I decided to go in at dusk, just before it got dark. Luckily he had no farm dogs. Crouching down, my own dogs tucked in tight against me, I peered through his hedge. There was Padraig’s farmhouse, smoke curling up from his chimney, his radio turned up loud. Even from here, I could smell what he was having for dinner—sausages. The dogs started licking their lips and so did I.
“Keep your traps shut,” I hissed. “Who knows if Padraig will come out with his shot gun if you lot start barking.” I glared around at them. They seemed to understand the gravity of the situation. “Stick right behind me,” I hissed, jerking a thumb behind me. I took a deep breath and snuck through a gap in the hedge, the dogs following quietly. We slipped through his farmyard like shadows. In a single file we crept alongside the wall, under his farmhouse window, and past his farm buildings until we came to his hay barn on the far side of the yard.
It was bigger than most.
Wanting a secret exit, I took us to the rear of the building and tugged at a loose sheet of tin from the back wall to lift it quietly so the dogs could hop inside, one after the other.
Before each hopped through, they glanced at me anxiously. They could tell we were treading on forbidden territory.
Once inside, I looked up at the loft. The hay was piled nearly two stories high, filling the huge space from wall to wall. “That’s where we need to get—up there,” I whispered. “On top of the hay.” The dogs gazed upwards too. It was a natural hiding spot and they knew it. I looked for the best way up. The stack was too steep and slippery for me to climb, so I used the wall struts to haul myself awkwardly upwards. How the hell was I going to drag the dogs up here?
Not to worry—the dogs had worked out their own staircase system. They were leaping and jumping up the front slope of the stack, in a crazy hurry to get past me. It must be much easier having four legs and such a low center of gravity.
“Shush!” I hissed. “Don’t you guys dare bark!”
They bounced past me grinning, then wriggled and heaved themselves over the edge onto the loft. They stood looking down at me in a line, tails wagging madly. Ha-ha! We got up here first! they seemed to be saying with their tongues lolling out.
I climbed higher until I could step easily on to the top of the stack. Beneath my feet, the hay was like a springy, thick carpet, surprisingly firm to walk on. “Wow!” I said looking around the unexpectedly large space. “It’s like we’ve got our own secret cubby house up here!” After my dismal culvert under the railway line, this was like landing at the Ritz.
The dogs were wandering around sniffing everything in fascination. I walked over to a chink in the front wall and looked down at the muddy farmyard below. It was starting to rain again. “Yee-ha! Try getting me now, rain!” I walked to the back wall and pressed my face to peer through another gap. “Excellent—the perfect look-out to see what’s happening anywhere around the farm,” I murmured.
I turned to watch the dogs. The hay was making them so excited, like they were playing in snow. Mossy was running zigzag like a lunatic. Soon the rest joined in. Thankfully they weren’t barking because in a big barn like this the noise would amplify like a bitch.
Grinning, I let myself topple straight back into a pile of deep hay. “Ah, thank you, Padraig. This’ll do grand!”
The dogs ran at me, licking my hands, face, anywhere they could reach. I pushed them off with a laugh. “Looks like our gang has a new home, huh? Do you know what, dogs?” I said, sitting up and patting them all. “We might all be unwanted strays, but I feel like we really belong here.”
Of course, they had no idea what I meant but grinned at me anyway. As always, if I was happy, they were happy.
As it got dark, we buried ourselves deep in the hay. The dogs tunneled into cozy sleeping burrows. I covered myself with a thick blanket of hay. “Good night,” I called out softly. I felt myself smile as I drifted off to sleep.
A rooster nearby woke me with his crowing. He was probably outraged to find so many intruders in his territory. I opened one of my eyes a crack. It might be dawn but it was still dark. “Buzz off,” I growled, snuggling down deeper into the hay. I knew we should be sneaking out before Padraig caught us but it was so warm and comfortable in the hay, I didn’t want to move. I’d just had the most comfortable sleep of my life! The dogs thought otherwise. Hearing I was awake, Pa lumbered out of his sleeping burrow and waddled over to me.
