Dog

by Andy Mulligan

  “Spider. I just told you. I—”

  “I’m Buster. It’s a boy’s name, of course, but I’m used to it now. When d’you get caught?”

  “Yesterday, I think, but I’m a bit confused.”

  “Me too. Ha!”

  As the pit bull spoke, there was a crunch of gears. Everyone shifted forward, and a cage further down was tipped on to the one below. There was a desperate yapping, and a renewed howl of fear.

  “Hold tight, eh?” said Buster.

  Spider wedged himself into a corner, and his neighbour chuckled.

  “I don’t know how they work, the old cattle prods,” she said. “They stun the brain, I imagine, and they got me right in the neck. It’s what they use, these guys, and you don’t have a chance—there’s no biting back. I’ve been here a while… Watch out now!”

  They were swinging slowly round a corner. Spider felt his own cage sliding backwards.

  “I was trying to keep a record of the days,” continued Buster. “You know what I mean? Scratches on the floor, because… Listen.” She lowered her voice, and the growl was deep and soft. “That’s the main thing, friend: in a situation like this you need to keep up the old self-discipline. You mustn’t go to pieces, or get yourself isolated. I like to keep in shape, but this driver can’t exercise us—or he doesn’t want to, maybe.”

  “Who is he?”

  “No idea. But he’s in charge at the moment.”

  “There’s a really bad smell in here, Buster.”

  “I know. Take shallow breaths—that’s what I do, because there’s been casualties and there might be more.”

  “Where’s he taking us? Does anyone know?”

  “Not for sure, but I’m hoping it’s a home.”

  “A dogs’ home?”

  “A pet centre—to, you know, keep us safe. My owner might be there already, if I’m lucky.”

  They were accelerating. The road had straightened, and there was a breeze running through the truck.

  “We have to find out for sure,” said Spider quietly. “I think it could be one of those laboratories, and if it is we have to do something.”

  “I don’t believe in labs. I heard the tales, but they never made sense.”

  “They do experiments in them.”

  “Who do?”

  “I don’t know, Buster! I don’t want to know!”

  “Ah, they’re just scare stories, pal—to frighten the pups. If you want to know what I think: I think we’re off to a good old refuge or something similar. That’s what some of the cats were saying, and it’s logical. We’ve been cleared off the streets, OK? They have to do that, these guys, so I figure they must have a place in mind. And here’s another thing: we got sprayed down last night with a hosepipe. We all got a drink, so maybe he’s not so bad, this driver. No food yet, but it’ll come. Where did they find you?”

  “I was at the railway station.”

  “Really? Which one?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “I’ve been to most of them, over the years. I used to be up and down on the old railways—quite a regular. Sorry, I asked your name, but I’ve forgotten it. My memory’s just about gone, you see. You can guess what I do, huh?”

  “No.” Spider shook his head. “No idea, Buster. What do you do?”

  “Ah, come on! Look at me.”

  The dog put her head on one side and showed her teeth. Her breath was worse than ever, and the empty eye socket was pink and raw.

  “What does a dog like me do for a living?” she asked.

  “I honestly don’t know,” said Spider nervously. “Were you a guard dog, maybe?”

  “Ah, you’re warm.”

  “You’re not one of those police dogs that looks for explosives, are you? Like a—”

  “Sniffer dog? No way. Guess again—last guess.”

  “I don’t know, really I don’t—”

  “I’m an attack dog, pal: I fight for money. I did some breeding when I was a youngster, but that’s over now. It’s been one scrap after another lately—and that’s what worries me, you see, because I’m key. I’m part of a team, and I have a boss and a schedule and… they’ll be going crazy right now. It’s against every rule in the book.”

  “What is?”

  “Getting lost! You don’t get lost—ever. You stay close to your master, so you’re there when you’re needed, and… Sorry.”

  “What?”

  The pit bull was twitching. She closed her one good eye and retched.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Spider.

  “Nothing. I just… I get the shakes sometimes. Flashbacks, too… Where was I? What’s your name?”

