I moved through the main yard where most of the bins of chopped-up animal parts were kept. Brendan didn’t give a damn about health and safety rules. As I passed by the locked gates of the shed, savage barking suddenly came from inside. “Hi-ya, Buddy!” I called out. “Don’t worry, it’s only me.”
Buddy was Brendan’s guard dog but we’d become good friends.
I strode by the shed quickly, trying to ignore the sound of him pacing back and forth on the concrete floor. “Sorry, boy!” I hated how he had to stay locked up at night on his own, but I didn’t dare rescue him.
I headed for the big bins at the back where the really meaty scraps were kept. Cow legs, bones, horns, hooves, and skulls. I barely noticed the gruesomeness anymore, but honestly, this place would traumatize a vegetarian for life. There were three big drums brimming over with meaty scraps—the perfect dinner for six starving dogs. I grabbed a sack and knife and started carving scraps of meat from the larger bones.
When the sack was full, I tied it closed with a rope and started hauling it towards the fence. “Bye, Buddy! See you tomorrow night.”
As soon as I appeared, my own dogs leapt up and down, barking frantically. The noise increased as they watched the bulging sack dragging behind me. I maneuvered the heavy sack of scraps over the wire fence, let it drop to the ground, and jumped down. The dogs danced around me, whining and begging. I really wanted them to eat dinner with me in the barn tonight.
“Come on, you can wait a bit longer, can’t you? It’ll be our first meal together as a gang,” I said to encourage them.
They just stared at the sack and drooled. When I didn’t open it, they began whining one after another.
Geez. I didn’t ask for much, but tonight I wanted this dinner to be special. Their eyes were still super-glued to the sack. “Okay, you can have a small snack now, but no more until dinner,” I grumbled as I tossed a chunk of meat to each dog and firmly retied the sack.
They stared at me in shock. I knew they were really hungry but for once they weren’t going to wriggle out of doing something I wanted. I started dragging the heavy sack behind me, heading for the railway track. Baffled, the dogs hurried after me.
The trip back to Padraig’s barn was a nightmare. My back was on fire, my fingers felt like they were about to drop off, and I had a thumping headache from listening to Pa piteously whine the entire way home. The sack felt like it was stuffed full of entire dead cows, not scraps. All I could do was grit my teeth and keep dragging. Our gang dinner was going as planned tonight even if it killed me.
I somehow managed to haul the sack up the ladder and with sweat running down my face, I lit some candles and propped them along a ledge. Poor Padraig would have had a heart attack if he’d seen them but damn if I was sitting in the dark to eat.
The dogs blinked as their eyes adjusted to the candlelight.
“Right,” I panted. “Now we can eat.” I crouched down to untie the sack. “Hey, isn’t this great? Aren’t we the best gang?” I gazed at them happily.
The dogs inched closer, like psycho killers moving in on the prey.
“Wait, I want to put it in a circle.” I walked around quickly dropping chunks of meat in piles on the hay, expecting the dogs to take their appropriate places. “Right-eo, here we go,” I said happily. “Enjoy your dinner everyone.”
Instead the dogs flew straight at each other and the noises they made were horrifying.
“Whoa!” I yelled in shock. All I could see was a mass of screaming, barking, growling, snarling, snapping dogs viciously attacking each other.
Bloody hell! They were going to rip each other to shreds!
I shoved my way into the middle of the fray to haul the dogs off each other. But as soon as I pulled one dog off, it quickly latched on to someone else. In between attacking each other, they frantically gobbled down any scraps of meat they could grab from the hay or out of each other’s mouths. It was worse than Andrew, John, and me fighting over food.
Blackie emerged from the scrum, dragging the food sack in his mouth. Pa, greedy as ever, chased after him in outrage.
“Okay, everyone calm down!” I shouted above the noise. “That’s enough! We’re all friends here.”
As I passed Missy, she whipped around to strike out at my ankle like a vicious cobra, her bared teeth like a mouthful of sharp needles. That was it. I no longer cared whether Padraig heard me or not.
“How dare you idiots mess up my nice dinner!” I roared at the top of my voice.
I tore them apart roughly until, still growling, they retired to the walls of the barn panting heavily. They looked like sulky pub fighters separated after a brawl.
