After that fight, I kept a blackthorn stick at my side to protect me from the McDonaghs and any other gangs I might come across. The fight reminded me how lucky I was to have the dogs with me. That night I rubbed their ears as we lazed about in the hay in Padraig’s barn. “Wouldn’t be easy living rough if I didn’t have you lot to protect my back,” I told them gratefully.
It was true. With the dogs at my side, I could walk freely around the area. I slept safely at night. Best of all, my dogs had such positive energy they kept me happy and confident. With them around, I felt invincible. They were my family. My friends. My gang. They were everything to me.
People did try to separate us. There were times when I was caught and dragged home by well-meaning neighbors, and a few times even by old Father Ray, the priest. My mammy begged them to help get me home. But as soon as I was dragged inside the house and locked in my bedroom, I’d feel claustrophobic and needed to escape.
Mammy pleaded with me to stay through the locked bedroom door. “Please, Marcine! Pleease! I need to know you’re safe!”
I genuinely didn’t want to break her heart, but I’d changed too much. After the freedom of the barn and the calmness of being around my gang of dogs, I couldn’t accept any more of my father’s erratic behavior. And as for ever going back to school—ha! Forget it. They’d have to drag me dead back inside that sadistic place.
I couldn’t ever get back to my barn fast enough. As soon as I heard the key turn in the lock of the bedroom door, I’d climb out the window, shimmy down the pipe, and run down the road, shutting my ears to the heartbreaking sounds of Mammy crying and calling after me, “Please, Marcine. I love you! Come back! Please!” I knew if I stayed at home, I wouldn’t survive. It was simple as that.
I wouldn’t rest until I reached the railway line. As soon as my feet touched the big wooden girders and metal rails of the tracks, my heart stopped thudding and I started breathing easier. I was safely back in my territory now.
The dogs would run out of the blackberry bushes to greet me ecstatically and dance around me with their tongues hanging out. You’re back! You’re back! You made it back to us safely!
The dogs had taught me what real freedom tasted like and what pure happiness felt like. They loved me just as I was. I couldn’t give up any of those things, not even for Mammy. So, I stuffed all thoughts of her away into the dark, back cupboard of my heart.
I hadn’t cut myself off entirely from people, however. I learned the importance of human friendship when my brothers introduced me to Brandon Ryan, the boy who’d become my best friend and change my life forever. One day he walked up the railway line with my brothers on one of their visits to check on me. Andrew and John had a special way of finding me. They used what we called the “Indian holler” we’d seen and heard in Hollywood movies. You’d tilt your chin back, bang your palm against your mouth, and yell at the top of your lungs, “Woa-woa-woa-woa-woa-woa!”
There was always a bit of an Irish accent lurking around the edges we couldn’t get rid of, but it still worked. If I heard them, I’d holler back. The dogs loved it and went crazy with barking.
At first I was a bit wary of Brandon but it didn’t take long to trust him, which was very unusual for me. He went to St. Johns school on the other side of Garryowen. That’s why I’d never met him before.
“Hi ya, Martin,” he said. “I’m Brandon. Fancy a smoke?” He pulled out precious cigarettes for the four of us.
I was impressed by his generosity and took one. “Thanks.”
He grinned. “No problem.”
I felt my ADHD, which usually went wild around new kids, go quietly to sleep.
The four of us chatted for a while. When Brandon left with Andrew and John a few hours later, I watched them walk down the line together. Strange. I wasn’t even envious of him spending time with my brothers. He was too nice to hate.
A few days later I heard more “Indian hollering” coming up the railway. “Woa-woa-woa-woa-woa-woa!” I whistled up the dogs and went to meet them, but it was just Brandon this time. My first instinct was to bolt.
The truth was, I was painfully shy and I had no idea of what to say to him. I thought it would be much better just to hide in the bushes and wait for him to get bored and go home.
“Martin! For fuck’s sakes!” he yelled as I skidded down the embankment. “Don’t run off. I’m knackered. Here, sit down and have a cigarette,” he panted.
I sat down beside him on the tracks. The dogs wandered around us, shoving themselves in for pats and to sniff Brandon all over. We smoked in companionable silence for a while, rubbing the dogs behind their ears.
