Dog

by Andy Mulligan

  He put his nose in and looked around the walls.

  Every bit of space was covered in pictures of motorbikes. There were beer bottles and at least half a dozen ashtrays, which made the air rather sour. He was about to retreat when he saw a flicker of movement, like the flaring of a match. It was a bright orange flash, and it came from a bowl in the corner.

  “Hello?” said Spider quietly.

  The bowl was perfectly round, and full of water. He put his nose to the glass.

  “Oh, wow,” said a voice. “How are you?”

  It was Hilda the goldfish, and she was swimming in a circle. She was moving slowly, keeping close to the side, and the voice had a bubbly quality: small and friendly.

  “Fine,” said Spider. “Thank you.”

  “All OK?”

  The fish completed a circuit, and bobbed for a moment, staring from wide eyes.

  “Good, thanks,” said the dog.

  He stepped closer, and the fish set off in the opposite direction.

  “How are you?” asked Spider.

  “Oh, I’m good too,” said the fish. “Thank you for asking. Quite a day, though, huh?”

  “I suppose it is. I haven’t actually been in here before—this is new to me.”

  “Really? Why do you say that?”

  The fish paused. She flicked her tail and set off on another circuit.

  “Because it’s true,” said Spider. “I’m thinking that I ought to go upstairs and wait for Tom. This isn’t my… territory. I mean, Phil seems like a nice person, but I don’t know him as well as I do my master, so I ought not to intrude. I wouldn’t normally be indoors like this.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “What?”

  “Huh?”

  “Why do I say that? Because it’s true. I’m usually in the garden. I’m not sure Tom’s father likes me, and… Well, he makes the rules.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Spider paused. “Why do I say what? Which bit?”

  “Huh?”

  “What?”

  “How are you?”

  “Look,” said Spider. “I’m fine, but I’m just trying to work things out. I’ve caused a few problems, to be honest. I always worry a bit, because I wasn’t chosen—you know, in the beginning. I was the last dog and they couldn’t sell me, what with this tooth. I’m not much to look at—that’s obvious—so when Tom’s dad saw me, I was given to him. I was a free gift, if you like—I had no value. That doesn’t bother me now, but it’s something I have to remember when I’m thinking about how I fit into the family because, well, the family’s a strange one, when you think about it. There’s something going on that I don’t really get, but I love Tom, and he loves me. I love him to bits, but his dad wanted a cat, which I completely understand. Cats are… very attractive. They’re easy to care for, and they don’t cause the kind of problems I do. Maybe I should try to be more catlike.”

  “Hmm,” said the fish. She twirled in a circle and blew a bubble. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because it’s true. I know about cats. I know one cat in particular, and I keep thinking about her. She said some very strange things.”

  “Huh?”

  “She said I might have a cat’s soul.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know. But what does that actually mean? I can’t work it out, but if she’s right, then I should be with her. You’re a fish, aren’t you, so I don’t suppose you have these problems…”

  “Oh, no. You bet.”

  “Well, then. If you know what you are, you do what you do. You do fish-things in the same way as I do dog-things. Maybe.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Look, I’m trying to explain… I’m just trying to make sense of it all. Fish swim and eat and… that’s how it should be. I’m looking at you, and I can see that you behave in a fishlike way. What bothers me is that I’m still not totally sure what I am, because—”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Spider barked with frustration. “I’m explaining!” he cried. “I’m thinking it through! How can we know what we are? I love Tom, but he’s not a dog. He’s human! He throws sticks, and I catch them and bring them back. He’s doing what he does, so I do it too, and we all get along.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Oh, you’re not listening!”

  “Huh?”

  “This is hopeless—you’re just repeating the same dumb question. I’m talking to a fish—why am I even doing that? You don’t communicate with your owner, do you? Phil, I mean. Does he love you? Maybe he does, in a way. But I sleep at the bottom of Tom’s bed, and in the night if I wake up and feel alone, I realize I’m not. I can feel his heart. I hear it. I’m serious. Just listen—don’t speak. Have you ever found that your heart is beating in the exact same rhythm as someone else’s? That’s what happens with us. Tom smells of me, and I smell of him. But what I’m trying to work out is whether there’s more, and… Oh dear, what if Moonlight is right? Tom might change, and what happens then? Thread, too—I haven’t told you about Thread. It thinks things are going to end badly, so I’m living in a kind of constant fear. Not all the time—I don’t mean that. Most of the time I don’t think—I just get on and live my life, but… you only get one, Hilda. You don’t want to ruin it, and I saw how big the world was. I was on the roof and I saw it, spreading out for miles.”

  The fish bulged her eyes slightly, and blew a trail of bubbles.

  “It’s so, so big,” said Spider softly. “And you think I’m a mixed-up fool, I know you do.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’ve got to stop thinking. This is way too deep.”

  “Hi.”

  “What?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Spider howled in anguish, and butted the fishbowl hard with his nose. There was a crack, as loud as a gunshot, and the water slopped out over the table. The dog watched in horror, for the bowl had split and the fish was flicking her tail in alarm. She did two quick circuits, bubbling anxiously. She tried to do a third, but got caught in the weed, which marooned her on a handful of damp gravel. She flopped on to her side, gasping, for the water had run on to the carpet.