“All of you, stay where you are!” I snapped as I sunk down in the hay to catch my breath. Then I remembered my loaf of bread.
Fuck.
When I frantically patted the front of my sweater, I realized my precious dinner was gone! I whirled round to see Pa with it in his mouth, ready to wolf it down in one swallow. I threw myself across the hay at him and yanked the loaf from his mouth.
Pa fled.
The loaf was a soggy mess, covered in raw meat and blood. Even I couldn’t eat that gruesome-smelling thing. The milk bottle I’d carried around all day in my pocket was lying on its side with most of the milk gone.
Mossy was sitting some distance away, staring at me with his big melting spaniel eyes. As always, he knew how to play me like a violin.
“Hello, fella. This wasn’t your fault. Come here,” I said, tearing a scrap of bread for him.
There was a low-pitched growl from Blackie.
Ha! As if I’m giving you anything when you started the whole fight, you bastard.
Blackie didn’t agree. His growl turned into a roar and he launched straight at me, knocking me across the hay in a confusion of fur and teeth. It was like having a grizzly bear over me with his huge teeth snapping inches away from my face. His breath stank of rotten meat.
Jesus, I’m about to die.
I turned my head to see Blackie walking stiffly off to a far corner with my loaf between his jaws. The other dogs watched in silence as he lay down and began ripping the bread apart, using his colossal paws to hold it in place.
I sat up. My heart was hammering away like it was trying to find a way out from between my ribs. I watched in a daze as that bloody dog calmly ate my dinner. How dare he! I marched straight over to him and booted him hard right in the gut. “You ungrateful bastard after all I’ve done for you!” This was the first time I’d really hurt one of my dogs, but I was starving, I was angry, and I couldn’t think straight.
He bared his teeth at me, but I stared him straight in the eyes and leaned in close. “Yeah? You want to make this interesting, dog?” I wasn’t scared of him anymore. He was just another bully pushing me around.
He leapt at me but this time I was ready and kicked him hard in the throat. He grunted, dropped back down, and glared at me.
I stared him down until he glanced away and shook himself from head to toe. That’s when I knew I’d won. All of a sudden, he dropped his head down low and slunk over the edge of the hay and disappeared. I sank down, trembling.
For the first time I asked myself how safe it was living with these stray dogs—especially a creature as dangerous as Blackie. He was big enough to kill me and obviously not very stable either.
The other dogs were shivering and shaking in fear. I patted the hay beside me. “It’s okay. You can come back now.” They turned away, their eyes unable to meet mine.
I whistled softly, but they kept turning their heads away. I was hurt—I mean really hurt. What had I done now?
I crawled across the hay towards Mossy as I considered him my best friend out of the pack. He sat there keeping his head turned purposefully away when I moved closer.
“Hey? What is it with all this crazy head turning stuff, boy?”
Before I could touch him, he flinched. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I said. I held out my palm gently. He backed off, thi
s time yawning noisily as he turned his head away.
I was confused. The dogs were all doing exactly the same thing—turning their heads and slowly yawning, like there was a game going on but no one had explained the rules to me. Sick of feeling left out, I sat down and mimicked them. I turned my head and yawned in an even sleepier way. If the dogs were going crazy then I might as well join them.
The dogs went very still. They looked at me carefully and waited. I felt the hairs rising on the back of my neck. The second time I yawned, the dogs all lay down in the hay, one by one. It was like I was casting a spell over them. Intrigued, I yawned again to see what would happen. As though they’d just taken a sleeping pill, the dogs lay their chins on the hay and closed their eyes. The barn suddenly felt like the most tranquil place. What the hell was happening?
It was those two simple signals. Turn your head away. Yawn sleepily.
I crawled over to Mossy again and started stroking his neck. His eyes flew open anxiously, but when I gave another sleepy yawn, he sighed deeply and shut his eyes. After another yawn from me, he rolled on his side and dozed off. I glanced around at the other dogs. They were already asleep, and Pa was snoring gently.
I’m not sure, but I think we all just talked to each other in dog language, I thought. Maybe when they turn their heads away, they’re saying, “Please leave me alone.” And when they yawn they’re saying, “Just relax and chill out.”
