A DOG’s COVID TALE

A dog’s COVID tail, in honour of Nigel, Monty Don’s Dog

Bloody Birdsong! Or was it a fox? No, too high-pitched. Definitely a bird. Or two. Or… oh, for God’s sake, be quiet. I was having such a perfect dream. Roast chicken with gravy.

            The light’s coming in. Why can’t she ever shut the blinds properly? Especially the one next to me. He usually does it properly. On the other hand, he sometimes leaves me downstairs and deliberately shuts the bedroom door. She’d never do that… put me in exile.

On the other hand, he’s the softer touch at the table. I only have to give him that doughy-eyed stare for a minute and scraps galore... He thinks she doesn’t notice, but she does. She notices everything…unfortunately.

I don’t know what he’s sprayed on my bed. ‘Dettol’ I think he said. Some sort of disinfectant anyway. Smells foul. They’ve both gone hygiene-crazy. He picked up my bed yesterday, took it to the front door and shook it out. Dust-cloud like you’ve never seen. Now it’s lost that lovely, lived-in smell of stale biscuits.

Don’t really understand what’s going on. He’s usually out of the house by 8, now he’s here all day. She usually disappears for several hours at a time. Now she doesn’t. It’s lovely but I don’t get it. Have they lost their jobs? And why is Charlotte back? Has she left Uni?

That’s it. I can’t go back to sleep. It’s so unfair. If I don’t get 18 hours a day, I’m a basket case.

Aah, that’s good. Perfect stretch. Joe Wicks would be proud of me. ‘Upwards Dog’ and ‘Downwards Dog’. What does he know about dog stretches anyway?! Can only manage fur on his face. What does any human know about how to live come to that? Amateurs. I mean look at their posture. They lost the plot on that one when they stopped working in the fields. And they just work all the time. Although, not now…

Right, quick belly rotation to shake out the old fir. That’s better.

What does he mean shushing me? Blimey, I’ve had to put up with your snoring a large part of the night, matey!

Maybe, I’ll have to go around to her side of the bed, if he’s got the grumps. Here we go…

Aah, the knitting-needle clatter of my paws on the wooden floor. Thank goodness they didn’t buy that carpet for the bedroom. It would have made the sound so much less effective.

There she is. Fortunately, facing out in the right direction. Quick, wet schnozz to the face and she’s awake. Damn, she’s pulled the sheet up before I can get there. She can still feel me through the sheet though. She’s turned her back on me. OK, so now, Grumps is my only option.

Come on. Do I have to resort to the forced, high-pitched whine? Looks like I do. OK, here goes… Ah a hand has appeared. That’s nice, you do love me. No, a few pats of the head won’t do it. Under-belly scratch please. You should know the routine by now. Lower, lower. There! And hold!

Oh no, he’s fallen back to sleep. Right I am going to have to sit on his head.

Good that’s achieved its objective. He’s up. Why it takes him so long to do a pee and get downstairs I’ll never know. I know he’s only got two legs, but that’s so much easier to co-ordinate.

Door out of the kitchen is already open. Now the back door into the garden. Aah, that sun! The life-giving, fur-warming sun! Quick bark. That’s given those birds something to think about. They think I can’t get up that tree. They’re right.

Can’t pee with him hovering over me, worrying about the neighbours. Let’s disappear behind the hostas. Ah, for this relief much thanks. Just check the boundaries.

Who’s that barking? Must be Chester from number 12. Better answer. No good he’s deaf as a post. Have to bark louder. That’s better. Good, he’s noticed things are odd as well.

What’s that banging at the window? Oh God it’s her again, Miserable Margaret from next door, leaning out of her Velux. Wish she’d lean out even further. Well I’m giving as good as I get. God she’s sour.

Thought you’d heard my loudest? Well here’s a bark that could be heard at a ‘thrash metal’ concert…

Uh oh! His master’s voice demanding I return indoors. Well, he knows the only way to get me back in. Ah good I can smell it…

So, no roast chicken with gravy. Same old raw venison with some chopped-up carrot. Whoever had the idea that a raw diet was good for my health clearly didn’t bring eating pleasure into the equation.

My God, what’s that? It’s piercing my skull.

It won’t stop.  Miserable Margaret’s just pushing the entry-phone non-stop. She’s mad. Now he’ll go mad. Better retreat to the basket and try to look angelic.

************

Just woke with a start, in a panic. Will it change back to how it was? The moments that she puts the radio on and I know she’s leaving. It’s always Radio 4. She thinks the voices are soothing…which they can be, if you don’t have to listen to them every single bloody day. Couldn’t we have some jazz for a change? If I have to listen to Woman’s Hour one more time… What about Dog’s Hour instead? If I could write to the BBC, I’d tell them. Equal rights for dogs. There must be thousands of us trotting kitchen floors going quietly mad.

‘Please don’t look at me like that!’ she always pleads. ‘Don’t look so anxious!’

Well you try spending up to four hours alone with only the skirting boards as companions. The cold that chills my heart as I hear her keys jangling, watch the search for the lost handbag, hear the radio go on, watch the water bowl being dutifully filled.

I have had fields and sun and horizons an hour earlier. I have felt the grass scratching my back as I roll. I have chased the orange ball to the edge of ponds, or into them if need be. I have sent ducks spraying. Swans not so good. And the smells of water, blossom, picnics, earth. The thousand smells of earth…I love following their crazy compass.

