During one
shopping expedition to
the Club Row Market,
my mother suggested
something different. She
told my father that since
I was the child
and not him, perhaps it
might be nice if I were
allowed to choose our
latest dog. She reasoned
that since I was now
getting older, it would
not hurt me to
start to take some
responsibility and start
to learn how to take care
of a dog. Although my
father agreed, I could
tell that he was not
totally agreeable to the
suggestion. He still
retained many youthful
characteristics and
wanting his dog
was one of them. However,
since I showed
excitement, and clearly
wanted a dog of my own
and would have promised
anything to get one, he
could do nothing else but
agree. Anyway, my mother
had made up her mind and
was determined about
whose dog it was going to
be. It must have been a
disappointment to him not
to choose the dog, but
when my mother stood a
stand, one just had to
accept it. I think that
he did sulk a little for
the rest of the day. My
father was apt to sulk
when he did not get his
own way and I am sure
that my mother paid
for this insult at a
later time!
 I
remember going from stall
to stall that day looking
for the dog. My
father’s mood did
not allow him to enjoy
meeting the dogs as it
normally did. However, in
spite of his mood, he
still managed to become
the centre of attention
of all dogs once he came
to their stall. Somewhat
tragically, no dog seemed
interested in me.
Eventually we came to a
stall and there in a
corner sat the tiniest
black puppy with the
saddest eyes. The dog had
a melancholy look
about it. I liked the dog
instantly despite his
lack of interest in me,
my father or his
surroundings. I am sure
that my attraction to
this puppy was solidified
since he was not bowled
over by my father’s
apparent animal
magnetism, which was
so potent to other dogs.
Obviously the
puppy’s demeanour
must have told both my
mother and father
something that I was too
young to appreciate,
since they immediately
tried to persuade me away
from this poor creature.
However, the more I
stroked the puppy, I more
I liked him. Once he
looked at me with those
sad exhausted eyes and I
was lost. I begged my
mother to buy the puppy
for me. Even the vendor
tried to persuade me away
from the puppy, which
again should have told me
something. But instead, I
pleaded and I begged for
that dog and made wild
and outrageous promises
if they would agree.
In
desperation, I looked to
my father to be an ally
in my quest to be allowed
to take the puppy home. I
turned to him and pleaded
with him to say that he
liked my dog and
that he thought that he
was alright. Normally,
one could count on my
father to misrepresent
the truth, however, now
he went against type and
chose to tell the truth!
He said that he liked all
dogs, even this one. My
mother was angry at his
answer as this was like
giving the puppy the
good seal of housekeeping
guarantee. Although I
loved my mother, she was
no expert on dogs
and so her opinion on the
puppy mattered little. My
father was the one that
dogs loved and so his
opinion was all
important. Tragically, he
ought to have said no, he
did not think the poor
puppy would be a suitable
pet for me and then
explained why. Had he
done this, he would have
saved us all much pain.
But since he liked dogs
– all dogs –
for once in his life he
decided to tell the truth
and not think of the
consequences!
My mother
tried another approach to
get me to turn away from
that puppy. She told me
that he would need a lot
of care and it would be
down to me to give it. If
I were allowed to have
the puppy, then I would
be responsible for
walking him every day and
twice at weekends –
naturally, I was too
young to go alone, but
she did not say that. I
would also be responsible
for filling his bowls
with food and water each
day and for seeing that
they were kept clean. I
was not to chase him
since he was smaller than
me or play rough as he
might get hurt. Finally,
she said that if the
puppy messed where
he should not mess,
I was to clean it up
– she actually did
not mean this, but said
it obviously in a final
attempt to persuade me
away from the poor
creature. Her ploy did
not work. I eagerly gave
her yes’s to
all of her questions. By
then, I would have said
yes to anything.
 I
wanted that puppy. He
was the one – no
other. At last my mother
realized that nothing was
going to change my mind.
And so she opened her
purse and took out the
dollar and handed it
to the vendor, but
strangely enough, he did
not take the money.
Again, this should have
told me that something
was not quite right with my
dog. The vendor said
that if I wanted the dog,
then I could have him gratis.
At that, he grabbed
at the poor creature and
pulled it by the front
paws out of his corner.
The puppy now looked even
more unhappy and
helpless, as he slide
across the straw and out
into the world. The
vendor now picked up that
tried pathetic little
puppy by the scruff of
his neck and swung him
into my waiting arms. I
was amused when I saw the
tiny little tail of my
dog curled firmly
between his hind legs. As
you can tell, this was my
first dog!
I received
the poor puppy in my arms
and held it close to me.
I remember feeling his
amazingly rapid heat beat
through his thin body.
One could almost see his
ribs sticking through the
thin skin and fur. Still,
at that time, nothing
bothered me about my
dog. He was going to
be safe with me or so I
thought. I imagined
myself running through a
field of tall grass with my
dog close by. Yes, we
were going to be a happy
pair!
The puppy
lay motionless in my
arms. Now that I had
found him, I was ready to
go home. However, my
father wanted to have a
drink and so we went to a
nearby pub. My mother
remembered this area from
when she was a child. In
those days, this area of Bethnal
Green was a lot
rougher than it was when
I was a child. Sadly, her
memories were still fresh
in her mind and she was
none too pleased to be
required to go into one
of those horrible
places, as she called
the public houses at the
north end of Bethnal
Green Road.
I remember
that poor little puppy
did not move once during
our walk home. I would
stop at times to stroke
it, but the poor thing
just slept and did not
respond. When he was put
on the ground, he just
sat still with his head
bowed and did not move.