After a bit he said, “Why are ye living so rough then, Martin? Your brothers seem alright living at home.”
My eyes jumped to his. Shit. Why did he have to go and spoil things, asking difficult questions? My mouth jammed shut. How could I explain it all? The craziness that came from my ADHD? The insanity that hit our house whenever Dad got drunk? The nightmare situation at school? The relentless teasing and bullying of the kids in our neighborhood? I didn’t want him thinking I was a freak. Nervously, I took a drag on my cigarette. “Yeah, I just prefer my independence,” I said as casually as I could. “That’s all, and I like living with these dogs. Can’t keep them at home.”
He blew a plume of smoke out his nose and nodded. He was a sensitive kid and was quickly realizing he’d just stepped on uncomfortable territory. “Yeah. Bet it’s nice and quiet out here. I’ve got sixteen brothers and sisters. Wouldn’t mind escaping from that mad lot sometimes, I can tell you.”
I laughed. My stomach rumbled and I flicked him a sideways glance.
“How about we drop past my place?” he said. “See if I can find us something to eat?”
I agreed. I have to admit, it was now very strange for me to be walking through the middle of the Garryowen Estate in broad daylight.
When we came to Brandon’s front door, he turned to me and said, “Wait!” He listened carefully and then murmured over his shoulder, “Won’t be long now. I’ll have to try to get you past my dad. Get ready to dive inside when I give the word.”
“Dinner!” a voice yelled from inside. “First lot!” An avalanche of young kids came crashing down the staircase, shoving and pushing past us noisily on their way through to the kitchen.
“Quick, Martin! This is our chance!” Brandon hissed. I followed fast on his heels.
We paused on the kitchen threshold. Squashed around the kitchen table must have been ten kids, all happily talking at the top of their voices. A lady who must’ve been Mrs. Ryan was serving up a stew. It smelt delicious. Brandon yanked me by the arm to follow him inside.
Suddenly a hand descended on my head, and before I could blink I was being propelled towards the front door. It was Brandon’s dad.
“Whoa! You’re not one of mine, young fella. Out you go. Sorry but I’ve got enough mouths to feed in here.”
Brandon was pushed gently back inside. “Sorry, Martin!” he yelled over his shoulder. “Wait for me at the gate.” He was quickly enveloped in the noisy, happy crowd around the table.
I waited on his front brick wall, feeling like a dog who’d been tied up outside.
After thirty minutes, he reappeared. “Sorry about that. With so many kids in the family, we have three sittings for dinner.” He shrugged. “Didn’t know Dad would be guarding the door tonight. Kids from the neighborhood have been sneaking in for a free meal, so Dad’s started doing random head checks.” He pulled out a big slice of soda bread. “But I managed to grab this, butter it, and dip it in gravy.”
My stomach nearly wept with joy. “Thanks,” I said, and by Jesus, I meant it. It was a thoughtful gift from my first real friend. And someone who wasn’t a brother or a dog.
It was Brandon’s idea to get me a job delivering coal door-to-door for the Donoghues. They were a miserable, sour family, and only one brother bothered inspecting me when Brandon dragged me along for the job interview.
&n
bsp; “This is Billy. He makes all the decisions,” whispered Brandon.
I felt like I was at the Garryowen Horse Fair, only this time, I was the horse. I almost neighed in his face, but Brandon’s pleading eyes stopped me.
“Don’t look too trustworthy to me,” Billy said to Brandon, looking me up and down in distaste as he circled us.
Yeah, and you look like a real charming fellow, too, I thought. I pasted a fake smile on my face and said, “My name is Martin, sir.”
Brandon gestured grandiloquently at me and went straight into his sales pitch. “Na, na. You’ve got him all wrong, sir. Sure, he’s a grand fella. Very polite. Good with customers. Wonderful with the horses. He knows all the streets around here. Knows the houses well.”
Yeah. Only because I go through their trash scavenging for food.
Brandon looked at me, silently imploring me to behave.
“A job’d be very much appreciated, sir,” I said insincerely.
“A ’right,” Billy grunted. “You’re hired.” He started walking away, muttering over his shoulder, “If yer break the cart or a hoss, I’ll flog yer raw me self.”
