She laughed and ruffled my head, holding me at bay, keeping the sandwich well away from my snapping teeth. I was in luck, for a lump of sausage fell from the bread and I was on it in an instant. I licked my lips with pleasure as I looked up for more.
‘All right, you villain. I suppose it’ll do you more good than me.’ Bella smiled, and with that she dropped the rest of the sandwich on to the plate on the floor.
So we feasted, me and the fat lady, happy in each other’s company, both of us demolishing our piece of sausage sandwich in seconds, grinning and smacking our lips at each other when we’d done.
I was still hungry, but at least the edge had been taken off my appetite. I lapped up the water Bella gave me in a soup-bowl and licked the traces of food from her hands. I asked for more but she didn’t understand. She hoisted herself to her feet and began to unpack her shopping bag while I kept a wary eye out for any scraps that might fall to the floor. It was risky dodging between those two wonderfully stout legs, and no food fell my way, anyway, but I enjoyed the game.
Bella dropped my spotless plate into the sink and called to me to follow her. I padded after her into her front room and scrambled up on to the musty old settee as she sank into it with a groan. I jumped up at her chest, two paws placed between two massive breasts, and licked her face in gratitude. It was a pleasing face to lick. She stroked my head and back for a little while and the strokes became slower and heavier as her breathing became slower and heavier.
It was not long after Bella had lifted those great tree-trunks on to the settee and rested her head on a cushioned arm that she was fast asleep, her snoring strangely comforting to me. I curled up my own weary body between her mountainous tummy and the back of the settee and soon I was deep in slumber too.
My awakening was fairly alarming. I heard a key in the lock and was instantly alert. I tried to stand, but my legs were wedged firmly inside the crevice between the old lady and the settee. I lifted my head and began to bark as loud as I could. This startled Bella into wakefulness and she looked around for a few moments as though she didn’t know where she was.
‘The door, Bella,’ I told her. ‘There’s someone coming in!’
She didn’t understand, of course, and gruffly told me to hush my barking. I was too young, though, too easily excited, and my barks only got louder and more challenging.
A man staggered in and fumes of alcohol assailed me. I had been into pubs a few times with my previous master and had always found the smell of alcohol unpleasant but not disturbing. However, this had the smell of sickness.
‘What the bloody ’ell’s that?’
The man lurched towards us. He was fairly young, about thirty, thirty-five, prematurely balding, his face vaguely containing the same features as Bella’s. His clothes were untidy but not dishevelled; he wore no shirt, just a loose-fitting sweater under his jacket. Just as Bella was broad and expansive, he was small and mean. A giant, to me, of course, but a small, mean giant.
‘Haven’t you been in to work again?’ Bella asked, still drawing her sleepy wits together.
He ignored the question and made a grab for me, a horrible sneer distorting his lips. I growled and snapped at his hand; I didn’t like him at all.
‘Leave the dog alone!’ Bella pushed his hand away and heaved her legs on to the floor, causing me to fall back into the space she’d just vacated.
‘Dog? Call that a dog?’ He cuffed my head with malicious playfulness. I warned him not to do it again. ‘Where’d he come from? You know you’re not allowed dogs in the flats.’
‘Leave him be. I found him outside – starving, he was, poor little thing.’
Bella rose, towering above me and dwarfing the weasel I supposed was her son. ‘You stink,’ she told him, standing between us to stop his teasing. ‘What about your job? You can’t keep taking time off like this.’
The weasel cursed his job and then his mother. ‘Where’s me dinner?’ he asked.
‘The dog’s had it.’
I groaned inwardly. That should endear me to him.
‘He bloody better not have!’
‘I didn’t know you’d be home, did I? I thought you’d gone off to work.’
‘Well, I haven’t, so find me something.’
I think she should have picked him up by the scruff of the neck and stuck his head in a bucket of water – she was big enough to do so – but instead she marched off into the kitchen, and soon the sounds of cupboard doors opening and closing reached our ears.
He leered down at me and I glared nervously back at him.
