The Human Touch: chapter Two

                                               Chapter Two

 

            ‘John. John, I’ve found one. Come here, quick.’

Shelly was excited.

‘Look, I’ve found an advert. She read from social media as her husband looked at the screen over her shoulder. 

            For Sale: 4, eight week old, German shepherd X puppies, Dogs and bitches, both parents can be seen. £80.00 ono.

            ‘And look at them, aren’t they gorgeous?’

She enlarged a photo of the pups to fill the screen. Look at that little black one, there. He’d be perfect. Oh please, John, let’s at least ring up and see if there’s any left.

            ‘Hell, eighty quid’s a lot for a mongrel, isn’t it?’

            ‘I’d pay ten times that if it makes Sammy smile.’

            ‘What, and I wouldn’t?’

            ‘You know I didn’t mean that. And anyway, it’s not all about Sammy. I think it would be good for us to have a dog, too. Remember before we were married, we always said that we’d have two children, one of each flavour and a Labrador?’

            John laughed but the sound had a bitter ring.

‘And along came Sammy and all our dreams had to change overnight. Now I’d give everything we own just to see him smile for the first time.’

            ‘Look Doctor Rose thinks it’s a good idea, and I’m ready to go along with anything he suggests.’

            ‘But honey, do we have to go for a German shepherd? What’s wrong with a little tiny dog that will be less bother? Puppies are a nightmare, so it makes sense that the less puppy you have the less trouble they can be.’

             ‘Oh, stop grumbling, you know you want this as much as I do and we’re both only using Sammy as an excuse. I’m going to make the phone call.’

As she picked up the phone, she saw that John had the fingers on his left hand crossed.

            ‘It’s ringing,’

            ‘Yes, phones tend to do that, Shelly. It’s a miracle of modern science if you ask me.’

When Shelly ended the conversation, she told John that the advert was listed that morning, and all the puppies were still available. The woman said that as long as they had the money, they could have the pick of the litter and she wouldn’t go a penny less than eighty quid and not to bother trying. Shelly established that they hadn’t been wormed or had a flea treatment, microchip, or any vaccinations.

‘She sounded a bit rough, love,’ said Shelly, wondering if this was the right dog for them.

‘Well it’s a good job we’re hoping to buy the puppy and not the owner, then, isn’t it.’

John already had his coat on and was putting his wallet in his pocket.

‘Come on Shelly. What are you waiting for? Let’s go and get our boy before Sammy gets in from school.’

            ‘Girl.’

            ‘Boy, definitely a boy.’

They got out of the car and John pulled a face.  Shelly was too horrified to do anything. The gate was hanging open by one creaking hinge. The garden was filled with cigarette butts, dog dirt and rubbish. An old telly lay in one corner with its screen smashed. The weeds grew high and pushed between the mossy paving stones thrown over what had, at one time, been a lawn.

‘Nice,’ commented John, dryly.

            ‘Oi, don’t you be a snob, we’re only here to buy a dog, remember. We’re not here to judge their lifestyle. Be nice you.’

            ‘Are we sure that Sammy’s ready for this? It’s a big step.’

            ‘John, we’ve been preparing him for weeks. He knows the puppy’s coming.’

            ‘Yes, but he doesn’t know when. Are we sure? That’s all I’m asking.’         ‘Only one way to find out.’

Shelly spoke with conviction, but her expression was anything but sure. The place was awful and if ever there was an omen that this wasn’t a great idea, this was it.

Before they got to the door they heard furious barking from at least two dogs inside the house. A skinny ginger cat jumped from the bay window to investigate the visitors.  John knocked.

            ‘That’ll be them,’ yelled a voice from inside. ‘Go on then open the fucking, door. And don’t you say nothing to embarrass me. They sounded posh on the phone. No swearing, you hear.’

            Shelly’s heart sank but it was too late to turn tail and run. The door opened and a belligerent teenager stood on the doorstep. His nose was running, and he wiped at it with the back of his sleeve.

            ‘You come about the dog?’ he said, before John had the chance to introduce himself.

            ‘Yes, that’s us son, we rang a little while ago.’

            ‘Come in then—dad.’

