By the time we got home we were both laughing and giggling, feeling fresh and alive as never before – and, of course, ravenous. We found a well-wrapped packet of sandwiches that one of the Guvnor’s workmen had foolishly left lying on a bench while he dismantled a broken engine, and we took them to our snug bedsitter, scoffing the lot within seconds. For once, to my surprise, we shared the food equally, Rumbo making no attempt to gobble the major portion. He grinned at me as I finished the last few crumbs and, after smacking my lips contentedly, I grinned back at him. Our differences were forgotten and Rumbo and I were friends again. There was a subtle change, however: I wasn’t exactly equal to Rumbo now, but I was a little less inferior than I had been.
The pupil was beginning to catch up with the master.
9
So what of my feelings of being a man in a dog’s body?
Well, they certainly never left me, but they didn’t often play an important in my thinking. You see, I was developing as a dog, and this development took up most of my time. I was always conscious of my heritage and my human instincts often took over from my canine tendencies, but my physical capabilities were those of a dog (apart from my extraordinary vision) and this governed my attitude. There were many times nights mostly – when memories fought their way to the surface and questions, questions, questions, tussled with my mind; and there were many times when I was completely and wholly a dog, with no other thoughts but dog thoughts.
I recognized my similarity to Rumbo and I’m sure he recognized it too. The disturbing fact was that I also recognized it in the big rat. Had Rumbo? He was deliberately vague when I tackled him on our difference from others of our kind, and I was never quite sure whether he understood it or if it was just as big a mystery to him. He would shrug his shoulders and dismiss the subject with a remark such as ‘Some animals are dumber than others, that’s all.’ But I would often find him regarding me with a thoughtful look in his eyes.
So I lived my life with Rumbo and the urge to discover the truth of my existence was held in abeyance while I learned to live that life.
Like all dogs, I was fanatically curious; nothing near me went unsniffed, nothing loose went untugged, and nothing pliable went unchewed. Rumbo would lose patience, scold me for behaving like any other stupid mutt (although he liked a good sniff and chew himself) and would generally berate me for my inquisitiveness. We had many afternoons or evenings when he did answer my questions (he had to be in a relaxed and talkative mood to do so), but when he thought too long or too deeply he would become confused and irritable. I often seemed to be about to learn something of significance – perhaps a clue to my own strange existence or a reason for our obviously more advanced development to others of our kind – when his eyes would become blank and he’d go into a long trance-like silence. It would frighten me, for I would think I’d pushed him too far, his searching mind becoming lost within itself, unable to find the route back. On such occasions I was afraid he’d become just another dog. Then he would blink a few times, look around curiously as though surprised at his surroundings, and carry on talking, ignoring the question I’d asked. These were strange and apprehensive moments for me, so I refrained from triggering them off too frequently.
Other apprehensive moments were when we saw ghosts. It didn’t happen often enough for it to become a common occurrence, but enough to be disconcerting. They would drift sadly by, a feeling more than an expression of utter loneliness about them, and some seemed to be in a state of shock, as if they had been torn brutally from their earthly bodies. Rumbo and I would freeze at the sight, but we’d never bark as other dogs might. My companion would warn them to keep away from us with a low growling, but we were of no interest to these spirits and they would drift on without even acknowledging our presence. On one occasion – it was in broad daylight – four or five ghosts, bunched tightly together, wandered through the yard like a small, drifting cloud. Rumbo had no explanation for the phenomenon, and forgot about it as soon as it had passed, but it puzzled me for a long time afterwards.
The comings and goings of more mortal beings into the yard began to increase. There were normally two or three full-time overalled men working in the yard, breaking up the junks, and a steady stream of customers looking for cheap parts. Gigantic lorries (gigantic to me) would be loaded with crushed car bodies by the yard’s crane, then disappear through the gates with their valuable metal. Vehicles battered beyond repair or too old and tired to run any more were brought in and dumped unceremoniously on top of precariously balanced scrap piles. But it was a different increase in activity that aroused my curiosity.