“Creeping Jesus! Please go back to sleep,” I begged him. “It’s still dark outside.” I buried my face in the hay as he prodded me with his wet nose in the back of the neck bossily.
“Bugger off,” I said into the hay.
Pa, however, was soon joined by the other dogs. They stood in a circle around me, looking down in disapproval.
Oh God, I groaned. Rise and shine. It’s breakfast time. “Okay, Okay,” I grumbled to them. “Keep your hair on, I’m up.” I patted them all good morning as I sleepily picked bits of hay out of their fur. “We’d better check if Padraig’s awake before we start trooping through his farmyard,” I said. “And for God’s sake, don’t any of you dare bark.”
I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled to the edge of the hay loft. The dogs wriggled on their bellies to join me. High up here we had a clear view down through the open barn doors into the farmyard below.
Dawn was turning everything outside the softest pearl grey. Mist lay cloud-like across the fields. Padraig’s tall black-and-white Friesian cows stood around in the yard below, every now and again lowing mournfully to be fed. Steam rose off their backs as though they were freshly baked, just out of the oven.
A door slammed shut.
“Wuff!” said Mossy softly beside me.
I put a finger on his snout in warning. He shut up and watched the yard below intently. We all did. Next we heard the metal crunch of Padraig’s hobnailed boots coming down the concrete path. He came into sight—a short, fat man with a steady farmer’s plod.
Fergus whined, and I leaned across Mossy to tap him smartly on the nose. “Shh. Don’t give us away.”
Whistling a lively diddley-dee tune, the old farmer hauled himself up on to his old Massey Ferguson tractor like it was a favorite old horse and brought it stuttering to life.
Good. If Padraig was busy feeding his cows, we could leave. “Okay,” I said, “Let’s move it, dogs.”
Together we hurried towards the edge of the hay and sat down. From up here, it felt like we were on the top of a high waterfall of hay. It was a bit scary looking over. Taking a deep breath I pushed myself over the side and the dogs scrambled after me. “Yeeeeeeeeeehaaaaaaaaa!” I shouted as I skimmed down the steep, tufty slope on my backside.
Missy zipped down much faster than she wanted to. Pa made a slow, regal descent, sitting very upright. Fergus desperately tried to use his long terrier nose as an extra brake. Laid-back Red slithered down, lounging back languidly on one elbow. Mossy treated the whole thing like a fast ride down a slippery dip. And Blackie, being his usual grumpy self, ignored everyone as he skidded down awkwardly on his rump.
We crashed into each other as we hit the floor, then crawled through our secret exit and scooted along the buildings until we reached the gap in the hedge. Once through we all started running in the low-lying mist that covered the open field. Mist always made for excellent camouflage.
It was time to steal breakfast. Reaching the railway line, the dogs and I started jog-trotting the three miles towards Castletroy. This was the estate where some of the wealthiest families of Limerick lived. It was also the place I planned to hunt for my breakfast.
At the railway bridge I stopped and turned to the dogs. “Wait here. You know the deal. We can’t all go tramping through the suburbs in daylight or we’ll stand out. People will start calling the Gardaí.” I proceeded but turned again to find the dogs kept following me. “I said, wait here, you idiots!”
They lowered their heads and tails in disappointment and slunk into the brambles. Mossy gave me a long, miserable look over his
shoulder as he slipped under a bare, twiggy bush.
“Thank you!” I snapped and kept on jogging. Every time I stepped onto the manicured lawns of Castletroy it felt like I was entering a different world. Cautiously, I jogged down the long, tree-lined streets past big houses with grand gardens and sleek, expensive cars parked out front.
With every step I felt wilder than ever—like a real tramp. I became aware of how my boots pinched because they were a size too small. That my clothes were dirty and tattered, and my hair was a wild tangle, with bits of hay in it. That hunger had driven my feet deeper into enemy territory.
My ears caught the low rumble of the bread van. Right on time. I ducked behind a parked car to watch it turn into the street and peeped over the hood of the car as it pulled in close by. The bread man hopped out, slid his back doors open with a bang, loaded his arms high with loaves, and set off down the driveway of one of the big houses.
