Nobody's Poodle

by Nikki Attree

  Then something else. Another twist. Between Rambo’s agonised woofs and the crowds’ mocking shouts, there was the sound of a siren. A black van screeched to a halt. Men in uniforms jumped out and were grabbing hold of the drunken audience.

  I looked over to Rambo. El Bastardo had stopped beating him now, and was edging towards the exit.

  I woofed to Rambo: “lets go, this is our chance to escape.”

  El Bastardo saw us making our get-away and rushed towards us. I felt a searing pain as his belt come down on my back, but Rambo, my hero, went straight for his trousers. He grabbed him by the leg, and I managed to make a run for it.

  I looked back once to see where Rambo was, but he’d disappeared into the night.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Friends Re-united

  I ran through the blackness of the night, not daring to turn my head. If I was being pursued I didn’t want to know. All that mattered was to get away from El Bastardo and his prison. I hoped against hope that Rambo had also managed to get away from that terrible man, and that our paths would cross again, hopefully in happier circumstances. So I ran and ran until finally I dropped, exhausted, near a low stone wall somewhere in the countryside, and fell asleep.

  I must have slept deeply, because when I woke up the next morning there was a human talking to me softly. My first thought was “oh no, he’s found me!” and a rush of panic hit. I tried to get up on my paws and attempt to run, but I was so weak that I fell straight back down again. Yet again I was at the mercy of another human. I looked up at the new tormenter’s face staring down at me, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. I recognised that face - it was Trev!

  He looked quite different though. His hair was longer and very matted, and he had more hair on his face. His clothes were dirty, and he smelt rather ‘interesting’ (as we dogs say). Generally he looked a bit ‘ruff’, just like me in fact. But I didn’t care. I licked his face enthusiastically, just not believing my luck. It was so good to be with my master again. Trev gazed down at me, and tears started rolling down his face.

  “I don’t deserve you Gizmo. After I pissed off and left you, and you can still give me the time of day.”

  The thing is: us dogs don’t really hold grudges. Most of the time we’re stoic. We accept what life throws at us - the good, the bad, and the ugly (which is just how we were both looking right then), and we don’t really complain. For sure I wouldn’t be so overjoyed to see El Bastardo again, but Trev was OK(ish). After all, despite how things had ended, we’d had some good times together.

  He picked me up gently and started walking, with me in his arms. It felt wonderful to have someone hold me like that again, with so much love and affection. Tingles of joy raced through my fur. I did my ‘floppy thing’ in his arms, and kept licking his face. He carried me to an empty finca where he’d been staying, and as he carried me along, he kept talking to me softly:

  “I can’t believe you’re here with me Gizmo. It’s a sign. My luck’s changed, now I need to change as well. I can see that now, and you’ll see too Gizmo. I hit rock bottom. We both have, but this time I promise things will be different. If you just give me another chance, I’ll do right by you this time. Just you wait and see.”

  I let him talk while I kept licking. To be honest, I didn’t really care about the past. Everybody deserves a second chance, and I was just so happy to have someone looking after me again. After all, a dog without a master is like:

  toast without butter

  fish without chips

  cappuccino without the frothy stuff on the top

  or a large planet without gravity … because, of course, if you decided to jump in the air (for a squeaky ball for example), without gravity both the squeaky ball and you would just float off into space. So, you get my drift (woof woof:-)

  Anyhow, when we got to the finca Trev gave me some tasty morsels to eat, and started to fill up an old iron bath with water from a hose. I must admit (and I don’t often admit to this) it felt great to be having a bath. Finally I could kiss good-bye to those pesky fleas that had been squatting in my fur, rent-free. After the bath he gave me the rest of the salami, and I realized that he’d just given me the last of his food, and his only meal for the day.

  He wiped me down with an old t-shirt, and we sat together while my fur dried in the morning sunshine. He stroked my head and kept talking to me softly: “I’m so sorry that I left you in the apartment Gizmo. It was a terrible thing to do, but I wasn’t thinking straight. I knew that we had to get out of there before the landlord chucked us out and took all our stuff, but I only had just enough money to send Sharon and Tracey back home. So I lied to them that you and me would be joining them in a few days.”