  “Oh no,” whimpered Spider.

  “What?” said the fish quietly.

  “I’m so sorry…”

  “Why?… Why did you do that?”

  Spider gazed at the destruction, feeling more helpless than he’d ever felt. The fish was still opening and closing her mouth, but there were no more words.

  Spider fled. He raced downstairs and straight back up again. He rushed into Tom’s room, diving on to the bed and burying himself in the duvet. He was shaking all over, aghast at what he’d done, for the dreadful thing was that there was nothing he could do to put it right. He squirmed back on to the floor and jumped up on to the table. Pens and pencils went skittering in every direction, and he caught one in his mouth and bit hard. Then he was on the floor again, snapping and biting. For five mad minutes he pulled at everything he saw. There was a slipper with a loose sole: it took him ten seconds to rip it apart. There were action figures, and he hurled them into the air. Tom had board games that he never tidied away, and Spider upended them, tearing the boxes. The cuddly dragon came next, and then he attacked a cushion. The air was soon thick with feathers, and the carpet was invisible under a chaos of ripped fabric. There was the felt penguin Tom kept under his pillow. There were the roller skates that stank of leather. There was the golf club, cold against his teeth, and the box of comics that flapped and flew. It soon looked as if the whole room had exploded. The wardrobe was empty of clothes, and Spider was rolling in the mess he’d made. He remembered Moonlight’s magical claws, and tried out his own on a pair of training shoes. He went down low, like a cat and hunted them, and then he returned to the felt penguin, shaking it so hard it fell apart.

  By mid-afternoon he’d transformed Tom’s bedroom into a mass of fluff, feathers and ripped-up paper. There were places
to roll and tunnel, and, best of all, the whole nest had the intoxicating scent of himself and his master combined. He lay there, panting in relief—and that was when he noticed Thread, dangling just below the skylight.

  The spider was smiling.

  “My word,” it said. “What a dog.”

  Spider stared.

  “What a lovely mess you’ve made. Are you happy now?”

  “Yes. I think Tom’s going to be surprised, but—”

  “Pleased?”

  “I think the whole place looks better than it did. Don’t you?” Thread descended, and once again Spider heard its thin, cruel laugh.

  “I think he’ll be overwhelmed,” said Thread. “I can’t wait to see his reaction, because you’ve really done it now. For sure.”

  He paused, for they could both hear the front door opening, and weary feet in the hall.

  Spider jumped off the bed, his ears flapping.

  The feet came slowly up the stairs, treading heavily. They paused on the landing below, and Spider remembered the goldfish. He had a vision of the broken bowl and the water as it flooded the carpet. He heard Tom’s voice, then, but it was quieter than usual.

  “Oh, no,” said the boy.

  Spider padded to the door, and was in time to see Tom as he reached the bottom of the staircase. The two friends looked at each other.

  “Spider,” said Tom, “what have you done?”

  Spider sat down.

  “Why are you in the house?” the boy asked, and he started up the stairs.

  Spider wagged his tail once and lifted a paw. He could sense a terrible fatigue in his master, and he knew that things were about to go horribly wrong again.

  The boy was close now, and he had a bewildered look. His tie was twisted, and there was mud on his blazer. When he put his hand out to touch Spider’s head, the back was grazed and bloody. Spider whined and licked at it, but Tom was moving past him, into his bedroom. He stopped and stood motionless, as if some magic wand had touched his shoulder and turned him to stone.

  “No,” he said softly. “Oh no, Spider. What the hell have you done?”

  The dog watched in alarm as Tom gazed around his bedroom, shocked and upset. The boy sat down suddenly on the carpet—it was as if his legs had given way. He put his face in his hands, so Spider did the obvious thing and bounded into his arms, nuzzling hard. He was pushed away, so he pushed back harder, more frightened than ever. He squirmed between the boy’s elbows, whimpering, and tried to get a good lick at the troubled face—and he saw, with horror, that the face was bruised, and the right eye swollen. Tom turned his back and rolled over on his side.

  “No!” he said—and he said it again and again. “No. No. No.”

  Spider whined, hunting for a solution. He thought of the stick game—could that make things better? The closest thing to hand was a wooden ruler, which he’d tested his teeth on earlier and rejected because it splintered so quickly. He found its remains in a mess of feathers and brought them over to his master, pushing at the boy’s chest.

  Tom looked at the gift and got unsteadily to his feet.

  “Spider,” he said, “you’re a bad dog. Do you understand me?”

  Spider didn’t.

  “Look at this mess. Look at what you’ve done… This is…”

  Tom was lost for words. He stared at the wreckage around him, and picked his way through the debris, to what was left of the felt penguin. It had been decapitated, so he looked harder and soon he found the head. The beak was missing.

  Spider got ready, still wondering if things really were as bad as they seemed. Was Tom tricking him? Maybe he would throw the penguin and everything would be all right.

  Tom didn’t. He looked at it and said, “Why? Why today? As if I haven’t had enough. Oh…”

  The boy gulped and closed his eyes.