I didn’t know if I was right, but there was still one dog I could test my ideas on when he returned.
Blackie.
Around midnight, his massive shape appeared, casting long shadows across the barn wall as he slowly climbed over the edge of the hay. Half-dozing, I sat up.
Bloody Blackie.
Had he returned to attack me again? He slunk closer then stopped, sniffed the air in my direction, and growled low.
I was going to try talking to him in his own language. So I turned my head away and yawned in the sleepiest way possible.
Blackie stared at me in surprise, then sat down at my side. I was stunned! I’d never seen him so calm. I gave the two signals again. With an enormous sigh, he rolled over and relaxed completely.
He’d always snapped at me whenever I tried to touch him while he was lying down, but maybe now was the time to change that. I reached out a trembling hand and held my breath as I gently stroked his massive, shaggy neck. He was so unbelievably relaxed beneath my hand. I felt my skin tingle while a powerful energy flowed between us as we made our first true connection. He snuggled deeper into the hay. I ran my hand down his neck again. It was like I was stroking a big, black, dangerous lion. My fingers gently combed through his fur as my heart swelled with affection and something else—trust. I’d just had my first real conversation with this dog.
It was magic.
CHAPTER 5
Stupid Boy
ALTHOUGH DEEP DOWN I KNEW MY FAMILY LOVED ME, ONE of the reasons I ran away from home was because they didn’t understand me at all. I was born with ADHD but back in the 1970s, no one knew much about it. In case you’re wondering, it stands for Attention-Deficit-Hyperactivity-Disorder, and, I agree, it’s a bloody mouthful.
So what’s it like having ADHD? Well, for me it was like drinking a hundred cans of Coca-Cola a day. With that much energy fizzing around inside me, sitting still and concentrating were almost impossible. My ADHD drove everyone crazy. Even eating dinner with my family could quickly turn into a nightmare.
“Who’s bloody jiggling the table?” Dad growled one night.
Without realizing it, my ADHD was making me fidget in my chair. My knees bounced, fingers tapped, and body wriggled. As a result, everything on the table trembled and rattled as though Garryowen was experiencing an earth tremor.
“Is this a joke? Whoever the hell it is, stop jiggling!” yelled Dad, thumping the table. Major and Rex slunk out of the kitchen fast. My brothers and sisters flicked me looks of annoyance. If they could sit the fuck still, why couldn’t I?
I tried to get my body to behave, but before long, the table would start jiggling again and so did the sauce bottle, the milk container, glasses of water, the salt and pepper shakers. A few things even bumped over and fell onto the floor.
“Marcine! Mar-cine!” Mammy hissed, trying to get my attention. She could never pronounce my name properly.
Crack! Dad clipped me in the ear. “Your mother wants to speak to you. Stop fidgeting.”
“Please take your elbows off the table, Marcine. Remember manners are important.” I really wanted to please her, but before long my mind was racing away again and . . .
Crack! “Your mother said elbows off the table,” Dad rumbled. “Use your brain and think.” Crack! “And stop bloody fidgeting! I can’t bloody digest my food with all your silly-bugger jumping and jiggling. Outside and wait. You can come back in when we’ve finished our meal in blessed peace.”
I got used to waiting in our backyard with Major and Rex while everyone else in the family ate their dinner. Starving, I’d stand on my tip-toes to peer through the kitchen window. Then I’d start jumping up and down impatiently. To my family I must have looked like a human pogo stick.
Dad didn’t care. “Get away from that window or I’ll flog you!”
Strangely, when I was left alone with Major and Rex, my ADHD slowed right down and went to sleep. Within minutes I’d be calm and quiet. Why was that? Major, Rex, and I never argued. I did what I wanted and they followed me about like worried nannies. I constantly imagined them rolling their eyes to high heaven, saying to each other, What a bloody nuisance of a pup. Why can’t he just stop sticking his nose into everything? If I began getting out-of-control hyper, the dogs didn’t get angry or frustrated like humans. Instead, they went neutral, or moved slower. Often they turned their heads away and ignored me until I relaxed. If this didn’t work, they simply went to sleep until I calmed down. I’d creep closer and curl up beside them. It was wonderful feeling all that super-hyperactive energy leave my body. No wonder I was drawn to these two kind, wise dogs.
