After a myriad of posts which have been critical of the world around us, complaining about things in my life, and sometimes just generally a downer, I thought it might be a nice change for those who actually read my blog to have an uplifting story.

Bobby, Torrington Bulldog is one the favorites among stories I have written.  It captured third-place in the 82nd Annual Writer’s Digest Writing Contest – Inspirational Division. I hope you enjoy it.

BOBBY,  TORRINGTON BULLDOG

He was out of place, surrounded by the long, lean faces of pit bulls trapped in cages next to his. His face was lined with vivid red scars where other fighting dogs had taken their toll on him. We managed to get them into the transport cages without getting bitten or hurting the dogs. It was messy and unappealing work. Everyone I’ve ever met in animal control was there because they love animals, and this kind of thing gets us a bit barmey around the edges. The drive back was quiet. No one likes to talk about it.

“What kind of nutter does this sort of thing?” It was Andy. He had drawn the short straw for euthanizing that day and he  was not happy about it. No one likes the job, but Andy in particular despises it. He once gave me a tenner to take his place, but he wasn’t getting out of it today. “Bloody bastards!” he mumbled loudly under his breath.

All the dogs were to be put down. Andy quietly loaded a dart into the tranquilizer gun and walked up to the first cage. The dog lunged at him, bouncing off the mesh of the door and snarling defiantly. There was a soft whoosh as compressed gas sent the dart to its target. Five minutes later Andy loaded the limp body onto a cart and headed off to the gas chamber, still cursing under his breath. I leaned back and stretched, tired from an hour of filling out official papers on our grouchy old computer. After downing the last of me tea, I stood up, stretched again, and took a slow walk down the concrete runway between the pens. As I approached each cage, the occupant would snarl and bark, often charging the door as if to say, “Just let me get me teeth into you, you bugger!” I could only shake my head at the injustice of it all. It wasn’t their fault they had never known affection, that their lives from day one had been a swirling mass of pain designed to make them vicious fighters who would attack anything, sometimes even their owners. Pit bull fighting is a nasty sport run by vile human beings who have little regard for life.

So what was this bulldog doing here? I stood outside his cage and studied him carefully. Unlike the others, he was a young dog. Did someone use him to train young pit bulls? Maybe that explained the scars across his face. He was a training dummy, a poor bloke who had the misfortune to wind up in a place where his life was expendable. He looked absolutely knackered. While all the other dogs had charged to the front snarling, he lay in a corner of the cage. His body language seemed to say “Just go away, will ya, and give a bloke a kip, eh?”

I grasped the door and shook it. Immediately he was on his feet, barking loudly. But instead of lunging for me, he backed to the rear of the cage, his tail between his legs. His eyes that told me all I needed to know. They were not filled with anger and a desire to kill. They were filled with fear.

“It’s okay, mate,” I said quietly, “I’m not about hurting ya.” I turned around and almost knocked Andy off his pins.

“Guess I’ll do him next.” He looked at me with a combination of sorrow and disgust. “You owe me a pint after work.”

I put my hand on his and lowered the gun. “Go do the rest. Leave him alone. Understand?”

“You’re kiddin’, right?  The old man’ll have his knickers in a twist.”

“No, he won’t.” I put my hand on his shoulder and led him away from the cage. “I’ll go talk to him now.” I turned back to the cage. “Andy, look at that bloke. There’s something different about him. There’s something there worth saving. I just know it.”

That’s what I told Tedford, the head of District B animal control. He looked at me as if I were gobsmacked. “So what do you want to do? Turn ‘im loose?” He got up from behind the desk and came around to me. “Come on, John. You’re off your trolley. He’s a fightin’ dog. He’s a time bomb waiting to go off. You know that as well as any of us.”

“I don’t think so, sir.” I returned his look, dead in the eyes. “He’s not a killer. He’s a scared dog who got his arse in a bad situation. I don’t think he’s much more than a real big pup someone thought they could use as a training dummy.” I took a couple of steps closer and lowered my voice. “Come on, Teddie. At least give me a chance. The worst that happens is I get me arse chewed a bit, and that’s nothing new.”

Tedford stared me down for a few seconds, then with a deep sigh, returned to his desk. “Two conditions. One, if he so much as farts on someone, down he goes. And if you get seriously hurt, I didn’t authorize you to do this. Got it?”

Sometime later I was made to think I perhaps should have listened to him.

❁❁❁❁❁

I named him Bobby, after me late brother. I’ll tell you something funny. I always thought me brother looked like a bulldog.  He was a big guy with jowls, and his chin jutted out like a bulldog. But he and I were best mates and when he died, I went on a week-long bender that damn near killed me. I wasn’t much good after that either. It was working with dogs that saved me life. I’d probably still be down in Liverpool, poppin’ pills in some filthy flat if it wasn’t for the kitten I found wandering down an alley. I took it to animal control and that’s where I met Sheila. She cared for the kitten and she took care of me as well.

“You’re a good-hearted lad, you know that?” I wasn’t ready for that, so  I kind of shuffled me feet and cleared me throat while she continued to wash the kitten with those gentle hands of hers. “I’ve seen what some people do to strays. You don’t seem like that at all.”

I took a liking to her and started showing up at the clinic just so I could be around her. It wasn’t too long before she had me at work, first sloppin’ out the cages, and then helping her with the larger dogs. I don’t know if dogs have a soul, but working with them saved mine. When I first started working there I was still hurting for me brother – boozing and taking pills every weekend. It took a while, but Sheila was patient with me and finally, between her and the dogs, I somehow got cleaned up. Sheila said she was praying for me, but I didn’t want to hear any of that God stuff. I just loved the animals and they gave me peace. I never figured God had much to do with it.