  “Do you know how long I’ve had this?” He held the remains of the toy in both hands. “Spider, this is Penny. But you don’t know that, do you? This was the first thing I was ever given, but you don’t understand that, do you?”

  Tom’s voice was doing strange things, and Spider whined again.

  “This was the first thing I ever had, as a baby. Mum made me this. She made it, and said… She said…”

  Tom paused and shook his head. Spider saw the tears running down his face. His whine was constant now, for he realized things were even more out of control than he’d thought. It felt like the world was ending.

  “You can whine all you want,” whispered Tom. “Whine away…”

  Spider yelped.

  “Just look at that—that’s my English book… That was my English book, and that was my French dictionary! Jesus, Spider—you’ve ruined them all. This is a disaster… It’s over.”

  He put his hands over his head, and moaned.

  “Dad’s going to kill you. And me. We might as well run away together because we’re dead, both of us. You’re a bad dog! D’you hear me, Spider? You’re a bad dog. You’ve learnt nothing. You’re… you’re a monster.”

  With that, Tom turned away and left the room.

  “Nice one,” said Thread.

  Spider didn’t answer. He stood there, unable to comprehend the tide of misery that had rolled through the bedroom. He hadn’t understood Tom’s long sentences, of course, but he’d heard the words “kill” and “bad dog”. Worst of all was the total rejection of every lick and nuzzle: he’d been pushed away not once or twice—and not as in a game—but every single time. Every effort he’d made had failed, as if Tom had become a stranger. The relationship was over, just as Moonlight had predicted.

  “What do I do?” he said faintly.

  “Don’t ask me,” said the spider. “All I know is that you’ve blown it. For ever.”

  “Don’t say that, Thread. I need advice!”

  “You need to face facts. The kid’s a worse mess than we thought. You just saw it yourself. He’s hot, then he’s cold. He has no stability, does he? He’s emotionally wrecked. That’s the problem here: one minute he’s all over you, and the next he’s blubbing over a toy penguin his mummy gave him. He called you names, dog.”

  “That’s not fair—”

  “Of course it’s not!”

  “I mean, what you said isn’t fair. I’ve let him down again!”

  “What I said is true, dog. And, no, life isn’t fair. What do you want, you stupid mutt? He insulted you and he threatened you.”

  “I need to say sorry.”

  “What for? For being what you are?”

  “No! For spoiling things!”

  “How’s that going to work? ‘Sorry, master, I’ve been behaving like a dog, because that’s what I am.’ He’s psychotic, that kid—and violent, too. Did you see the blood on his hands?”

  “He was hurt.”

  “He’s a bully!”

  ‘No! I think he’s in trouble, and I’ve made it worse—”

  “Oh, Spider, come on! He’s got friends at that crazy school, and they’ve been fooling about together, fighting. The one thing he doesn’t need now is a pet like you. He’s tired of you, didn’t you see that? And it’s so, so typical. This is how relationships go, every time—and it proves what I’ve always said. Stay single—if you have any guts you’ll get out now. Listen… Shh! Wait.”

  Thread and Spider felt the vibrations together.

  “Someone’s coming, dog—and it doesn’t sound good.”

  “What do I do?”

  “Attack.”

  “Attack who?”

  “Everyone. It’s the best option, buddy—always is.”

  The feet were heavy on the stairs—heavier than Tom’s. Spider whined and moved backwards. When he saw who it was, he started to shake. It was Tom’s dad, and it looked as if he’d just got out of bed. He came into the room and surveyed the wreckage in silence. Then he picked up the plastic sole of a wrecked sandal. He slapped it against his palm.

  “My God,” he said. “You’ve ruined us.”

  Spider w
as silent.

  “They told me you had a bit of retriever in you. Retrievers don’t do this, do they? What the hell’s going on? What are you? Come here—come on…”

  Spider tried to retreat, but he was trapped between the bed and the wall.

  “Bite him!” hissed Thread.

  Spider shook his head.

  “Go on, get him!” cried the spider. “Go for the throat!”

  But things happened way too fast for that. Tom’s dad lunged forward and caught Spider by the collar. He was yanked off his feet, and though he twisted like an eel he couldn’t resist the man’s strength and determination. Half strangled, he was dragged out of the room and down the stairs, bumping on his back. He yelped and barked, but the collar was twisted harder, and all he could do was screech. Then he heard Tom. The boy was screaming too, and his dad was yelling at him.

  As they crossed the landing, Spider did his best to howl. Tom ran at his father, but was pushed back. He came again, grabbing at his dad’s arm—and that was when Spider’s instincts kicked in. He bit hard at the fingers that held him, but he couldn’t get purchase, and he was lifted off his feet again. He struggled and snarled, but suddenly he was in the kitchen, the door shut and locked behind him. Tom was hammering at it, and Spider felt a rush of cold air as he was hauled into the garden. His windpipe was completely blocked now, and he knew he’d pass out if he didn’t get free. He twisted wildly, slashing with the claws of his back feet. Then he saw the shed, upside down, and he found himself flying into the furthest corner.

  “I’ve had enough!” cried the man.