The Boy Who Talked to Dogs

by Martin McKenna

  Just like humans, the dogs reacted differently to each challenge. Fergus always looked jaunty when he won. Blackie was always surly, whether he won or lost. Missy looked a little sly when she tried to win a challenge and quickly lost her temper when she lost too often. Pa was happy when he won, and took a nap when he lost too much. Red was a noble winner and just as noble at losing. Mossy was the real surprise. He was extremely competitive and desperately strived to win every single challenge against me. It was obvious we both wanted to be the leader of the gang.

  “I’ll beat you,” I said confidently. “There’s no way a little spaniel’s going to be my boss!” He grinned back. I quite think he liked the new me and was glad I’d finally started playing the game. We were definitely the top two rivals in this secret game of dogs.

  After a few days, I noticed some challenges were more important than others, so I mentally started awarding points to each one. Just like in any human game, the dogs were trying to score more points than each other.

  Most of the gang stepped on each other’s toes when they thought they could get away with it, so I awarded that easy challenge only one point per win. Only Mossy and Blackie took this challenge seriously. They growled at any dog who dared to stand on their toes. Red was clever at winning this challenge. He kept clumsily backing into other dogs, so he “accidentally” ended up treading on their toes. Blackie always bit him if he tried this trick.

  A challenge worth a lot more points was when one dog jumped up on another dog and rested his paws on the other dog’s shoulders. It always caused a strong reaction, sometimes even a fight, so I gave this challenge a value of ten points. Mossy was constantly doing this and he won lots of points this way.

  Other ways of invading someone’s personal space could score you points. You could do this by using your claws, body, or even your tongue to get through another dog’s defenses. It didn’t matter whether a dog was small and friendly like Missy or big and aggressive like Blackie; they each had plenty of ways of winning points against the rest of us.

  Missy had a clever trick. She’d pretend to spin around chasing her tail. Then she’d crash into another dog and playfully lick and claw his face in the confusion. It was a great way of winning four or five points in a few seconds before darting out of reach.

  Pa liked leaning against other dogs, especially when he chewed at a pretend flea at the base of his tail. Each time he leaned in, he earned a few points.

  Of course, all the dogs constantly tried to win points against me. I was the prime target and invading my personal space was definitely their favorite way of scoring points. Missy was very good at it. She had a habit of testing my balance by weaving around my feet until I tripped. If she did manage to trip me, she won a point. However, if she could get me to trip and fall to the ground, then I reckoned that was worth about thirty points. She also liked to lick me all over my hands and arms. Each lick was worth half a point at least. Mossy’s licks were different. He went for the surprise attack. Suddenly he’d bounce up and slip his tongue straight inside my mouth. To him, my lips were like goal posts scoring him maybe twenty points or so. He was shoving his scent right into me where I couldn’t ignore it. All the dogs loved trying to jump up on me, especially when I returned to the barn. I soon realized they were trying to plant their scent on my body. This scent came from the undersides of their paws. It was like leaving an invisible victory mark on your competitor. The higher a dog planted its smell on me, the more points it won.

  Each dog had a few specialties. They practiced these until they were brilliant at winning, and I soon found myself admiring the dogs for their ingenuity. Pa had a simple trick that won him lots of points from everyone. He’d pretend to be so lazy he couldn’t get up if you needed to walk past. It was funny how he always picked strategic places to lie across, like doorways and the top of the wall ladder. By deliberately lying in the way, he forced the other dogs to jump awkwardly over him or make an annoying detour. This may have won him only one or two points at a time, but these easy points soon added up. I could trust Pa to work out the laziest possible way to win points. Pa’s more active approach was to barge others out of his way. The more he knocked someone off his feet, the more points he won. A gentle bump against my leg might be worth one point, while knocking me completely off my feet was worth at least thirty points for him.