            Shelly hid a smile and the boy opened the door wider kicking a black and white cat out of the way. He walked ahead of them, leaving Shelly, who was the last one in to close the door. The boy went into a front room and threw himself full length, on to a filthy brown sofa. An enormous flat screen telly was blaring, and he turned his attention to Top Gear.

            Shelly gagged on the smell of cat pee and covered her mouth before the hag in front of her noticed.

            the woman stood in the middle of the room with a tabby cat in her arms. The ginger cat that they’d seen from the window was under the dining room table scratching at the floor.  Another cat was lying along the back of an armchair. There were no dogs to be seen, but they could be heard, the barking from the rear of the house was cacophonous. The living room smelled of cat pee, but either it wasn’t as bad as in the hall, or Shelly had grown accustomed to it in the time it took her lungs to expand to their maximum extent with holding her breath. John and Shelly smiled and tried not to let their disgust show. From the moment they had walked through the door, neither of them had any intention of buying one of the puppies. Their only thought was getting the hell out of there before they were contaminated with anything.

They weren’t posh, as the woman had suggested, they considered themselves average and normal, but neither of them had been in a home like this in their lives. A child, naked except from a laden nappy that was heavy enough to hang to its knees, tottered in from what must have been the kitchen. It was holding a blackened blanket to its face. The blanket was stamped with the crest of Furness General Hospital. The child— Shelly couldn’t determine whether it was male or female—stared at them with appraising eyes. Having made up its mind about them, it raised its arms to Shelly to be picked up. It was filthy, and probably crawling with lice. She turned her face to John in a silent plea to rescue her and when he looked helpless, she turned to the corner of the room where a squalling mass of puppies writhed in a matted and filthy playpen. She ignored the infant asking to be picked up and felt horrible for snubbing the child, while at the same time being unrepentant. She could no more touch that dirty human thing than stroke the mangey cat rubbing itself around her legs. She thought the child might be female and, unperturbed by the snub it wandered off clutching the dirty blanket to its chest.

            The woman lifted pups out of the playpen and threw them onto the floor in front of john and Shelly. The pups, bleary with sleep, took a moment to wake up. A couple of them shook themselves. One sat on its haunches and scratched; two more instigated a game of two-headed puppy ball and rolled around the room.  One sat on John’s shoe and looked at him.

            Despite himself, John picked the animal up. Shelly thumped him hard in the ribs and the punch said with far more effect than words, ‘Put that filthy animal down or you are never setting foot in our house again, and as to sex, well you can forget it, mate.’ They had internal conversation down to a T.

John ignored her and stroked the bundle of fawn and grey puppy. Shelly watched as dog and man fell hopelessly and ridiculously in love. In that second, she knew that the flea-ridden monstrosity was coming home with them, and there wasn’t a damned thing she could do to stop it happening.

            They went through the motions. John asked to see the puppy’s parents and Shelly wished, with all of her heart that he hadn’t. They were taken from the living room, where the cat under the table had finished doing its business on the floor, the stench was overpowering. Because her eyes were drawn in that direction by the smell, Shelly noticed that there were already several dried out turds there; one of them had grown a white mould.

            The kitchen was like nothing she had ever seen, never mind walked through. The floor was littered with shit, canine, feline, and human in origin. The animals of the house were allowed to do their business anywhere they chose. The kitchen bin had been overturned and the rubbish—mainly nappies and takeaway debris— was scattered over the filthy kitchen floor. Several of the nappies were ripped open and their contents flung across the room. A festering pile of washing, with a sleeping cat on top of it, spread from one corner up the wall and into the centre of the room. It had over-spilled a broom cupboard and carried on growing. The sink and every worktop were stacked with filthy crockery, and a cat lapped from the dishwater, while another ate the remains from one of the family’s plates.

