Fifteen Dogs Read online

  For other dogs he’d felt no emotion as complex as loyalty, let alone the emotion Nira was trying to describe. As far as Majnoun was concerned, his relationship to other dogs had been, for the most part, uncomplicated. There were dogs one could dominate and dogs one could not. As other dogs could bite you or mount you when you didn’t want it, it was best to keep one’s feelings clear and easily communicable.

  After a while, Majnoun became convinced that when Nira spoke about ‘love,’ she was talking about something that was and would always be beyond him. When, one day, she said

  – Miguel is my mate. I love him

  Majnoun was too bored by the question to be interested. To get Nira to stop asking about ‘love,’ he nodded his head ‘yes’ when next she asked if he understood. Both of them knew, however, that he was lying. (As it happened, Majnoun was a poor liar, accompanying as he did his lies with unusual enthusiasm.) And it was a sore point between them.

  By the time Nira and Majnoun came to this contretemps about ‘love,’ eight months had passed and already a thousand intimacies tied them together. She knew what he liked to eat. He knew not to disturb her when she was doing her work. He helped her clean the house as best he could, learning where things went and putting them in their place when he could. She made certain the chew toys he liked best were in good nick, buying new ones whenever the old were too mangled to be enjoyed. In other words, by their eighth month together, Nira and Majnoun were friends.

  Also, after eight months, Majnoun could walk without too much pain and even, if he had to, run for short bursts. His worst leg’s tendons had healed sufficiently, though he avoided putting all his weight on them. His bandages had long gone and aside from his right ear – the top of which had been chewed clean off by Max – he looked more or less like a normal poodle.

  Miguel suggested that Majnoun and Nira should take longer walks together, now that Majnoun was better. He suggested they walk in High Park, but this suggestion was, of course, awkward. Although Nira did not hide Majnoun’s sensitivity from her husband, and although he often witnessed the two of them in their version of causerie, Miguel did not believe Majnoun could communicate with Nira or she with him, not in any profound way. He assumed, rather, that Majnoun understood a handful of words, but that, beyond these words, the dog simply nodded or shook his head more or less at random. When Nira had first informed him – terrified – that the dog had spoken to her, he had laughed. He couldn’t help himself. This dog-and-human communication business was, to his mind, an aspect of Nira’s ‘granola and Wiccan’ tendencies, the same tendencies that had led her to read Mary Daly, to experiment with lesbianism and to speak of the sacredness of her poum-poum. Certainly the dog was bright, but not bright in the human sense, not possessed of great memory or the capacity for speech. So, Miguel did not for an instant consider the emotional complications of High Park.

  Some of High Park’s complications were trivial; some had psychological weight. On the trivial end: Nira did not know what to do about leashes. There were whole areas of the park where dogs were not allowed to walk about unleashed. She thought it degrading to parade Majnoun about as if he were, well, a dog. Majnoun himself had no opinion on the matter. It did not humiliate him to wear a collar, but he clearly saw the disadvantage of being restrained when aggressive dogs came at him. So they agreed he would have a leash attached to a green leather collar by thin threads. At his slightest jump, the threads would break and Majnoun could stand his ground to defend himself.

  (Inherent in the question of leashes was, of course, the question of power. Nira was uncomfortable with power or even with the appearance of it. One day, she asked Majnoun if he would put her on a leash, their positions being reversed. He had answered ‘no,’ and this had made Nira feel even more uncomfortable. But Majnoun had, in fact, misunderstood her question. If she had said

  – Masters have agreed that their submissives must be bound to them with leashes and collars. If you were a master, would you keep me on a leash?

  Majnoun would, without hesitation, have answered ‘yes.’ If she had been his submissive, he would naturally have treated her according to the custom. Order in a pack is maintained through convention, and it made no sense, as far as Majnoun was concerned, to overturn conventions that worked. But he had understood her question on a more practical level. He had thought of how awkward it would be for him to hold a leash in his mouth while Nira walked about on her hands and knees. Understanding the question as he had, the only possible answer had been the ‘no’ he’d given.)