  Fergus’s method, on the other hand, was just as ingenious. If another dog had a sleeping spot he wanted, he’d pretend there was an intruder outside and would run to the edge of the loft, barking at the imaginary enemy. Then he’d start racing back and forth barking as if to say, There’s someone out there! An intruder! Let’s go scare it away together! All the dogs would rush past him and slide down the haystack to see what was going on outside. As soon as they left, Fergus would stroll past me nonchalantly. Within seconds, he’d be curled up in the most comfy sleeping hole in the hay, then promptly fall asleep. The rest of the dogs would troop wearily back up the hay stack, dripping wet from the rain and irritated at having their time wasted. Disgusted, they’d look at Fergus dozing, then sit down to begin the long, boring process of licking themselves dry. It was a clever ploy that always worked and won Fergus about twenty or thirty points each time. Fergus also taught me that nudging for attention was another way to win. I thought all he was doing was shoving at my hand for a pat until I realized each nudge was worth half a point. He could quickly score a lot of points pretending to be affectionate, especially when I was distracted or sleepy.

  Mossy had a favorite ploy that had me baffled for months. He’d wake up in the morning, shake off any hay and wander almost all the way over to me. He’d be about five feet away, acting as though his feet were suddenly cemented to the hay. Patiently, he’d stand there, his tail wagging slowly, his head a fraction lower than usual, and his big spaniel eyes looking at me in a heart-melting way.

  “Silly dog,” I’d laugh as I walked over to give him his morning pat. “Why don’t you come all the way to me? Bit lazy, aren’t you?” After a while, however, I became suspicious and realized he was trying to lure me into walking over to him. I finally worked out how the challenge worked: It was a basic contest of wills. With each step he tricked me into taking towards him, the more important he felt. Cheeky bugger! “Damn!” I laughed, looking around at the dogs. “You’ve all been tricking me with that one haven’t you?”

  Then there were the simple races of who could get to the top of the haystack first, or who could run to greet someone first, or who slid down the stack first. There were so many challenges! Some that proved you were faster or braver or smarter or stronger or more adaptable than anyone else. Basically, all were designed to prove one thing: who was best qualified to lead the pack.

  Sometimes I felt more like a dog than a human. I certainly preferred the simplicity of the dog world. For dogs, life was easy. If you won more points than another dog, then you were more important than he was. For once I knew exactly what was expected of me. In this world I was a highly respected champion, not a loser.

  After a month I looked at Mossy. “Reckon I’m nearly the undisputed leader of this gang now,” I said confidently.

  But I would soon find out that he still had a few tricks up his sleeve.

  I learned to question everything I knew about dogs. Even something as simple as where you touched a dog had important political meaning in the dog world. If I touched a dog under its chin and on the chest, I was actually telling it, Hi dog, let me be more submissive than you. His chin and tail would rise higher as his attitude became more challenging. He’d puff out his chest proudly. Yeah, Martin, keep patting me there. I’m winning a point every time you touch me, so keep on going. Give me more free points. More! More!

  I soon learned to rub, not pat, the dogs on top of their heads, necks, shoulders, and backs. That was my way of saying, Relax, dog. I’m more dominant than you, so no need to challenge me.

  Funny enough, I found the dogs kept perfect score in this game of winning points, per
haps because their whole lives revolved around playing it. Even I became good at keeping separate scores against each dog. The more I did it, the easier it became. Everyone knew who was winning and who was losing, who was having an off day or a particularly victorious day.

  It wasn’t long before I found myself getting sucked into playing the game all the time until I was just as obsessed as the dogs were. “No cheating, Pa,” I’d laugh. “You don’t get to eat until after Blackie. He’s won much more points than you lately.” Blackie would then gratefully accept his food from my fingers. He was much more polite now that I knew how the game was played. He didn’t try to snatch food from me and hardly growled at all. I now understood why Blackie hated dogs running past him. It was too tempting an opportunity for them to veer close and try to bump him. So he developed zero tolerance to it. All dogs walked very politely past Blackie or got attacked. I took his advice and didn’t let the dogs rush past me either. Now they couldn’t barge against my legs and knock me off balance.

  Seeing how wonderfully behaved the dogs were now, I put even more effort into understanding how the secret dog game was played. It was worth it to see them so happy, and it was beneficial to me as well.