John had the puppy in his arms; he hadn’t given the others a second glance, and nothing on this earth could have persuaded him to put the pup back on the floor. They navigated their way through the landmines of turd and crud into the back yard. When the door was opened, it was clear why the two neglected dogs and bevy of cats used the house as a toilet. The yard was too full to contain any more excrement. Every inch of space was soiled, and the dogs walked amongst it, squishing it between their toes. One of the dogs was Alsatian somewhere in his heritage, the other was smaller and collie based. They were thin, their long coats matted and dirty. The bitch had trails of hardened puss in the corner of her eyes, it seeped over her eyeline and made her look as though she was crying. The moment the door was opened, the dogs stopped mooching and flung themselves at the people coming out.  The woman, who was first through the door, kicked the big dog. He yelped in pain and retreated to the far end of the yard, where he sat in a corner and watched. The bitch launched herself at Shelly and put her filthy front paws on Shelly’s new River Island jeans. They weren’t cheap. She pushed the dog down but, not to be daunted, it leapt back up on her again, wagging its tail and begging attention.

She pushed it away and feeling sorry for it, and held it down with one hand stopping to pet it using only the very tips of her fingers with the other. The dog was in rapture. Shelly looked towards the back door and relative safety. She couldn’t stand to see the neglect and abuse any longer. All this dog wanted was to be loved.  

‘I think we’ve seen enough to make a decision now, haven’t we John?’

She was begging him to get her the hell out of there before she burst into tears.

            Getting into the house was a lot harder than getting out had been. They fought the dogs to get in. On seeing the door opening, the male, flew across the yard, not attempting to avoid the excrement on the floor and wrestled his way into the kitchen. The woman blocked him with her leg, and while she was holding him back, the bitch slipped through on her other side and went in.

John and Shelly had to squeeze in around the fat woman’s sweating body. On seeing their mother, the five pups that weren’t in John’s arms ran to her and attached themselves to her underhanging teats. The bitch was emaciated and had no milk to give. She tried to shake them off, but they stuck to her as she walked, bow-legged, to the corner.

She was the epitome of abject misery, slumping to the floor as she resigned herself to the mauling. The woman came into the room and yelled at her as she flopped onto a sofa and lit a cigarette.

‘Giz one then,’ said the boy, who hadn’t moved from the other sofa. She threw him a cigarette.

‘That’s three you owe me now and I’d better get them back before you go to school tomorra.’

The baby, whose name was Tammy, had taken hold of the ginger cat by its tail and was dragging it out from behind an armchair. John and Shelly paid their money. They couldn’t get out of the house fast enough. John clutched the puppy in his arms and demanded that Shelly drive.

            When they got home, Shelly wouldn’t let the dog into the house until it had been bathed. John said that it would be too traumatic to bath it straight after taking it away from its mother. Shelly argued that John would be traumatised if he didn’t, and would brook no argument, either the pup was thoroughly bathed, from a bucket in the garage, or it didn’t come into the house—ever.

His choice.

The puppy whimpered and trembled its way through its first ever bath. Being responsible owners to be, they had prepared in advance for the arrival of their dog. They already had bed and blankets, toys, lead, collar, food, and puppy pads.

What they hadn’t thought to buy was worming and flea products. The dog hadn’t received either treatment, and Shelly wasn’t prepared to wait until they took him to the vets for his first injections. After a trip to the pet shop, while John dried the pathetic bundle of misery, she insisted that he be wormed and fleaed.  Then, and only then, did she deign to have her first cuddle with him. He was soft and fluffy; his newly washed fur was electrified with static and stuck out from his body and he had been lightly dusted in baby powder, making him even fluffier. He had sweet, puppy breath and as she held him close to her, he nuzzled into her chin and took comfort from her warmth and kindness. It took Shelly an hour and a half longer than her husband to fall in love with the dog, but once that bond formed on the first embrace, it was fixed and sure. She vowed at that moment that he would never experience another second of squalor and neglect for the rest of his life.

            She was worried about Sammy, though, this could go either way.

The clock ticked loud in the stillness of the lounge, another hour and he’d be home. They waited and alternated between watching the puppy sleeping in Shelly’s arms and the clock, heralding God knew what.

They had discussed all the ramification of getting the puppy for him. At one point they were going to take Sammy with them to pick it up when they found one. But it was decided that being there would be too stressful for him. He didn’t cope well with anything new. Shelly was glad that they hadn’t taken him. He would never have coped with that place. And God knows what he would have said.

 As she held the pup she cried, and once they came she couldn’t stop the tears. She felt her heart breaking a