  Another trivial complication had to do with humans. The humans who came to the park were a varied lot: all stations, races and genders. Inevitably, as Majnoun was striking in his bearing, someone asked Nira if they could touch him or give him treats – the desiccated biscuits, most of which Majnoun found bland and sweet. Nira assumed that Majnoun would not mind the displays of affection. So, she was surprised to discover that, au contraire, Majnoun was highly selective in whom he allowed to touch him. Nira would say

  – No, he doesn’t bite

  or

  – Sure. I don’t think he minds being petted.

  And the first few times, he stood still for it. Then, as if for no reason, he decided he’d had enough. An older woman approached and asked if she could pet him and he shook his head ‘no.’ He moved away at her approach and would not let himself be touched.

  – I’m sorry, said Nira.

  When the woman had gone on her way, she said to Majnoun

  – I didn’t know you objected. Don’t you like to be touched?

  Majnoun shook his head, and that, you’d have thought, was that. Except that it wasn’t. From then on, Majnoun decided for himself whom he would allow to touch him, nodding when he was prepared to be touched, shaking his head when he was not.

  When Nira was asked

  – May I pet your dog?

  she answered

  – You’ll have to ask him yourself.

  Questioned, Majnoun would either nod ‘yes,’ to the delight of the stranger who would then ask

  – How did you teach him to do that?

  or Majnoun would shake his head ‘no,’ which was also delightful to strangers and provoked the same question:

  – How did you teach him to do that?

  Either way, Nira’s answer to the question was a shrug of the shoulders.

  It being impossible for her to detect any pattern to Majnoun’s yeses or nos, she assumed his choices were random. They were not, though his criteria were just beyond Nira’s ken. First, Majnoun did not like to be touched by humans who smelled unpleasantly. It was, in human terms, like being asked to shake the hand of someone with shit on his fingers. Second, and more subtly, was the question of station. Versed as he was in the finer aspects of dominance, he recognized at once when someone – for instance, the older woman whose touch was the first he refused – behaved as if they dominated Nira. It was in the old woman’s tone, energy and disposition. As Majnoun found it inadmissible that any creature outside his pack (his pack being himself, Miguel and Nira) was of higher status than Nira, he refused to be touched by those who, however inadvertently or unconsciously, belittled her.

  In the end, however, High Park’s most significant complication was in what it evoked for Majnoun. It was the place where he had almost died. So, naturally, before they went together, Nira had asked if he wished to return to High Park. The name ‘High Park’ had meant nothing to him, but she made certain he knew it was the place where she and Miguel had found him more dead than alive. She worried that it would be unpleasant for him to recall his trauma, but Majnoun had wanted to return. So they had gone together, and he, to his own surprise, had suffered horribly. The memory of being done almost to death was humiliating. It was also frightening. Nira made a point of avoiding the place where she and Miguel had found him, but that made no difference. Majnoun knew the park well – its smells, its grasses, its hills, its fountains, its roads, its zoo, its restaurants and garbage bins –
and it cut him to walk in what had been his territory.

  And yet, despite the evident distress it caused him, Majnoun needed High Park.

  One day, wishing to spare him the pain, Nira had taken him to Trinity-Bellwoods. Majnoun had looked around and then walked back to the car on his own, waiting for Nira to take him where he wished to go. What he could not communicate was his need to find his former pack or the remnants of it. For reasons he did not himself understand, it was unbearable to think that he might be the last of his kind. The feeling was beyond loneliness. It was desolation. When he was in High Park, Majnoun was both wary and hopeful that he would meet his former den mates.

  The one Majnoun met at last, Benjy, was not the dog you’d have thought would survive Atticus’s reign. But Benjy was resourceful and dishonest in ways Majnoun did not fathom. The dog lied whenever it suited him. He was ingratiating, two-faced, self-interested and, crucially, sensitive. He could read a situation quickly and quickly tell which side of any conflict it was best to be on. He had flaws but his instincts were acute, almost infallible.

