Soon, other instincts began to take over; my jumbled self-pitying thoughts began to take on an order. I had been a man, there was no doubt about that. My mind was that of a man’s. I could understand the words the two men had spoken, not just their general meaning, but the actual words themselves. Could I speak? I tried, but only a pathetic mewing noise came from my throat. I called out to the men, but the sound was just a dog’s howl. I tried to think of my previous life, but when I concentrated, the mental pictures slid away. How had I become a dog? Had they taken my brain from my human body and transplanted it into the head of a dog? Had some madman conducted a gruesome experiment and preserved a living brain from a dying body? No, that couldn’t be, for I had remembered being born in my dream, born in a litter, my mother-dog washing the slime from my body with her tongue. But had that merely been an illusion? Was I really the result of a sick operation? Yet if that had been the case, surely I would be under constant surveillance in a well-equipped laboratory somewhere, my whole body wired to machines, not cast into this gloomy wooden dungeon.
There had to be an explanation, whether logical or completely insane, and I would seek out the truth of it. The mystery saved my mind, I think, for it gave me a resolve. If you like, it gave me a destiny.
The first need was for me to calm myself. It’s strange now to reflect on how coldly I began to think that night, how I held the frightening – the awesome – realization in check, but shock can do this sometimes; it can numb sensitive brain cells in a self-protective way, so that you’re able to think logically and clinically.
I wouldn’t force my memory to tell me all its secrets just yet – it would have been impossible anyway. I’d give it time, allow the fragments to make a whole, helping the images by searching, searching for my past.
But first I had to escape.
5
The latch being lifted aroused me from my slumber. It had been a heavy sleep; empty; dreamless. I suppose my fatigued brain had decided to close down for the night, give itself a chance to recuperate from the shocks it had received.
I yawned and stretched my body. Then I became alert. This would be my chance. If they were to destroy me today, I must make my move while they were off-guard. When they came to take me to the death chamber, their own sensitivity to the execution they were about to carry out would make them wary. It’s easy for humans to transmit their feelings to animals, you see, for their auras radiate emotions as strong as radio waves. Even insects can tune into them. Even plants. The animal becomes sensitive to his executioner’s impulses and reacts in different ways: some become placid, quiet, while others become jittery, hard to handle. A good vet or animal keeper knows this and endeavours to disguise his feelings in an effort to keep the victim calm; but they’re not successful usually and that’s when there’s trouble. My hope was that this visit was social and not for the more ominous purpose.
A young girl of about eighteen or nineteen wearing the familiar white smock of the handlers looked in. She just had time to say ‘Hello, boy’ before I caught the whiff of sadness from her, then I was off like a shot. She didn’t even try to grab me as I dashed by; she was either too startled or secretly pleased I was making a bid for freedom.
I skidded, trying to turn aside from the pound opposite, and my toenails dug into the hard ground. My whole body was a scrambling mass of motion as I streaked around the half-covered yard, searching for a way out. The girl gave chase but in a half-hearted way as I scurried from corner to corner. I found a door to the outside world, but there was no way to get through it. I was filled with frustration at being a dog; if I’d been a man, it would have been easy to draw the bolt and step outside. (Of course, I wouldn’t have been in that position then.)
I turned to growl at the girl as she approached, soft, coaxing words coming from her lips. My hair bristled and I went down on my front legs, my haunches quivering with gathering strength. The girl hesitated and her sudden doubt and fear wafted over me in waves.
We faced each other, and she felt sorry for me and I felt sorry for her. Neither of us wanted to frighten the other.
A door opened in the building at the far end of the yard and a man appeared, an angry look on his face.
‘What’s all the fuss, Judith? I thought I told you to bring the dog from Kennel Nine.’ His expression changed to one of exasperation when he saw me crouching there. He strode forward, muttering oaths under his breath. I saw my chance – he’d left the door open behind him.
