Darwin the Zombie Dog

by Craig Wallwork

Granddad found him while walking his dog, Bess, in the park.  Hunched low in a nearby bush, and eating from an old bag of chips, he was no better than a dirty tramp.  Bess took an immediate disliking to him and tried to pull Granddad away, but Granddad suffered from both a weak heart and mental illness, two qualities that worked in favour of the scruffy dog.  When he heard Granddad and Bess approach, the dog turned, gave them both a look of contempt, then dropped the biggest turd Granddad had ever seen.  He said it was thicker, and curled up higher, than a boa constrictor.  After that, Granddad couldn’t help admire him. 
   The mutt stayed with Granddad for a few days.  He fed him Chum and Wine Gums, and even bought him a collar.  Bess hated the new lodger, and growled and snarled whenever he came close.  Granddad said it was because they were from different worlds.  Bess was a golden retriever, a pedigree with a golden mane and superior manner.  The mutt appeared cobbled together from a long bearded terrier, a mongrel, and a large sewer rat.  Never the twain, so Granddad said. 
   In case the dog had a home, and some poor kid was missing him, Granddad put a little flyer in the newsagent’s window that read:  Dog found.  Black mongrel (we think) with large beard.  No collar or name tag found.  Has a limp and no front teeth.  Going bald on his head.  If this is your dog, he can be found at 103 Skerton Road. 
   No one called the house after that. 
   Turned out the dog didn’t take well to the news and stopped eating its food.  The only thing it would touch was either granddad’s black pudding, or Grandma’s Chrysanthemums.  Grandma told Granddad that the dog had to go, and when he told her no one wanted him, she told Granddad he should just dump it back in the park where he found it.  But Granddad was a soft sod with a weak heart and a simple mind and offered the dog to my mam.  He told her every boy needs a friend, and there aren’t many better friends than a ugly dog. 
   Mam said she didn’t like the dog on first glance, said it had a look of her uncle Johnny who was a wife beater and alcoholic.  Granddad told her if she didn’t take him the dog would have to be put down.  Mam was soft sod too and hated to see any dumb animal in trouble, which is a big reason why she married my dad. 
   The first time I realised I might be getting a dog was when mam picked me up from school one afternoon.  While walking home, she asked me if I had a dog, what would I call it.  I never thought about owning a dog so no name came to me.  I told mam it really depended on the type of dog. 
   Not knowing the type, she said, “What if it was a black one?” 
   I thought long and hard and told her that if I had a black dog I would call it Sambo.  She told me I can’t call a dog that because Sambo was not a very nice word. 
   She then said, “What if the dog was a scruffy one, with no front teeth and a limp.” 
   I said I wouldn’t want a dog like that. 
  Then she said, “But what if the dog had magical powers.” 
   My ears pricked up. 
   I asked her what kind of powers. 
   “What if the dog could talk?” she said.
   “A talking dog?” I asked.
   “Yes, but only the person who loved it most would be able to hear it.”
   I rubbed my chin.  “A talking dog?”
   “Yes, what if you had a black dog with no front teeth, a limp, a long beard and a bald head…”
    “A bald head?” I asked.
    “Yes, a bald head and a beard.  What if the dog had all these things, but it could talk; what would you call it?”
   I remembered in school a picture of a man who discovered that we were all apes once.  He had a big beard and a bald head.  He wasn’t black, but he looked scruffy, and I couldn’t really tell if any of his teeth were missing because in the picture he wasn’t smiling.  I figured it was probably the best likeness I could find at such short notice, so I told my mam that if I had such a dog I would call him Darwin.
   Darwin spent most of his first day sniffing our house.  He sniffed the brown corduroy couch, underneath the stylus where dad kept all his Elvis records, and the sandcastle bucket we kept in the kitchen for pissing in when it was too cold to use the outside toilet.  He sniffed under the stairs, the electric fire and the mantle with its many porcelain figurines of horses pulling carts filled with beer.  He even sniffed my crotch and mam’s crotch and my dad’s old slippers.  When he finished all his sniffing, he limped over to the only armchair in the living room, hauled its hind legs onto the seat and fell asleep.  Mam tried to shoo the dog off, not because it was on the furniture, but because the chair was my dad’s and nobody was allowed to sit on there except dad.  But all that sniffing seemed to have taken it out of Darwin and he fell fast asleep.
   “Give me a hand, Danny,” mam said feeding her hands under his rump.  “I’ll lift this side, you get his shoulders.”
   “Can’t we just live him?  He looks tired.”
   “He’ll look dead if your dad catches him on his chair.”
