Ben

We got Ben from the pound in Dumbarton. His doggy eyes whistled pick me. Soon he was in the purple Nissan Sunny I used to drive, stuck his wet nose out of the back window and bounded into our life He was a thoroughbred mongrel, part Alsatian, part Collie, part this and part that. All his brains were in his dancing feet and he liked to sneak about like a cartoon character when he was doing something he shouldn’t, like sneaking up the stairs and into our room. I’m sure he thought he was human. He bounced rather than walked. He barked at the wind, hid under our bed from thunder and lightning and for some strange reason the theme music from Emmerdale made him howl—which I sympathised with. Everything excited or frightened him. He liked to chase grey squirrels, red foxes, car wheels, cycle wheels, anything that moved. He’d a special animosity towards the hard plastic of children’s swings, grabbing it with his jaws until I had to pry them apart and pull him by the collar away. It was a stand-off, or at least a sit-off. Kids squealed with delight at the tugging match between Ben and me. Any ball that got within range was shaken and fanged. He liked to sneaky-pete and snuggle under the blankets with us. I’d wake and his snout would be in my face. It didn’t matter how many times I’d tell him he’d his own bed in the kitchen, under the table, he never listened. His expression never changed from love me love me to I love you I love you. He’d nudge your hand to pet him and nudge it again when you stopped. His speciality was launching himself at you when you came in from work. There would be no telling where he’d have ended up if I didn’t keep catching him.

I suppose we’d have kept on that way if my next door neighbour hadn’t died suddenly. Mrs Mitchel was eighty-eight, but there was that brightness in her eyes and I’m sure you know what I mean. We shared a communal garden and Ben used to lie in the shade at her feet when she made it to her chair outside. He seemed to understand that she wouldn’t do much petting, or much of anything, apart from a little reading of the newspaper and snoozing. Ben would do a little light snoozing himself, letting out little doggy yelps as he ran in his dreams.

Our new neighbours were brash with a capital b. The words don’t really make sense when you put them that way, but sense out of nonsense is often difficult to explain. We liked silence and they liked music so much they needed to share it through the walls with us. We liked a quiet life and they liked the drama of shouting and screaming at each other, banging doors and shaking the building as they came and went. They came quite a lot, and with their bedroom back to back with our own, they insisted on sharing that with us too.

We decamped to sleep in the kitchen, the furthest physical space we could get away from them. We were in the dog house which should have made Ben happy, but his hackles rose up when he spotted Norma or Jimmy and he growled from the back of his throat and barked with real intent. It became quite a problem and they frequently came to the door, which made it worse, to complain about Ben’s anti-social attitude. An environmental health officer came to warn that he’d received a complaint-she wouldn’t say who from- that the dog howled all day, whilst we were at work.

July of that year was wet and warm for three days and that was when the rabbit hutch appeared and Mitzy their albino white rabbit begun hopping about in the flimsy wire-mesh runs that were meant to keep it in. It was like waving a white flag, kicking a ball and showing a white hard plastic swing seat to Ben all wrapped up in cuddly fur. I’d like to be one of those dog owners that shout ‘stop’ or ‘don’t do that’ or ‘Jesus Christ I hope he doesn’t rip it to bits’ and their dog listens and obeys. Norma filmed the whole thing with her new Galaxy phone. I saved Mitzy by the skin of Ben’s teeth, but it was a close-run thing. He drew blood. I’d a bite mark between thumb and index finger. Ben sneaked away and in the back door to the kitchen and looked suitably chastised. There would be no holding him back in the future. He could no longer be allowed in the back garden and the space that we lived in shrunk even further. An eager young police man and even younger police woman visited us that night. Even as they drank our tea, patted Ben and rubbed behind his ears, they’d seen footage of the wild animal we were harbouring and looking into his slick doggy eyes they could only sympathise so far.

Someone was crying wolf and Mary and me talked about flitting. It wasn’t the sensible option, it seemed the only option. We couldn’t put our family down. It was the end of July. I’d been off work with man-flu and by coincidence it was the hottest few days of the year. Mary had left for work and I was having a long-lie in the kitchen. She’d left the door open to let in what little breeze there was. As usual I opened my eyes and Ben’s eyes were staring into mine. I yelped. He’d Mitzy hanging from his jaws like a pillow that had lost its bounce. I slapped Ben on his wet nose, he yipped, dropped Mitzy onto the mock-grey-paving slabs and slinked under the table and into his bed. I hurdled our bed and stood at the back door scouting the back garden. It was still too early for Norma and Jimmy to be up and shouting at each other and there was nobody else about.
I thought about putting Mitzy in the bin, but I’d visions of forensic teams sweeping into our house and taking mouth swaps from Ben, Mary and me. I thought about leaving Mitzy lying artistically in the back garden, as if she’d accidentally been run down by a lawn mower. Ben slowly got up from his bed.