I bowed and tugged an imaginary cap behind his back. “Oh, thank you so much. You’re really kind, sir.”
Brandon kicked my foot, then dragged me down the road to see the horses. “Jesus, Martin. Can’t you just play the game when you need to?”
“I’m trying,” I protested, but secretly, I knew I’d always rebel when people with power tried to bully me. I couldn’t help it. I’d always fight back until my last dying breath. No one was ever going to bully me again.
The Donoghues’ horses were huge, well-muscled, and beautiful creatures, which were kept on the common land owned by the council a few streets away. “Every morning we work, we have to come here and grab our horse,” Brandon explained. He walked up to a giant pie-bald. “We have Neddy here. I’ve been using him for a while and he’s a grand old fella, aren’t yer boy?”
The horse turned to look at us in boredom then resumed grazing. Yeah, yeah, kids, leave me alone. I’ve got grass to eat.
My first morning working with Brandon went off without a hitch. Well, almost. I arrived at the common to find Brandon hopping mad and no Neddy. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
He was enraged. “Those bloody McDonald bastard kids moved Neddy last night! To the other side of Garryowen! Did it deliberately!”
“Why would they do that?”
Brandon spat on the ground in disgust. “Means they want to get a head start on us so they can steal our customers. Hurry up! We’re gonna have to run or we’ll make no money today.”
We bolted through the empty streets of Garryowen to the field on the other side of the estate. There was Neddy eating peacefully. Brandon jammed a carrot in his surprised mouth, chucked a rope around his neck, and started hauling him down the road. “Neddy, please don’t piss about today. Just wait ’til I get my hands on those sly rat McDonalds.”
I’d never seen Brandon so angry.
We hurried to the Donoghues’ yard. “Yer late,” snapped Billy and jerked his thumb at a big pile of coal sacks and the other fuel lying in the corner. “There yer go. Start loading.”
I felt a bit sorry for the horse when I saw the pile. Poor Neddy had to pull all that? Soon I transferred my pity to Brandon and me. While Neddy stood about lazily watching, we struggled to load twenty-five bags of coal, eight bags of wooden blocks, and five bales of peat brickettes. At last the twenty-foot wooden cart was loaded.
“Come on!” shouted Brandon. He jumped up on the cart and clicked and whooped until Neddy pulled away, flicking his tail in irritation at all the yelling.
I jumped up beside Brandon and held on tight. When Neddy started trotting, I thought we’d be shaken to death as we got up to speed. My teeth were rattling in my head. Once we were on the smooth tarmac it was much better.
Neddy pulled the cart along effortlessly. It felt like sailing. Brandon was like a boy possessed. “Keep an eye out for those McDonalds!” he yelled.
We were soon swinging into the perfectly manicured lawns of the Castletroy Estate. I was usually hiding behind cars and bushes whenever I was in this neighborhood, but now I sat tall, enjoying my high perch in full view as we whizzed along. People waved at us in their dressing gowns as they came out to fetch their milk and bread. Brandon was obviously well liked.
“Hello, Brandon! Drop around after breakfast and we’ll buy a bag.”
“No problem, Mrs. Clare! See yer soon.”
We took another corner fast and headed for the wealthiest street of all. Mercedes and Jaguars were pulling out of driveways. The drivers waved at Brandon.
“Why does everyone like you so much?” I asked in amazement. I’d never seen so many people wave at a boy before.
“Because I smile and I’m not a cheeky fuck like you,” he replied. He hunched over to concentrate as we swung onto the wealthiest street of all. Immediately, he started cursing.
On the opposite end of the street was another coal cart racing straight towards us at a real, spanking trot. Two ratty-looking boys held on for dear life. They started throwing insults as soon as they saw us.
“I’ll kill those McDonalds one day,” growled Brandon. “It’s bloody Dermot and his younger brother.” He slid closer to the edge of the cart, and crouched down, ready to jump. He handed me the reins. “Martin, ready? Guard the horse and cart while I run up and knock on the door. The lady knows me but I’ve got to get to her first.” He leapt from the cart while I pulled Neddy to a stop. I watched him run across the perfect lawn at the same time Dermot McDonald sprinted up the path.
