Nobody's Dog

by Colin Dann

  Norman was slumped against the wall. Frank put an arm round him and helped him to his feet. Chip was lying quietly at the top of the stairs.

  ‘I don’t want to sleep. I want to sing,’ Norman protested.

  ‘You’ll wake everyone up.’

  ‘Everyone? There is nobody. Only you and me. I can make as much noise as I like in a condemned house! Who’s to stop me?’

  ‘Now don’t get belligerent,’ Frank said. ‘You’re supposed to sing for your supper; not when you get home.’

  ‘Home? Home, you say? This is no home to me. My home’s a long way from here. My home’s—’

  ‘Shut up!’ Frank snapped, losing his patience. He began to walk Norman to the stairs. ‘Now, come on. Up this one. Now the next . . .’

  Digby had followed Frank out and had grabbed Norman’s trouser-bottom in his teeth. He tugged at it, growling mildly.

  ‘Digby, you’re not helping,’ Frank told him. Cowed by the stern tone, Digby let go. Gradually, the two men advanced up the stairs. Digby stood at the bottom. Chip came to join him and began to yap rapidly.

  ‘Noisy old cove, isn’t he? He’s often like this. He used to live on the streets. Like me. That’s how I got to know him. He used to give me bits of bread. In the end I stayed with him. Your bloke – the young one – found us this place. Cosy, isn’t it?’

  Digby was unable to answer. He tried to compare the house and its relative comfort with the Dogs’ Home. ‘How long have you been in this place?’ he asked.

  ‘Doesn’t seem long,’ Chip said. ‘What about you? You’re no street dog.’

  Digby began to explain about the Dogs’ Home. He didn’t get far.

  ‘Oh! I know all about that,’ Chip interrupted him. ‘I’ve been in there. And out again. And back in. It’s a game with some of us, isn’t it? I didn’t like it. Hemmed in there with blank walls and nowhere to run but round in a circle. I’ll take this life any day. At least you can stretch your legs and use the senses you were born with.’

  Digby didn’t argue. ‘But what about a real home? Wouldn’t you like that better?’

  ‘It’s cosy enough here, isn’t it?’

  ‘No – I mean one where you get proper care and attention from your owner.’

  ‘Owner? What do you mean? Nobody owns me.’

  Digby was confused. ‘Then why do you stay with the old man? If he’s not—’

  ‘Suits me. Suits him,’ Chip answered. ‘For now.’

  ‘I had another home once,’ Digby said. ‘Quite unlike this one. It was—’

  ‘Why didn’t you stay there then?’ Chip barked irritably. He thought Digby was trying to sound superior.

  ‘I was . . . abandoned,’ Digby muttered. There! He had said it. He had finally been able to admit the awful truth.

  ‘Not so special, then, are you?’ Chip sneered.

  ‘I never claimed to be. I was only trying to explain.’

  ‘All right. No harm done. Anyway, we’re in the same groove now. Your bloke and my bloke and us two. Like a little family, aren’t we?’

  Digby didn’t think so at all, but he kept quiet. Frank was coming downstairs again. Digby wagged his tail vigorously. Frank was all the family he wanted.

  ‘All quiet now,’ Frank said. ‘Fast asleep. Come on, Digby. Let’s get some rest. Goodnight, Chip.’

  In the morning Frank was up bright and early. He took Digby for a quick run, then left him alone to go to the nearest public lavatory to wash and shave. Digby lay on the grubby mattress and pined. He had no way of knowing where Frank had gone or when he would come back. Chip came to join him but was no comfort.

  ‘What’s got into you?’ the mongrel demanded. ‘You look like a mouse in a cattery.’

  Digby didn’t answer. He was too miserable and nervous. He wished Chip would go away.

  ‘You’ll swallow your tongue in a minute if you keep gulping like that,’ Chip mocked him.

  Digby merely turned a wounded glance on the mongrel.

  ‘Oh, look at those eyes,’ Chip gibed. ‘Enough to melt a heart of stone.’

  In the end Digby’s refusal to respond drove Chip away. The mongrel was bored and looked for stimulation elsewhere. He pattered upstairs to see if Norman was awake.

  Digby had never felt so alone. In the Dogs’ Home there had been almost constant noise. He had always been aware that his plight was shared by all the other dogs and that knowledge had provided a grain of comfort. And of course there had been Streak. How he wished Streak was with him now!