‘Off!’ he commanded, jerking his thumb away from the settee.
‘Get lost,’ I replied with more coolness than I actually felt.
‘I said off !’ He lunged and swept me from my comfortable perch with a strength that petrified me. I still had to learn I was only a dog, and a pretty feeble one at that. I yelped in dismay and scooted off into the kitchen, seeking protection from Bella.
‘All right, boy, all right. Take no notice of him. Let’s give him his dinner and he’ll soon be off to sleep, don’t you worry.’ She busied herself preparing the weasel’s meal while I kept as close to her as possible. The food odours began to arouse my palate again and suddenly I was just as hungry as before. I rested my paws against her broad flank and begged to be fed again.
‘No, no. You get down now!’ Her hand was more firm than before. ‘You’ve had your dinner, it’s his turn now.’
Still I persisted, but Bella ignored my whines. She began to talk to me, maybe to soothe me, or perhaps she was really talking to herself.
‘Takes after his father. Never no good, but what do you do? They’re flesh and blood. He could’ve been something, that boy, but he’s wasted himself. Just like the old man, God rest him, same blood in ’em. I’ve done me best, God knows I’ve done me best. Kept him – kept ’em both – when they were out of work. They’ve made me old, they have, between ’em.’
The smell of cooking was making me delirious.
‘He’s had some nice girls too. Can’t keep ’em, though. Run a mile when they find out what he’s like. He’ll never change. Arnold, it’s nearly ready! Don’t you go asleep!’
Bacon, eggs, more sausages. Oh God!
She began to butter bread at the kitchen table while I stayed rooted beneath the cooker, oblivious to the hot fat that spluttered and occasionally spat over. Bella brushed me out of the way with a leg and emptied the contents of the pan on to a plate. She put the plate on the table then clattered about for a knife and fork.
‘Arnold! Your dinner’s ready,’ she called out. No reply. With an annoyed grunt and a determined look on her face Bella marched into the front room.
The dinner on the table beckoned to me.
It was unfortunate really that the chair previously occupied by Bella was still projecting out from the kitchen table. I clambered on to it, falling back down once but renewing my efforts with desperate eagerness, then rested my paws on the tabletop. Bella could have been out of the room for no more than a few seconds, but that’s all it took for two slices of bacon and one and a half sausages to be devoured. I was saving the eggs till last.
My shriek of alarm joined Bella’s shriek of dismay and the weasel’s shriek of rage in a reverberating cacophony. I leapt from the chair just as the son lunged past his mother, claws outstretched to throttle me. Fortunately Bella used her massive frame to block his path and he sprawled forward over her fleshy hip, tumbling on to the floor in a loose bundle as only drunks can.
But even Bella was cross with me. I could see those muscled forearms were going to deal out some heavy punishment, so I did my best to keep the kitchen table between us. She stepped round her floundering son and advanced on me. I waited till she was halfway round the table, my front legs down, chin almost touching the floor, haunches high and quivering, then I shot beneath the table, heading for the open doorway – and straight into the arms of the weasel.
He picked me up by the neck, using
two hands, and squeezed as he did so, and raised himself from the floor, his demonic face only inches away from mine. My squirming body made him even more unsteady on his feet and he fell forward against the table. What was left of his dinner went flying as my back legs scrabbled for support, and his buttered bread, tomato sauce and God-knows-what-else followed suit.
‘I’ll kill ’im!’ was all I heard before I sank my teeth into his skinny nose. (I’ll bet he’s still got those two rows of indents on either side of his snout today.)
‘Get ’ib boff,’ he cried out to his mother, and I felt huge banana hands engulf me. Bella ripped me away from him and I had the pleasure of seeing red skidmarks down the length of his nose. He clutched at it with both hands and howled, skipping on the spot in a sort of dance.
‘Jesus, Jesus,’ moaned Bella. ‘You’ll have to go now. I can’t keep you now.’
