by Jay Howard
Something About Suzy
As I mature I hear ‘beautiful’ and ‘elegant’ more often than ‘pretty’ and ‘dainty’. But I still hear, “All Salukis are gorgeous, but there’s just something about Suzy, something special”.
Mind, it wasn’t always that way, oh no! Little do they realise the overpowering hatred and loathing I feel for The Man, the rage that threatens to spill over onto those who don’t deserve it. All they see is my ‘aloofness’ as I back away because his height is the same, or his hair that same darkness that is not quite black.
It’s not their fault, but as the revulsion shivers through me I am forced to create space between us. I can see how deeply they feel my blatant rejection of them. I know that everyone I meet now just wants to love and spoil me, but The Man poisoned all possibility of the easy acceptance of such adoration. Male hands are memories of the vicious blows I received, male feet of the labouring pain of breathing after another thoughtless kick to my ribs in his careless drunkenness.
I don’t think he ever saw me for myself, just the status that the children I would soon be able to bear would bring him among his friends.
Friends? Scum! Scum! That was one opportunity for braggadocio I was determined would never be his. Owwwoooo! I can’t help but howl - my brain and guts are pure acid and black bile as I think of him! Oh, it hurts! I can’t help it! May he fall in the slurry pit, his last awareness be of filth sliding into his mouth and nose and lungs. He should rot in hell for all eternity! Owwwoooo! Owwwoooo!
-0-
It was difficult, but I was determined. I had to convince him of my passive submission to his will while maintaining a never-ceasing covert alertness, watching for my chance. It finally came during winter’s last cold snap. He hadn’t expected it after the warming breath of spring all week, so he wasn’t dressed for it. On his return his cold fingers fumbled over the chains and his beer-blurred vision did not spot his mistake. Oh, it was so hard to wait until I was sure he was settled for the night! My heart was racing as I slipped away from the caravan towards the wood. Fear lent my feet speed even as I cried in panic, hearing his vicious mongrel of a guard dog voicing the alarm, lunging towards me and bringing The Man lumbering to the door.
Be still! Be still! Don’t give him any clues. Oh, night’s blackness, be kind to me.
He lurched against the doorframe, peering blearily into the darkness, the light behind him sending the shadow of my worst nightmares clawing towards me.
“Damn her! The bitch’ll be back when she’s cold enough and hungry enough.”
Never! I’ll die rather than go back to him. Hungry enough? I was always hungry: my worms took more benefit from my meagre rations than I ever did.
I was so badly malnourished and weak I was ill-equipped to survive by myself. My failing health made me slow, so slow that the authorities eventually caught me and forced me into care. Trapped again, but at least in this prison I wasn’t beaten and half starved. I curled into a tight ball on my bed in the corner, trying to shut out the continual noise of my fellow prisoners. I just needed time to recover my strength then try again for freedom.
Unexpectedly, freedom arrived the very next day in a blue car. It was really strange. All She did was sit down and cuddle me in. We looked deep into each other’s eyes, searching for the true messages from the soul, and I didn’t feel trapped. I felt safe. I felt loved.
I’d never felt this elation of good emotions before, this soaring of spirit. Even the memories of my mother had been smothered in her feelings of despair, fear and danger. She knew from the start that her attempts to protect us were futile. But she gave me the will to survive! Because of her I had the determination not to be trapped, as she was, in a life sentence of male domination.
We have an oral tradition, passed from dams to pups, maintained over thousands of years. We know who we are, where we have come from. We know about our close association with humans, how we are bred to be the finest of partners in the hunt through the deserts for prey. The hawks do the spotting while we follow with our humans on horseback: we watch them then close in for the kill, thinking and acting independently but working together. We are not kelb, we are gifts from Allah.
But then? I was weak. I was frightened. I was alone.
I was desperate for love.
“She only came in yesterday,” my Warder told Her, watching me curl into Her. “I’ve wormed her and the vet did her shots when he was here for another dog, but I haven’t had chance to take her in to him to get the rest sorted. As you can see there’s mange and an ear infection and both eyes infected too. But I’m really not set up here for her kind. We take the big dogs here mostly. I’m scared the pikeys will break in to get her back once they know she’s here.”
She pulled me in closer. “I’ll take her now,” She said and looked up at the Warder, daring him to gainsay Her. “I’ll care for her. She’ll be safe with me.” She stroked me, careful not to touch the agonisingly painful ear. “We’ll heal you,” She told me. “You won’t ever feel pain again if I can prevent it.”
The couple took me to their home and persuaded me it was my home too, if I wanted it. If I wanted it? My feelings and desires were now important too! Home – the very word had had no real meaning for me before I met them. They taught me about home and family, about caring for each other.
Our first morning together I just curled into Her lap, Her love balm to my wounded soul. They made me well and allowed me to be a child again. You should see all the toys they bought me! We spent hours playing together, and then, even better, they decided I was lonely for my own kind and that it would be rather nice to give someone else a home too. So that’s how I met Fleet. Now when we go out for walks together I have someone to run and play with. My Humans are OK, but you know what I mean.
Fleet’s bigger and stronger than me. He loves me and is prepared to defend me if I feel threatened. In his eyes I’m always right, even when taking both offered treats, surreptitiously hiding one for later. He understands what I went through because his background is not dissimilar to mine, although his suffering, his neglect and abuse, originated in ignorance of our breed rather than evil intent. We are not lap dogs or dull-witted dogs. We can think for ourselves. We are sighthounds, with a proud heritage.
Fleet and I think the same way, we play the same way. When we run with the wind our plumed tails are our rudders, just as it was for our ancestors, hunting in the winds of the deserts. He cares for me and respects me. We work and play as a pair, indivisible.
There’s the key in the lock – my Man’s back from work. I spring up ready for the daily ritual of greeting, a ritual we both anticipate and enjoy.
“Hello, gorgeous! How’s my girl today?”
He sits on the sofa with me while I make a big fuss of him. I know he’s a man, but he’s nothing like The Man. I feel bile in my throat again and push those black memories away. This man doesn’t see me as a twice-yearly source of lurcher pups to sell for illegal hare coursing, abusing my royal Saluki heritage, draining my body until at just middle age I’d be a worn-out dried husk to be dumped as a worthless encumbrance. Anyway, he’s my Queen’s consort and I’ll do anything to keep Her happy. If She wants me to show respect and affection for Her chosen partner then I shall.
A quick change of position is needed as Fleet comes over for his fuss. I use my body to edge him away sideways. It’s still my turn, Fleet! I feel a bit disgruntled as he reaches over me to rub Fleet’s silky ears, but then, and I know it’s immature and unworthy, but I can’t help gloating as I hear him say, “Hello, my boy. Yes, I love you too, but there’s just something about Suzy.”
~~~
