Henry Hudson was born in Dublin. A graduate of the Samuel Beckett Centre in TCD he is a former winner of the RTE PJ O’Connor Radio Drama Award, The Heinrich Boll Award for Literature, The Listowel Writers Week Playwrights Award and The Best Play Award at the Cork Arts Festival. He has written collections of poetry and short stories, stage and radio plays. His novels Pulditch and Poor Lamb, Poor Lamb are available on Kindle Books.

Barking

By Henry Hudson

The masked neighbour sighed wearily.

“Take your pick, their mother is a prize terrier, but she got out on the road and a passing mongrel did the damage. Now with this bloody lock-down I’m stuck with a batch of mix-and-matches that aren’t worth feeding!”

Son James looked into the basket where I huddled with my siblings. He picked me, I don’t know why, nor do I know what ever became of my brothers and sisters. He then put me inside his jacket and carried me the short distance home to where Daddy Dave, Mammy Mary and Sister Sarah greeted me with shrieks of excitement followed by close-up cries of he’s so cute. I panicked and peed all over their shiny parquet flooring.

“Ah, he’s frightened!” Sister Sarah whimpered.
“No harm done!” soothed Mammy Mary.
Daddy Dave went to fetch a mop.

I made several such faux pas over the following days, but again all were forgiven with sighs of ah, he’s only learning. Nonetheless Daddy Dave insisted that well-trained pups make well-trained dogs and so he taught me not to put a paw near the ‘good’ sofa, or to chew Mammy Mary’s ‘silk curtains’ and to signal impending calls of nature by scratching at the kitchen door and whimpering to be let out to ‘do the needful’ on a sandy patch in the corner of the garden.

Daddy Dave went to work early each morning, masked and carrying his briefcase while Mammy Mary shut herself into the living room to ‘work-on-line’ whatever that meant. Son James and Sister Sarah ensured that I was fed and watered, that I didn’t disturb Mammy Mary and that I peed and pooed in the allocated spot. They also brought me for ‘walkies’ during the day and in the evenings Daddy Dave and Mammy Mary took me for another turn around the block.

Sometimes all four would bring me to a nearby green space where they would throw balls and sticks for me to chase. Other families had to keep their distance, but they were grateful to have a diversion for their cabin-fevered kids who squealed in delight as I tumbled and chased, barked, and blundered my way across the grass. Being the star of the show meant that Mammy Mary would feed me biscuits and that Daddy Dave would tickle me under the chin. That small, green space was a doggie heaven, a canine paradise awash with light, love, and laughter.

I must admit that weeks of circling the same block of houses gradually caused the word ‘walkies’ to lose its lustre. Son James whizzed me around the course in jig-time, but Sister Sarah dawdled along with her phone to her ear. She was a final-year economics student, and she made call after call to her classmates asking if they had heard anything about the universities reopening and she would sigh in frustration when they answered in the negative.

She wasn’t the only one whose patience was tested by the seemingly never-ending lockdown. The evening ‘walkies’ with Daddy Dave and Mammy Mary were punctuated with downbeat exchanges between them on the path and neighbours standing in their gardens.

“Did you hear there’s another hold-up on the vaccines?”
“God’s truth, only ten people were allowed at the funeral!”
“Ah, things have gone mad. This little fella needs to be chipped and to get his shots, but vets are only doing emergencies!”

I would strain against my leash to get moving even though more of the same waited around the next corner but then, in the space of a few days, everything changed.

Daddy Dave began to ‘work-from-home’ and both Sister Sarah and Son James got word that university and secondary school courses were resuming, but on on-line. I still had no idea what that meant but they all wanted ‘space’ to do their work so Mammy Mary kept the sitting room, Daddy Dave commandeered the kitchen while Son James and Sister Sarah retired to their bedrooms. As for me, I was exiled to the back garden from early morning and bar occasional visits from one of the four to top up my water or throw a few nibbles into my bowl, I was left to my own devices. Apart from tormenting or being tormented by the next-door neighbour’s cat, there was almost nothing to do and the once plentiful ‘walkies’ became as rare as hen’s teeth. Days would pass before one of them would bring me out, and then only after heated rows about whose ‘turn’ it was to do so.

It was on one of those rare ‘walkies’ that I heard Daddy Dave tell a neighbour that ‘restrictions’ were to be lifted and in the weeks that followed both he and Mammy Mary went back to work while Sister Sarah returned to university. As they all left together at an ungodly hour it fell to Son James to let me out in the mornings and to generally look after me which, in fairness, he did until that fateful day when the secondary schools reopened.

Unfortunately for all concerned, and especially for me, Son James woke with just twenty minutes to go before rollcall. I was waiting in the kitchen to be let out when I heard his footsteps thundering down the stairs followed by the slamming of the hall door. He had forgotten me. I was trapped alone inside the house, and worse, I needed to answer a pressing call of nature.