He trotted up the stairs to the porch and carefully placed a freshly baked loaf of bread on the window sill. My mouth watered. Not long now. “Come on. Come on,” I muttered, my eyes glued to him.
The van moved bit by bit down the street. With each stop, the delivery man ran up and down the driveway in a steady rhythm. At last his van rumbled around the corner and disappeared.
Finally, I had the street to myself. This was the dangerous part. I took a deep breath and got ready to dash down the driveway to grab my first loaf of bread when I heard . . .
“Good morning!”
Shit!
Heart thudding, I cautiously peered back over the car hood. A lady in a creamy silk dressing gown had just stepped outside the front door of the house I was about to raid.
Why the hell was she was talking to me? I wondered.
Turns out she wasn’t. She was looking over her immaculately trimmed hedge at the man in a dressing gown on the porch next door. He was collecting his bread and milk, too.
“Good morning, Geraldine.”
“Fine day, d’you think, Harry?”
“Marvelous,” he said. “Ah, got to go. Toast and coffee beckons.”
“Why don’t you both stop jabbering and get inside?” I muttered grimly. My stomach was killing me with hunger.
My eyes swiveled desperately to the milk and bread on another porch. Sitting side by side, they were practically begging me to come and grab them. At last chatty Geraldine and Harry went inside.
I was ready to make my move when, like cuckoo clocks, all the front doors up and down the road opened one after another. There was a cheery chorus of “Good mornings!” and “Ha-llo theres!”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Now I’d have to dash around to another street if I wanted any breakfast. Running past more driveways, my stomach growled as I caught the beautiful smell of food cooking until I was almost drooling like a dog. Bacon, eggs, sausages, black pudding, tomatoes, baked beans, lamb chops.
On the next street, I spotted the bottles of milk and bread still on their porches.
Thanks be to Jesus!
There was no time to lose. I had to get in and out fast so I bolted straight to the porch of the first house, swiped the loaf of bread from the window sill, and kept running. Except I forgot the milk. Shit! I erupted through a gap in the hedge and ran to the neighbor’s porch, grabbing their milk and bread.
I ran through another hedge, grabbed another loaf, then one bottle of milk and another. It was like I’d gone mad. I had more than enough for breakfast and dinner, but still I hesitated.
Just one more loaf, the little devil of mischief prodded me. Think how good it’ll taste for a snack later this afternoon.
I was just picking up another loaf from a window sill when I heard the front door open behind me. I spun around to see a man with kind brown eyes wearing a silk dressing gown.
“Good morning,” he said politely. “May I help you?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
He pointed at the loaf. “Er . . . we might need that for our breakfast.”
We stared at each other a moment then he smiled kindly. “If you’re hungry, you could come inside. I could make you some toast.”
My eyes narrowed. What the hell was he up to? No one could be that nice to a thief stealing food right from under his nose.
The man held out his hands, trying to calm me like I was a wild animal.
I dropped the bread and bolted down to the corner to the bush where I had stashed the rest of the bottles and loaves, cramming them into my arms somehow. Then I didn’t stop running until I reached the railway bridge—the edge of my home territory.
There I sank down on my haunches to catch my breath and glanced at my hands in disgust. They were trembling violently. Pathetic. “What’s happening to you, Martin?” Even my voice sounded wobbly. “Why’re you so terrified of some harmless, old, rich guy?” It seemed the longer I stayed away from home, the more scared I was becoming of people.
My stomach reminded me sharply that I still hadn’t eaten anything so I drained a bottle of milk down without stopping for air and crammed chunk after chunk of bread into my mouth. I was so hungry, I wolfed down another loaf. That left me with only one loaf and two bottles of milk.
There was a rustle as the dogs barged out of the tangle of bare blackberry brambles, galloping towards me in excitement. My heart lifted at the sight of them. “Hello, dogs. Yeah, I survived getting breakfast—barely.”
They crowded around me, sniffing at the precious loaf I held tightly to my chest. “Sorry, but this is for my dinner. You know the deal. I can’t feed you lot until later.”
They gazed at me mournfully. “Don’t look at me like that. You know we have to wait until Brendan leaves,” I snapped. Guilt always made me curt. “Come on, we’d better get out of this rain.”