She swept me out of the kitchen, shielding me with her body from her hopping son, lest he forget his pain for a moment and make a grab for me. I don’t think I wanted to stay any more, so I hardly protested when the front door opened and I was dumped outside. A heavy hand descended upon me and gave me one long last stroke. ‘Off you go now, go on, get away,’ Bella said, not unkindly, and the door closed, leaving me alone again.
Even then, I lingered for a moment looking mournfully up at the door, but when it flew open and the weasel appeared, his nose a bloody protuberance and his body shaking with fury, I knew it wouldn’t be healthy to stay any longer. So I scooted, and he scooted after me.
As an ally to speed, I think terror has it over rage; I soon left him far behind, anyway.
Blurred images again: cars, people, buildings, none of them focused, none of them very real. Only the overpowering scent from a lamp-post halted my flight. I skidded to a stop, my back legs overtaking my front legs, and executed a clumsy turnabout. I trotted back to this ambrosial column, senses keen, nose twitching inquisitively. Of all the smells that had recently come to me, this was by far the most interesting. It was dog, you see, dog in the plural. There were six or seven different personalities wafting from the base of that concrete structure – not to mention a couple of human smells – and I drank them in giddily. I had sniffed trees and lamp-posts before, but now it seemed my senses were wakening afresh, or perhaps they were just heightening. I could almost see the dogs that had visited this towering urinal, almost speak to them; it was as if they’d left a recorded message for me. I could even detect the female of the species, and that, I think, has a lot to do with the dogs’ interest in each other’s pee: the sexual instinct, the search for a mate. The girls and the boys had left their calling cards as if to say: I’ve been here, this is my route; if you’re interested, I may pass this way again. I was too young to be disturbed by any sexual connotation at that time, the rank yet spicy odours interesting me on a different level. They were company.
When my nose had been satiated I began to sniff my way along the pavement, oblivious to the passers-by, lost in the pursuit of intriguing trails. It was not long before sounds even more intriguing reached my ears. They were just a babble at first, like the clacking of excited geese, but as I drew nearer to their source, they took on a distinctly human quality. I quickened my pace, elation beginning to rise in me, the sounds sending out attracting waves of excitement.
Reaching a broad river of road I hesitated before dashing across and, fortunately, no dragons bore down on me. The sounds were now clamorous in my ears and, turning a corner, I fell upon their origin: an enormous expanse of running, jumping, shouting, screaming, giggling, crying, playing children. I had found a school. My tail launched into its self-motorized wagging and I sprang forward, thrusting my narrow head between the railings surrounding the playground.
A group of small girls spotted me and gleefully ran over, their hands reaching through the iron bars to pat my back. They screamed in delight as I tried to nip any fingers that tried to stroke my head; my intention wasn’t to bite them, but to taste their soft flesh, to savour them. Soon, a large group of both boys and girls had formed a semicircle around my protruding head, the bigger boys pushing themselves forward through the crowd. Toffees were thrust into my eager mouth and fingers hastily withdrawn when it seemed I would swallow them too. A tiny girl with sunshine hair pushed her face close to mine and my tongue made her nose and cheek glistening wet. She didn’t pull away, though, she hugged my neck.
And then fickle memories returned to taunt me. I had owned one of these! I almost thought this one was mine, she was the child who had belonged to me, but different features swam into vision. The hair was the same, a bright halo around an urchin face, but my daughter’s eyes had been blue and the eyes that now smiled into mine were brown. A cry of hopefulness escaped me and the girl mistook it for one of fear. She tried to soothe me over the clamour of the other children, pleading with me not to be afraid, but my mind was paralysed with one thought. I was a man! Why was I living as a dog?
Then the paralysis wore off as the realization slipped back into its hidden crevice and once again, in essence, I was a dog. (Although the disturbing fact that I was really a man never left me in those early months, because of the conflict of also being a dog, my humanness played a very varying degree of importance.)
