The novel is out
now but you can read the first few pages below.
talk
Dogs like to talk.
We are talking all
the time, non-stop. To each other, to humans, to ourselves. Talk, talk,
talk. Of course, we do not talk like humans. We do not open our mouths
and say things the way humans do. We cannot. We see the harm this causes.
We know words, we understand everything, we have language, but our language
is one which is continuous, one which does not stop when we decide to
close our jaws. During every sniff, every bark, every crotch nuzzle,
every spray of a lamppost, we are speaking our minds.
So if you want the
truth, ask the dog.
Not that humans
always hear us. Not that they always think we would have anything worthwhile
to say. They command, we listen. Sit. Stay. Walkies. Here. Fetch. That
is all the conversation we are allowed. All that most humans can cope
with.
But we are not deterred.
I mean, other breeds may get pretty pissed off about the situation and
sometimes have to resort to a language humans can understand. As for
the Labradors, we are willing to wait. And besides, we get to learn
more this way. We get to sit and listen to it all. We hear the lies
and smell the truth. Especially in Families.
After all, who but
the dog knows the whole picture? Who but the dog can sit and watch reality
unfold behind each bedroom door? The role play in front of the mirror,
the whimpers under the duvet, the never-ending interrogation of their
hairless bodies? We are the only witnesses.
And we are there
when they are ready to pour out their hearts. When they are ready to
reveal their unspoken loves.
We are always there.
Listening to everything and talking our silent words of comfort.
normal
When I woke up this
morning it was as if nothing had happened.
For those first
few hazy moments I felt almost normal, the way I used to feel, before
the Hunters had come under threat. But as the empty shoes by the back
door slowly slipped into focus, a wave of nausea passed over me. Everything
came back. Most of all, the pungent taste of blood returned to my throat,
and I craved the time when I didn’t realise exactly what it cost,
to keep the Family safe.
Then, following
the fear, there was a strange sense of relief as I remembered what was
going to happen today.
As I remembered
I was going to die.
pleasure
We are on the pavement
outside Nice Mister Vet’s when Adam crouches down next to me.
‘I’m
sorry Prince,’ he says, his hand resting on my collar. ‘This
is all my fault.’
I try to tell him
that everything, in fact, is down to me. But of course, he doesn’t
understand. He pushes the door open and everyone looks around as the
bell goes. Adam walks towards the desk, but no one is there. While we
wait, I feel the attention of every other dog, marking my scent.
I can smell another
Labrador, behind me, but I don’t turn to look. Instead, I glance
quickly at those dogs sitting with their masters along the far wall.
A three-legged Alsatian. A Border collie, biting air. An Old English
sheepdog, laughing to himself from behind a shaggy veil of white hair.
There is a cat too, hissing from behind her cage door.
Surely nobody can
know why I am here, it is too early.
Another scent floats
over towards me, sick-sweet perfume.
The woman behind
the desk is now here, although I cannot see her.
‘It’s,
er, Mister Hunter,’ Adam says, before gesturing to me. ‘With
Prince. We’re due at half nine.’
The woman flicks
through pages. ‘Mister Hunter. Nine thirt-’ She stops, suddenly,
and leans over her desk to get a closer look. Her face is a vast expanse
of hairless flesh, painted orange. ‘Shouldn’t he have a
muzzle?’ The voice is now tight with anxiety.
‘He’s
fine,’ Adam says, offering a weak smile to some of the other humans
in the room. ‘He’s been here before and there’s never
been a problem. He’s always been . . . a good dog.’
There is a silence.
But it is not really a silence at all, because sounds of pain and distress
are making their way from the next room.
‘We have a
muzzle here,’ says the woman.
‘Oh.’
I sense he wants to defend me further, but doesn’t know how.
‘Only it’s
the policy, you know, for dangerous dogs.’
‘Um, okay.’
She hands Adam the
muzzle and he crouches down again, this time offering no sympathy. I
don’t blame him though. Not at all. He will never be able to comprehend
any of this.
The muzzle is tight
around my nose and blocks out smell.
‘Right,’
Adam says. ‘Come on, boy.’ I can sense that he is close
to tears, but he is just about holding himself together.
He sits down in
the only available chair, placing me directly next to the Labrador whose
scent I had picked up before. I can tell she is young, younger than
me, and that she is not seriously ill.
‘Duty over
all,’ she says, sniffing the side of my face.
‘Duty over
all,’ I sniff back, through the muzzle, hoping for no further
interaction.
She sniffs me some
more, then sits back down. ‘You’re the one,’ she says.
‘Aren’t you?’
‘I don’t
understand,’ I tell her, although I am worried that I do.
She looks around,
to check none of the other dogs are listening: ‘You’re the
one who broke the Labrador Pact.’
I swallow. I want
to lie to her. I am going to lie to her. But she will realise I am lying
and then there will be more questions. And there are a lot of other
animals here, holding up my death. The interrogation could go on forever.
So I tell her the
truth. I tell her: ‘Yes, I am.’
I look at her face.
She looks as though someone has just yanked her tail.
‘Why? What
made you do it?’
‘It’s
a long -’ Before I have time to finish, the door opens. The bell
rings. It’s a Springer spaniel, yanking his master forward.
The moment he spots
me, he starts to bark: ‘It’s him! It’s him!’
His master tries
to calm him down. ‘Shush, Murdoch! Shush!’
But of course, Murdoch
pays no notice and carries on barking. ‘It’s him! It’s
him! The one who broke the Labrador Pact!’
The other dogs are
now joining in.
‘It’s
him!’ barks the three-legged Alsatian.
‘It’s
him!’ yaps the Border collie.
‘It’s
him!’ chuckles the Old English sheepdog.
Murdoch is now playing
to the crowd. ‘The Labradors are in crisis! The Pact is a joke!
Dogs for dogs, not for humans!’ He starts to choke on his collar.
‘Pleasure not duty!’
‘Pleasure
not duty!’
‘Pleasure
not duty!’
‘Pleasure
not duty!’
The cat is circling
her cage in fright, hissing more violently than before.
‘Could everyone
please keep their pets under control!’ says the woman behind the
desk. But despite the efforts of the humans, the barking just gets louder.
‘Can’t
you see?’ says the Labrador next to me. ‘Can’t you
see what you’ve done? The Springers will think they’ve won!
Labradors will start to lose faith! There will be anarchy!’
As if to illustrate
her point, Murdoch slips his lead, jumps up onto the desk and starts
licking the paint from the woman’s orange face.
‘I’m
sorry, I never meant to betray the Pact,’ I say, as much to myself
as my fellow Labrador. ‘But there was no other way.’
‘No other
way?’
‘The Pact
wasn’t enough.’ I turn and look at her and then at Adam,
who is attempting to shield my ears from the noise.
'But why?’
Although she is inevitably upset by my blasphemy, I can see she genuinely
wants to understand. And, as the noise and chaos continues around us,
I realise for the first time that there may still be hope for the humans.
With that thought
in mind, I begin to answer her question.