  Digby was terrified that he had been abandoned again. The thought of it made him tremble. To be abandoned here would be a far worse fate than before. Where would he go? What would become of him? He might end up a street dog. He tried to think about Tam and Millie and that comfortable little world in which he had grown up, but the image of Frank was so much more vivid that it kept blotting the other world out. Had he lost Frank so soon after finding him? Digby began to howl. Not the way he had howled across Frank’s music, but a heart-rending, eerie wail that sounded ghostly in the empty shell of the house.

  Norman awoke with a start. ‘What’s that? What’s that dreadful din?’ he muttered, hardly conscious of where he was.

  Digby’s howls continued to pierce the musty silence of the old man’s wreck of a room. Norman staggered out of the pile of greasy blankets that made his bed. ‘Stop it! Stop that horrible row!’ he roared, shaking his head as though to blot out the noise. He had had a nightmare and this unearthly sound seemed like a continuation of it. Chip slunk into a corner. He could recognize when Norman was in an ugly mood. Norman steadied himself, blinking, and registered that the din was coming from downstairs. Three wobbly strides took him to the staircase. Cursing and muttering all kinds of threats, the man started down.

  ‘You’ll stop that now or else I’ll stop it for you,’ he bellowed as he lurched into Frank’s room.

  The collie wavered as Norman confronted him. But Digby had frightened himself with his howls and now he couldn’t stop. Norman raised one arm and dealt him a hefty blow.

  ‘I warned you, didn’t I, you stupid beast?’ Norman growled as Digby yelped in pain. Outside, Frank heard the cry as he came up the broken path. He hurried to the door.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked icily.

  ‘Nothing at all.’ Norman avoided his glance. ‘I thought I heard something . . .’ He sounded unconvincing.

  ‘You heard something all right. And so did I.’ Frank saw Digby cowering on the mattress, looking from one man to the other. As soon as the collie caught Frank’s gaze his tail began to bang up and down. Frank resisted the urge to go to his dog at once. He glared at Norman, who was fumbling with a broken button. ‘If you’ve been—’

  ‘Honest to God, Frank,’ Norman interrupted him uneasily. ‘He just got in the way, that’s all. He—’

  ‘You know what happened with Billy,’ Frank said. There was still a hard edge to his voice which prevented Digby from running to him. ‘Billy was a good dog. He ran away because of you. I don’t want to lose this one. He’s special.’

  ‘He is. Of course he is. I know that. I wouldn’t touch him. Look at his face. How could anyone?’

  Frank pursed his lips. Norman stumbled away, calling over his shoulder, ‘I’ll be collecting my benefit later. Is there anything you need?’

  ‘Only what you already owe me,’ Frank grunted.

  ‘You’ll get it all,’ Norman promised.

  Now Frank turned to his dog. He crouched, opening his arms and calling softly. Digby rushed to him, his feelings exploding in a surge of delight. Wriggling and squealing with the sheer bliss of Frank’s return, the collie knew now that Frank would never leave him. Frank would always come back.

  Frank owned a stiff brush and he spent some time brushing Digby’s coat. The collie, like all the dogs in the Home, had been well cared for and Frank wanted his dog to look clean and smart. When they went out Digby drew admiring glances and comments from passers-by. He was so full of co
nfidence now that Frank looked after him that, little by little, things that had scared him before lost their ability to upset him. In particular, he became so used to traffic that the noise no longer frightened him. Frank always kept him on a lead for his own safety. The young man strode jauntily along with long, loose strides and Digby kept perfect pace with him, always at his side. They were almost never apart, so much so that Chip started to show resentment.

  At night the two dogs sometimes met in the hall. Digby never showed any curiosity about what lay upstairs, but Chip was used to roaming all over the house. Downstairs, at the back, was a dilapidated kitchen. Chip occasionally slept in there, keeping an ear cocked for rats and mice. There was another room too, opposite Frank’s, but its door was kept closed because the floor had collapsed. Chip had never been in there but he often put his nose to the crack under the door in a vain effort to discover what lay behind it.

  ‘You ever been in there?’ he asked Digby one night.

  ‘No. Why should I?’

  ‘No reason. I just asked,’ Chip said irritably.

  ‘The men never go in there, do they?’