ADHD caused other sorts of difficulties for me. Like the time I woke in the middle of the night feeling hungry. I tried to ignore it but my stupid stomach wouldn’t let me. Feed me, feed me, feed me!
There was no chance ignoring that bloody dictator’s voice. ADHD burnt up so much of my energy that I needed to eat the moment I got hungry or my stomach started devouring itself. Trouble was, I’d been forbidden on the pain of death from entering the kitchen after everyone went to bed. This was because I kept eating the food carefully put aside for breakfast and lunch the next day. I was infamous for it.
Cursing my stomach, I snuck downstairs to the kitchen. There was only one place to look for food: the bread bin on the counter. I slid back the lid and saw two loaves inside. One loaf was for breakfast, the other for school lunches, leaving absolutely none for my midnight snack. My fingers hesitated. Mammy was going to hit the roof in the morning, but what could I do? My stomach was making me demented. The fluffy white loaf closest to me seemed to be singing my name, calling me closer. My ten thieving fingers reached in and liberated it. It smelt so delicious. Perhaps a very small slice or . . . ?
An idea hit me. Very carefully, I sawed off the end of the loaf with the bread knife. Nicely done, Martin. Now the tricky bit. I gently pulled bits of the soft center out and popped them in my mouth. Mmmm. Perfect. I pulled bits of bread out faster and faster until my fingers reached in and touched only hard crust. Jesus! I’d eaten everything inside the loaf. The stupid thing was now completely hollow. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Don’t panic, I told myself. Just think. What if I used a bit of jam to glue the end I’d cut off back on the rest of the loaf back? It was worth a try. Pretty inventive really. Once I’d done that I slid the thing back in the bread bin and closed the lid briskly. La-la-la. No one need ever know I’d been near it. I realized I was now desperately thirsty after eating all that bread. Of course there was tap water or . . .
I opened the frid
ge and saw that there was only one unopened bottle of milk left. Just my luck. It was obviously being saved for tomorrow’s cereal and Dad’s cup of tea.
God, how I love milk, I thought as my eyes flicked over the full bottle. I decided to make a deal with myself. I’d just limit myself to three small mouthfuls then re-fill the bottle with tap water. Who’d notice?
The trouble was the milk tasted so good going down my gullet that when I finally came up for air, there was . . . well . . . hardly any left. Bugger. When I filled the bottle to the brim with tap water it turned a strange watery color, but what the hell could I do about it now?
With a flourish, I put the bottle back in the fridge and banged the door shut. Out of sight, out of mind, problem expertly fixed, Mammy happy, blah-blah-blah . . .
Then it hit me. I was alone in the kitchen unsupervised. It was the perfect opportunity to hunt down the one substance I was absolutely forbidden to touch. Sugar. No joke, I was the world’s worst sugar addict—so bad the family had to hide it from me. Now like a seasoned junkie, I started ransacking the kitchen for the sugar bag, hoping Mammy hadn’t locked it in her jewelry box. I opened all the cupboards, looked in all the drawers, inside all the teapots, jars, and usual bastard hiding places. I finally flung open the cupboard under the sink and smiled.
There it was.
The tiniest corner of the sugar bag was peeping out from behind the drain pipe. I pulled it out in triumph and brought it over to the kitchen table. Digging deep into the bag with a spoon, I scooped some up and jammed it in my mouth.
The sugar exploded on my tongue. I always loved that first hit. The problem was knowing when to stop. After a second third, fourth, fifth, and sixth spoonful, lightning spread through my system, like I’d pumped rocket fuel into my body. I swear I even saw stars.
I went completely crazy, climbing onto the table, hopping on the kitchen chairs, bouncing off the walls. My body was going totally haywire. I finally had to run out the kitchen door, over the back wall, and up and down the street in my bare feet.
Must run laps around our block, I told myself. One lap, two, three. Nope, still not enough to use up my energy. I climbed over cars parked along the curb and zigzagged in and out of neighbors’ gates.
The Boy Who Talked to Dogs Page 7