The Guvnor began to have frequent visitors who had no interest in the yard itself, but would disappear into his office and remain there for hours on end. They arrived in twos and threes and left in the same numbers. They came from different areas, mostly from Wandsworth and Kennington, but others from Stepney, Tooting, Clapham, with a few from nearby outlying counties. I knew this because I’d listened to their conversations as they waited outside the hut for the Guvnor’s arrival (he was often late). One or two men would even play with me, or torment me in a friendly way. Rumbo frowned upon my childishness with these men, for they never offered food nor were they relevant to our lifestyle (Rumbo was choosy about offering his friendship), but I, like any other pup, wanted to be loved by everyone and anyone. I didn’t know what their business with the Guvnor was (I noticed they treated him with a lot of respect), nor did I care much; I was just curious because they were outsiders and I could learn more about the other places from them – not just the surrounding area, for I knew enough about that – but other parts further away. I was looking for clues, you see, clues about myself. I felt the more I discovered – or rediscovered – about the world outside, the more chance I had of solving my own riddle.
It was on one such occasion, in fact, that I earned my permanent name. Some of the workmen in the yard had taken to calling me Horace (God knows why, but it seemed to tickle them), and it was a name I detested. They used it in a mocking way and usually – unless they were offering something (which was rare) – I ignored their calls with a nose-up dignity. Even Rumbo, in moments of sarcasm, would call me Horace rather than ‘squirt’. In the end, even I was beginning to get used to it.
However, the Guvnor had never bothered to give me a name – I was never important enough to him for that – and he really didn’t have much cause to refer to me anyway after our initial meeting months before. I was grateful, at least, that he hadn’t picked up this awful nickname from his workmen.
So this is how I got a proper and appropriate name.
A small group of the outsiders had gathered in front of the Guvnor’s office – hut – and were awaiting his arrival. Rumbo was away on one of his ‘bitch-in-season’ jaunts and I was wandering aimlessly around the yard, sulking at being left behind again. I trotted over to the group to see if I could overhear anything of interest (or perhaps to beg for some affection). One of the younger men saw me coming and crouched low, a hand outstretched, to welcome me. ‘’Ere, boy. Come on.’
I bounced towards him, pleased to be called. ‘What’s your name, then, eh?’
I didn’t want to tell him I was called Horace so I kept quiet and licked his hand.
‘Let’s ’ave a look at you,’ he said, pulling my collar round with his other hand. ‘No name on this, is there? Let’s see what we’ve got for you.’ He stood up, reaching into his overcoat pocket and my tail began to wag when he produced a small green tube of sweets. He levered a sweet out and held it up for me to see. I went up on my hind legs immediately, mouth gaping for the treat to be dropped into. The man laughed and let the little round sweet fall and I caught it deftly on my tongue, crunching and gulping it down by the time my front legs touched ground again. I jumped up and put my muddy paws against him, asking politely for another; they had a nice minty flavour to them. He was a bit annoyed at the mud on his coat and pushed me down again, brushing at the marks left with his hand. ‘
Oh no, if you want another one, you’ve got to earn it. ’Eeyar’, catch it.’ He threw the mint high into the air and I jumped up to meet it on its downward journey, catching it smartly. The young man laughed and his bored companions began to take an interest. They had been lounging against the car they’d arrived in, a maroon Granada, stamping their feet to keep the circulation flowing, their coat collars turned up against the cold.
‘Let’s see ’im do it again, Lenny,’ one of them said.
The one called Lenny tossed another sweet and again I caught it in mid-air.
‘Do it a bit ’igher next time.’
Lenny tossed and I jumped. Success once more.
‘You’re a clever old thing, aren’t you?’ said Lenny.
I had to agree; I was feeling quite pleased with myself. As Lenny poised a mint on his thumb and index finger I prepared to repeat my performance.
‘’Old on, Lenny.’ A different man spoke this time. ‘Make it somethin’ more difficult.’
‘Like what?’
The group of men thought hard for a few moments, then one spotted a couple of tin mugs standing on the hut’s window-sill. ‘Use them,’ he said, pointing towards the mugs. ‘The old ball-an’-cones trick.’