When Sheila got an offer to head up District A animal control she moved down to a little farm near Torrington and I followed along. Tedford – good old Teddie from District B – took me in as a favor to her. Somehow I’ve found a lot of peace comforting suffering animals. I’m not sure how that works, but I figured with Bobby I had a chance to pay it back to all the animals that had helped me over the years. I owed him at least that much – a chance. I know something about fear and pain.

We didn’t get off to a good start. Bobby wouldn’t let me get near him, no matter how soothingly I talked to him. I started with the only kindness I could think of – food. I told me mates in the district not to feed him so that I could be the only face he associated with this one small pleasure in his life. Any time I tried to get close to him he would slowly back into a corner with his tail between his legs and that scared look in his eyes. He never tried to lunge at me, but then again, I never got too close to him either. He’s a well-built dog and powerful, and I gave him that respect.

I think I began to make progress the day I got the brilliant idea of cooking him up some bangers  for his dinner.

“You’re bringing our good bangers to that dog?” Sheila needled me, trying to act offended, but smiling nonetheless. “Next thing you know you’ll be bringing that dog home with you.”

I reminded her that was the goal, kissed her goodbye, and smiled as I walked out the door.

“Here ya go, mate!”

I opened the door to his kennel and entered slowly. Bobby stared at me. The smell of bangers had his attention despite his fear. I approached him cautiously until he made a move backward. Stopping there, I took the lid off the container, kneeled down, and placed it on the floor. Bobby didn’t move. I was hoping the bangers would bring him to approach me, but after ten minutes of staring at each other, it didn’t appear to be working. I eased myself out the door and watched as he bounded over to the bangers and devoured them in a gulp. He looked at me and I wondered if that was a wee bit of a smile I saw or was it just the turn of his bulldog face?

We went on like this for a couple of weeks. Some days it was bangers, some days anything other than the dry dog food we give most of our patients. Bobby needed love and the only love I had to give him was real good food.

I must have been knackered the day it happened. I’m normally very aware of me surroundings in a kennel. A bloke has to be because you are working with  animals in stress and they can be unpredictable. I had just entered Bobby’s cage with a fresh baloney from the butcher over on Smythe Street when I turned me ankle on Bobby’s water dish. The fall tossed me right at Bobby. I heard him growl, then a thousand hot irons dug into me face as he defended himself.

❁❁❁❁❁

“186 stitches, John.” Teddie was standing at the foot of me cot in the emergency room. “I warned you, didn’t I?”

He walked over to the side of the cot. “You’re lucky he didn’t tear your throat out, you damn fool.” He paused. “I’m having him put down. It’s over, John. You should thank God you’re still alive.”

I grabbed him as he turned to leave. “Teddie, please! Just a fortnight more. I was getting closer to him every week.” I tightened me grip on his wrist. “It’s not his fault I scared him. Put yourself in his place. Anytime something lunged at him, it was trying to kill him.” I lowered me voice to plead with Teddie. “If he meant to kill me, I’d be dead right now.”

Teddie peeled me hand from his wrist and began to walk towards the door. “I know nothing about this. You hear me, John? Nothing! This was your decision and your fault.” He stopped in the doorway and turned around, his eyes stern. “Right, John?”

I could only gratefully nod me head.

I don’t know where I got the inspiration, but I had a night in the hospital to think and somewhere in the early hours of the morning I realized what I had to do. After she got the kids off to school, Sheila came back to bring me home. She listened wide-eyed as I explained me plan to her, then turned away in distress.

“Cor, love! I knew you were a little potty when I met you, but this is …” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head slowly from side to side. Turning back to me, she held a pocket mirror to me. “Johnny, look at your face.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “I know the dog means a lot to you, but you have to give it up.”

I took her hands in mine. “One more try.  If this doesn’t work, then I’ll let go of him. Promise.” I looked her in the eyes. “Aren’t you the girl who said you love me because of how I treat animals?  Do you really expect any less from me?”

I wonder if dogs think like we do. When I opened the door to the kennel and slowly slid in, Bobby cocked his head to one side. I could imagine him thinking, “What the hell are you doing back here after the arse kickin’ I gave you?” I stood against the wall of the kennel, watching him carefully.

After a minute, satisfied that I was not going for him, he settled back down with his head on his paws, eyeing me carefully. I slowly eased down to the floor and lay on me back. That position means surrender when dogs fight. It’s language that says to a dominant dog, “Okay. You win. Don’t kill me, please.” I was gambling that gentleness would win over authority.

Bobby’s head turned to one side. He rose and cautiously walked to me. I held completely still, me right hand draped protectively across me neck, waiting for his next move. He lowered his head and sniffed me face, then softly licked the bandages on the right side before he lay down beside me. He put his big head against me chest and gave a deep sigh. I knew we had won.

Bobby stays in me office. I don’t see the fear in his eyes anymore, but he’s still a bit dodgy around strangers. Trust is coming slowly. When we go walking, people say we look like twins. I take that as a compliment.

I was walking by the old parish church in town last Sunday and for some strange reason I felt a strong desire to go inside. Mass was over and the church was dim except for a corner of brightly lit candles. I stood in the back for a while, terribly out of place. I hadn’t felt a need for church since a kid. The only thing I ever remembered about church was that as a little bugger, I was scared by the sight of a bleeding man hanging on a giant cross. He was still up front, in the dim light behind the altar. I sat in a pew and stared for a while.

For the first time, those scars on His body made perfect sense.

 

If you like this story (shameless plug) you can have it, along with twelve other stories I have written in my book  Everlasting Green – Stories of faith, hope, and charity