They followed me along the railway line to my hide-out under the track. Until I learned Padraig’s routine, I didn’t want to hang around his barn too much in the daytime. The dogs looked gloomily at the tunnel entrance, unable to understand why we didn’t go back to the barn.
Blackie, grumpier than ever, nipped Fergus to show his displeasure.
“Geez, you can be a real sour puss,” I said to him in disgust.
One after another we crawled down the tunnel and crammed together inside.
A grey, depressing drizzle settled in for the day. The dogs shook droplets of water everywhere while I lit a tiny fire with a few lumps of coals I’d kept stashed. It was a bit of luxurious warmth on a gloomy day.
The dogs shoved and pushed around the cramped space restlessly, snapping at each other. They were always like this when they got really hungry.
“Sorry,” I said, shrugging. “You know the score—no dog food until after Brendan leaves.”
One of the main reasons these six dogs followed me everywhere was because I stole food for them. At twilight every evening, I’d sneak into Brendan Mullins’s slaughter house—the ultimate restaurant for stray dogs—and steal meat scraps and bones to throw over the fence to them. Trouble was, I couldn’t risk going near the slaughterhouse until almost dark in case Brendan caught me.
Suddenly Pa’s fat tail accidentally brushed against Blackie’s front paws, and I had to pull them apart quickly.
“Whoa, now. C’mon, we’re all friends, aren’t we?”
Poor dogs—they were completely fed up. They all lay down with noisy sighs, their chins on their paws, and their heads turned away from me.
Suddenly I had an idea. “I know how we can cheer ourselves up. Tonight we’ll have dinner together in the barn—like a real family. It’ll be great.” I could just picture the scene. All of us in the barn sitting in a circle, sharing a meal together. “Why not? We’ve never done that before.” While I had my bread and milk, the dogs could have their meat scraps, and one bone each for dessert. “Look at us. We’ve got the perfect chance to be a really cool gang. Hey! What are we going to call ourselves?”
None of them were listening, but I didn’t care. I laughed as a nam
e came to me. “We’ll be the Dirty Dog Gang!”
The dogs twitched their ears in irritation as if trying to flick away my bothersome voice. I decided to lean back against the wall and have a nap.
It’ll be like we’re in a Hollywood movie, I thought sleepily, huddling deeper into my jacket. We’ll be the Dirty Dog Gang.
A fat paw rudely woke me. Pa was panting straight in my face. “Jesus, Pa!” I said disgusted. “Your breath stinks!”
All the dogs started shoving their noses impatiently in my face until I pushed them away. “Okay, okay,” I grumbled. “I’m getting up. Keep your tails on.”
The look in their eyes was unmistakable—they were starving. I checked that the loaf was still tucked safely under my sweater, then crawled outside. It was starting to rain and the afternoon light was fading fast. “I’m going to get soaked getting your dinner, dogs. Hope you appreciate this.” It was always a big deal going out in the rain because it was so hard drying wet clothes and I didn’t have spares.
We were on our way to Brendan Mullins’ slaughterhouse on the edge of Garryowen. As I got wetter and more irritable, the dogs got more excited. Soon, they were bouncing beside me happily. When we reached the field bordering Brendan’s place, I peered around the hedgerow for a good look.
It seemed deserted. Together we snuck across the open field and peered through the six-foot-high chain-mail fence. Then the stink hit us like an invisible wall. Phew! Brendan’s was like a scene from hell. It was where all the dead horses, cows, donkeys, dogs, and cats of Garryowen were brought to be disposed and recycled into other things—hides for the tannery, meat for Greyhound trainers, and animal scraps for factories manufacturing soap, make-up and glue.
The dogs were avidly gazing inside at all the meat and bone scraps like kids outside the best ice cream shop in the world.
This was not a place for the faint-hearted. I started climbing over the six-foot barbed wire fence like a monkey. The dogs waited outside in line, their tails wagging furiously. Fergus yipped excitedly. “Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled. “I’m hurrying.”
The Boy Who Talked to Dogs Page 6