‘Do leave off. It’s only a bleedin’ dog, you know,’ Lenny protested.
‘Gorn, see if it can do it.’
He shrugged and walked over to the mugs. The regular yard workers used these for their tea-breaks, but I don’t think they would have offered any objection to these men using them for other purposes. In fact, I had noticed that the Guvnor’s regular employees kept well away from the business acquaintances of their boss. Lenny placed the two mugs upside-down on an even piece of ground while I nuzzled him for more sweets. He pushed me away and one of the men took hold of my collar to hold me back.
Lenny levered out a little round mint again and, in exaggerated motions, showed it to me, then placed it under one of the mugs. I pulled against the restraining hand, eager to get at the sweet.
Then Lenny did a puzzling thing: he placed a hand on either mug and whirled them in circles around each other, never letting their lips come off the ground. He did it slowly, but even so it was confusing for a mere dog. He stopped and nodded for the other man to let go. I bounded forward and immediately knocked over the mug which held the strong scent of mint.
I couldn’t understand the group’s cries of amazement and Lenny’s delight as I gulped down the sweet. I accepted Lenny’s friendly thumps on the back with a wagging tail, pleased that I had pleased him.
‘Aah, it was a fluke. The dog couldn’t do it again,’ one of the men said. He was grinning, though.
‘Oh yes it could. It’s a clever old thing, this pup,’ Lenny retorted.
‘Let’s ’ave some money on it, then.’
The others agreed enthusiastically. It’s funny what a group of bored men will find to amuse themselves.
Once again I was held back while Lenny went through his hand-holding-mint ballet. ‘All right. A oncer says ’e does it again.’ I was no longer an ‘it’ to Lenny.
‘Right.’
‘You’re on.’
‘Suits.’
And suddenly four pound notes appeared on the ground. The four men looked at me expectantly.
Lenny went through his mug swirling again and one of the men told him to speed it up. He did, and I must admit he had a definite flair for this sort of thing: the movements were baffling to the naked eye. But not to the sensitive nose. I had knocked over the mug and swallowed the sweet within three seconds of being released.
‘Fantastic! ’E’s a bloody marvel.’ Lenny was delighted as he scooped up the four pounds.
‘I still say it was a fluke,’ a disgruntled voice muttered.
‘Put your money where your mouth is, Ronald, my son.’
The bets were placed again; this time one of the men dropped out. ‘He’s sniffin’ it out, I reckon,’ he grumbled. This stopped the action; they hadn’t thought of that.
‘Nah,’ Lenny said after a few moments’ thought. ‘’E couldn’t smell it with the mug over the top.’
‘I dunno, it’s pretty strong – peppermint.’
‘Okay, okay. Let’s see what else we’ve got.’
The men rummaged through their pockets but came out with their hands empty. ‘Just a minute,’ one of them said and turned towards the Granada. He opened the driver’s door, reached across the front seat and delved into the glove compartment. He came out with a half-eaten bar of chocolate. ‘Keep it in there for the kids,’ he said self-consciously. ‘Keep the wrapper on so it don’t smell so much.’ He handed it to Lenny.
My mouth watered at the sight and I had to be firmly held back.
‘Fair enough. Let’s do it again.’ Lenny made sure the wrapping covered all the exposed end of the chocolate and placed it carefully beneath a mug. The mug had a nasty-looking grease smear on its base.
The fourth man rejoined the betting and, once more, Lenny’s lightning hands went into action. Of course I made straight for the grease-smeared mug.
The chocolate was pulled from my mouth before it could be devoured, but Lenny was more generous with his praise. ‘I could make a fortune with this dog,’ he told the others, breaking off a tiny square of chocolate and popping it into my mouth. ‘’E’s got brains, ’e’s not as daft as ’e looks.’ I bridled at this but the thought of more chocolate kept me sweet. ‘’Ow’d you like to come back to Edenbridge with me, eh? Connie and the kids’ll love you. I could make a bomb out of some of the locals with you.’