   I didn’t want Darwin dead so I walked over to the couch and gently grabbed his shoulders.  This was the first time I had chance to see Darwin close up; the hair on top of his head was very thin, and in places, you could see the skull.  While he slept, his tongue had slipped between the gaps in his teeth and was now on full view, making a farting noise each time he breathed in and out.  But the most disturbing thing about Darwin was that he slept with both eyes open a little, just enough to see the whites of each.  He looked like a zombie dog, an evil raspberry blowing zombie dog. 
   “Can’t we just leave, mam?” I asked 
   “No.  Now, after three, lift him up and place him on the floor.”
   I nodded.
   Mam counted down, three…two…one.  When I lifted my end, I heard a deep rumbling noise.  I looked to mam who had now stopped lifting.  I followed her eyes to Darwin’s face, and saw him staring directly at her, the last remaining teeth visible behind a snarl.
   Quietly, and very calmly, mam said to let go of the dog.     
   “But what about dad?” I asked softly.
   “Don’t question me, Danny.  Just let the dog down, and then move slowly to the kitchen.”
   We stayed in the kitchen for two hours until dad got home from work. 
   We heard the door slam and Dad mumble something to himself.  Then we heard him take his boots off and shut the vestibule door.  After getting in, dad usually sat on his armchair to check the horse results.  He mustn’t have seen Darwin until the very last moment.
   “What the piss?!”
   He called for mam, and she shouted through the kitchen door that we were waiting till it woke up.
   Dad shouted back, “What the fuck is it?”
   “It’s a dog.”
   There was a pause before he said, “That ain’t no fucking dog…it’s bald for one thing.”
   Mam shouted that granddad gave it her. 
   “What’s it doing on me bastard chair?!”
   I shouted back, “It fell asleep because it was sniffing everything!”
   “That you, Danny?!” dad shouted.
   “Yeah!”
   “Ya put your mum up to buying you a mangy dog?!
   “No, dad.”
   Mam piped up, “It had nothing to do with Danny, Tony.  My dad found him and couldn’t keep it because of Bess.  No one came to claim it, so it was either come home with me or be put to sleep.  It’s not mangy.  It’s quite cute, when you get use to it.”
   “It’s shit-ugly, is what it is.”
   I figured if I didn’t say something to help Darwin, my dad would kick him out on the streets.  He may have been a zombie dog that didn’t like being touched, but I felt sorry for him with his bald head and limp, just like I felt sorry for spastics and old people who had their legs blown off in the war.
   I shouted through the door, “He can talk, dad!”
   Mam told me to be quiet.
   “He can do what?”
   I looked to mam who was shaking her head and pressing her finger to her lips.  I figured mam didn’t want dad to know Darwin could talk because dad would sell Darwin to the circus, just like he was going to sell me to the circus because I’d been born with a smacked arse for a face.  I shouted back that I’d called the dog, Darwin.
   “I don’t give a shit if its name’s Jesus fucking Christ, he ain’t staying!”
   “But Danny’s taken a shine to him, Tony.”
   “The cheeky twat is pulling its tongue at me!”
   “That’s the way it sleeps,” I said.
   “What?!” asked dad.
   I shouted, “It sleeps with its tongue hanging out because it has no front teeth!”
   “Fuck me, I don’t know if I should shoot it or buy it a pint.”
   “Can I keep it, dad?  I’ll walk it every day and feed it when its hungry and…”
   “No, Danny.  The dog is a health hazard.  It’s probably infected the house with all its mange.”
   I asked mam what mange was, and she said it was something that could ruin the couch.
   I shouted through the door, “I’ll wash him every day until his minge has gone!”
   I don’t know why but mam started laughing.
   “It’s going, Danny, and that’s the end of it!”
   I was about to open the door to stop dad from kicking Darwin out on the street when I heard a low growling noise.  A few seconds later dad came rushing into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him and nearly knocking me to the ground.
   “It can stay the night, but in the morning, it goes.”
   Darwin didn’t go the next morning.  When I woke up and went downstairs, I saw dad feeding Darwin a little toast.  He rubbed Darwin’s ear and in return, Darwin licked dad’s hand.  As I neared them both I heard dad say quietly, “You’re not so bad, are you boy?  Misunderstood, is all.  Just like me.”  I watched them both for a while and noticed dad was smiling.  I didn’t go in the room after that.  I went back to bed until I heard dad leave.  When I went downstairs into the living room, Darwin was lay fast asleep on dad’s armchair, blowing raspberries. 
   It’s true, every boy does need a dog, even an ugly zombie one. 

 

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~ This piece was posted on Wednesday, September 3rd, 2008 and was filed under Short Story, Writing. You can make comments on it below. ~