I hurtled past the girl, and the man, now halfway down the yard, spread his arms and legs as though I would jump into them. I passed underneath him and he vainly scissored his legs together, howling as his ankles cracked together. I left him hopping and flew through the open doorway, finding myself in a long, gloomy corridor, doors on either side. At the end was the door to the street, huge and formidable. Shouting from behind made me scurry down the corridor’s length, desperate for a way out.
One of the doors on my left was slightly ajar, and without pausing I burst through. A woman on her knees just in the process of plugging in an electric kettle in the corner of the room stared across at me, too surprised to move. She began to rise to one knee and in panic I ran beneath a desk. My nose picked up the scent of fresh air mingled with dog fumes and, bolting up, I saw an open window. A hand was reaching under the desk for me now and I could hear the woman’s voice calling to me in friendly tones. I sprang forward, up on to the sill, then through the window.
Terrific. I was back in the yard.
The girl Judith saw me and called out to the man who had by now entered the building, but the yapping of the other dogs succeeded in drowning her cry. I kept running, back through the door and up behind the man chasing me.
He shouted in confusion as I scurried round him, and gave chase immediately. I was sure they’d have the sense to close one of the outlets if I went through my door-window-door routine again, so I ignored the open office. I found an alternative: facing the heavy street door was a flight of stairs, broad and dark-wooded. I did a scrambled U-turn and flew up them, my little legs pumping away like piston-rods. The man began mounting the stairs behind me and his long, long legs gave him the advantage. He sprawled forward, arms reaching upwards and I felt my progress abruptly halted by an uncompromising grip on my right hind leg. I yelped in pain and tried to draw myself away and up. It was no use, I hadn’t the power to escape from such a tight clutch.
The man pulled me down towards him in one strong wrench and grabbed me by the neck with his other hand. He released my leg and put his hand underneath me, lifting my body up against his chest. At least I had the satisfaction (even though it was unintentional) of peeing on him.
It was my good fortune that at that precise moment someone else decided to show up for work. Brilliant sunshine flooded into the hallway as the front door swung open and a man carrying a briefcase entered. He stared in surprise at the scene before him: the young girl and the woman from the office gazing anxiously up at the dancing, cursing man who held the struggling pup away from his body, trying desperately and failing miserably to avoid the yellow stream that jetted from it.
It was just the right time to bite my captor’s hand and, with a twist of my neck, I managed to do so. My jaws weren’t that strong yet, but my teeth were like needle-points. They sank into his flesh and went deep – deep as I could make them. The sudden shock of pain caused the man to squawk and release his grip on me; I suppose the combination of wetness at one end and burning fire at the other offered him no other alternative. I fell to the stairs and tumbled down them, yelping with fright rather than hurt. When I reached the bottom, I staggered to my feet, gave my head a little shake, and bolted into the sunlight.
It was like bursting through a paper hoop from one dark, depressing world into a neighbouring world of brightness and hope. It must have been the taste of freedom that exalted me so, the gloom of the building I had just left contrasting with the brilliance of the sun and the exciting multifarious scents of lif
e on the outside. I was free and the freedom lent vigour to my young limbs. I fled and wasn’t pursued; nothing on this earth could have caught me anyway. The taste of life was in me and questions pounded my brain.
I ran, and ran, and ran.
6
I ran till I could run no more, shying away from passing cars, ignoring the entreaties from the bemused or curses from the startled, nothing on my mind but escape – freedom. I had streaked across roads, blind to the danger because of the worse fear of capture, and had found quieter refuge in the backstreets; yet still I did not decrease my pace, still my feet drummed on the concrete pavements. I fled into the courtyard of an ancient, red-bricked block of flats, its redness darkened by the grime, and came to a quivering body-heaving halt inside a dark stairwell. My tongue flapped uselessly below my lower jaw, my eyes bulged with still unshed fright, my body sagged with utter weariness. I had run for at least two miles without pause, and for a young pup that’s quite a distance.
