It goes without saying that Herbert Hound’s arrival just a few weeks after our daughter left home to go to university was a total coincidence. Empty-nest syndrome? No thank you. He chose us every bit as much as we chose him. When we first came to visit him at his mother’s home in Essex – not Barking; Herbie gets fed up with that gag – he pushed his siblings out of the way, rolled on to his back and demanded to have his tummy rubbed. We were more than happy to oblige and have been doing so daily for almost the last 13 years. It was love at first sight.
Herbie has always been very much his own dog. With him, rule-making is a collaborative process. He doesn’t like to be taken for granted. Initially, we bought into the tough love programme. That lasted about two nights as we tried to get him to sleep downstairs in a crate. Neither he nor we got a wink of sleep as he howled for hours on end, only stopping when we came downstairs to comfort him. On the third day, we gave in and gave him his own cushion in our bedroom. He has been blissfully happy ever since.
You could say Herbie was a trailblazer. Back in 2011 he was just about the only cockapoo on Tooting Bec Common in south London. Now you can’t move for them. But he’s happy to muck in with any dogs. He has more friends than we do and is an old-timer at the weekly meetings of Canines Anonymous – a group for dogs with mental health problems – that take place next to the cafe. Above all, he is a gentle soul. He seldom barks, never causes trouble and takes us for walks when he feels we need the exercise. He’s just happy being an equal member of the family. Even strangers can’t help falling in love with him. He’s had a love letter from a friend’s four-year-old grandson.
All this is more than enough for me never to forget him. But there is more. On my left arm I have a large tattoo of Herbie, inked from a cartoon a lovely children’s book illustrator drew for me. Herbie is unimpressed. He thinks the tattoo makes him look fat. He can be quite vain. With good reason. There is also a companion tattoo on my right arm of a stick. I thought he would like to have something to chase. This one didn’t go so well. It caused an infection in the bone near my artificial knee. I needed major surgery and six weeks of intravenous antibiotics. Herbie uncomplainingly kept me company on the bed during my recovery. Though he thought I was an idiot.
And soon I hope you also will not forget Herbert Hound. Because he has had an amazing career and his biography, written by me, will be published this autumn. Think how bad the last 13 years has been. Now imagine if that was your entire life and you were now an old dog. Ed Miliband, David Cameron, Theresa May, Boris Johnson, Liz Truss, Rishi Sunak and Keir Starmer: Herbie has worked for them all – from special adviser to No 10 staff. He was even at Balmoral when Queen Elizabeth died. Ever thought your dog could do a better job than those clowns in Westminster? Well, Herbie did, and does.
The Adventures of Herbert Hound by John Crace will be published by Little, Brown (£18.99) on 3 October.
