You Can Teach an Old Dog New Tricks

Dog has lain next to Man for three days, no longer feeling the warmth that once radiated from his body. Someone scooters down the street and another dog barks. Dog raises an eyebrow, not expecting to hear footsteps approaching or for anybody to come in. Nobody has called. The postman hasn’t come by. Without any family and few friends, who would visit?

Dog’s tummy rumbles for the hundredth time today. He’s already cleared out the scraps from the rubbish bin and licked the crumbs up from under the dining table. But Man continues to lie on the floor, cold and silent and won’t be getting up to crack open a can of ‘Good Dog’ anytime soon. Dog’s tummy rumbles yet again but this time with sharp pains. He looks at his companion of 8 years, face down, cheek on the floor, arms with bent elbows on either side of him and whines. Why won’t you wake up? He lies there for a little while longer before instincts kick in. Nobody is coming. Dog snuggles up to Man one last time, takes in his scent which is different now, and then gets up and walks out of the living room, to the laundry and through the back doggy door. He potters down to the back of the garden, nudges a fence panel with his nose and slips through the gap in the fence.

He finds a half-eaten sausage roll on the side of the road, which might’ve been an after school snack, and satisfies his stomach. What now? He wanders aimlessly down the street as cars drive by, not slowing down or taking any notice. He notices a neighbour watering the front garden and the man across the road pulling in to his driveway after a long day of work. Birds chirp and fight amongst each other in the trees as they settle in for the night, working out who gets which branch. He better find somewhere to sleep too and some more food.

He recognises the roads from vet visits and drives down to the coast. On the next corner, there’s a church. He climbs up the steps and looks out over the suburbs, taking in the sunset. It’s a sign.

Droplets of water start to fall from the sky, gradually building in intensity. Dog jumps down from the brickwork but only makes it halfway. His collar catches on a piece of wire sticking out. He whimpers and yelps but there’s nobody around and nobody to help him. He kicks his legs off the fence and slips his collar. Down on the ground, he looks up at the last reminder of his former owner, leaving ‘Theophilis’ to hang in the rain.

At the dumpsters nearby, he scrummages around for leftovers – a mix of cauliflower, potato chips and steak rinds. After tea, he finds himself a dry patch under a bin lid where he can close his eyes and lay down for the night.

The next day is much of the same, wandering the streets, looking for food and avoiding the traffic. At one point, a man chases him down.

‘Oi! I’ll get you. You’re going to the pound!’

But Dog runs fast, given his old legs, he still knows how to get a move on when he needs to. As night falls, he passes a hissing cat, threatening him not to rest there for the night. He trots under the dim light of the street lamps, taking note of the hedges and the cracks in the concrete as he goes. He thinks of Man and remembers a time when they used to run on the beach together. He wishes he were lying on the couch with him right now, watching the 6 o’clock news, and enjoying the scraps off his plate. Dog wonders if they’ve found him yet, or if he’s still on the floor.

He comes to an oval and turns right down the stone gravel path. He soon finds a long line of bushes where he can rest. He listens to the owls hooting in the dark knowing that he wouldn’t be able to see them but that they can most certainly see him. He drops his head, closes his eyes and thinks of better days.

A child’s laugh pierces his ears and carries a little way away. He navigates his way through the bushes and comes out near lavender. He notices the wooden edging containing the bark chips first, the the jumping pillow, then a child playing in the sandpit, lifting buckets of sand and toppling them over mountains that resemble castles. He has flaming unruly red hair, glasses and a blotch of colour on his neck that creeps up to his chin. It looks dark against his pale skin. There are other kids running after each other nearby around the swing set. Dog wonders why he isn’t chasing after the other children but he’s smiling while playing on his own.

Dog can’t help himself. He starts to walk towards the boy, only to get a better look. Maybe he’ll say hello. He starts to walk faster, at almost running pace and stops short a couple of metres from the sandpit. He just stares at the boy until he looks up from his buildings made of sand and smiles.

‘A dog!’ he gushes. Dog wags his tail and inches forward ever so slightly.

‘Brodie! Watch out. Shoo! Shoo!’ A woman rushes over and waves her hand at dog. He feels his ears go limp as he retreats to the bushes.

‘Look Mummy, can we keep him?’

‘No darling, look at him. He’s old and dirty, and he could be dangerous.’

Dog doesn’t know what she’s saying but he can judge by her tone. If only he hadn’t lost his collar. The young boys’ eyes start to well with tears. He dips his head and pushes it into his mother’s chest, wrapping his arms around her, letting her pick him up and carry him away.

Dog watches the young mother take her son away and buckle him into the seat of the car. He watches as the car drives away, but continues to sit at the edge of the bushes, watching other children come and go before it starts to get dark. He retreats under the cover of the leaves, dreaming of Brodie throwing him a stick, or maybe even a ball.

When the sunlight streams through the branches, Dog opens his eyes and slowly picks himself up, stiff from sleep. He bends down and stretches his front paws right out in front of him and goes to wander the playground, picking up scraps that the kids have left behind.