I sank to the cold stone floor and tried to let my muddled brain catch up with my still dancing nerves. I must have lain there, a boneless heap, for at least an hour or more, too exhausted to move, too fuddled to think, the previous elation dissipated with dispersed energy, when the sound of heavy footsteps made me jerk my head up, my ears twitching for more information. I hadn’t realized until then how acute my hearing had become, and it took long, long seconds for the owner of the footsteps to come into view. An immense figure blocked out most of the light infiltrating the dark stairwell, and in silhouette I saw the round shape of an enormous woman. To say her bulk filled the whole of my vision, periphery and all, may sound an exaggeration, but that’s how it seemed to me in my shrunken body. It was as though her grossness was about to envelop me, to roll over me so that I would come up again, flattened to her side, just another added layer to the multitude of other layers. I cringed and I grovelled, no defiant pride in me, no sense of manhood available to hinder my cowardice for I was no longer a man. But her words halted my rising fear.
‘Hello, boy, what you doing there, then?’ The voice was as expansive as her body, booming and raspy, but the words were full of goodness and delighted surprise. She lowered her crammed shopping bags to the floor with a grunt, then bent her vast upper structure towards me.
‘Now, where’ve you come from, eh? Lost, are you?’
Her gravelly tones suggested London, probably East or South. I backed away from the approaching hand even though my fear had been subdued by the quality of her voice; I knew once within the grip of those big, sausage-fingered hands, no amount of struggling would free me. But the lady was patient and undemanding. And the delicious aroma from those puffy fingers was overwhelming.
I sniffed small, tentative sniffs, nose-twitching sniffs, then inhaled deep lungfuls, the juices beginning to flow in my mouth. I flicked out my tongue and almost rolled my eyes in ecstasy. What this woman must have eaten! I could taste bacon, beans, tangy meat I couldn’t identify, cheese, bread, butter – oh, butter – marmalade (not so nice), onions, tomatoes, another kind of meat (beef, I think) – and more, more, more. A taste of earthiness tainted everything, almost as if she had collected potatoes fresh from the ground, but it failed to sicken me as it should; instead, it heightened the deliciousness of it all. Here was a person who believed in food, who worshipped it with her hands as well as her palate; no stainless steel instruments would delay the journey from plate to munching jaws when the trip could be accomplished faster and with a heavier load by using her own living flesh to transport the goods. I could feel my devotion growing with every lick.
Only when the fat hand had been completely licked free of all its flavours did I turn my attention fully to the rest of the woman.
Dark blue eyes grinned down at me from a wide, rusty face. Rusty? Oh yes, you’d be surprised at the colours in faces if you could only see them as I did then. Red and blue veins coursed through plump, flushed cheeks, just beneath the skin. Other colours glowed from her – yellows and oranges mostly – changing hues constantly as her blood circulated beneath the surface. Brown and grey hairs stood out from her chin like tiny porcupine quills; and over the whole countenance ran deep grooves, starting at the corners of each eye and spreading down and around the cheeks, up and over the forehead, twisting and merging, cross-hatching and fading to a gradual end. It was a wonderful face!
I saw all this in the gloom of the stairwell, remember, and with the light behind her. That’s how powerful my new vision was and would have remained had not time organized and dulled it.
She clucked her tongue and gave a little laugh. ‘You’re a hungry little thing, aren’t you? You know me, though, don’t you? You know I’m a friend.’
I allowed her hand to ruffle the fur at the back of my neck. It was soothing. I sniffed fresh food from the shopping bags and edged towards them, my nose twitching inquisitively.
‘Oh, smell food, do you?’
I nodded. I was starving.
‘Well, let’s just see if there’s anyone about that might have lost you.’
She straightened up and lumbered back towards the entrance and I trotted after her. We both stuck our heads out into the courtyard and looked around. It was deserted.
‘Come on then, let’s see what we can find.’
The old woman turned back into the gloom, hoisted her shopping bags with a loud grunt and carried them down the short hallway behind the stairwell, calling encouragingly to me as she went. I padded after her and muscle movement in my rump told me my tail was wagging.