  “It’s Spider, Buster. You were talking about staying close to your master.”

  “That’s the only rule, really. Don’t get separated, because when the man in charge needs you, that’s when he needs you.”

  Spider nodded, feeling worse than ever. The truck picked up speed, and the pit bull shook herself violently and barked a laugh.

  “I’d been taking a few hits lately,” she said. “Quite a few, if I’m honest. You know, losing bets? I don’t have the speed I used to have. I was looking forward to the next fight, though, and we were going up north—I was in the zone, ready for anything. And I still don’t know what happened, but we didn’t ever get there. All of a sudden, Spider—listen to this—the door of the van came open, right? And I felt a great big foot under the you-know-what. A boot, Spider—like I was sitting on the boss’s foot. You ever do that?”

  “What?”

  “What I just said: sit on your master’s foot.”

  “Well, yes, I think so—”

  “It’s puppy stuff, yeah? We’ve all done it—of course we have—but I thought I’d grown out of it. Anyway, the next thing I knew, up it came and I was lifted up and out—I was kicked down the blasted road. Wham-bam! I was rolling down the motorway and ended up in the gutter all covered in blood. How did that happen?”

  Buster barked again, and Spider cowered back in his cage.

  “Didn’t he stop?” he asked.

  “Who?”

  “Your owner, Buster. Didn’t they pull over and wait for you?”

  “I don’t think anyone saw,” said the pit bull quietly. “They just drove off faster—top speed, in fact. All I heard was laughter. And here I am, with the lost and the lonely! Watch out, pal… we’re slowing down.”

  Sure enough, the truck was braking again. The cages shifted, and Spider braced himself with his legs and his head, fearing that the whole pile would topple at any moment. Again, there were cries of panic.

  “What do you do?” hissed Buster.

  She was further away now, but Spider could still see her mad, blinking eye. He could hear her claws, too, as she stomped her paws on the metal.

  “I don’t do anything,” he said.

  “No? What are you, then?”

  “I’m an ordinary dog. I’m very lost and very scared.”

  “Ah, you’re a pet! I’ve forgotten your name again, pal—I had it, but it’s gone.”

  “Spider.”

  “I’m forgetting more and more, Spider—getting old, I guess, and… I’ve started drooling a bit, but that’s under control. You know, some say we’re on different sides, the pros and the pets. I don’t believe that: I keep the fighting for the ring.”

  Spider nodded weakly.

  “First fight I ever had,” she said, “they put me up against some mongrel-monster twice my size, and he cut me up pretty bad. He was stronger, and he got the taste of blood, so what I did was: I whimpered around a bit, played up like a girl, and he thought he had me. He was on top, and that’s when I turned and went for the windpipe. Never looked back after that. Who’s looking for you? You say someone’s out there, searching?”

  “I hope so, Buster. He’s called Tom.”

  “Is that your master? Tom?”

  Spider nodded sadly. Just saying the name made his heart ache, and he had to stifle a whine.

/>   “You stay with Tom, buddy,” said the pit bull. “Don’t let him go.”

  Spider howled quietly. “I didn’t mean to let him go, Buster! And I was so close to finding him—or I might have been.”

  “He’ll be waiting for you, won’t he? Mine will.”

  “Will he, though? There was a misunderstanding, and I ran away. He may have replaced me by now, and—”

  “Hey, now. Don’t say that!”

  “He might, though! I was a bad dog. I let him down.”

  “No,” said Buster. “No. You mustn’t think negative thoughts, OK? You must hold on to what you have. No dog is replaceable, ever: that’s what I believe. That’s why I feel for the boss—he’s going to be in pieces right now, worrying about me. He’ll be driving round, putting up posters…”

  The pit bull shook her head and barked.

  “Has Tom put up posters? That’s what they do, you see, if they really want you back. Posters saying ‘Missing dog’ and a nice picture, with their phone number slap-bang under it. Has your guy done that?”