  That the two met again was pure chance. Majnoun did not like to walk along the road reserved for humans and their dogs. On this road – a depression or narrow valley between modest hills – dogs ran about unleashed. If they were at all aggressive, the dogs would run straight at Majnoun, attacking without warning. Majnoun defended himself very well, however. He was merciless when attacked, having learned a lesson from Atticus, Max, Frick and Frack. In a number of cases he had seriously hurt the attacking dog. He had, for instance, bitten clean through the throat of a Rottweiler, sitting still until it jumped at him, then ruthlessly attacking the dog’s underside. The Rottweiler’s owner, furious, had run to protect his animal, but by then the Rottweiler was in shock and copiously bleeding. Majnoun, vigilant and wary, had sat beside Nira as the humans shouted at each other.

  In a way, Majnoun’s attackers were useful. He was not afraid of the dogs who went for him, and his self-confidence grew at each victory. Still, he did not like to hurt other dogs, so he and Nira avoided the off-leash area. One would have thought that the other members of Majnoun’s pack would have avoided it as well, the attention of humans or dogs being unwanted. Yet Benjy and Majnoun found each other again near the first of the small bridges over the freshet that ran beside the off-leash road.

  How Majnoun got there is easy enough: he was distracted by Nira’s talk about the government in some faraway place. It was winter – more than a year after Majnoun had been rescued – and the smell of the world was less sharp, masked by snowfall. So Majnoun (and Nira) wandered into the area without realizing where they were. Benjy, on the other hand, was there out of desperation. He was fleeing, as best he could with his short legs, the attentions of an aggressive Dalmatian.

  Benjy saw Majnoun first and cried out in their shared language.

  – Black dog! Black dog, help me!

  Majnoun looked up to see Benjy half-running, half-tumbling down the hillside.

  Immediately, instinctively, Majnoun went to the beagle’s aid. To Nira’s dismay, Majnoun put himself between the Dalmatian and the beagle, barking and growling as if he were ferocious and unhinged. The Dalmatian thought about challenging Majnoun, but it was now faced with something beyond its comprehension: two dogs that did not feel like dogs, two manifestly alien versions of the canine. With surprising grace, the dog fled back up the hill whence it had come.

  – Jim, said Nira, what are you doing?

  Majnoun ignored her. He waited for Benjy to recover from his run, then said

  – You are the small dog with long ears from our pack.

  – Yes, said Benjy. I am that dog. I tell you, black dog, I’ve been mounted more often than a bitch in heat since those days.

  Then, changing the subject, Benjy said

  – Have you found a new master? This one does not seem cruel. Does it beat you?

  – No, said Majnoun. She is a human I live with and she does not beat me.

  – Then you’ve had good fortune since you left us. I wish you and the dog who spoke strangely had taken me with you.

  – I was bitten and left for dead, said Majnoun. I did not choose exile.

  – Just what I thought, said Benjy. The others dogs believed you and the strange dog had gone away, but I did not believe it. Why would the black dog leave his den mates, I asked.

  – Where are the others? asked Majnoun.

  – That would take a lot of words, said Benjy, and I am hungry.

  Benjy looked over at Nira. Without warning, he barked happily and rolled over in the snow.

  – What are you doing? asked Majnoun.

  – It is a thing humans like, said Benjy. Don’t you do it? It is a very good way to get food.

  – Where are the others? Majnoun repeated.

  Again, Benjy barked happily and rolled over in the snow.

  – Stop that, said Majnoun. She does not understand your …

  Nira did seem to understand, however. She had, with a kind of fascination, been watching the two. She was hearing what she thought of as Majnoun’s real language for the first time: clacks, low growls, rough barks, sighs and yawns. It was incomprehensible. The only part that made sense to her was Benjy’s playful barking and his rolling over in the snow. So, interrupting Majnoun, she said

  – Your friend is hungry, isn’t he? Why don’t we bring him home with us for a while? I didn’t bring anything with me to eat, but there’s more than enough at home.