No amount of
encouragement would
induce him to stand and
try walking. Once home,
the puppy, like all our
other dogs before him,
was not allowed to come
upstairs into our living
area since he was to be a
working dog and
not some useless,
spoilt house flannel of a
dog, as my father put
it. I took the little dog
into the bake house where
he was given some food
and water. The poor thing
had insufficient energy
to lap the water or chew
the food. It obviously
took all of his energy to
push himself up on all
fours and take one lap of
water. I remember him
standing there as if
frozen to the spot and
then seeing his little
legs collapse under
him. I tried helping him
by lifting him to his
feet and bringing him
closer to the bowls.
Although he tried once
more to lap some more
water, he could not. I
had no more success in
getting him to attempt a
mouthful of food.
Obviously, even with my
help, it must have taken
a tremendous effort for
him to stand as, each
time he tried, he was
rewarded by his legs
collapsing under him.
My father
said that the dog was a
dud! My mother was
annoyed with him for
making such a cruel
remark and said that the
poor thing was ill. I was
very concerned. My first
dog – a dud!
My first dog – ill!
My mother saw my concern.
She told my father to be
quiet and gave him one of
her looks, which
told him to say no more
in front of me. Somehow
my mother managed to get
the poor puppy to take a
little more water and a
few nibbles of food. She
did this by putting some
water on her finger and
he licked it dry. She did
the same with a morsel of
food. I began to feel
better. A little later,
the puppy was lying down
on his own little bed
made from some old flour
bags by my father. He had
warmed up a bit
by now to my dog
and said that the flour
bags should be kept on
the ground since he was
far too small to climb up
to or get down from the
throne at present.
He did say that once
the puppy was older then
he would move his bed up
into the throne area.
I was beginning to feel
very much better by now.
Things were looking up
for my dog and me.
I
wanted to sleep in the bake
house, as although I
was feeling better, I was
still very concerned
about the puppy. Even I
realized that despite my
improved feelings, there
was something wrong with my
dog. Naturally my
mother would not allow me
to remain in the bake
house overnight and
said that dogs knew how
to take care of
themselves, and that he
knew enough to know that
what he needed most now
was sleep – just as
I did.
After a
few days, the poor
creature was able to take
a few steps without
support. However,
although this should have
brought me joy, it only
brought another and more
serious problem to the
foreground. The dog was
obviously still weak and
was unable to play. It
is most disconcerting for
a boy to find that his
dog will not play.
Children can be forgiven
for assuming that all
dogs have an innate sense
of fun and that play
is encoded into their
genes. Sadly, my poor
dog seemed to have no
sense of fun. Even my
father could not induce
him to play. Alas, my
father’s efforts to
coax the poor creature
into mild play brought no
response. However, what
proved to be the final
straw as far as my
father was concerned
regarding my dog was
not this, but something
far more serious.
Whenever
the puppy managed to
stand and move a few
steps forward, the poor
thing would quickly come
to a stop, whereupon his
hind area would shake for
a few seconds and then an
enormous amount of liquid
mess would escape
from his rear end with
surprising force. In
spite of myself, I could
not help but find him
amusing as he stood there
with his poor little hind
legs bowed so as not to
get mess on them.
Once the poor creature
regained his composure,
and some strength, he
tried to walk a second
time. Again, he came to a
quick halt. Suddenly, his
hind area began to shake
and his hind legs bow
once more, and whoosh –
a second pile of mess escaped
him. This happened a
third and then a fourth
time. My father was
amazed that for such a
small creature could hold
so much mess. Following
his fourth evacuation,
the poor dog’s legs
finally gave way and they
collapsed under him. As a
result, what the poor
thing had wanted to avoid
sadly happened – the
puppy collapsed on top of
his latest pile and
covered his whole hind
area in his mess. The
poor puppy lay there
exhausted and with his
eyes closed. I went to
help him up and felt his
heart racing. My father
told me to leave the
puppy and said that he
would take care of him.
My mother had arrived by
this time and took me
away despite my
entreaties to stay. I
insisted that my dog needed
me. My mother was having
none of my entreaties and
took me by the arm and moved
me out of the bake
house. As she did, I
noticed that my mother
gave my father a look
and a nod, the
meaning of which I did
not understand at the
time, but later I would.
I presume, and still
hope, that my father did
clean up my dog.
Later that
day, my father went out.
This in itself was
unusual since he did not
usually run errands
during a work day. I had
no idea at the time where
he had gone and since I
was banned from
going downstairs, I could
not ask my mother. Once
my father returned, my
mother came upstairs and
told me that the little
puppy had gone to
sleep. She said that
he had been ill and in
pain. I was very, very
upset, but she told me
that I would not want him
to suffer, would I? Of
course I did not want
this, but I had become
very fond of that poor
little thing. It seems
that the look and the
nod of my mother had
been her command for my
father to take the poor
little puppy to the vet.
I learned years later
that the poor dog
suffered with some
congenital disorder of
his intestine and most
likely would, no doubt,
not have lived long.
The
vendor had obviously not
charged my mother for the
puppy since everyone, but
me, realized that he was not
long for this world. Since
I had taken a fancy to
him, it was thought best
that I be allowed to take
him home and make his
last days comfortable. I
doubt if anyone realized
that his demise would
be so swift. Still, this
was probably was for the
best since my fondness of
him would have grown and
my memories of him
increased in number and I
would have been even more
upset for a longer period
of time. Still, I did
miss that poor puppy and
still think of him from
time to time. Life can be
so cruel at times.
Since that
encounter with my dog,
dogs have never really
taken to me. They
tolerate me. They allow
me to stroke them and
even to walk them and
some even allow me to
play with them. But no
dog has even loved me or
made me feel special.
I see others with their
dogs and I can see the
affection that exists
between master and
dog and I envy
them. Sometimes I wonder
if dogs somehow sense
what befell that little
puppy all those years ago
and perhaps also sense
that choosing me would
not be a wise choice. As
I said, life can be so
cruel at times.
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