‘After we’ve paid the canine extortionist …’
‘Give back by end of week or pay mortgage to extend.’
I wrench his paws away and he turns into a licking machine, nipping at my knuckles with his sharp teeth. Rapping his nose, I ask Eva if she picked up enough snacks to ensure good behaviour. She opens her handbag to reveal a handful of toys and a couple of bones stuffed with grey and unknown ingredients. ‘New favourite food– cheese smelling of feet of prisoner.’ Doodle woofs his approval and runs rings around us.
I can’t help but laugh. ‘I’ve missed you, silly mutt. Who cut your hair into that mullet?’ He shakes his head as though unwilling to part with the top-secret information. Without the straggly fur he looks even more like a panda.
My live stream begins at midday. I efficiently pick up from stage A as instructed. Holding the phone at arm’s length, headphones firmly on my ears, I introduce myself and Doodle. Then I slot my device into the tripod on the desk and away we go. I feared no one would come for advice, but the organisers have been promoting our session and hundreds have apparently tuned in virtually.
And, boy, do I need to think on my feet.
After several tough questions, I channel smiles from the next stall and tell the gathered audience to go laughter bathing. ‘Like tree bathing but without the outdoors. Visit a comedy club or sit in the middle seat of a cinema with a romcom playing. Laughing increases endorphins, it’s free and you can do it anywhere. Let’s do it now together. Turn to the person next to you and laugh in their face, teasing them into chuckling back.’ When I notice people are reluctant to look silly, I grab Doodle’s face and laugh in it. When he licks my nose, it makes me smile and I do it again. Gradually, people start to join me and although it’s not contagious, I make my point.
With everyone warmed up, I chew over their worries while Doodle chews a bone. An hour passes quickly with my last query coming from a mum who introduces a teen in a depressed fug. Doodle tickles the teenager’s hand with his rough tongue.
‘This one can be handled in two parts,’ I say. ‘Number one– keep talking. Number two, if you are struggling to connect, then perhaps encourage her to engage with a pet. You don’t need to buy one. My friend Eva has a brilliant site where you can rent an animal for very little money or commitment. Search it up– it’s called “Rent Out My Dog”.’ It occurs to me this could be a good moment to come clean about my relationship with Doodle, but I hesitate. People have no reason to suspect he’s not mine so why introduce uncertainty?
I hand back to the main stage as scheduled. One of the production team congratulates me on a job well done and asks if I could take part in a panel later as someone has dropped out. Flattered, I agree, and she tells me someone will call later with details. Meanwhile, Doodle indicates he needs the toilet by cocking a leg.
‘Walkies,’ I say, grabbing him by the collar. ‘Where are your sausages, Doodle Beardoodle? You shouldn’t be allowed out without hot dogs to keep you in line.’ As we wander the stands, I notice several products creep into my field of work. What if I was to organise my own happiness fair? Not a big thing; keep it local and bring in some local mental health specialists. I’d pick somewhere a lot cosier than this, and I can think of at least two people in west London who might like a stall, including a tarot life coach I recently connected with online.
The event organiser calls as we leave the venue for some air. His tone is solemn. ‘I’m afraid we are cancelling your slot this afternoon, Daisy. One of the audience members you advised to hug an animal has been bitten.’
‘What?’ I scan the front of the building thinking back to the nervous teen I told to cuddle a cutie. I flash back to the turkey assault, and the shaming I received from Vince. Could I be most reckless influencer in the world? My head pounds and my stomach tenses as I race back towards the main entrance, Eva trailing after me as her short legs weren’t made for sprinting.
Spotting the guy who briefed me earlier, I pounce on him, and he makes a quick call. Then he tells me not to worry, the child had a tetanus jab recently and the superficial wound has been checked out and dressed. There were hardly any teeth marks. No blood. No harm done. I’m so relieved I burst into tears.
In a café over a pasty, Eva reminds me of his words. ‘No harm done.’
‘Tell that to her mother.’
‘Want to take Uber home? Drop Doodle back on way?’
‘No. It wasn’t his fault the girl got bitten. I still want to keep him for a week.’ I turn to him, in case there’s any outstanding ambiguity in how a dog should behave. ‘Doodle, you must not bite teenagers. Or toddlers. Or the milkman.’ I bury my head in his neck, taking comfort from fur surprisingly free of guts and glitter. He settles his chin on my knee, breathing heavily. ‘And while I am very pleased to see you, you will not be sleeping in my bed.’
When we return to the flat, Doodle is so delighted to be on home turf he clambers onto my sofa before sitting on a cushion and licking himself all over. If we could measure a dog’s smile, it would be so big the woman dressed as a tooth wouldn’t be able to fit it into her app. But I’m not the carefree influencer I was a while back. The situation with Joe continues to gnaw at me and I keep worrying about what might have happened at the conference. ‘What if she develops rabies? Is there a mad dog syndrome?’
‘Did you tell dog to bite? No. Did you tell teenager to put arms around dog? No. Only suggested it as strategy. People make own decisions. Fast food company kill people every day with advert for fat burgers and heart attack fries. No one prosecute or shout “Murderer” at drive-in window when picking up nuggets. People make up own minds. Relax. Enjoy Doodle.’ Eva stands and whips off her top, smelling under her arms. ‘Need to take shower. Hot date with Kai at Emojitel. Need to christen new bedrooms.’
‘Before you go, can I discuss an idea with you? I thought I might hold a Happiness Fair. Give the proceeds to a local charity. Nothing like the well woman show. I’d hire a small venue in Shepherd’s Bush. Use local practitioners and sellers.’
‘Do it,’ she says.
As Eva powers up the shower, I look up church halls and community centres within a ten-mile radius of my home and make a call to one that looks the most suitable. The caretaker tells me the whole of January is free for hire on a Saturday, but he also has a cancellation for mid-December. It wouldn’t give me much time, but January’s so saturated in wellness tips and resolutions that it might be easier to stand out if I do it soon. I ask him if he could show me around the hall and we make a time for tomorrow.
I turn to Doodle. ‘Let’s pound the streets for a bit shall we?’ As he happily slips his head into the leash, I notice Aurora Storyalis has tagged me in a tweet.
All not well at London’s #WellWomanCon. Dodgy advice being handed out by unqualified people resulted in an injury. Self-proclaimed Happiness Guru @daisyblane to blame? #charlatan? #socialmediafail
So much for sisterhood and standing by your fellow columnists. Should I tweet her back to reassure her everything was fine? Or call her out privately for her aggressive behaviour? I knock on the bathroom door and read the tweet to Eva, who tells me to chill.
‘Small bite, much bark.’
‘Shame you’re going out. You’ll miss the next episode of Vince’s new TV show.’
‘Prefer to wash hair than worship bendy actor.’
‘You need to be careful, Eva. You’re picking up a British sense of humour.’
