Tales From A Harrogate Caravan
Chapter 20 — Giving Away Shep
← Karl Swainston / Tales From A Harrogate Caravan
When I returned to the caravan and took the dogs out for a walk, I knew something would have to give if I was to have any chance of finding accommodation. It was then I began to look at Shep, the Alsatian, and I realised that the huge size of him would almost certainly hinder any chance of a landlord agreeing to tenancy. Kev, a mate over in Harrogate, suggested a friend of his could take Shep, and that the friend already had an Alsatian of similar age to Shep. A time was agreed upon for them to meet us at the caravan and introduce the two dogs. They both got on tremendously well, and with a deep hurt I let them take my beloved dog. I felt I had no other choice, and it was to be, and it was for the best. Shep now has a passport, and with his new brother regularly goes to Switzerland swimming in the lakes there.
The few weeks passed by without much ado and without any success in getting somewhere to let. I truthfully informed the letting agents of my past and of the two dogs and cat, and in hindsight, shouldn't have done, as none of the three ever got back to me with a property for rent, even though I troubled them daily for a viewing.
When the final week approached, Lorraine reluctantly suggested we all move into her flat with herself and Rebecca. It was doomed to failure, but desperate times demand any port as it were.
The flat was small, and Lorraine and I had to live in the living room with the two dogs in a cage she'd bought, and the cat, Faye, was allowed to roam the room. We barely survived five weeks and would surely have killed one another in the sixth, but for Fate once again intervening.
The buyer of the bungalow pulled out of the sale just before Christmas. NatWest still had not released the second charge, and he'd had enough, poor fellow. There was no other choice, and the following day, Alex and I prepared to move. But the door to the flat had somehow been left open, and Faye had ventured out. We looked everywhere, and Alex – as Faye was his cat – searched all the streets. I was at work and laminated A4 posters to attach to lamp-posts in the hope that someone had found her. That night Alex went out and attached all the missing signs.
The following morning a woman rang Alex's number and informed him that she had found a cat fitting Faye's description and had taken her to the vets. Alex phoned me, and he told me the news.
I was elated, as I knew where the vets was and quickly looked on Google Street View for the name of it, which I had within the minute, and had the phone number too, which I rang straight away.
'Yes, someone brought the cat in yesterday.'
'Brilliant! When can I pick her up, and what do I need to pay?'
'They put her in the cooler, Mr Swainston.'
I was numb to the rest of what the vet told me about little Faye being run over, and the hardest part was picking up the telephone and ringing Alex back and telling him the sad news of Faye, his cat.
Reader Comments
Leave a Comment
We would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter.
About Karl Swainston
Karl Swainston is a writer and storyteller whose work is forged from a life lived across the North of England and far beyond. Growing up on a Leeds council estate in the 1960s, Karl's journey was anything but linear. By the age of thirty, he had already lived a dozen lives: from the rigors of grammar school to a degree in Latin, a stint as a fishmonger, a period of discovery living in Marseille, and a return to the hustle of London. Whether working as a postman, a builder, or competing as a county-level chess player, he was, above all, an avid reader—constantly documenting the world around him. This restless spirit continued into his professional life. Karl later taught in Bradford, where he ran a specialist unit for 244 of the most excluded students from across the region—young people whom even the local Pupil Referral Units could not accommodate. Working alongside his old friend Malcolm, Karl spent his days navigating the volatility of Bradford's most aggressive and dysfunctional teenagers. Throughout his life, Karl has been an avid runner and has always shared his home with a rotating cast of beloved dogs and cats—companions who have been constant witnesses to his work. As a writer, Karl's range is as expansive as his history. He works across a wide breadth of genres, including fiction and short stories, autobiography and memoir, biography, non-fiction, and metaphysical writing, as well as providing sharp commentary, opinion, analysis, and essays. Whether writing about his years managing the Harrogate Arms or offering insights from his current adopted home in South East India, where he lives in a simple village with his dog, Bambi, Karl's voice reflects the full, untidy, and deeply human breadth of life. He continues to draw on the rich, decades-long tapestry of his experiences to tell stories that matter, proving that no matter where you live, the human story remains the same.
Author Page