  Despite himself, Majnoun was annoyed. But, to Benjy, he said

  – She says there is food where we live.

  – You understand human language? asked Benjy. I would like you to teach me. If you teach me, I’ll tell you everything you want to know about our pack.

  – You’ll tell me what I want to know or I’ll bite your face, said Majnoun.

  But Majnoun was a poor liar in both of his languages, and Benjy was not troubled. Benjy, who was a good liar, had seen Majnoun’s body after Atticus, Max and the brothers had finished with it, and having seen Majnoun ‘dead,’ he was not frightened of him. He assumed that if Atticus and his co-conspirators had got the better of Majnoun, he could almost certainly outsmart Majnoun as well. Why should he respect a dog who was demonstrably inferior to Atticus?

  He went home with Nira and Majnoun, blithely.

  No sooner did Nira put down a bowl of rice and chicken livers than the beagle was on it, eating as if afraid Majnoun would take some. He had not had anything proper to eat in days. He’d had no luck begging from humans along Bloor Street. So he’d returned to High Park, searching for scraps beneath the snowfall and, even, hunting for the mice and rats that scampered around the restaurant near the dog park.

  Winter was not a good season for a dog without a master. Alone, Benjy spent most of his time going from house to house looking for someone to take him in, doing the things humans – mysteriously, incomprehensibly – liked dogs to do. He rolled over, pretended to be dead, sat up, stood on his hind legs (which was difficult for him), begged for food and, on occasion, howled in imitation of human song. When one thought about it, a dog had to take it on faith that humans possessed intelligence. They were expert makers of dens and food, however, and those were the things Benjy wanted from them. Clearly, he could get them more efficiently if he learned human language.

  – You know, said Benjy after he’d finished eating and drinking, I always thought you were the most clever dog. I am certain that’s why the pack leader wanted to kill you.

  – The grey dog with the cascading face? asked Majnoun.

  The two were in the living room, on their own. Nira, feeling as if she were intruding on Majnoun’s privacy, left them alone for a time. The living room had a brightly coloured throw rug – crimson, light straw and gold – on its floor. It had an armchair and a sofa, a false fireplace and windows that looked onto the street, windows Majnoun could look out of, if he sat on the sofa.

  Benjy ignored Majnoun’s question.


  – It does not surprise me, he said, that you have learned to speak with humans. I would be your submissive, if you would teach me a little of what you know.

  Majnoun was looking out the window at the passing world: cars, pedestrians, other dogs and the cats whose appearance always made him growl. He knew it was senseless to dislike the poor, weak creatures, but he could not help himself and often found – to his own dismay – that it was difficult to suppress the desire to bark at the sight of felines. As Benjy said ‘teach me,’ a cat passed near enough to the house to provoke a growl. Thinking Majnoun’s growl was meant for him, Benjy said

  – I am an innocent dog. I have not done you any wrong.

  Getting down from the sofa, the window proving too much of a distraction, Majnoun said

  – I will teach you human words if you tell me where the others are.

  – The others, said Benjy, are dead. I thought I was the last of our pack.

  Although there was no real need for Benjy to hide what had happened to the pack, he was wary of saying too much. For one thing, he had been responsible for the pack’s demise and he was not sure how Majnoun would react if he knew. So, in his retelling, Benjy left out any detail that might incriminate him, while adding little flourishes here and there to make himself look better than he had been. These flourishes and silences did not misrepresent the character of Atticus’s reign, however. Benjy, essentially, told the truth.

  He had been awake for the killing of Athena. He had seen Frick make off with her body and had watched as Frack roused Bella and led her away. It didn’t take much thought to guess Bella’s fate. What took thought was the decision their deaths forced on him: should he stay or leave? If Frick and Frack were willing to kill so wantonly, why wouldn’t they kill him? He would be little more trouble to them than Athena had been. On the other hand, exile was a frightening idea. What would life be without the bigger dogs around to defend him? His only course would be to find a master and, humans being dangerous, this was not something he wanted to do.