  They respected me inside the barn and out on walks. They came straight to me when I called them. They shut up immediately when I asked them to stop barking. They stopped endlessly bickering with each other. Almost all their violent fights stopped. They didn’t keep annoying me when I was trying to relax.

  They became so well-behaved that our barn was a haven of peace. Most of the time I loved playing this secret game because it made my life so much easier. I had learned that the secret to having a well-behaved dog was winning enough points to be its undisputed leader.

  If I messed up their simple points system, I soon brought total chaos down upon us all. Horrible dog fights broke out. They rudely ran off and ignored me when I called them. They started chasing the farmer’s cows and chickens. They barked too much and wouldn’t shut up. They basically drove me crazy.

  One night when I was feeling particularly lonely, I insisted on us having no pecking order. Equality for all! But this idea failed spectacularly when everything exploded into the most vicious dog fight yet.

  My stomach churned as I tried to break them up fast as I could. Afterwards, I sank down into the hay, a nervous wreck, my heart racing. I knew the stupid fight was my fault and that the dogs were bleeding because of my stubbornness. After that failed experiment, I played the secret game more diligently than ever and the fights came to an end.

  The pecking order in our pack never really changed. I was the leader. Mossy was top dog. Then Blackie, Red, Pa, and Missy. And poor Fergus was always last. I felt sorry for him and tried to make him more important than grumpy Blackie and lazy Pa, but they kept attacking him so I stopped. I finally accepted that it wasn’t up to me to change their order of dominance. Their own personalities made that decision.

  Stop interfering, Martin, I’d tell myself firmly. This strict pecking order is the way the dogs keep themselves civilized. It’s their way of keeping the peace. I was learning that the dog world had even more rules than the human world and they were strictly enforced. No dog could ever be equal to another and the punishment for breaking this important rule was to be viciously attacked.

  No wonder the dogs had been growling at me every now and then since I’d met them. I’d been breaking every rule in their world! “Geez, sorry about that,” I said into the darkness after blowing the candle out one night. “You’ve all been patient with me. I appreciate it.”

  After a few months something had profoundly changed between the seven of us. I knew what it meant: The dogs had finally made me the leader of the gang. Instead of feeling boastful, I actually felt humbled. My friends had decided they trusted me to take charge. They were ready to follow whatever decision I made without hesitation. I may not have been a success among humans, but in the dog world I was a supreme champion. I only hoped I was worthy of the gang’s trust.

  CHAPTER 11

  Fight Back or Give In Forever

  I STILL REMEMBER THE MOMENT THAT I FINALLY FOUND THE courage to stand up to my father. It was one of the most frightening things I’d ever done in my life, but I knew that it was time to stop his bullying. I took my stand over my haircut.

  “You look like a bloody girl,” he had snapped at me one day right in front of my brothers. “You’re not leaving the house until that ridiculous mane comes off.” He had his own ideas about how short a healthy young Irish male should keep his hair. Regulation army style. No more than half an inch of stubble. Andrew and John couldn’t be bothered arguing with him, so kept their hair short without any drama.

  Of course, I rebelled. “Keeping my hair just the way it is,” I said sullenly. God, why can’t he just leave me alone? For some reason I always equated hair with freedom. God knows why. Maybe because of the Rolling Stones and other rock bands. I was also embarrassed by my ears that stuck out like door knobs.

  “Fetch the scissors and my razor,” he ordered Andrew. He kicked a chair forward and gestured impatiently for me to sit.

  “No, you’re not turning me into some shaved weirdo,” I said fiercely, standing my ground. “You’ll have to tie me down before you give me another one of your stupid haircuts.”

  My dad couldn’t believe his ears. He stuck a finger in one, wriggled it around as though cleaning it out. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me alright, you big bully. I’m keeping this hair. It’s mine.” I’d never been so cheeky to him.

  “Sit down this instant, boy, before I flay you alive!”

