I watched him shuffle away. ‘Rumbo,’ I said.
He looked back at me, his eyebrows raised. ‘Yes?’
‘Do me a favour?’
‘Yes?’
‘Get neutered,’ I said mildly.
‘Good-night,’ he replied, and trotted off to our nice warm bed.
The rain began to beat a rhythmic pattern on my body now and I curled up as small as I could, hunching my neck into my shoulders. It was going to be a long night.
Eleven
It was not only a long night but a disturbing one too. It wasn’t just the discomfort of being drenched, for my fur held the moisture and formed a snug coating, keeping the worst of the chill away; but my sleep was nagged by memories.
Something had triggered the thoughts off and I didn’t know what; it hid away somewhere in my mind’s periphery. I saw a town — a village? I saw a house. Faces swam before me: I saw my wife, I saw my daughter. I was in a car; the human hands on the steering-wheel before me were my own. I drove through the town. I saw the angry face of a man I knew; he was also in a car and driving away from me. For some reason I followed. It was dark. Trees, hedges, flashed by, flat and eerie in the headlights. The car in front of me pulled in, turned into a narrow lane. I followed. It stopped; I stopped. The man I knew left his car and walked towards me. In the harsh glare from my headlights I saw his hand was outstretched — he was holding something? I opened my door as the hand pointed towards me. Then everything became a crystal of brilliant, glittering light. And the light became dark; and I knew nothing more.
Rumbo dropped a half-eaten roll in front of me. I sniffed at it and pulled out the thin slice of ham squashed between its crusty covers with my teeth. I gulped the meat down, then licked the butter from the bread. Then I ate the bread.
‘You were yelping in your sleep last night,’ Rumbo told me.
I tried to remember my dreams and after a while the fragments became whole pieces.
‘Rumbo, I haven’t always been a dog,’ I said.
Rumbo thought before he spoke, then he said, ‘Don’t be silly.’
‘No, listen to me, Rumbo. Please. We’re not the same, you and I, not like other dogs. You’re aware of that. Don’t you know why?’
Rumbo shrugged. ‘We’re just smarter.’
‘It’s more than that. We still have the feelings, the thoughts of men. It’s not just that we’re more clever than other dogs — we remember how we were!’
‘I remember being a dog always.’
‘Do you, Rumbo? Don’t you ever remember walking upright. Don’t you remember having hands, having fingers that you could use? Don’t you remember speaking?’
‘We’re doing that now.’
‘No, we’re not — not in men’s language anyway. We’re thinking now, Rumbo, we’re making sounds, but our words are more thoughts than those sounds. Don’t you see that?’
He shrugged again and I could see the subject bothered him. ‘What difference does it make? I understand you, you understand me.’
‘Think, Rumbo! Use your brain! Try to remember how it was before.’
‘What’s the point?’
This stopped me for a moment. Then I said, ‘Don’t you want to know why? How?’
‘No,’ he replied.
‘But Rumbo, there has to be a reason. There must be some purpose to this.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know why.’ There was frustration in my voice now. ‘But I want to find out!’
‘Listen, squirt. We’re dogs. We live like dogs, we’re treated like dogs. We think like dogs.…' I shook my head at this, but he continued: '… and we eat like dogs. We’re a little more intelligent than others, but we keep that to ourselves….’
‘Why don’t we show them we’re not like the rest?’ I burst out.
‘We are like the rest, squirt. We differ only in small ways.’
‘That’s not true!’
‘It is true; you’ll find out. We could show men how clever we are — lots of animals do. They usually end up in the circus.’
‘It’s not the same thing! That’s only animals learning tricks.’
‘Did you know they’re teaching a chimpanzee to talk? Is that a trick?’
‘How did you know that?’
Rumbo looked flustered.
‘It was something you knew in the past, wasn’t it, Rumbo? Not as a dog, but as a man. You read about it.’
‘Read? What’s read?’
‘Words. Words on paper.’
‘That’s ridiculous, paper can’t talk!’
‘Nor can dogs.’
‘We’re talking.’
‘Not in the same way as men.’
‘Of course not. We’re not men.’
‘What are we?’
‘Dogs.’
‘Freaks.’
‘Freaks?’
‘Yes. I think we were men, then something happened and we became dogs.’
There was an odd look in Rumbo’s eyes. ‘I think the rain last night soaked into your brain,’ he said slowly. Then he shook his body as if to shake off the conversation. Tm going to the park now. You could chew through the rope if you want to come.’
I slumped down on to the ground; it was obvious, as far as Rumbo was concerned, the discussion was over. ‘No,’ I said resignedly, ‘I’ll stay here till the Guvnor lets me loose. We don’t want to make him any angrier.’
‘Up to you,’ said Rumbo and trotted off. ‘I’ll try and bring you something back!’ he called out as he squeezed through the hole in the fence.
‘Thanks,’ I said to myself.
When the Guvnor turned up later that day he came over to see me. He shook his head a few times and called me a few more names. I tried to look pitiful and it must have had some effect, for he was soon untying the length of rope from my collar. He felt the dampness on my back and advised me to have a run to dry myself off. Accepting his advice, I shot out of the yard and made for the park where I knew I would find my companion. His trail was easy to follow but my progression from lamppost to lamppost was much more fun than just making straight for the park. I found Rumbo sniffing round a little bitch, a skittish Yorkshire terrier, her lady owner anxiously trying to shoo my ragged friend away. Complex thoughts had gone: I couldn’t understand Rumbo’s interest in these silly lady dogs, but I did enjoy a good game. And this looked as though it could be a good game.
The weeks sped by — they may have been months — and I became lost in my canine world again, only occasionally being troubled by tormenting memories. Snow came, melted, was gone; winds swept in fiercely, spent their anger, and left meekly; the rain rained. The weather couldn’t depress me, for I found its different moods