  “Aha, so now the truth is coming out” I thought.

  “My credit card was on the limit, and after I bought their tickets I couldn’t use it anymore. I didn’t tell them, but a mate had been loaning us the money to carry on. I already owed him thousands, so I couldn’t ask for more money to get you and me back to the UK. In the rush to get them home and us out of the apartment, I sort-of forgot about you. Well, I ‘spose the real truth is that I blocked you out of my mind. Now I can see what a terrible thing I did.”

  He was sobbing quietly with his head in his hands, but he desperately wanted to finish the story …

  “I’ve screwed up badly, my furry friend. I’ve let you and my family down. The dream life in Tenerife just didn’t work out as we planned. It turned into more of a nightmare really! OK, so I didn’t like my job in the UK, but at least it was regular work with a regular wage, and I could provide for my family. When the hotel sacked me cos I wouldn’t take a pay cut, it was the beginning of our downward spiral. I lost all my confidence, and it was impossible to find another job. All the restaurants and hotels are cutting back on staff. Not speaking Spanish didn’t help either.”

  “I’ve been lying to Sharon and Tracey, telling them that I’d found another job and I was saving up for my plane ticket, and yours as well. Every time they ask about you I feel so bad. I’m sure they can hear it in my voice, but I’ve been dreading telling them the truth about how I abandoned you. Then they want to know why I haven’t booked a flight yet … but the truth is Gizmo, I’ve been living on the streets like you. I’m so ashamed and I’m so sorry.”

  I licked away the salty tears pouring down his face, and it seemed to cheer him up a bit.

  “When I left you behind in the apartment, I thought that the landlord would be bound to feel sorry for you and take you to the dog refuge. I didn’t have the guts to do it myself, and I couldn’t face telling Sharon and Tracey. So like I said, I just blocked you out of my mind.”

  “It was a terrible thing to do - you could have starved to death in that apartment. Since that day I’ve been having nightmares about it, wishing that I could turn back the clock.”

  I looked up at Trev, and saw real sorrow and remorse in his face. I put my paw on his arm, as if to say: “it’s OK mate, I understand, we all make mistakes in life. What matters is admitting that we made them, and learning from it. That’s what makes us wiser.”

  For instance, this reminds me of a hard lesson that I’ve had to learn about cats. I know I said that cats are “pants”, but now I think that was wrong. It was a mistake to think that we could simply chase all the pesky critters right off the planet. It’s just not possible, and actually it’s not even healthy for us dogs to declare war. Chasing them is wooftastic sport - yes, but tearing them limb-from-limb is just not acceptable these days. Though it pains me to say it: we do have to live together in relative harmony.

  So I admit I made a mistake, and now I’ve moved on. Enlightened dogs like me don’t go in for catist hatred any more, and we don’t agree with catism. Generally, the kind of dog that is still openly catist isn’t my kind of an amigo anyway. They tend to be all bark and no bite, all snarl and slobber, but when you cut to the chase they’re usually far too fat to catch up with even the laziest pussy. OK, I’m not saying that I�
��d necessarily want to share my last bone with a cat. I’m not even saying stuff that I’ve heard from other dogs like: “some of my best friends are cats” (yeah, right), but I’m reminded of a quote from that great canine philosopher, Snoopy:

  “Sometimes when I get up in the morning, I feel very peculiar. I feel like I’ve just got to bite a cat! I feel like if I don’t bite a cat before sundown, I’ll go crazy! But then I just take a deep breath and forget about it. That’s what is known as real maturity.”

  And to that, I’d just add: ‘real wisdom’. I always try to keep this in mind when I see one of them feckin moggies sneering down at me from the neighbour’s wall.

  Anyhow, I digress … Trev’s mood changed when I put my paw on his arm. He seemed to understand what it meant. He laughed ruefully, and his voice changed: “honestly Gizmo, anyone would think that you can really understand everything I’ve been saying.”