‘That’s the Guv’s dog, ’e won’t let you ’ave it,’ the one called Ronald said.
‘’E might. ’E’s got two.’
‘Anyway, I still say it was only luck. No dog’s that clever.’
Lenny raised his eyes heavenwards. ‘You wanna’ see ’im do it again?’
Ronald was a bit more reluctant this time and the sound of a car pulling into the yard saved him from deciding whether to risk another pound or not. A sleek Jaguar stopped behind the Granada and the Guvnor stepped out; he changed his cars with more frequency than most people checked their tyres. He wore a heavy sheepskin coat and, of course, a fat cigar jutted comfortably from his mouth. The men greeted him with a friendliness born out of respect more than liking.
‘What you lot up to?’ He stuck his hands deep into his coat pockets as he swaggered his way round the Jag to the group.
‘Just ’avin’ a game with the dog ’ere, Guv,’ said Lenny.
‘Yeah, it’s a clever little bugger,’ said one of the others.
Lenny seemed hesitant to tell the Guvnor just how clever he thought I was; plans for me were beginning to grow in his mind, I think.
‘Nah, it could never do it again, never in a thousand years,’ Ronald piped up.
‘Do what, Ron?’ the Guvnor asked affably.
‘Lenny’s done ’is ball-and-cones trick and the dog’s guessed right every time,’ another of the men said.
‘Do me a favour!’ the Guvnor scoffed.
‘Nah, straight,’ Lenny said, the thought of making some more instant cash overriding his future money-making plans.
‘It must ’ave been a fluke. Dogs ain’t that bright.’
‘That’s what I said, Guv,’ Ronald chimed in.
‘Yeah, and you lost your money, didn’t you, my son,’ Lenny grinned.
‘’Ow much you made so far, Lenny?’
‘’Er, let’s see, Guv. Eight pounds in all.’
‘All right. Eight more says it don’t do it again.’ He had style, the Guvnor.
Lenny hesitated for only a second. He chuckled and went down to the mugs again. ‘Now then, boy, I’m relyin’ on you. Don’t let me down.’ He looked at me meaningfully. For myself, I was enjoying the game; I liked pleasing this man, I liked him knowing I was no ordinary dog. I wasn’t really grovelling for titbits. I was earning them.
Lenny shuffled the cups, even faster than before under the Guvnor’s level gaze,
but this time he’d placed the chocolate beneath the mug without the grease smear. He finished his intricate hand movements and looked up at the Guvnor. ‘Okay?’ he asked.
The Guvnor nodded and Lenny looked across at me. ‘Okay, boy, do your stuff.’
And at that moment Rumbo trotted into the yard.
Curiosity drew him over to the group, and when he saw me being held by the collar and the twin mugs set on the ground before me, he screwed up his brow in a puzzled frown. In an instant he had guessed a trick was being performed for the benefit of the men and I, his protégé, the mutt he had taken under his wing, the scruff in which he had tried to instil some dignity, was the star performer. Rising shame burnt my ears and I hung my head I looked dolefully up at Rumbo, but he just stood there, his disgust apparent.
‘Come on, boy,’ Lenny urged. ‘Get the chocolate. Come on!’
My tail drooped: I had let Rumbo down. He’d always taught me to be my own dog, never become a pet of man, never become inferior to them; and here I was, like some circus animal, performing tricks for their entertainment. I stepped towards the mugs, kicked the empty one over with a paw and trotted away in search of a dark hole in which to bury myself.
Lenny threw his hands up in the air in disgust and the Guvnor chuckled. Ronald, chortling loudly, stooped and picked up the Guvnor’s winnings and handed them to him. As I disappeared round the corner of the hut, I heard the Guvnor say: ‘I told you it was a fluke. Yeah – fluke. That’s a good name for ’im. ’Ey, Georgie,’ he called out to one of the yard workers. ‘Get the pup’s collar and put its name on it. Fluke! Yeah, that’s good!’ He was pleased with himself: the money meant nothing, but the scene had made him look good. He was making the most of it. I could still hear him chuckling as he unlocked the office door and the group of men disappeared through it.