My tail began its flag-waving again and I gratefully accepted more sweets. The kids fussed over me and tried to discover my name by calling out possibilities and waiting to see if I reacted to any. For the life of me I couldn’t remember what I’d been called before, and the boys found nothing inscribed on my collar. Rover, King, Rex, Turdface (Turdface! What little horror threw that one in?) – I beamed at them all. Names meant nothing to me, nor do they to any dog – they recognize particular sounds. I was just happy to be among friends.
A sharp whistle shrilled through my ears and a loud moan went up from the children. Reluctantly, and only after a few sharper blasts from the whistle, they turned away and left me, my shoulders pressed hard up against the railing in an effort to follow. Sunshine Hair stayed till last and gave my neck a long, hard squeeze before departing. I woofed at them not to go, but they stood in rows with their backs to me, occasionally sneaking a look round, their shoulders jerking in suppressed giggles. Then, row by row, they filed into a miserable grey building and the door was closed behind the last one.
I stared blankly into the empty playground, distressed that I’d lost my new friends. I grinned and straightened up as little white faces appeared at upstairs windows, but these were soon joined by the older, wizened face of a teacher whose harsh, muffled voice carried across the playground, ordering the pupils to return to their seats. A boy who was slower than the rest got his ear tweaked as encouragement. I stayed there for a few more hopeful minutes, but finally, and mournfully, I tugged my head loose from the railings.
Dogs generally have happy spirits, and most emotions are sacrificed to inquisitiveness anyway, so when an old man cycled by with a shopping bag dangling from his handlebars, I forgot my disappointment and trotted along after him. I could see a leafy sprig protruding from a hole in the base of his shopping bag. I think it must have been rhubarb – it had a sweet tangy smell – and it looked very appetizing. I soon caught up with him, for he was quite old and pedalling very slowly, and before he had a chance to notice me I leapt up at the tantalizing sprig. I was both lucky and unlucky.
I pulled the leaf and its stalk through the hole, but the sudden action unbalanced the cyclist and he came crashing down on top of me, machine and all. The breath was knocked from me so that my yelp of pain was only a crushed squeal. I spluttered for air and tried to apologize to the old man for bringing him down, but my words emerged as a series of wheezy grunts which he didn’t understand. He flailed his arms around, trying to hit me, not even trying to sympathize with my hunger, cursing and groaning as if he’d been tossed by a bull on to a bed of nails. And I’d managed to break his fall too!
There was no point in my staying, he wasn’t in the mood to offer me any food, so I tried t
o struggle free of both man and machine. A few hefty clouts from him helped me considerably and I was delighted to discover the contents of the shopping bag had scattered along the pavement. I ignored the long red stalks whose brief taste of foliage hadn’t excited me tremendously and dashed at a juicy looking red apple. My jaws clamped down on it – not an easy feat, for it was a large apple – and then I scampered out of range of angry fists and abusive language. It was fortunate his feet were tangled up in the bike frame otherwise I’m sure they’d have been used to send me on my way. At a safe distance, I turned and dropped the apple on the ground before me. I had meant to apologize again for I did feel sorry I’d caused the man to fall and hurt himself, but his purple face and shaking fist convinced me he wouldn’t be pacified. So, picking up my apple, I made off, looking back once to see him being lifted to his feet by two passers-by. He seemed all right as he hobbled around testing his aged legs, so I continued on my way.
7
Gentle nudging woke me.
I shifted my position and tried to ignore the prodding, but I was too cold to become comfortable again. My eyes opened of their own accord and I saw a big black dog hovering over me.
‘Come on, squirt, don’t let them find you napping there.’
I blinked my eyes furiously, now fully awake.
‘Where did you get loose from, eh? Run away from home, or did they lose you on purpose?’ The big dog grinned down at me.
I shivered and tottered to my feet. ‘Who are you?’ I asked, unable to stifle a yawn. I stretched my stiff limbs, my front legs going down on the ground, my back pushing my rump into the air as far as it could go.
‘Rumbo’s what they call me. You got a name?’
I shook my head. ‘I might have. I can’t remember it, though.’