pity you can’t have him with you in the flat. After all, dogs do like company and to busy themselves about their masters.”
    Mr. Plum sighed:
    â€œYes, I’m afraid he mopes. And of course I’d love to have him in with me like I did in my bachelor days, but, well you know what women are, house-proud and so on, and I can quite see the place would get a bit mucky, not that I should mind that …”
    But I had left off listening to Mr. Plum’s sorrowful reflections. Cutting across our path was a curious figure who instantly caught my attention. This was a rough, thick-set man with the cauliflower ears and battered face of a pugilist. He was wearing a roll-necked sweater and a tiny cap. What riveted my interest upon him, however, was the fact that he was being hauled along by two powerful young Alsatian dogs on