Placing the bags on the floor next to a badly worn green door, she produced a purse from her coat and rummaged through it until she found a key, cursing her failing eyesight. She opened the door with a hard shove and a practised twist of the key, reached again for her bags, and disappeared inside. I ambled cautiously up to the door and poked my nose round it. The musty smell that hit me was neither pleasant nor unpleasant; it told of old-age neglect.
‘Come on, boy,’ the woman called out, ‘nothing to be frightened of. You’re all right with Bella.’
Still I did not enter the room. My nervousness had not yet completely disappeared. She patted her knee in enticement, not an easy thing to do for one of her proportions, and without further thought I skipped towards her, my tail now causing the whole of my rump to vibrate.
‘There’s a good boy,’ she rasped, and now I could understand words and not just feel them, I knew I really was a very good boy.
I forgot myself and tried to speak to her then; I think I wanted to tell her how kind she was and ask her if she knew why I was a dog. But of course I only barked.
‘What’s that, then? You hungry? Course you are! Let’s see what we can find then.’
She went through a door and soon I heard the clatter of cupboards opening and closing. The deep, scratchy sound of her voice puzzled me for a few seconds, then I realized Bella was singing, an occasional word interrupting a series of monotone ‘mmms’ and ‘laaas’.
The crackle of frying fat took my attention and the glorious smell of sausages beginning to cook sucked me into the kitchen like dust into a vacuum cleaner. I jumped up at her, resting my front paws against a broad leg, my feverishly wagging tail threatening to unbalance me. She smiled down at my excited whimpers and placed a huge hand over my head.
‘Poor old thing. Won’t be a minute now. I suppose you’d like them raw, wouldn’t you? Well, you just wait a couple of minutes and we’ll share them between us. Now get down and be patient.’ She gently pushed me away but the savoury smell was too much. I jumped up at the cooker and tried to see into the frying-pan.
‘You’ll burn yourself!’ she scolded. ‘Come on, let’s put you out of harm’s way until it’s ready.’ She scooped me up and lumbered over to the kitchen door where she dropped me with a soft grunt. I tried to squeeze through the narrowing gap as the door closed on me but had to withdraw when my nose was in jeopardy. I’m ashamed to say I whined and groaned and scratched at the kitchen door, my t
houghts concerned only with filling my belly with those mouthwatering sausages. Questions of my bizarre existence were thrust aside, easily overwhelmed by the stronger, physical desire for food.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity of waiting, the door opened and a cheery voice called me in. I needed no second bidding; I streaked through and made a bee-line for the plate containing three powerful-smelling sausages. I yelped as the first I snapped at burnt my tongue, and the old lady chuckled at my greedy attempts to bite the sizzling meat. I’d picked one up and immediately dropped it on to the floor when it stung my mouth. I did manage to swallow a chunk but it scorched my throat painfully. Bella thought it wiser to take the sausages away from me and, annoyed, I yapped at her.
‘You just be patient,’ she reprimanded. ‘You’ll do yourself an injury with these.’
Gingerly she picked up the sausage I’d already bitten into and blew on it – long, strong puffs that defied the sizzling heat to resist it. When she was satisfied she popped the sausage into my upturned mouth. In two quick swallows it was gone and I was pleading for more. She went through the ritual again, ignoring my impatient entreaties. I appreciated the second even more, the savoury meat filling my mouth with its juices, and, I can honestly say, never had I enjoyed a meal so much in my life – lives – either as a dog or as a man.
When I had gulped down the third, the old lady turned her attention back to the frying-pan and stabbed out four more sausages with a fork, placing two each on a slice of thick bread lying on the table. She smeared them with mustard and covered them with another slice, almost tenderly, as if putting a couple of children to bed. Without bothering to cut it she opened her jaws and stuffed as much of the sausage sandwich into her mouth as possible. Her teeth clamped down and when she withdrew her hand, a huge semicircular hole had been left in the bread. I watched enviously and tried to jump up on to her lap, the sight of those huge munching jaws sending me into a frenzy of pleading. I was starving! Didn’t she have any pity?