He doesn’t mind it here in the playground. He has shelter, food and before long, children start to pour into the playground while their parents talk in mothers groups. The kids scream as they swing on the monkey bars and squeal as they slip down the slide. He watches them, keeping his distance, but close enough so that he can share in their delight. Before long, he sees Brodie running straight for him.

‘Come on,’ he says. ‘Let’s play in the sandpit.’ He runs for the pit and drops his knees straight into the damp sand. Max follows, wary of his mothers’ gaze not too far away. She wrangles another boy with red hair but younger, and is trying to listen to another woman talking to her, unable to get away. Dog keeps his distance and lies down in the grass nearby with his chin resting on his paws. Brodie talks constantly and happily, to whoever is listening, Dog mostly. His mother sits nearby, not taking her eyes off her son and the dog lying nearby.

This continues for several days, and each day Dog can get a little bit closer and learns more about Brodie as he continues to prattle on while the other kids play. Nobody else seems that interested in the sandpit. Eventually, Dog makes it to the edge of the sandpit and closes his eyes, listening to Brodie tell wild stories about dragons and medieval princesses. Dog drifts in and out of sleep and suddenly feels something on his head – Brodie’s hand stroking in between his ears. Dog whimpers. It’s been a while.

‘Please be careful Brodie,’ his mother comes over and leans down to pull his hand away.

‘But Mum, he’s my friend.’ Her shoulders drop and her head tilts. She looks away for a moment before turning back to face her son.

‘He might belong to someone baby,’ she says. Brodie drops his bucket and his head, looking down into the sand, tracing lines with his fingers. ‘But how about we take him home for now, and we’ll see if we can find his owner.’

Brodie jumps up and squeals, before running to the edge of the pit to pat Dog.

‘I’m going to call you Max!’

Dog’s ears prick up and he tilts his head. Max – that’s much simpler than ‘Theophilis’.

‘Sweetheart, he isn’t ours to keep.’

‘I’m going to call him Max anyway.’

After being beckoned to the car with little encouragement and a short trip in the car, they pull into the driveway of an old Californian style home. The brick arch work in the fence reminds Max of the Church back home, his old home.

Mum unbuckles the belts of both the young boys and opens the door to let Max out. He drops down onto the pavement and follows Brodie though the front door. Dad is inside, drinking a glass of wine and reading his newspaper at the dining table.

‘How was the park today kiddos?’ He looks up from the paper and notices Max standing beside Brodie, being petted. ‘Honey, who’s this?’

‘He’s a stray – the one I’ve been telling you about. He seems to have taken a liking to Brodie.’

‘We got a new dog named Max,’ Brodie yells.

‘But we’re going to take him to the vet tomorrow and we’ll see if we can find his real owner.’

‘I’m not sure about a stray dog in the home Sandra.’

‘I know but,’ she glances at her children and lowers her voice to a whisper. ‘He’s the only friend Brodie has right now.’

‘Okay,’ Dad nods his head. ‘I’ll set him up in the laundry for the night. Brodie would you like to help me set up Max’s bed?’

‘Yay! Come on Max.’

After a meal of chicken and rice, a session of tug of war with a rope from Dad’s garage and sleepless nights in the bushes, Max quickly finds dreamland on the old towels of the laundry that night, the hum of the machine gently easing him to sleep.

‘Yep, he’s got a microchip alright,’ the vet says.

‘So he’s not a stray,’ says Sandra.

‘Well, he could be. Or he might’ve just not had his collar on when he went walkabout. I’ll just scan it now and we should soon see who he belongs to.’

Sandra waits as the computer pulls up results and looks around the room. There hasn’t been a need to go to the vet for a long time, not since being a child. It would be nice to have a dog around again.

‘Well,’ the vet starts.

‘What?’

‘He did have an owner. Peter Marshall. It says here that he’s deceased. He died about two weeks ago actually. I’d say this little fella’s been on a bit of a journey.’

‘Oh, poor baby.’ Sandra puts her hands on Max and pets him down his back. Deceased. So they found him.

‘So we’ve got a few options. I can make some calls and see if there’s any family members he can go to. Otherwise, he’ll have to go to the pound or we can put him down right here and now.’

‘No, I don’t want that. Is there any way we can take him in? It’s just that my son, he’s taken such a liking to him and I worry that he gets lonely.’

‘Are you prepared to adopt a dog into your home? It’s a big commitment and can be hard work, especially an older dog like Max here.’

‘Yes, I think so. I think that would be the best decision for Brodie and the family too.’ She smiles at Max.

‘That’s great news. Alright then, I’ll grab the paperwork and we can transfer him into your name right away.’

Sandra purchases some dog food, worming tablets and a couple of tennis balls and leaves the vet shortly after with Max who’s also been fitted with a new collar and lead.

‘You Max, are going to need a bath if you’re going to live with us.’ She roughly pats his ears and winds down the window of the car and as she drives home, Max watches the world going past.

‘Max, welcome back!’ Dad bends down and scruffs him up. ‘I hear you’re part of the family now.’

‘Max!’ Brodie runs down the stairs and wraps his arms around him. ‘Let’s go play!’

And now Brodie has to cheek to the floor of the playroom, palms on the floorboards, at eye level with Max. He laughs hysterically trying to steal a kiss from a tired old dog. Max obliges.