Rumbo had made his way towards a dilapidated wooden hut which stood in the centre of the metal-torn domain and stood scratching at its door, occasionally giving out a moderate bark. The shiny blue Rover parked near the hut stood out like a sore thumb among the mangled wrecks around it, the bright morning sun making its bodywork gleam disdainfully.
The door of the hut swung open and the Guvnor stepped out.
‘ ‘Allo Rumbo, boy!’ He beamed down at my tail-wagging friend; his mood seemed good. ‘You been out all night again? You’re supposed to be a guard dog, you know, stop me having headaches.’ He squatted in front of Rumbo and ruffled the dog’s fur, slapping his flanks for extra welcome, Rumbo was good — very good; he wagged his tail and shuffled his feet, grinning up at the Guvnor all the time, but not trying to thrust himself on to him, his tongue hanging loose, occasionally flicking upwards to lick the man’s face. The Guvnor was heavily built, his long leather jacket bulging tight around the shoulders. He had that fleshy-looking hardness about him, a tough nut who had become used to the good things in life — good food and good liquor. A fat cigar protruded from his mouth and it looked a part of him, like his flattened nose; he would have looked silly without either. His hair, which was just beginning to thin, covered his ears and flowed over his collar at the back. A gold-sovereign ring flaunted itself from one hand while a large diamond ring outdid it on the other. He was about fortyish and had ‘Villain’ written all over him.
‘Who’s this you got with you?’ The Guvnor looked over at me, surprise on his face. ‘Got a little girl friend, have you?’
I bridled at his silly mistake. Fortunately, he corrected himself. ‘Oh no, I can see he’s just a pal. Here boy, come on.’ He extended a hand towards me but I backed away, a little afraid of him.
‘Get over here, squirt,’ said Rumbo quietly, warning me with annoyance in his voice.
I crept forward cautiously, very uncertain of this man, for he was a strange mixture of kindness and cruelty. Generally, when you taste them, people have both these qualities but usually one is more dominant than the other. With the Guvnor, both characteristics were equally balanced, something I now know is very common in men of his kind. I licked his fingers, ready to bolt at the least sign of aggression. He stopped me as I got carried away with his delicious flavours by clamping my jaws together with a big fist.
‘What’s your name then, eh?’ He yanked at my collar and I tried to pull away, very fearful of him now.
‘It’s all right, squirt, he won’t hurt you if you behave yourself,’ Rumbo reassured me.
‘No name? No address? Someone didn’t want you very much, did they?’ The Guvnor let me go, giving me a playful shove towards Rumbo. He stood up and I could sense I was instantly forgotten.
‘O.K., Rumbo, let’s see what the missis has sent you.’ The man walked round to the boot of his Rover, unlocked it and pulled out an interesting-looking plastic bag — interesting because it bulged with what our noses told us could only be food. We danced around his ankles and he held the bag aloft out of reach. ‘All right, all right, take it easy. Anyone would think you hadn’t eaten for a week.’ Rumbo grinned at me.
The Guvnor walked round to the back of the hut to where an old plastic bowl lay and emptied the contents of the bag into it. A meaty bone, soggy cornflakes, bits of bacon fat and half a chocolate bar fell into the bowl, a rich concoction of leftovers. There were even some cold baked beans among the scraps. As a human, my stomach would have turned over; as a dog, it was a gastronomic delight. Our noses disappeared into the mixture and for a few moments our minds were concentrated solely on filling our bellies. Rumbo got the tastier morsels, of course, but I didn’t do too badly.
When the bowl was spotlessly clean, my friend wandered over to another bowl which stood beneath a dripping tap. He began to lap greedily at the water and I, my stomach fit to burst, drifted over and did the same. We slumped on the ground after that, too full to move.
‘Do you eat this well every day, Rumbo?’ I asked.
‘No, not always. It’s been a good morning. The Guvnor doesn’t always bring me something — there’ve been times he hasn’t fed me for days — and it’s not always easy to steal. The shopkeepers around here are a bit wary of me now.’
The Guvnor had disappeared inside the hut and I could hear music blaring from a radio.
‘Have you always belonged to the Guvnor?’
‘I can’t remember, to tell you the truth. He’s all I’ve known.’ Rumbo became deep in thought. Finally he said, ‘No, it’s no good. My mind goes fuzzy when I try to think too hard. Sometimes I remember scents when I sniff certain people. They seem familiar to me. I can’t remember not knowing the Guvnor, though. He’s always been there.’
‘Is he good to you?’
‘Most of the time. Sometimes he ties me up when he wants to make sure I stay in all night, and sometimes he kicks me hard for shouting too loudly. But I can’t help it. He’s got some nasty friends and I just let fly at them when they come round.’
‘What do they do here?’
‘Talk mostly. They stay in that hut for hours, arguing and laughing. There’s a few regulars who do the work around here, mess around with those heaps of junk, and things; bring new ones in. They’re never very busy.’
‘What does the Guvnor do?’
‘You’re a bit nosy aren’t you, squirt?’
‘Sorry. I’m just interested, that’s all.’
Rumbo eyed me suspiciously for a few moments. ‘You’re not like other dogs, are you? You’re… Well, you’re a bit like me. Most dogs are very stupid. You’re stupid, but not in the same way. Where exactly are you from, pup?’
I told him all I could remember and discovered I was beginning to forget my past also. I could still remember the market where I was bought, but not much more between there and the dogs’ home. It’s something that’s happening to me more and more; I have periods of complete lucidity, then my mind can go virtually blank — my past, my origins, a vague blur. I often forget I was a man.
I didn’t voice my anxiety over my human ancestry at that time because I didn’t want to alarm Rumbo in any way; I needed him so I could learn how to survive as a dog. Acceptance of circumstances comes more easily to an animal, you see, and it was that animal part of me which turned away maddening thoughts.
‘You were lucky to get away from the dogs’ home, pup. That’s the death-house for many,’ Rumbo said.
‘Have you ever been inside?’
‘No, not me. They’ll never catch me as long as I can run.’
‘Rumbo, why aren’t all dogs like us? I mean, why don’t they talk like us, think like us?’
He shrugged. ‘They just aren’t.’
‘Rumbo, were you ever… do you ever remember being… er, have you always been a dog?’
His head jerked up. ‘What are you talking about? Of course I’ve always been a dog? What else could I have been?’
‘Oh, nothing.’ My head sank miserably down on to my paws. ‘I just wondered.’
‘You’re a strange pup. Don’t cause me any trouble here, shrimp, otherwise I’ll turn you out. And stop asking silly questions.’
‘Sorry, Rumbo,’ I said and quickly changed the subject. ‘What does the Guvnor do?’ I asked again.
Rumbo’s answering glare and bared teeth killed my curiosity for the moment. I decided to take a little nap, but just before I dozed off another thought struck me.
‘Why don’t men understand us when we talk, Rumbo?’