Two hours later I was in dire straits. The only thing that resembled a patch of sand was Mammy Mary’s hand-woven Persian rug so in desperation I violated Daddy Dave’s golden rule. I scrambled up onto the back of the ‘good’ sofa and from there I jumped onto the window ledge behind it. I then barked as loudly as I could in the hope that someone might come to my rescue. A set of ears did hear but unfortunately they were those of my eternal nemesis, the next-door neighbour’s cat.

Showing teeth and claws it suddenly slammed against the outside of the window and I got such a fright that I went tumbling and took one of Mammy Mary’s precious curtains down with me. The falling material swept a vase of flowers and green-slimed water all over the sofa and then the vase smashed to smithereens on the parquet floor. My shocked and pressurised bowels and bladder responded, and I just made it into the kitchen before both opened with a vengeance.

All hell broke loose when Daddy Dave, Mammy Mary, and Sister Sarah arrived home that evening. The torn curtain, smashed vase and slime-soaked sofa were bad enough but then the already apoplectic Mammy Mary stormed into the kitchen and went skating on a film of my scuttered poo. It would have been hilarious in a comedy film but there was nothing funny about the row that erupted between all three and the all-out screaming match that exploded when Son James arrived on the scene. Blame and counter-blame flew and the whole thing ended with Mammy Mary yelling at Daddy Dave.

“Get that bloody dog out of my sight! I never wanted it in the first place!”

All seemed to have settled by the following afternoon because Daddy Dave took me for a drive. We usually went for petrol or to the shops but instead he drove on until we were far out in the country. We finally stopped in a place where there was nothing but rocky fields and furze bushes. Daddy Dave tickled me under the chin and then took off my collar and lead.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

I had no idea why he was apologising but nonetheless he lifted me out of the car and searched around until he found a short piece of stick. Then he threw it along the road a few times for me to fetch.

It was my favourite game, and I was loving it but then he threw the stick over a fence and into a clump of furze. I was still searching for it when I heard the car door slam. Then the engine roared into life and the car drove off down the road. Cold fear swept through me, and I ran after it until I thought my lungs would burst but then it went even faster, crested a rise in the road, and disappeared.

I had no idea where I was and to make matters worse, my furious chase had left a deep gash in my front left paw. I limped on but had to stop every so often to lick away the seeping blood. I lost all track of time, but darkness was falling before I finally heard the sound of distant barking. I hobbled towards it sure that salvation would come from a fellow canine. How wrong a dog can be.

As I got closer another sound carried towards me, it was the sound of terrified bleating and bawling. I had never seen a sheep in the flesh until I scrambled up onto an outcrop above a sloping field and the sight that greeted me was one of carnage. A huge dog was tearing at the throat of one of the creatures while two others lay shuddering and bleeding on the ground. The rest of the flock were milling in panic and trying to escape through lines of barbed wire fencing.

I stood frozen and bewildered then a furious voice echoed across the field.

“Bastards! Bastards!”

A yellow flash thundered across the darkening sky and the dog who was attacking the sheep exploded in a spray of blood and guts. Through fright or instinct I dived towards a clump of nearby furze just as a second blast peppered my left ribcage with red-hot pellets. The impact sent me spinning over the edge of the outcrop, then crashing down through tangles of nettles, furze, and brambles. It felt as if I would fall forever but then I finally tumbled out onto the road once more.

I lay shivering and whimpering on the cold, moonlit tar. Blood was oozing from my paw and my side, but staying put just wasn’t an option, so I slowly dragged myself upright and began to stagger away along the road. I have no idea how far I walked but each step was agony, and my head was swimming. Then, just before I passed out, I saw the lights of a car approaching. I cried with happiness and relief. Daddy Dave had come back to find me.

When I woke I was lying on a table in a small, tiled room. A man in a white coat was on one side of the table and a girl in a blue bib was on the other.

“And the cops are sure that it’s him?” the girl insisted.

“Absolutely,” the white coat replied, “The farmer nailed one and winged the other. See? Pellets in his side, dried blood all over his mouth and the squad car found him close to the scene. He’s the culprit all right… but with no collar or chip there’s no way to trace the owners.”

“Bloody people,” the girl sighed, “They shouldn’t be allowed to have budgies never mind dogs!”

“Ditto on that,” the white coat sighed, “Now, you know the drill.”

The girl slipped a rubber band over my jaws and gripped me tightly as the man rubbed something cold on my right front leg. Then a brief, sharp sting sent a rush of heat racing through my body. It was the strangest feeling because as the heat subsided, I found myself running and tumbling around a small patch of grass. Children were laughing and people were cheering. Someone tickled me under the chin and then the scene began to fade until there was nothing, only silence, darkness, and peace.