Neck and neck, both dashed up the stone-flagged path to the porch and front door. Brandon suddenly swerved, shoved Dermot hard, and kept running. Dermot cursed as he tripped and rolled across the grass.
Brandon reached the big front door, rang the buzzer and doubled over, panting. I lit up a cigarette to watch the show.
Brandon straightened up the instant the door opened. “Good morning, Mrs. Healey. Would you like to buy some coal today?”
“Oh, lovely, Brandon! Let me get my purse.” She disappeared inside.
Dermot McDonald slunk back down the path, holding his elbow, limping a little. He spat on the road as he passed by. “Fuck ya, Faullie.”
Raising my cigarette to him, I replied, “Morning, Dermot.”
From the porch, Brandon stuck his thumb up in victory. We had our first customer of the day.
Brandon and I made a great team. It was hard slog doing coal deliveries but we sure had lots of laughs together. He showed me the delivery business, and I showed him how to make friends with the neighborhood dogs, especially the tricky ones.
Dogs loved jumping up on him as he carried the heavy bags of coal into their backyards. I taught him a few helpful dog signals to prevent this. “Completely ignore the dog and raise your chin as you march straight past, even if it tries to block you,” I told him. “Think calm, boring thoughts because dogs smell fear as easily as humans smell bleach. Act with purpose and show no hesitation.”
“Okay.”
“When you do this you’re saying in dog language, Please leave me alone, I’m busy doing a job here.”
Sometimes I shared my theories with the customers. One day, a yellow Labrador ran out at us, barking aggressively at Neddy’s legs. Neddy swung his head around and looked at me as if to say, Do something, kid.
I walked up to the door, ignoring the silly bugger of a dog with my arms crossed and chin up. I was totally relaxed so all the dog could smell was my calmness and confidence. I continued ignoring the dog while it barked at me and rang the doorbell until the owner answered it.
I smiled politely. “Excuse me, missus, but your dog is frightening the horse. Nearly bit his leg.”
The lady was very apologetic. It seems that most Irish people love horses. “Oh dear, I don’t know how to stop Sandy. He’s so naughty these days.”
“I know what’s happening,” I sai
d helpfully. “Sandy’s problem is he keeps scent-marking across the road.” She looked at me in surprise. I wasn’t your normal coal delivery boy.
“He’ll do it especially in the mornings and evenings,” I continued. “If you join up all those spots he pisses, you can see he’s making an invisible smell fence. He’s working hard to make your property bigger so now he thinks he owns the middle of the road, too.”
“Oh, yes, I have seen Sandy widdling across the street quite a bit.”
“In the dog world, the more you piss—I mean widdle—on it, you more you own it,” I said. “He’ll chase anyone who comes along and invades his part of the road. I don’t want Sandy mauling poor Neddy’s legs.”
“Oh, dear me, no. But what can I do? The front fence is so low. He jumps it whenever he wants.”
I knew how to fix that, too. “Keep him in the backyard. It’ll take him off guard duty and he won’t be able to jump that fence. It’s too high. When you take him for a walk, keep him on his leash, and drag him past his scent-marking spots.”
She thanked me and dragged a very surprised Sandy inside by the collar. I ran back to the coal cart.
Brandon grinned. “I think you might be a natural-born teacher, Martin.”
My mouth dropped open. Me? A teacher? Now that was crazy.
Brandon taught me other things—like how to charm customers. His father owned a second-hand furniture store and had passed his natural salesman talents on to his son. Brandon made it all sound so easy. “Just be genuinely nice,” he suggested. “Have manners and be pleasant. Yes, I’m afraid that will involve smiling, Martin.”
I dropped my insolence and cheekiness and practiced smiling, which felt very unnatural at first. I mixed this with a few things I’d learned about charm from my father when he was sober. Soon I was even impressing myself.
The ferocious scowl I’d traditionally greeted people with was replaced by an open smile and welcoming eyes. In the beginning, I only thought of the money I’d make, but after a while I discovered I actually enjoyed making people happy.
The Boy Who Talked to Dogs Page 15