  ‘Nope. Aren’t you even a bit inquisitive about it?’

  ‘I can’t say I am. My master and I have all we want in the other place.’

  ‘That’s how you see him now, is it, “your master”?’

  ‘Of course. Don’t you?’

  ‘I told you. Nobody owns me. And the young bloke doesn’t have much to do with me. He’s a good friend, though. I like him. My old bloke’s all right if you keep on the right side of him. Sometimes it’s best to keep out of the way. I understand him. But if he ever tried any real funny business on me, I’d be off straight away.’

  ‘Not so easy that, is it?’ Digby said. ‘Doesn’t he keep you on a lead?’

  ‘Me? On a lead? You’re joking!’ Chip scoffed. ‘Just let him try!’

  ‘It doesn’t bother me. In fact I feel secure that way,’ Digby said.

  ‘Oh, you two!’ Chip exclaimed. ‘Always together, night and day. Don’t you ever feel like wandering around on your own?’

  ‘I never liked being alone,’ Digby replied. ‘I always had company. I was brought up with my brother. Didn’t I tell you about it?’

  “Yeah. You told me.’ Chip yawned. ‘Doesn’t always pay to get too thick with a human. They can let you down.’

  ‘Yes. They can,’ Digby admitted, thinking of how he had been lodged in the Home. ‘It takes you an age to get over it. But I trust this one completely. He’ll never fail me.’

  ‘He’s human, isn’t he?’ Chip mocked. ‘I wouldn’t be too sure, if I were you. He had another dog before.’

  Digby was interested at once, even feeling a twinge of jealousy. ‘What happened?’ he asked eagerly.

  ‘He weren’t treated right. So he vamoosed.’

  ‘Ran away?’

  ‘Yeah. He was a poor-looking creature. Only small. A brown, rough-coated sort of mutt. Not enough flesh on him to feed a crow. He sort of fastened himself on my old bloke before I did. But he couldn’t stand the winter weather. So the young bloke – your Mr Perfect – took pity on him and took him in here. Later, us two joined the happy family. The brown mutt, Billy, tried to worm his way back into the old gaffer’s feelings. I didn’t like that and we used to squabble and scrap. The old gaffer got so mad about it, he used to lash out. Mostly I was too quick and skipped out of the way. Billy wasn’t so young or nimble. He caught a few prize wallops. And then he sort of forgot any training he might have had in the most basic thing. Couldn’t control his waterworks. The old gaffer was madder than ever. He made Billy so miserable, the dog scarpered in the end.’

  ‘Why didn’t my master help?’

  ‘He did try. But during the winter he weren’t well. Spent most of the day lying on the floor. Seemed to be no fight in him.’

  ‘And Billy? Where is he now?’

  ‘Who knows? Never seen him again to this day,’ Chip grunted. ‘I doubt he survived.’

  ‘Poor creature,’ Digby said sadly.

  ‘Yeah. He was. I believe that myself. But I wasn’t going to have my nose pushed out of joint. Now, you and me – we don’t cramp each other, do we? You keep to your patch and me mine. We can get along.’

  ‘Oh yes, we’ll get along,’ said Digby. ‘Just so long as we both remember where our loyalty lies.’

  Chip eyed him for a moment or two. At the outset he had taken Digby for a softie, but there was a new confidence and firmness in his tone recently. Maybe he wasn’t such a pushover after all.

  5

  There were still a few houses in the street in good repair. Some were divided into flats, and in one of these lived a middle-aged woman on her own. She and Frank often saw each other and always exchanged a word or two. She had great sympathy for the young man and she was even more compassionate towards his dog. She imagined Digby had a very miserable time, although whenever she saw him he always looked well groomed and healthy. She thought he deserved a proper home, and one day she decided to say so.

  Frank and Digby were returning in the evening from their pitch by the Underground station. By now, the dog that tried to howl a kind of duet with the man’s harmonica was very well known and people gave regularly and generously to the collection. The duo had become a local attraction. The woman was on her way home from work, and their paths crossed.

  ‘Good evening, Mr Farmer.’

  ‘Evening, Miss Crisp. Are you well?’

  ‘I am, thank you. Your dog looks tired. Has he been singing again?’

  Frank chuckled. ‘What passes for it. I think he really enjoys it now.’