  Spider went to speak, but found he couldn’t. He stood in his cage, frozen to the spot, and the pit bull stared at him.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “Oh, God,” groaned Spider.

  “You’re shivering, pal. Are you getting cold?”

  “That’s exactly what he’s done! I thought he might want me punished, but the posters are just asking people if they’ve seen me. He is looking for me, Buster. He’s missing me!”

  “Then you have to hold on, don’t you? We’re both OK, Spider! We’re going to be found soon, and it’s going to be some reunion!”

  Even as the pit bull spoke, the driver was braking harder than ever. Spider’s cage was tilting badly, but he didn’t care. Suddenly, he felt light-headed with hope. He jumped at the cage door, butting it with his nose. The stack bulged in the centre, and as the truck took a bend the whole pile tumbled, and everything slid forward. Spider’s cage rolled over, and he lay on his back, too stunned to move.

  When his eyes focused, he saw that he had new neighbours. There was an elderly lurcher, whimpering to itself with its eyes tight shut. Closer, though, was a smaller cage that had landed on its side, and cowering in the furthest corner was a slim, silver cat. She was mewing and turning in tight circles, so for a moment Spider didn’t recognize her. Then she stood still, and he glimpsed the stump of a tail. He saw her profile, too, and realized with a shock that the face he remembered so well was horribly thin. The bony shoulders suggested starvation.

  “Moonlight?” he hissed.

  He kept his voice low, but he saw her eyes widen in fear.

  “Moonlight, it’s me,” he said. “You remember me, don’t you?”

  “Spider?” said the cat. “Surely not—it can’t be.” Her voice was a croak.

  “It is me, Moonlight! What are you doing here?”

  “It can’t be you, darling…”

  “What’s happened to you?”

  The cat inched forward and put her nose against the wire.

  “Oh, Spider,” she said. “Oh, my dear, true love. The bravest dog I ever knew. Oh, my angel. I… I thought I heard your voice earlier, but I assumed it was just another dream tormenting me. You’ve come to rescue me, haven’t you? You’ve followed me! I knew you would, Spider. But where are they taking us?”

  As she spoke, the truck shunted forward, and they heard the clang and scrape of heavy gates on concrete. The cages shook, and a shower of fleas dropped through the bars and hopped madly over the floor. Spider felt one on his eyebrow, and knew that his own had returned—he felt it shift to the safety of his ear.

  He twisted round, for the cat was now behind him. Buster’s cage was on its side, some distance away, and he could hear the pit bull gnawing at the wire.

  They were plunged into darkness.

  “Moonlight!” he cried. “I’ll try to get help—don’t worry.”

  “We’ve got problems,” hissed the flea.

  “I know, but I’ve just found an old friend, and listen, flea—I’ve had good news.”

  “No, Spider, you listen—”

  “Tom’s out there, looking for me! The poster we saw said ‘Missing Dog’ and it had his phone number! He wants me back!”

  “Spider, stop talking!”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re in terrible danger, and I was wrong. Tom’s not going to find you—not where we’re going. We need to do something—fast.”

  Spider could hear something in the flea’s voice he’d never heard before. He could feel its tiny body trembling as it searched for the words. The truck was rolling forward down a steep slope and a bell was ringing.

  “Spider,” hissed the flea, “there are fleas in this truck that have made this trip before, and you need to know the truth. This is a McKinley’s lorry, from the factory—”

  “What factory? What do you mean?”

  “McKinley’s Foods,” said the flea. “You’ve heard of them, haven’t you? Every animal has heard of McKinley’s—they make those awful pet snacks.”

  “I’ve heard the name, yes. I’ve seen a box, I think.”

  There was a screech of brakes as he spoke, and the fresh air was replaced by a thick stink of boiling fat. Spider found he was retching, and the animals around him started to splutter and howl. He was plunged back in time to a hungry evening when he’d been foraging for food. It was the same evening he’d climbed a tree in search of a squirrel, and he remembered the brightly coloured carton, with smears of something foul. He’d forced himself to sniff at it—and that was the smell in his nostrils now.