  Well scratch my bollox - had he only just realized? we did understand each other! Of course we did. Maybe not in the conventional human way, with words, but he certainly understood the point of my paw gesture, and I understood what he’d been telling me - from the music of his voice, the looks into my eyes, and his tears. We were communicating perfectly, with emotions rather than words.

  It’s funny really. On the one hand humans don’t think us woofers can understand a word they’re saying, but then on the other hand they expect us to come running as soon as they call our names; or not to lick that tasty morsel of horse shit when they tell us what it will do to our stomachs. We can chew bones but not their slippers, and when they explain this they expect us to understand and obey.

  Ha, I seem to remember that Trev even used to talk to me about his problems with Sharon. “I’m in the dog house again” he’d say to me, as he took me for my morning walk. “’Er Indoors is giving me grief again”, and he’d go on about it for the next fifteen minutes, when all I really wanted was for him to let me off the lead and throw a ball for me to chase. But never mind, apparently I’m a Man’s Best Friend, so I’ll listen to his tales of woe about ‘Er Indoors, but they really should make up their minds about this, and decide whether we can understand their lingo or not.

  Of course your average family pooch isn’t bothered about any of this. Basically he’ll just suit himself, and only really respond to commands when he feels like it, or when biscuits are involved. However, I’m a bit different. I think I’ve already mentioned that I’m a highly intelligent super-sophisto woofer. When it comes to understanding difficult stuff like this, I’m the mutt’s nuts, the dog’s danglies. So, as I’ve explained, I can communicate directly using state-of-the-art canine communications: gestures, sounds, smells and emotions.

  Trev looked at me, and he seemed to have come to a decision. “So, as you can see my furry mate, right now all I have are the clothes on my back and not much else. You and I both know how lonely it gets on the streets, and I’d love to give you a home, but right now there’s nowhere that I can call home.”

  “Oh no, I can feel where this going. Not again …” I thought.

  “I don’t want you to suffer any more than you already have Gizmo. You look like you’ve really been through the wars my poor pooch.” Little did he know how true that was!

  “Those wounds look like they’re infected - you’re going to need some medical treatment, but I haven’t got any money to pay for it. You need a proper home, with someone who can give you the care and attention you deserve. Not me. Right now I have nothing. It wouldn’t be fair on you.”

  Just as I thought: this was deja vu and Groundhog Day all over again.

  “Look Giz, I know a really good refuge where you’ll be well looked after until they can find you another family. It’s going to break my heart to say good-bye again, but take it from me, this time it really is for the best.”

  I had to admit, he had a point. Not that I was looking forward to this ‘refuge’, whatever that was. I just hoped that it wasn’t anything like El Bastardo’s shed. But as I keep telling you: us dogs are nothing if not stoic, plus all this talk about a new home with a new family had made me nostalgic for the creature comforts that I’d once enjoyed.

  So Trev and I walked to the refuge. It took us a few hours, but it was good to be walking beside a human again. As we walked along the dusty track he spoke softly to me, talking about the good times we’d had back in muddy old England, and how happy I’d be with my “new family”. I did my stoic, resigned best and tried to stay optimistic. This was going to be a fresh start, and hey whatever else it would bring, there’d bound to be more adventures.

  My story has certainly had a fair few twists and turns along the way. Who’d have thought that I would have just bumped into Trev like that, and here we were, taking this twisty track together to goodness-knows-where. I’d survived so far, partly through good fortune, but also on my wits. Hey, I was a street-wise woofer now, and I was almost starting to enjoy the unpredictable adventures that it brought. At least life hadn’t been dull since leaving the creature comforts behind. Yes, I was going to miss Trev (again!), but you never know what was waiting just around that corner … “hopefully a nice juicy steak” I thought.

  When we got to the refuge we were greeted by the manager: Marta. Trev explained the situation to her: “this is Gizmo. He’s a very special dog, and he needs a good home. Please, please can you take him in? I’ve heard so many good things about your refuge. The dogs get the care and medical attention they need, and then you try and find a good home for them. Look at me. I just can’t look after Giz properly any more, so I’m begging you, please take him.”

