NOW AND THEN

By Rosemary Clarke

Sasha is asleep at the moment, her beautiful brown eyes closed as she luxuriates in the sun's warmth...full circle?  I suppose so, it's how my life started.

The house I was born in was what you'd call very well - to - do; at six every morning we’d have breakfast and playtime just to stretch our legs, setting us up for the day.  Someone would come in to comb and brush our hair, see that our nails were cut, nothing wrong with our teeth then work.

The couple that owned us made sure, along with the kennel maids, that we sat or stood when we were told and walking to heel was rewarded by tidbits or a toy so everyone tried their hardest.  I was only small then and days stretched forever in golden bliss.

I still don't know how it happened.  We were show dogs, a group of Burmese Shepherds known for our gentle ways and intelligence both of which were my downfall for the next two years; I think it was two...how can you tell when someone, somehow takes you far away from green fields, kind hands and good food in a dirty white truck.

I was treated quite well at first, meals were un-nourishing and bland, but there were meals.  I was tied outside a dirty caravan, children in grubby clothes with faces that didn't see a flannel very often running around in the dirt; sometimes a small hand would grab my hair gently, using me as something with which to stand, until a wobble would have the child back on its bottom, sad at having failed in their task.  Then the newspapers arrived, pictures of me spread on pages; lost show dog I should imagine not reading your writing.  I can understand you, you can't have everything.

The person who had taken me was growing tense, I felt it, and once more I was pushed into the dirty van.  Our journey was long and, as he stopped and let me out I could see trees..home?
No, roughly I was tied to a post near a yard.  The man spoke to a tall man in a bright yellow jacket who handed him what I had seen was payment.  Someone paid for me so I should be treated well!  How wrong I was!

A few moments after the van had driven off I was untied and led into a yard where rusty cars piled on one another; a graveyard of metal.  Lights hanging limply from their fronts or doors rusted and permanently open as though they had ceased to hope, the end of life. 

Seeing the metal cage before me, only big enough for me and situated in a grimy corner I started to understand their feelings: this was where dogs ended their lives too. 

For once I fought back, trying hard to pull away from my steel prison, knowing that once inside I would have no hope too. I twisted and struggled, pulling hard and growling until a sharp kick with a steel tipped boot made my legs buckle and my back tingle and ache nastily.  He and another man also in the bright yellow jacket dragged Me towards the cage and now I had no way to fight, only gaze as the inevitable slid ever nearer.

I lived on scraps.  After a while, my back healed but I still had trouble walking, not that I had far to walk.  By pushing against the side I could just sit down and kept one corner, the farthest from me, for my toilet.

If people came I caught pieces of burger, chips, and the odd piece of fish.  I was oily and filthy, my beautiful hair matted and black; why didn't they just kill me, why hate me that much?Xd

Then, one day, a couple arrived in a red van; they were dressed in boots and jeans like the rest but the woman, tall and with dark hair came near, her hands were gentle as they stroked my nose and ears through the harsh metal.  Later on, she unwrapped meals she had bought just for me, pasties and meat pies, a whole fish fried in batter!  Not the best food but hot, and it certainly made me feel better as it settled in my aching stomach.

I don't know if I was sold or they took me but one night the cage was quietly opened and she led me out on a piece of string into the back of the petrol-smelling red van.  I was driven away: no one followed, no one came.  I felt sure that she wouldn't let any harm come to me.

Suddenly, after a long while, we turned down a bumpy, dusty road; where was I to go now?  The van stopped and she led me out tying me once again to a metal pole but this time under lots of clothes hanging on a line.  The woman walked away, was I sold to someone else?

I decided to explore as much as the rope would allow me; I could at least sit or lie down and the garden was calm and forgiving, trees waving in the gentle breeze as if in time to the clothes.  It was quiet here, I had time to think and feel.  I sat down on the grass, as well as I could with my painful legs; these people, whoever they were, were not the kind to use steel boots, iron bars or any other metal things.  A voice nearby made me look up from my musings. another dog?  How long had it been since I'd heard that!  I answered in a squeaky yip, forgetting in my zeal that I hadn't used my voice for many years; would it come back?

I heard an engine, not a van too smooth then I could see it, a bright gleaming silver car!  A woman, older than my one, was walking down the path joined by two more, a man with unruly grey hair and a tall gangly girl, rather like one of the kennel maids in my puppy days.
"Why's someone tied next door's dog to the line?". The girl said looking puzzled, the woman, also grey haired, stood looking at me; she reminded me of my woman, were they a family?
She put out her hand.
"Bobby?"
This is what my woman called me and I yipped at the name.  The woman smiled.
"This is Bobby; she said she'd get him.  He needs a wash, he's all oily."

A dish of meat was put before me but, because my jaw had been smashed, my teeth wouldn't reach the bowl.  I sat there looking at it.  The woman watched me then walked away returning with a flat tray; I cowered, waiting for the crack as it hit me but no, she pushed the meat onto it from the bowl.  I could eat this, jellied as it was easier.
I was then taken, in the back of the clean smelling car, to a concrete yard and there...now what?  Two young women, one tall with long red hair one small dark and chubby walked over.  I liked their smell and willingly went with them through a counter to a room. 

Shampoo, warm water, and a glistening gleaming cleanly groomed coat; I was sand and black once again, my true self.  I strutted out, my head raised in sheer joy, no longer bedraggled and dark, a real show dog!

My days were now spent in walks and food and play,  my favourite time being early morning when the older woman would awake, having slept on a chair near me to keep me company and boil the kettle for a cup of tea.  We would sit down before anyone else was awake and munch our digestive biscuits; a little rest before the day ahead.

Well, I loved it there playing with the family but I grew too strong.  My woman and the girl took me to training classes but when I didn't do as I was told my woman's boyfriend tried to kick me, telling me that that was what they did to trouble makers in London.  I don't know, it didn't sound very nice, perhaps I had been in London all those years.  Also, my woman and her boyfriend were tired of walking me, leaving it to the older woman and the girl, all were working but one day, when I needed to go to the toilet, I pulled the woman and hurt her arm very badly, having it wrapped up in a bandage with her not able to use it.  She was threatened and pulled by my woman's boyfriend, who I suspected had something to do with the men and the cage, and kept away from him just in case.

It was then that the older woman spoke to my one who said she had a friend and would see what she could do.

And here I am!  I still have some of my old toys with me, my children play with them now but I do occasionally throw one in the air when no one's looking.

Sasha is beside me now and it's dinner time.  Here comes my new man, he used to be a farmer and knows how to treat dogs.  You see, a dog's life can be a good thing in the end.

Copyright Rosemary Clarke