But at the moment they all leave, my world shrinks, my horizons are cupboards. One last smile and cuddle. The door shuts. The alarm goes on. With a bang of the front door I am a prisoner, alone.

The smells are dull. Wood and carpet, not grass and ponds. I hear an outside world of cars and prams and children skipping and scooters rattling across pavements, but I can’t smell it. It’s like a dream whirling outside. Then it sets in. The panic. Am I alone? Will I ever stop being alone?

No, of course not, I’ve got Jenni Bloody Murray!

Thank God it was just a dream and they’re all here. I love it. Their lockdown, my liberation.

**********

What’s that?  The doorbell. Oh no, hope that isn’t Miserable Margaret again? I didn’t even bark this morning! No, it’s not. It’s Lucy from up the road. What does she want? Why is Mum throwing her my lead from the front door. Another walk! I can’t believe how popular I am. That’s three times today. All of us are smirking at each other in the parks. Can’t believe our luck. Suddenly we’re more popular than an ice-cream seller on a beach. On Thursday at 8 o’clock, the neighbours even clapped me as I came back from my walk round the block!

Aah, the smell of the great outdoors. Once more unto the breach dear paws.

Hold on, don’t yank me like that, Lucy. Blimey, the impatience of the young. Why is she in Lycra? Oh no, she’s going on a run… with me!

I’m going to have to put my paws down. This is too much. My lungs are bursting.

She’s pulling me along. Bloody cheek. Let’s see how you would cope with legs a fifth of the length and covered head to paw in fur!!

Actually, it’s quite fun, water-skiing in the dust.

***********

Doorbell again. Another Amazon delivery? How much disinfectant can one household buy? Or is it another board game I can’t play? Or another head for the vacuum cleaner to get into all the places they’d never even noticed needed cleaning but I am forced to hide in? The truth is they just can’t see from that height. Or smell. Is it another kettle-bell for the early morning routine with Mr Wicks? Better trot to the front door and guard my patch.

Oh, it’s not Amazon, it’s David from number 12. He’s standing outside a couple of metres from Mum. Don’t tell me he’s coming to give me a walk as well. I’m knackered.

So where’s Chester?  What’s happened to Chester? I haven’t heard him barking for a week now.

Hold on, David’s crying.

Chester’s dead. I can’t believe it.

All the time David walks me, I try to be like Chester. Don’t think it’s working. Can’t sleep.

**********

 Three weeks into lockdown. The offers of walks from people have tailed off. Shame, because I’ve never been fitter. Quite like walking with Dad though. She’s always on her mobile phone when we walk, but he’s not. He seems to love the peace and throwing the ball. Mind you, he gets upset if it does a bad bounce or doesn’t go as far as he’d hoped. Male pride I suppose.

            He chats and nods at other people with dogs. At a distance of course.

            But something’s happened today. People are turning away when I bound up to them. Children are being pulled back if they try to pat me. One woman feeding her baby screamed at me. Her face was moon-shaped with a gouged-out, curling mouth.

            She screamed for Dad to take me away. Really, she could at least have got my gender right. It’s not just male dogs that are bold you know.

            Hello, he’s stopping to chat again. It’s Steve his friend, with Archie, who’s mine. Archie is a bit too keen this morning. Nice to be wanted but I’m just not in the mood, Arch. Leave my bum alone.

             Even Steve won’t touch me.

            It seems that there’s talk about dogs being ‘vectors’. Don’t know what that means but it sure feels odd. One minute we’re Man’s best friend, the next we’re in quarantine.

*******

Another Spring morning. This time it’s her that’s got up first. She seems to be restless. Talks a lot in her sleep. Mind you I’ve had vivid dreams too.

            Back door open and we’re off. Foxes were here last night. Heard them, and now I can smell them. They cry like that mother and baby in the park. Perhaps it hurts when they mate. Perhaps it was better I was neutered.

            Hello what’s this? A whole piece of brown bread. Can’t believe my luck. Very unlike her to have put this out. Perhaps it was Charlotte. Smells a bit stale. There’s another one stuck up in the tree between us and Miserable Margaret’s. How did that get there? Oh well, nothing ventured. Food is food…

             Texture’s soggy. Oh no, that tastes odd, very odd.

             Why is the grass turning sideways? I can’t stand up… Oh my God, she’s poisoned me.

*********

            I can only see for a few seconds. Why is everyone in masks? What’s that thing on my leg? There are beeps, constant beeps. I am stretched out on my front. Can’t move. It’s like my paws aren’t there. Or they belong to someone else. They just twitch. Something on my nose too. It’s air but not like the air in the park. I think I can hear other dogs. Perhaps it’s Chester. Perhaps he’s still alive, after all. Or Archie…

            I want to speak to them but I can’t. Mummy. Daddy. Charlotte. You’re drifting. I can hear you but I can’t smell you. Are you real? Are you?

**********

What is that? It’s wonderful. It’s warm. It smells. It’s touch.

             I know that hand. The strokes are long. The fingers are light. I know that one too. A few wrinkles. Slightly rough, more pressure, reassuring. Ah yes, that’s Charlotte, the slight smell of perfume, the scratching behind my ears.

     I think I can open my eyes. They don’t seem so heavy now.

            They are real. Why are they crying? Mummy is sobbing. Has someone upset her? Charlotte your face is a river. Dad, you’re smiling at least. Oh no, you’ve gone now as well.

            Hold me closer. No closer. That’s better.

            I hope lockdown never ends.