  “It’s a meat factory,” said the flea.

  “Meat?” cried Buster from the back of the truck. “So they’re feeding us! What did I tell you, guys? We’re going to be OK!”

  “No. You don’t understand,” said the flea. Spider could feel the insect trembling still as it struggled to speak. “Oh, Spider! McKinley’s makes pet food out of unwanted pets. You’re the meat, Spider! You’re all going to be slaughtered, and we’ve left it too late…”

  As the flea’s words died away, the steel shutter started to rise. Floodlights blazed, and the animals were blinded.

  PART THREE

  “It wasn’t my fault,” said Phil. “You know it wasn’t, Tom—and I’m not going to let you blame me for a whole load of accidents and misunderstandings. I’ve tried to help you find him, and what you’re saying isn’t fair.”

  “He should have been outside, in the garden.”

  “Yes. I made a mistake.”

  “You certainly did. None of this would have happened if you’d put him out, which is what you’re supposed to do before you go to your stupid college.”

  Phil said nothing.

  “You’re supposed to help us,” said Tom quietly. “That’s the only reason Dad lets you stay here. You pay a cheap rent, and the whole place stinks of your bloody bits of bike—and you didn’t check. You let Spider have the run of the house, and that’s why he went crazy. He chewed up my room, which meant Dad threw him out. It’s all because of you, Phil. You killed my dog.”

  Tom sat at the kitchen table, and Phil stood at the sink looking at him.

  “But you don’t know he’s dead,” said Phil.

  “He’s been run over.”

  “Tom—”

  “Robert Tayler saw him. Saw him in the road. I’m not going to forgive you. I think you should move out.”

  Phil went to speak, and thought better of it. There was another silence.

  “Who is Robert Tayler?” he asked, at last. “Is he a friend?”

  “I don’t have friends.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “Not any more. When do I see them? When do I have time to see them? Tayler’s my worst enemy: he hates me, and I hate him.”

  “Right. So what if he’s just making it up? What if he wrote the note to upset you? It’s what people do sometimes.”

  “I don’t.”

/>   “Don’t you? You never try to hurt people by lashing out?”

  Phil pulled out a chair. As he sat down, the phone started to ring and they both stared at it.

  “I’m not answering it,” said Tom.

  “I didn’t expect you to.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  “She doesn’t want to speak to me. She wants you. She wants to hear your voice—that’s why she calls.”

  “Well, she’s not going to have that pleasure, is she?”

  “One word, buddy. Pick up the phone, and—”

  “I’m not talking to her ever again. I don’t need her, and I don’t need you. She walked out on us, Phil! She decided to leave us, and you can’t make me speak to her, because you’re not even family. You’re just some guy who moved in because Dad lost his job, and…”

  “What? Go on. Say it.”

  “And you’re a parasite. You talk to her if you’re so into reconciliations. Tell her we’re all fine and happy, having a wonderful time.”

  Phil shook his head, and the answerphone clicked in. They both listened, waiting for the voice. They heard breathing, and that intake of breath when someone tries to speak and fails to find the words. They listened as she failed again.

  The door opened, and Tom closed his eyes.

  “What’s the time?” asked his father.

  Phil checked his watch, and the machine turned itself off.

  “Eight twenty-five, nearly.”

  “That was your mum?”

  “Yes,” said Tom.

  He crossed over to the kettle and switched it on. They all waited as it reboiled, noisily. Phil handed him a mug, and Dad made himself tea.

  “Where’s your tie?” he said, at last.

  “It’s in my pocket,” said Tom.

  “You shouldn’t be here, should you? You need to put your tie on and get going. Is that a clean shirt? It looks—”

  “I don’t have a clean shirt, Dad—I never do. The washing machine’s broken.”

  “Again?”

  “Again.”

  “Oh.”

  “That’s just what I said,” said Tom. “When it broke.”