‘Down,’ I shouted.

The dog cowered back down on its bed, hanging its head. I picked up Mitzy and for some reason I slipped the rabbit into the sink and washed the dirt and blood from its fur. It was still dead, but at least now it was a clean kill. Ben came over and nudged at my hand. I pushed him roughly away. Mary had left her hairdryer plugged in our bedroom. I brought it down to the kitchen, put the rabbit on the kitchen table and dried it off. I still wasn’t sure why I was doing these things. Mitzy’s coat looked so good when I’d finished that it could have ended up on the cat-walk.
I’d another quick gander outside and taking Mitzy by the ears sneaked outside, with Ben stealing out behind me. We got to the hutch undetected. Our neighbour’s first-floor window looked down onto the garden and I was sure I saw movement behind the yellow-rayon curtains and deadened, but my eyesight is very poor and I didn’t have my glasses on. I opened the latch of the hutch and put the end of a cut carrot in Mitzy’s mouth and let her fall against the wire of the cage. Although the rabbit was dead, Mitzy with her fluffed up coat had never looked better. I was sure it was either prison or a psychiatric hospital for me and there was a kind of freedom in those thoughts. I went back to the kitchen and made a big fried breakfast: sausage, ham, black-pudding, eggs, potato scones. Ben got his share too. I took him for a long walk in the park to play with the swings.

That night Norma and Jim seemed more subdued. About nine o’clock our letterbox rattled, the dog barked, but for our next door neighbours to be standing at our door Ben was less dogaplectic than normal. Mary gave me one of her looks and I shrugged as if to say I don’t know what it’s about and locked the dog in the living room with her.

‘Can I have a word with you Jack?’ said Norma, speaking for both of them and more subdued than usual, her platinum- blonde hair tied firmly back and her half-hatched top at least was buttoned up around her boobies.

Jim with his red hair looked like her normally did, a matchstick caught in the rain. He looked over my head and avoided eye-contact.

‘Whit is it? I said.

I’d been caught, probably filmed on planet phone Galaxy and didn’t want to waste words on people I hated.

‘I know we’ve had out difference,’ said Jim.

‘Emm,’ I said.

‘Something’s happened,’ said Norma, ‘and we just can’t explain it.’

‘That old woman,’ said Jim. His Adam’s apple bobbled up and down. ‘Her that haud the house before us.’

‘Mrs Mitchel?’ I said.

Mary and Ben were silent in the living room, as if waiting.

‘Aye, her,’ said Norma, looking at Jim then at me. ‘What was she like?’ She chewed on her bottom lip and I got a waft of her perfume.

‘I don’t know whit you’re talkin’ about and it wisnae me,’ I said.

‘What wasn’t you?’ said Norma. She looked at Jim and he looked to the side of him where I’d planted azaleas. ‘Can we come in and discuss it?’ She took a step forward. I think she was used to men stepping aside and doing what she wanted. I’d have said she was rather attractive but I didn’t want to say anything good about her.

‘Did she have any strange interests?' Jim said.

‘Who?’ I said, then corrected myself. ‘Mrs Mitchel?’

‘The thing is,’ said Jim, ‘Mitzy died last night and I buried it out the back, near the far-away washing-pole.’

‘And this morning,’ Norma bit at the corner of her pinky, ‘it was back in its cage with a bit of carrot in its mouth.’

‘And it never ate carrots,’ said Jim. ‘Never ate them. But we kept trying to feed her them because we’ve got a massive four-kg bag of them.’

‘Well you might get rid of them now,’ I offered, ‘since your rabbits so perky.’

Jim shook his head. ‘Nah, it’s still deid.’

‘But we were wondering how it got back in the hutch.’ Norma looked up and me, she looked as if she was going to start greeting and I could see why people found her attractive with those amethyst-blue eyes.

I took a deep breath. ‘I didn’t want to tell you, but you’ve been such good neighbours and you’ve found out about Mrs Mitchel. You were probably wondering why you got this council house and why so many folk turned it down.’ The stiffened and gawked at each other. ‘You’ll probably have found small things going missing. Things turning up in places you didn’t expect to find them. Small things that have begun to go wrong in your life. Bits of bad luck. I really like you.’ I looked from Norma to Jim and at least that was half true. ‘But the best thing you can do is get up to that council office on Monday and get a swap. Let some other poor bastard suffer.’

Norma began to bubble, her chest undulating up and down as she roared. ‘You’ve been a real pal,’ she said through her tears, ‘I knew there was something. How can we repay you?’

Jim gripped the wrong hand, my left and half patted and half shook it. ‘We’ve had our differences, but I can’t thank you enough.’

‘Don’t worry Jim, anybody comes to visit about a swap and asks about Mrs Mitchel I won’t say a word.’ I shut the door over and went to tell Mary about Mitzy and what a good dog we had.