  ‘He’s a lovely dog. Aren’t you, Digby?’ Miss Crisp bent to give the collie a pat. Digby submitted without enthusiasm. ‘It’s a pity to think,’ she resumed, ‘that you both have to go back to that cold, dark place.

  ‘I’m working on that, Miss Crisp,’ Frank assured her for the umpteenth time. Their conversations seemed generally to follow this pattern.

  ‘I’m sure you are. But wouldn’t you like the dog to have a more settled existence? He has no choice in the matter.’

  Frank sighed. ‘What did you have in mind?’ He already knew the answer.

  ‘I’d be thrilled to take him off your hands. I’m quite alone and I’d welcome the company.’

  ‘I’m sure you would but, you see, we’re a team. We—’

  ‘I know, I understand,’ the woman cut in. ‘Digby’s your meal ticket. Please. I don’t mean to interfere. But just give it a thought. Things must be difficult enough for you without having an animal to feed and care for. You can be sure I’d pay well for him. He’s worth a lot.’

  ‘Oh dear. Look, I’m sorry,’ Frank said. ‘You’re very kind. But I don’t want the money. We make out well enough. I love Digby. He’s all the world to me. And he’s just as devoted, you know. How could I part with him?’ He sounded upset.

  Miss Crisp smiled wanly. ‘I see,’ she whispered. ‘In that case, I wouldn’t want to be the person to split you up. But remember, if ever you need anyone to act as a dog-sitter’ – she gave a little laugh – ‘you don’t have to look any further than me. You know where I live.’

  ‘That’s most kind of you, Miss Crisp,’ Frank replied warmly. ‘I appreciate your offer, really I do.’

  They went on their separate ways. The woman turned to look back once or twice. ‘I believe that dog will come to me one day,’ she murmured to herself.

  There was a knot of people outside the squat, most of them neighbours. Frank soon discovered the reason. From inside the building Chip’s anxious barking was clearly audible. Something was wrong.

  ‘The dog’s been going on like that for an hour or more,’ said one man to Frank. ‘It sounds distressed.’

  ‘Why didn’t you go in?’ Frank asked. ‘There’s no lock on the door.’

  ‘We didn’t like to,’ was the reply. ‘We didn’t know if the building was safe.’

  Frank started to run up the path. ‘That
’s just it,’ he shouted. ‘Some of it isn’t!’

  As soon as he had pushed the door open he realized what had happened. Chip stood in the hall, looking into the room that was usually kept closed. Norman lay, groaning faintly, at the bottom of a deep drop in what had once been the cellar of the house. He had crashed through the broken flooring in the unused room. Shattered floorboards stood up on end at crazy angles around a wide hole. Frank inched forward, as close as he dared.

  ‘Norman!’ he called. ‘Norman! Can you hear me?’

  The only reply was a long drawn out groan. Frank dashed outside again. ‘Someone please call an ambulance! There’s been an accident.’

  Two men joined Frank in the overgrown garden. ‘Is it the old fellow?’ one asked. He knew Norman well by sight.

  ‘Yes. He’s fallen through the floor,’ Frank answered. ‘Probably had too much to drink again and lost his bearings. Went into the wrong room, the silly old fool! We never use that room.’

  ‘Shouldn’t use the house at all, if it’s so dangerous,’ the other neighbour commented. ‘Is he badly hurt?’

  ‘I don’t know. It sounds like it.’

  The ambulance arrived a quarter of an hour later. It was impossible to reach Norman from ground level indoors. There was an entrance to the cellar outside. The ambulance men had to break the door down. They found that the old man had broken a leg and smashed some ribs. He would have been in a much worse plight if he had landed on the concrete floor of the cellar. Luckily some debris – empty cartons and old newspapers – had cushioned his fall. Norman was whisked off to hospital and Frank was left with the two dogs and repeated warnings from all the onlookers about remaining in such perilous surroundings.

  ‘All right, dogs. All right,’ said Frank when the three of them were finally left alone. He flopped down on his mattress and Chip came clambering over him, needing consolation. Digby grumbled a little but Frank quietened him.

  ‘You must be good boys, both of you,’ he told the dogs. ‘I’ll have to leave you for a while. I must find out if poor Norman’s OK and see if he needs anything.’ He gave them some food and ran upstairs to fetch Norman’s belongings. He left the radio and gathered up a few odds and ends which he judged the old man might want with him.