\”Me dog\’s a bit funny, and I can\’t catch the bugger – so\’s I was wonderin\’ if you\’d be able to come and check him over for me?\”
\”Sure,\” I replied, \”Where do you live?\”
\”Eh? I\’m a bit deaf, you know, what was that?\”
\”I just need to know where you live!\” I uttered slowly, clearly and quite loudly.
\”I can\’t hear what he\’s sayin\’ – what do ya reckon he wants?\” – I could hear her shouting at someone else in the house, and some rustling and clattering, before she got back on the line to me – \”Oh – I\’d better tell you where we are, eh?\”
I got the address, but I still hadn\’t managed to communicate the when.
\”I can come and see you at about 4:00 tomorrow – is that ok?\” I half shouted at my phone.
\”When are you comin?\” the querulous old voice inquired of me.
\”4:oo to-mo-rrow!\” I shouted, staring to get a bit frustrated.
\”I\’m buggered if I know what this fella\’s sayin\’,\” I heard her loudly informing the mysterious other person in the house.
\”I – CAN – COME – AT – FOUR – O\’CLOCK – TO – MOR – ROW!\” I shouted, as clearly as I knew how.
\”Was that 4:oo tomorrow then, dear?\” she asked.
\”YES,\” I shouted back, with a huge sigh of relief.
The next day I pulled up at the door- the house was old, unkempt, peeling great streamers of paint from it\’s weatherboard sides, and the front yard was a desert blasted tangle of weeds. I gathered up my bags, and went in, knocked on the door. I heard some vague scuffling inside, and eventually the door was cracked open, and a beady old eye in a map of wrinkles peered out at me.
\”Oh, it\’s the vet! Come in, dear, come in…\”
The house was a musty cave, and had a peculiar, half rotten smell. Every surface was stacked feet deep with papers, and boxes, and things. The walls were grey with dirt, and the floor was an education. It hadn\’t been cleaned for so long, that the edges had a gentle curve of dust, dirt and fluff, that gracefully curved up into the wall, about an inch deep. I stood there, nonplussed. There were two seats in the living room that were sort of clear enough to sit on, though they too had scattered items all over the arms…
\”This is me old mum, I look after her,\” the old lady shouted at me, pointing to one of the chairs.
An ancient body sat there, eyes dull and rheumy, mouth empty of teeth and hanging open. She showed no sign that she\’d heard anything at all, matchstick legs and arms all asprawl. She was totally focused on the TV, blaring midday soap operas. I noticed where the smell was coming from. She had dressings on her legs, and on a table over to the side there was a stack about a foot high with old dressings. Furniture filled almost every available space, and every cupboard, table, and desk was stacked to overflowing with a never ending profusion of old, worn out, dusty stuff of every description. Nick nacks, broken china figurines, faded dolls, empty boxes, tangles of wool, old tea cups with fossilised tea still in them, tired toys, old magazines, lamp shades, glass vases, all hazed with a fine coating of dust and despair. Even the spaces underneath the tables were filled with tangled piles of all sorts of old junk, an old hoarders treasure trove…
\”Now the dog\’s out the back,\” she informed me, and set off, wobbling ahead of me in her shapeless, worn and stained old dress.
I followed her along the corridor, past a kitchen, catching a glimpse of dirty plates stacked high in the sink, and a whiff of corruption, lingering heavy in the air. She opened the back door, and took me down into the laundry. Again, there were stacks and heaps of old broken junk. The backyard was scattered with told wheelbarrows, empty pots, nondescript rusty objects, and weeds – a skinny looking dog was bolting away from me, looking back over his shoulder suspiciously.
\”I can\’t catch the bugger,\” she told me, \”and I\’m worried he might need wrmin\’ or somethin\’? He\’s a husky cross.\”
I sat on the back step, looking at this spooky, super shy dog. What was I going to do? I hopped up, and started gently moving around the yard, easing into his fright zone, and out of it, gently pushing him here and there. By the way he was reacting, the poor creature had never been touched by any human hand – dropped in this backyard as a puppy, given food and water, but never an ounce of attention, never a human touch. He must have been genetically nervous and shy to start with, but the total lack of interaction meant he was as wild as the wind, and just as hard to catch. I tried every trick I knew, and after three quarters of an hour, I had gotten a lot closer to him, but I was still unable to get any closer than about three feet before he\’d bolt. There was no way I could corner him either, as he was intensely fearful, and I didn\’t need to get bitten. He was simply untouchable, without a long term trust building and training schedule.
\”I can\’t catch him,\” I told her.
\”What was that, dear?\” she mumbled at me.
\”I CAN\’T CATCH HIM,\” I shouted. \”I\’LL HAVE TO COME BACK A FEW MORE TIMES AND DO SOME TRAINING BEFORE I CAN GET CLOSE ENOUGH TO HIM TO CATCH HIM!\”
She looked confused. (I think she was a bit old and demented too.)
\”I don\’t know if I can afford that, dear,\” She told me. \”I\’ll give you a ring in a week or two if I have the money.\”
She showed me out, and I sat in the van for a minute or two, feeling sorry for the strange old pair. I never did hear back from her, so god knows what happened with the dog.