  Marta checked to see how many dogs were in the refuge and said: “OK, you’re in luck. I do have a place for Gizmo. I’ll take him, but you’ve got to understand that once you leave him with us, that’s it - he’s not your dog anymore.”

  Trev looked sad, but he replied stoically, almost doggedly: “I understand. That’s the way it’s got to be. Just look after him well, OK?”

  Marta looked me up and down, and said: “he’s a really sweet dog. Like you say, quite special in fact. I don’t think it’ll be too long before he finds a home. Once he’s had a good wash, we’ve got rid of all his fleas, and he’s had time to recover from his sores, he’ll be very presentable.”

  I was thinking: “’ang on a minute, I had a bath yesterday. How many baths can one dog have, before he smells sweet enough for these feckin female humans?”.

  Trev knelt down beside me and and spoke to me softly, with tears in his eyes: “good-bye Giz, my cute furry friend. I’m so sorry that it had to end like this, but like Marta said, you’re one special doggie and someone’s bound to fall in love with you very soon, just like I did. Adios Gizmo I’ll never forget you”

  He gave me a last hug, then he stood up and I watched him walk slowly away. He didn’t turn back to look at me, just carried on walking through the refuge gates and into the distance. Yet again I was being abandoned, and I felt the familiar rush of desperate sadness and panic. I tugged at my lead and tried to follow him.

  Marta kept a firm hold of me, knelt down and whispered softly in my ear: “hey, don’t worry Gizmo. You’ll be fine. I’ll put you in a cage with some other friendly dogs to keep you company. So cheer up, it’s dinnertime soon, you must be hungry.”

  Now, I know I’d been having fantasies about a nice juicy steak, but funnily enough, after Trev walked away and left me there even the thought of food couldn’t cheer me up. I’d known in advance that he was going to leave me in the refuge of course, but when it happened for real I felt the familiar feelings flood through me: loneliness and emptiness. Once again though, it wasn’t long before the stoicism and survival instincts that are part of us dogs’ genes kicked in again. Hey, sheet happens (quite a lot to me it seemed) and then we move on.

  Marta’s vet gave me the once-over and I had some flea and tick treatment. My fur was trimmed and my various wounds were treated. Then she put me in a cage with a few other mutts. My new home wa
s thankfully nothing like El Bastardo’s shed. It was actually quite spacious - for a cage anyway. We could even wander outside to do our business and have a bit of a nosey around. So, more like a real home - or at least a ‘sought after’ cage.

  I must admit though, that first night I didn’t get too much sleep. Well none of us did really. My cage-mates were: Gonzales - a manic Jack Russell (we called him “Speedy G”) and Luna, the Bulldog. Speedy G kept bouncing around all night like he thought he was some kind of manic rubber ball. He bounced off the walls, me, Luna, everything really! and in between bounces, he insisted on telling me his life story - in great detail. Then when Speedy G’s battery finally ran down and he decided to go to sleep, Luna started snoring for Tenerife. Crikey, what a racket! The planes flying low over the refuge were nothing compared to Luna’s snoring. Maybe that was why she’d found herself on the streets - perhaps she drove her owners completely mad with sleep deprivation.

  The next morning the nice people at the refuge gave me some breakfast. Wooftastic! What a treat after having to ferret around for food on the streets. It almost made up for the lack of sleep. Then one of the volunteers took me for a walk. Aha, now things were really looking up … that’s until I got back to the cage to find yet another woofer had appeared. So now there were four of us in there, and it was getting a little bit cramped. “Not much chance of moving pad and getting some kip now, they must be full” I thought. Oh well, sigh … not wanting to start off on the wrong paw with the new arrival, I greeted him with a welcoming sniff.

  The new mutt was Elvis - some sort of a Terrier / Spaniel mix. He seemed friendly enough, until he started making this weird noise. It sounded a bit like a pig trying to sing karaoke while being strangled. I thought: “hang on mate, I know it’s quite a privilege to meet a pooch of my calibre, but calm down please!”. Unfortunately there was no stopping him. The strangled-pig karaoke wailing continued on-and-off for the rest of that day and night.