  I bolted out the front door before he could catch me. The scissors banged off the door lintel above me, and I ducked. “Missed, you old fool!” I yelled over my shoulder as I kept running and laughing.

  When he wanted to, my father could be a very patient man. He hid himself behind the kitchen door, and when I came back two hours later, he grabbed my arm, put a knee in my back and started hacking at my hair.

  It was now or never. I had to fight back or give in forever, so I grabbed a saucepan lying on the table and cracked him over the skull. His expression was so dumbfounded it might have been comical if I wasn’t so angry—or so scared. “I’m not a bloody dog you can bully around!” I screamed. “You think you’re some big tough man, but really you’re a stupid old loser who drinks too much. Believe me, you’d think twice about holding me down and giving me a haircut if I was the same size as you.” I’d never stood up to him so brazenly before, but I knew if I didn’t start fighting back hard, he was on the point of crushing my spirit forever.

  He was so stunned that his mouth opened and closed like a goldfish with no words coming out.

  After that, things only got worse. My dad really couldn’t bear how I was standing up to him more. His drinking increased and he became more violent. Despite the danger, I couldn’t stop speaking back cheekily at him whether he was drunk or sober. “Yeah? You’re thinking twice about hitting me now, aren’t you? Not so easy to belt me now I’m not cowering in a corner.”

  And then there was the endless war I was fighting at school with the St. Pat teachers—especially Mr. Keeley and Mr. Rollins—who enjoyed having me as their whipping boy. Often it seemed as if I was getting belted every single day at school. My body was constantly covered with bruises.

  My new rebellious mood followed me to class every day where I heard Mr. Keeley’s voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “Faul! Stop staring out the window like a moronic idiot. Sit down this instant!” By this point I knew how to get my revenge on Keeley, which was to make the class laugh along with me instead of him.

  “Sure I’ll sit—when you stop boring the bollocks off me.”

  My classmates tittered happily. I already knew what he’d do next.

  “Go straight to the headmaster’s office and wait for him!” he bellowed.

  Excellent! Just what I wanted him to say. I was in for a filthy caning of co
urse, but at least I could escape the torture of listening to Keeley’s droning voice. And it was time for a feed anyway.

  Slouching out the door, I made a straight line to the lunch bags hanging along the hall wall. As I started rifling through them, I decided which lunches looked the nicest. “Mmm. Chocolate cake. Egg sandwiches. Biscuits. A jam scone. Peanut butter on a biscuit—that’ll do nicely.” I busily helped myself like it was a self-serve cafeteria. “Ooh, thank you, Pat. Your mam always packs such lovely ham and cheese sandwiches. Very fancy.” I cradled the lunches in my arms as I wolfed them down while slowly heading to the headmaster’s office.

  I finally reached the headmaster’s office door and found it open. Our old headmaster Tige Kelly had died of a heart attack (which devastated me), and we had a new one—Mr. Crowe. He didn’t understand or protect me the way Tige had. I peered cautiously inside. His office was empty. La-la-la!

  My eyes flickered everywhere as I idly wondered where Mr. Crowe kept his lunch then they fell upon his briefcase and nearly popped out of my head. The man had left it unlocked. Was he an idiot?

  My ten thieving fingers went wild undoing the strap. I opened the case wide and peered in. Aaaaaaah! The brief case was loaded with treasure!

  It was filled to the brim with little cardboard collection boxes full of coins. It was part of the Pope’s campaign to save starving children affected by the famines raging through Africa. The teachers had handed out these little boxes and instructed us to fill them with loose change. Photos of little African children stared up at me. My trembling fingers picked up one of the glorious little beauties. It was so heavy, it was like holding a bar of gold and clinked every time I tilted it.

  Decision time. I could put the box back into the briefcase, pull the strap closed, and stand in the corner, or . . . ?

  My fingers had no shame and before I could blink, they took over completely. All of a sudden I was wriggling out of my sweater and throwing it across the desk. I dumped the cardboard boxes on it, wrapped the sweater into a ball, and, hugging it to my chest, I dashed outside the building.